Naked Justice

Chapter 26

WHITMAN KEPT THEM WAITING FOR more than an hour. Loving couldn’t stand the inactivity and stomped out, promising to meet Ben and Christina back at the office before the end of the day. Another half hour passed before the secretary escorted the two of them in to see Chairman, now Interim Mayor, Whitman.

The moment they stepped into his office, Ben felt as if he should shield his eyes. The office was decorated in a single color—red. A yellowish red, and it was everywhere. Red carpet, red curtains, red pictures on the wall. Even a red blotter on his desk.

Whitman flashed an instant smile, something he apparently could generate at the drop of the hat, or perhaps more accurately, at the flicker of a minicam. Ben introduced himself and Christina. “I gather you’re fond of red?”

Whitman nodded. “You could say that. It’s the only color I can see.”

“Really?”

“ ’Fraid so. I was born color-blind, an extreme case. Alizarin crimson is the only color my eyes perceive. Everything else is just gray. So you can see why I would try to surround myself with it. It’s the only color, the only visual variation in my life.” He leaned sideways against his desk. “I saw you in the gallery during the city council meeting today. What can I do for you?”

“I’m representing Wallace Barrett,” Ben explained.

The smile drained away just as instantly as it had appeared. “I don’t know what you want with me.”

“Just a chance to talk.”

“About what? Look, the vote has already been taken. He’s out of power. I’m the acting mayor now. He’s not my boss.”

“I don’t care about that,” Ben said. “I’m not interested in your political differences. I’m here about the murder.”

Whitman gave Ben a long, strained look. He slid behind his desk and dropped to the relative security of his chair. “What can I tell you about that?”

“I don’t know. What do you know about it?”

Whitman shrugged. “Just what I see on television.”

Ben took one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk and motioned Christina into the other one. “During the council meeting this afternoon, you seemed pretty positive about Barrett’s guilt.”

Whitman’s face remained bland. “Isn’t everyone?”

“But you know him personally.”

“If you’ll recall, I was the one who cautioned the council not to make any unfounded assumptions of guilt in advance of trial.”

“Yes,” Ben said. “That was very cautious of you.” There was a brief silence as Ben and Whitman scrutinized each other.

Christina took advantage of the silence to jump in with her two bits. “I gather you’re not too upset about Mayor Barrett—”

“Former Mayor Barrett,” Whitman corrected.

Christina smiled. “More like the deposed Mayor Barrett, from what I saw. Anyway, you didn’t seem too upset about his being replaced. By you.”

Whitman shrugged. “What do you want, false modesty? Pious regret? Crocodile tears? You won’t get them. I won’t pretend to feel something I don’t. I’ve made my position on Mayor Barrett public on many occasions. I think the man is a moral quagmire. Always has been. No sense of ethics or propriety. No sense of right and wrong, only win-win-win and how much can I get? An opportunist, willing to do anything to gain immediate advantage. And from what I hear, a wife beater as well.”

Ben grimaced. So the rumor mill was starting up already. He supposed it was inevitable.

“I think the absence of moral leadership is responsible for much of the spiritual emptiness that has pervaded this once great city in recent years.”

“I gather you intend to make some changes,” Ben said.

“Damn straight,” Whitman replied. “And you can quote me on that. See, I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe everything happens for a reason, even hideous tragedies like the murder of that innocent woman and her children. I believe, to the very bottom of my heart, that God wanted that man out of the mayor’s office. And me in it.”

Christina pushed forward. “So you’re saying God killed those two little girls so you could be mayor?”

“I said nothing of the kind,” Whitman replied. “What I said was more in the nature of, well, every cloud has a silver lining.”

“That’s the most pompous—”

Ben shoved her back into her chair. “So now that you’re the acting mayor, what are your plans?”

“I’ve already developed a detailed ten-point plan to restore Tulsa to the true path, to spiritual and fiscal health. The details will soon be made public. I’ll be holding a press conference in about an hour.”

“You’ve known Wallace for quite a long time, haven’t you?”

Whitman nodded. “Unhappily, that’s true. Since our college days. We played football together.”

“And I gather you didn’t like him back then any better than you do now.”

“What’s to like?”

“He was a star, wasn’t he? An ace quarterback?”

“He was,” Whitman said evenly. “Because that was what they made him.”

“They?”

Whitman shrugged. “The university. The coaches. The alumni association.”

“It was a conspiracy?”

“Don’t be stupid. It was business as usual. Why do you think Barrett came to OU in the first place?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Because they bought him, that’s why. He put himself up for auction, and OU was the highest bidder. After all, those were the Switzer years. Anything goes, that was the motto. Even when they got caught on recruiting violations, all they ever got was a slap on the wrists. Even after Switzer lost his job, he was reemployed. No one cares about right and wrong. Not in the world of football.”

“When you say they bought him—”

“A new car. A nice apartment off campus. Clothes. Tuition. Grades.”

“Grades?”

Whitman snorted. “Of course. Don’t you know? Barrett graduated with close to a three-point average, even though the man’s as dumb as a post and half illiterate. Now how do you suppose that happened?”

