Sparring Partners(19)
He had known Judd Morrissette for years, and they spent the first fifteen minutes catching up with each other and talking about old friends. When they finally got around to Mack, Judd surprised Walter with a story about an old case in which he, Judd, prosecuted a bookie from Greenwood. His defense lawyer was Mack Stafford, who grew up in that town. So, Judd had met Mack years earlier and, along with every other lawyer in the state, had heard the story of his disappearance.
Walter explained that he had been hired by “the family” to explore the mysteries of how and why Mack left town. Mack’s ex-father-in-law, Herman Bunning, was a longtime client, and he was convinced Mack hid some money from his daughter in the divorce. And if he did, then he certainly hid the money in his bankruptcy.
In lower voices, they took a moment to divert the conversation to the latest on Lisa’s health. She was not doing well and not expected to improve.
Out of courtesy and respect, Judd listened and took some notes, but he initially had little interest in the case. Bankruptcy fraud was just not that exciting. The case, if there was one, was now three years old. The real victim was dying. It was a family mess that Judd preferred to avoid.
Walter was saying, “We found one of the four plaintiffs, a man named Odell Grove. Poor guy lost an eye in the chain saw accident. He wouldn’t talk to my investigator, but he might talk to the FBI.”
“And your theory is?”
“Stafford settled the cases quickly, kept most of the money, or far more than his share, kept it away from the divorce and bankruptcy, and skipped out.”
“How much?”
“Don’t know yet. I talked to a lawyer in New York who handled the settlements for the manufacturer, some Swiss outfit, but he wouldn’t say much. Send in the FBI and he’ll be a regular windbag.”
Judd laughed and said, “Yes, they do have a way of loosening tongues, don’t they?”
“Once we get the settlement agreements, everything will fall into place. We’ll know how much money was on the table and how much Mack kept for himself.”
Judd was warming to the idea. “Could be a pretty simple matter, really, you know? Find the plaintiffs and see what kind of deal they had with Mack. At the same time, get the paperwork from New York. Let me have a chat with the FBI.”
(21)
The one lunch spot in the county where Jake knew for an absolute certainty that no lawyer, disbarred or otherwise, would ever be recognized was a country store called Sawdust. It was a rustic joint favored by loggers and farmers, all white because blacks had stayed away forever. Jake had been there only once, with Harry Rex who had been looking for a witness in a violent divorce case. Mack Stafford had never been there and could not remember the last time he’d even driven by the place.
They met in the gravel parking lot at 11:30, early to avoid the noon rush, and stopped to look at the two black bears in a cage by the front porch. A confederate battle flag flopped in the breeze from a leaning flagpole.
Jake looked at Mack’s car, a boxy Volvo DL with plenty of miles on it, and said, “Nice wheels.”
“From Rent-A-Wreck. Six-month lease, all cash, insurance included.”
“Under the radar, huh?”
“Completely.”
“Tennessee tags.”
“I’m staying in Memphis these days, in a very small apartment that no one can find. Another cash deal.”
The front door opened into a cramped country store, with creaking planks for flooring, smoked meats hanging above the cash register, low ceilings, half a dozen battered rocking chairs situated around a potbellied stove that was not being used. They nodded to the cashier behind the counter and stepped into the dining room, a large add-on with a linoleum floor that was evidently sinking slowly toward the rear. The walls were covered with football schedules for Ole Miss, Mississippi State, and Southern Miss, as well as junior colleges and high schools. They took a small table in the corner and a waitress followed them to it.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, how are we doin’ today?” she chirped.
“Just great. We’re starving.”
“Special is beef stew and jalape?o cornbread. Can’t beat it.”
Jake nodded. “Ice tea, no sugar.”
“Same,” Mack said. She left them without writing down a word.
Mack preferred to sit with his back to the wall, face to the door. He wore a cap with the bill pulled low and a different pair of glasses. His chances of being recognized in the dining room of the Sawdust were about the same as being recognized in the rain forests of Costa Rica.
“How long you been back?” Jake asked.
“This is my eleventh day.”
“How’s the reentry, so far?”
“Pretty rocky, I’d say. It’s great seeing my mom. I drive down to Greenwood occasionally and sit with her. She’s almost eighty, still in decent shape, still drives. She hasn’t seen Helen and Margot since I left, so that’s another strike against me. They’re adding up. It was a lousy thing to do, Jake. Run away like that. I mean, at the time I was desperate to get out, to get away from Lisa and the practice of law and all that, but you can’t run away from people you love. I should’ve divorced her, closed the office, moved to Memphis or Jackson, got a job selling real estate or new Chevrolets, something, anything to support myself. I would have survived, hell, I would’ve made more money cutting grass.”