Marine One

11

A WEEK PASSED with daily visits to the wreckage in the hangar and talking to potential experts I was considering using. At the end of one particularly long day that started with me in the office before dawn, I invited Debbie to go out to dinner with me at one of the nicer restaurants in Annapolis. We arrived and were waiting to be seated when I saw Hackett on the television. He was holding a press conference. I asked the hostess to give us a minute. We walked into the bar and strained to see the television at the far end.

Several others were watching and the bartender turned up the volume. Hackett was in his conference room with his law firm's name emblazoned in gold lettering on the mahogany wall behind him. The press had been given plenty of notice that the attorney who represented the first lady was holding a press conference. They packed the conference room. Conveniently, the press conference coincided with the evening news. We had missed the first couple of minutes.

Hackett paused as photographers clicked cameras and print reporters made notes. He continued, "Now that the NTSB has stated what the cause of this accident was, and we know that it was WorldCopter's fault, the first lady has reluctantly asked me to pursue the justice and the closure that she thinks the country needs, the justice that is required to defend the honor of President Adams. She wants answers for herself, not just as part of some governmental investigation. She wants me to be able to question the WorldCopter employees who put this helicopter together, the ones that put this blade on this helicopter, the ones who installed the tip weights that came off, the ones who caused the death of the president of the United States. Because of that, Mrs. Adams has requested that I file a lawsuit on her behalf against WorldCopter. I did so this afternoon at four thirty PM. Not only has the first lady requested that I file a suit on her behalf, but the wives of all of the men killed on this helicopter, including the two Marine pilots, the Secret Service agents, and the Marine crew chief, have joined in the lawsuit. They were all killed because of a defect in this helicopter. We will also be examining the evidence to determine whether the conduct here was so egregious or malicious, or reckless, that it calls for an award of punitive damages. If it does, we will ask the jury to award a substantial amount of punitive damages against WorldCopter for the damage they have caused to these families and to the greater American family. Thank you. I will now take any questions you may have."

I felt my BlackBerry buzz and pulled it out. Debbie frowned at me as I answered it. "Mike Nolan."

It was Rachel. "I've got the lawsuit."

"Where'd you find it?"

"Hackett posted it on his firm's Web site."

"Figures. And?"

"Guess where he filed it?"

"D.C.?"

"Nope."

"District of Maryland. By D.C."

"Nope. Right here in Annapolis."

"What? Why?"

"That's what I was going to ask you."

Rachel told me everything she could about the complaint. "Thanks. I'll get back to you."

I hung up and looked at Debbie. "Hackett filed his suit right here."

"Why here? I assumed he would file in D.C."

"That's what I've been wondering. But think about it. Who built the courthouse and appointed both our judges?"

"President Adams."

"Exactly. Hackett is guaranteed to have a judge who was appointed by his client's husband. And both the federal judges here, as you well know, are both former plaintiff's lawyers."

"Which judge got the case?"

"Betancourt."

"You like her, don't you?"

"I do. I think she's fair, which is all you can really ask for. I don't think he'll get the advantage from this he thinks he will and Norris will be the magistrate. She likes me."

Debbie frowned. "Then why would Hackett file here? I'm sure he researched judges here."

"Maybe he wants me to try the case, and not Brightman. Maybe he thinks I'm an easy mark, and putting it here will tempt AII to let me try it."

"That's pretty cynical. And that wouldn't be his conclusion if he's done his homework."

Whatever reason Hackett chose Annapolis, I liked it. I would have picked that courthouse if given a choice. Maybe Hackett had just made his first mistake. "You know, what probably drove his decision was the rocket docket. All civil cases go to trial in six months. He wants to get to trial before anyone finds out what really happened."

I got in to work the next morning at six AM Rachel appeared in my door virtually buzzing.

"You're here early," I said.

She handed me a big Starbucks and said, "So are you. We need some new bodies."

"No doubt. This thing is going to be a monster. We could probably use ten new people. We can set up several in the back conference room, but let's get two or three in right away. Why don't you get with Tracy and put an ad together for the Washington Post, the National Law Journal, American Lawyer, Monster.com, what ever. I want to get someone in here ASAP. And I think we need to aim high. This is a big-profile case that a lot of people are going to want to work on. I've got to call Byrd."

I got Byrd on his cell phone. "Tinny, Nolan."

"What the hell you want now?"

"He filed in Annapolis."

"Hey, I've got stuff on Collins that's pretty damn interesting. But I didn't hear from you on my rate sheet, and it turns out there was a typo. I need to send you my updated rate sheet."

"You're shameless."

"I'm unashamedly and openly trying to accumulate enough money to retire in the Caribbean and lay on the beach all day. Guilty as charged. And you're going to help me."

"Come see me so we can talk about all this."

"Will do."

Rachel had called the legal journals and the newspapers and had put the advertisements on their Web sites for staff associates. We were already receiving calls. She was lining up interviews at night because we couldn't even take a breath during the day.

Tinny came to see me on Wednesday morning, when I was to meet with all of our newly retained experts to go back out to the scene. I asked him to come at a different time, but he said he didn't have a different time. He showed up at my office at six thirty knowing that the experts wouldn't get there until eight. He banged loudly on the front door. I went to my window overlooking the bay and looked straight down at our doorstep. Tinny looked up at me. I gave him a wave and walked down to the front. I stepped onto the porch and shook his hand. "Morning, Marine. How the hell are you?"

"I'm doing fine. How the hell are you?"

"I was just going to grab a cappuccino."

"You know, we really should meet in your office; I've got some stuff to show you."