Ben shrugged. “The same way football players always get through college. They take easy courses. They major in phys ed.”

“And they cheat.” Whitman folded his hands across his chest. “Take my word for it. Barrett couldn’t have gotten a degree in basketweaving without help.”

“I find that very hard to believe—”

“Why?” Whitman looked at Ben with incredulity. “You believe they’ll pay him gobs of money to come, but won’t make sure he stays in school. C’mon! They had to protect their investment. Failing students can’t play ball, much less win two national championships. So he cheated.”

“And never got caught?”

“Who wanted to catch him? The ones who should have been doing the catching were the ones who were helping him cheat!” Whitman swore bitterly. “They gave him everything.”

“And,” Christina said softly, “they didn’t give you anything, right?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about Barrett.”

“We do,” Ben said. He pulled his chair closer to the desk. “You must’ve been surprised when Barrett graduated, moved back to Tulsa, became a business success, then the mayor.”

Whitman’s smile thinned and narrowed. “Disgusted, yes. Surprised, no.”

“Being a bit cynical, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m simply being realistic. I’m a pragmatist. If a man rises to fame by cheating, he’s likely to go on cheating till he gets caught. Or, in this case, arrested for murder.”

“Are you suggesting—”

“It’s well known that Barrett bought his way into that corporation by agreeing to be their high-profile spokesman. They told him what to believe, and he believed it, at Rotary Clubs and after-dinner gigs and anyplace else that would have him. He made a lot of friends. And you don’t want to hear the list of charges brought against him when he ran for mayor. He violated every campaign spending regulation in the book.”

“As I recall,” Christina said, “all the charges against Mayor Barrett were dropped.”

Whitman spread his arms open wide. “Like I said, Barrett’s got a lot of friends.”

“Mr. Whitman,” Ben said, “I have some information suggesting that someone may have hired an enforcer—that is, a hit man—to kill Wallace Barrett’s family.”

“What!”

“Neighbors have reported seeing unsavory characters casing the neighborhood—stalking the Barretts, perhaps. People who had no business being there. One of them was carrying a bag that could easily have contained a weapon.”

“That’s absurd!” Whitman pushed away from his desk. “I think this interview has come to an end.”

“Look!” Christina pointed toward the window. “Is that a scissor-tailed flycatcher?”

Whitman turned and looked. “What? Where?”

“Out there,” she said, pointing.

Whitman turned back. “Do we care?”

Christina sat back in her seat, looking somewhat miffed. “Well, it is the state bird, after all.”

Whitman stared at her a moment, then turned to face Ben. “Look, I don’t believe a word of this cockamamie fantasy about a hit man. This is some absurd defense you and Barrett have cooked up to cheat his way out of being convicted. Next we’ll be hearing that he couldn’t help himself because his daddy beat him when he was growing up.”

“Mr. Whitman, I’m taking these allegations very seriously. Are you sure you don’t know anything about this?”

Whitman slowly rose out of his chair. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’ve been following a number of leads, and one of them led me to your office. Your phone number, actually.” Not precisely true, but close enough for present purposes.

“This is an outrage!”

“I’m Barrett’s attorney, sir. I have to follow up all possible leads.”

Whitman’s eyes burned. He stepped out from behind his desk, arm extended. “I want both of you out of my office. This instant!”

“So you’re saying you don’t know this hit man?”

“I’m saying I want you out!”

“He’s been described as tall, thin, goateed, with long brown hair. Wears fatigues. Know anyone like that?”

“Of course not!”

Ben stood firm. “May I take that as a denial?”

Whitman grabbed Ben by the shoulders and shoved him toward the door. “You may take that as an eviction. Get out!”

“But I still—”

“On the count of three, I’m calling Security! One …”

“But—”

“Two …”

Christina tugged at Ben’s arm. “Ben, I’ve spent the night in jail before, and it wasn’t fun. Let’s vamoose.”

They closed the door behind them a split second before they heard Whitman’s resounding “Three!”

“You were in an awful big hurry to get out,” Ben said after they returned to the main corridor. “Aren’t you supposed to be the fearless one?”

“He wasn’t going to reveal anything else. You told him what you know. If he is connected to this alleged hit man, he’s sure to contact him.”

“Yeah, except there’s one minor problem. When he does, we won’t be there.”

“Yes, but being your faithful aide-de-camp, I have prepared for this contingency.”

They continued walking down the corridor. “If you’re thinking you’re going to try that redial trick again, forget it. We’ll never be allowed anywhere near that office. At least not until he’s gone.”

“True.” She grabbed his arm again, and ducked into the ladies’ room.

“Wait a minute!” Ben said. “I can’t go in there!”

“Sure you can. Tout de suite.”

“No!”

“Oh, don’t be so prissy.” She leaned through the door. “Anybody in here?” There was no response. “See? Coast is clear.” She pulled him through the door.

“Christina! Have you lost your mind? This is the ladies’ room!”

“And here I thought it was some wacky kind of elevator. Thanks for the clarification.”

She opened a stall and tried to drag him inside. “Look at you! You’re turning beet red. You get so embarrassed about these guy/girl things.”

“I do not.” He stood firm outside the stall. “I’m not going in there!”

“Well, if someone comes in, do you want to be seen?”

“Good point.” He stepped inside and locked the stall behind them. “So what’s the deal?”

“The deal is, I want to find out what’s going on in Wallace Barrett’s office.”

“From here?”

“Yes.” She set down her huge purse and began rummaging. “With the help of this.” With a flourish, she removed the blue-and-white plastic receiver from her purse and set it on the tank above the toilet.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Nope.” She turned the dial, switching the receiver on. A red light shone on the front; low level static emerged.

“Why are you carrying that thing in your purse?”

“Because you threw it at me last night, remember? You told me to take it and I still had it in my purse when we were in Whitman’s office.”

Ben’s eyes lowered. “Christina, I’m getting a sinking feeling I’m not going to like what you say next.”

“Remember when I directed his attention to the bird out his window? Except there was no bird?”

“Ye-es.”

“That’s when I slipped the transmitter under his desk.”

“No!”

She beamed. “Wouldn’t you say resourcefulness is my dominant characteristic?”

“I’d say insanity is your dominant characteristic. What if he finds it?”

“Shush.” She turned up the volume and adjusted the antenna till she got the best reception. There was a pronounced knocking noise, then a softer shuffling sound. “He’s pacing,” she interpreted. “Thinking. Pounding on his desk. Trying to decide what to do next.”

Ben took her by the shoulders. “Christina, this is eavesdropping.”

“I suppose that would technically be correct.”

“It’s like wiretapping. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with listening in here and there to gather useful information.”

“You and Richard Nixon. Look, this is probably illegal. Almost certainly immoral.”

“And necessary.”

“Christina—”

“Ben, listen to me. Did you think Whitman was telling us the truth?”

“Well—”

“No. Of course not. He knows much more about this than he’s willing to say.

“But—”

“Ben, zip it up and listen. If he is involved in this, the fact that we came to his office and spilled what we know is bound to make him worry. Maybe enough to do something stupid.”

“I still don’t think—”

“Shhh.” The shuffling noise coming over the monitor had ended. For a few moments, they heard nothing but the hissing of the air-conditioning. Then they heard several rapid-fire clicking noises. About a minute later, the phone rang.

“Whitman.” Given the circumstances, the reception was excellent. They could hear every word he spoke into the phone. “Where are you?” A short pause. “Good. Stay that way. No, I don’t want you anywhere you can be seen. Especially not here. That’s right, that’s what I said, so you do it, you sorry son of a bitch. Don’t give me any crap. I pay you the money, you do what I say.”

Ben and Christina exchanged a meaningful look. Christina nudged up the volume on the receiver.

“Good. That’s better. Now listen to me. The first thing I want you to do is get your goddamn hair cut. Better yet, dyed. Shave the crappy beard. And get rid of those idiotic fatigues, for God’s sake. Burn ’em.”

More static. More air-conditioning noise.

“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because you were spotted, you stupid pea-brained stooge. Haven’t you read the papers?”

Another long silence. They could hear a faint twitter of the voice on the opposite end of the line, not nearly loud enough to distinguish the words.

“Listen to me, jerk-off. You need to get rid of anything that could link us to that neighbor’s ID. Yeah, clothes, too. What about the camera, and all those pictures you took? You what? What?”

The receiver exploded with noise. A smashing, then a clattering to the floor. “Threw the phone across the room,” Christina whispered. Ben nodded.

Several seconds passed before Whitman spoke again. His voice was low, and the thin, even tone did not disguise the threat that lay behind every word. “Listen to me. You get it back.” Pause. “Don’t make any excuses. Get it back.” Whitman cut the voice on the other end off. “You get it back or I’ll break your fucking neck! Understand?”

His shout reverberated through the baby monitor receiver. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Now I’ll tell you something else. I want you to meet me. Tonight. Don’t give me any excuses, you just meet me. That’s right. Midnight. Yeah, I know where O’Brien Park is. Fine. I’ll meet you there. And bring the goddamn camera!”

The phone smashed down into its cradle. Six fast stomps, followed by a slam.

“He’s out of there.” Christina turned off the monitor. “I hope he stays gone for a while. I need to get that transmitter back.”

Ben crooked open the stall door and surveyed the scene. “We need to get out of here and call Mike. He’ll want to be at this midnight rendezvous.”

“Think, Ben. Mike is a policeman. Policemen work for the prosecution.”

“But this is Mike—”

“And Mike is a good cop, but he still works for the prosecution. We need someone who works for us. Someone we can put on the stand.”

“Well, I don’t think it should be us. Do you know where O’Brien Park is? It’s one of the worst thug hangouts on the North Side.”

“Sounds like something Loving might enjoy.”

“That’s a crazy idea.” Ben began to smile. “Crazy in a wonderful sort of way.”

‘Well,” Christina replied, “insanity is my dominant characteristic.”

Ben’s lips turned upward at the edges. “It’s one of them.”

“One? What’s the other?”

Ben stroked her chin. “Guts.”