"We can just talk. You can show me whatever you've got when we get back. Experts won't be here till eight."

Byrd looked uneasy. "I prefer working in the shadows," he said, trying to make a joke.

I stopped walking. "You spooked about something?"

He smiled. "Me? Never. Just that somebody's already on this stuff. Or maybe they're on me. You think Hackett knows you use me?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, studying his face. Byrd didn't scare, so the fact he mentioned it gave me real concern.

"Inside," he said.

As soon as we stepped inside and closed the door, he said, "You know I got a sixth sense. Well, somebody knows I'm around in this case."

We walked back to the coffee room where I had watched the news of Marine One's crash. "I just made a fresh pot."

We sat at the cheap table in the middle of the room. "So you think it might be Hackett?"

"Yesterday, right after you called, I saw a guy. Weird. Maybe Hackett doesn't have good investigators. He just tells his guys to follow the other side and let them lead you to the evidence. Don't know."

"It'd be like him. So we'll be careful. Right?"

"Like always." Byrd sipped his coffee. "But how do we know it's him? Could be anybody. I talked to my boy in the Secret Service too. He said he was cool, but maybe they didn't like me doing that…" He thought about that for a moment, then asked, "Anybody else you know who has a stake in this?"

"If it isn't a defective helicopter, then there's someone who cares a lot."

"Who?"

I shook my head. "No idea. Don't even have a theory. If you could find out why Adams was in such a big damned hurry to get to Camp David, we might have an idea. Short of that, no. So, have you found anything interesting?"

His eyes brightened. "I've got some access. We can take further advantage of it." Tinny picked up his battered briefcase and folded over the large flap. "First thing I've got…" He pulled out two files and handed them to me. They were fairly thick, well organized, clearly photocopies of something, and unlabeled.

"What's this?"

Byrd leaned close to me. "These, my friend, are the personnel records of your hero. Mr. Colonel Charles Collins."

My eyes opened wide. "You got Collins's personnel file?"

"Mm-hm."

"How'd you do that?" I could tell he wasn't going to answer, at least not directly. I felt like I was in the middle of a drug deal. "Did you read them?"

"Yeah."

"Anything?"

"He's been a lot of places and done a lot of things. He's got enough medals for three men, his fitness reports are pegged in the top one percent. He's just a star, plain and simple."

"That's it? No issues? Just pure starhood? Nothing you think you need to follow up on?"

"Nope. Not really. I did get a real good history. I made a summary of that here." He handed me a single sheet of paper. "This is all his commands, his dates of service, his commanding officers, his awards and medals, and some other stuff you might want to have. I want to follow up with the guys in his most recent squadron. I think you've already talked to one of them."

"Yeah. I did."

"Can I start with him?" Byrd finished his coffee and waited for my answer.

I already knew I was going to be stepping on some friends. "Yeah. Go ahead. Britt's a good place to start. I wouldn't spend a lot of time with him, but get names and numbers from him if he'll give them to you. Keep me posted and don't do anything illegal. Or stupid."

"Wouldn't think of it."

I tossed my paper cup in the green trash can.

Byrd was about to stand up when he stopped himself. "There's one other thing, I almost forgot. You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"Collins had a nice house, very nice."

"And?"

"I'm not saying there's some funny-money business going on here. Some guys are smart in real estate. We've all seen those Marines who buy a house wherever they're stationed and after twenty years own ten houses. That's fine. But I checked out the house."

"Meaning?" I said with growing interest. I stared at Byrd's face, which had the hint of humor of someone who knew an inside joke.

"Meaning I don't think our boy was getting any."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, with the wife."

"What are you talking about? And how could you possibly know that?"

"I'm talking about exactly what you think I'm talking about. And I have my ways of knowing."

I leaned over the table. "Are you saying he wasn't sleeping with his wife?"

"The man had his own bedroom."

I frowned. "I assume they have a guest room. What makes you think he was sleeping in it?"

"Oh, he was sleeping there all right. I promise you. Not only was he sleeping there, he was living in that other room. His computer was set up there, his clothes were in the closet, and his pictures were on the wall. That was his room, dude. I'm telling you. They were living apart in the same house."

"That's bizarre. What do you make of that?"

"Don't know. But I'm sure going to find out. He was leading some kind of double life. You imagine walking into the ready room and having one of the other pilots say, 'How was your night, dude?' and him saying, 'I don't know, I was sleeping in my own room.' Not going to happen. He'd rather die. Just like I would. Course I would never be in another room, but that's the difference between me and him. At least one of the differences. I'll track it down. Maybe he's a cross-dresser. Maybe he's gay. I don't know, but there's something there and I'm going to find out what it is."

"What could it have to do with the accident?"

Byrd, who was turning away, turned back and looked at me. "You of all people to ask me that. You know accidents, Mike. It's never one thing. It's always a series of things, and you never see the links until the 'Aha!' moment." Byrd chuckled. "Can you imagine if I find a picture of the president's pilot dressed as a woman? And not at a Halloween party? Holy hell. And I know where his personal photos are on the Internet. He used one of those photo-storage Web sites. I think I'll take a look at them today."

"You can't just go look at his photos."

"They're on the Internet. Fair game."

Byrd left and I went up to my office. In just a few weeks, he'd obtained records from the Pentagon that he wasn't supposed to have and knew more about Collins's family life than probably anybody else. That was a little unsettling. I didn't have quite the same constraints a prosecutor would in obtaining evidence illegally. I could even use some illegally obtained evidence, depending on the circumstances. But I had to tread carefully.