27
Early Tuesday morning, Samantha left Brady and headed for Madison, West Virginia, an hour-and-a-half drive that could take twice that long if the roads were choked with coal trucks and school buses. A strong breeze scattered the few leaves still on the trees. The color was gone, and the ridges and valleys were a dull, depressing shade of brown that wouldn’t change until spring. There was a chance of light snow tomorrow, the first of the season. She caught herself glancing into the rearview mirror, and at times managed to smile at her paranoia. Why would anyone waste time following her through the mountains of Appalachia? She was just a temp, an unpaid intern who was growing more homesick by the day. She planned to spend Christmas in New York, to catch up with friends and places, and she was already wondering if she would have the guts to return to Appalachia.
Her new cell phone was on the passenger seat, and she glanced at it and wondered what Jeff was doing. For an hour she thought about calling him just to see if it worked, but she knew it did. And when, exactly, was she supposed to use the damned thing? And for what purpose?
On the main highway south of town she found the meeting place—the Cedar Grove Missionary Baptist Church. She had explained to her clients that they needed to talk, in private, and not at the gas station where Buddy drank his morning coffee and everyone felt free to participate in every conversation. The Ryzers suggested their church, and Samantha speculated it was because they did not want her to see their home. They were sitting in Buddy’s truck in the parking lot, watching the occasional car go by, seemingly without a care in the world. Mavis hugged Samantha as if she were family, and they walked to the fellowship hall behind the small chapel. The door was unlocked; the large room was empty. They pulled folding chairs around a card table and talked about the weather and Christmas plans.
Finally, Samantha got around to business. “I assume you received the letter from Donovan’s office with the tragic news.”
Both nodded sadly. Buddy mumbled, “Such a good man.” Mavis asked, “What does it mean, you know, for us and the case?”
“That’s why I’m here. To explain and answer questions. The black lung claim will continue at full speed. It was filed last month and, as you know, we’re waiting for the medical exam. But I’m afraid the big lawsuit is dead, for now anyway. When Donovan filed the case over in Lexington, he was acting alone. Usually, in these big cases, especially ones that take years and eat up a lot of cash, Donovan would put together a litigation team of several other lawyers and firms. They would split the labor and expenses. But in your case, he was still trying to convince some of his lawyer buddies to hop on board. Frankly, they were reluctant. Taking on Lonerock Coal and its law firm and trying to prove behavior that’s criminal is a huge job.”
“Y’all explained all this before,” Buddy said bluntly.
“Donovan explained it. I was in the room, but, as I made clear, I was not joining the big case as a lawyer.”
“So we have no one?” Mavis asked.
“That’s correct. As of now, there’s no one to handle the case, and it has to be dismissed. I’m sorry.”
Buddy’s breathing was labored enough when he was perfectly content, but the slightest bit of stress or unpleasantness made him gasp. “This ain’t right,” he said, his mouth wide open as he sucked in air. Mavis stared at her in disbelief, then wiped a tear from her cheek.
“No, it’s not right,” Samantha said. “But what happened to Donovan was not right either. He was only thirty-nine years old and was doing great work as a lawyer. His death was a senseless tragedy that has left all of his clients out in the cold. You’re not the only ones who are looking for answers.”
“Y’all suspect foul play?” Buddy asked.
“It’s still under investigation and so far there’s no evidence of wrongdoing. A lot of unanswered questions, but no real proof.”
“Looks kinda fishy to me,” he said. “We catch them sumbitches red-handed hiding documents and screwing people, then Donovan files a billion-dollar lawsuit, and then his airplane crashes under mysterious circumstances.”
“Buddy, your language,” Mavis scolded. “You are in church.”
“I’m in the fellowship hall. The church is right over there.”
“It’s still the church. Watch your language.”
Chastised, Buddy shrugged and said, “I’ll bet they find something.”
Mavis said, “They’re harassing him at work. It started right after we filed the big lawsuit over in Lexington. Tell her about it, Buddy. Don’t you think it’s important, Samantha? Don’t you need to know?”
“It ain’t nothing I can’t handle,” Buddy said. “Just a little nuisance treatment. They put me back driving a haul truck, which is a little rougher than the track loader, but it ain’t no big deal. And they put me to working nights three times last week. My schedule was set for months, and now they’re jacking me around with different shifts. I can take it. I still got a job at a good wage. Hell, the way it is now with no union protection, they could walk in tomorrow and fire me on the spot. I couldn’t do nothing about it. They busted our union twenty years ago and we’ve been fair game ever since. I’m lucky to have a job.”
Mavis said, “True, but you can’t work much longer. He has to climb up these steps to get in the haul truck, and he can barely make it. They watch him too, just waiting for him to collapse or something so they can say he’s disabled and therefore a danger, then they can fire him.”
“They can fire me anyway. I just said that.”
Mavis bit her tongue as Buddy inhaled noisily. Samantha removed some papers from her briefcase and placed them on the table. She said, “This is a motion to dismiss, and I need you to sign it.”
“Dismiss what?” Buddy asked, though he knew the answer. He refused to look at the papers.
“The federal lawsuit against Lonerock Coal and Casper Slate.”
“Who files it?”
“You met Mattie, my boss at the clinic. She is Donovan’s aunt and she’s also the attorney for his estate. The court will give her the authority to wind up his business.”
“And what if I don’t sign it?”
Samantha had not anticipated this, and, knowing so little about federal procedure, she wasn’t sure of her answer, but a quick response was needed nonetheless. “If the case is not pushed by you, the plaintiff, then it will eventually be dismissed by the court.”
“So either way, it’s dead?” Buddy asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m not quitting. I’ll not sign it.”
Mavis blurted, “Why don’t you take the case? You’re a lawyer.” Both eyed her intently, and it was obvious the question had been kicked around at length.
This, Samantha had anticipated. She replied, “Yes, but I am not experienced in federal court and I’m not licensed in Kentucky.” They absorbed this without comment, and without really understanding it. A lawyer is a lawyer, right?
Mavis shifted gears with “Now, on this black lung claim, you said you were gonna calculate all the back benefits we’re entitled to. And you said that if we win the case, we get to go back to the day we first filed the claim, some nine years ago. Is that right?”
“That’s correct,” Samantha said, shuffling for some notes. “And according to our numbers, it’s about $85,000.”
“That’s not much money,” Buddy said in disgust, as if the paltry sum could be blamed on Samantha. He drew in mightily and continued, “They ought to pay more, a helluva lot more after what they done. I should’ve quit working in the mines ten years ago when I got sick, and I would have if I’d had the benefits. But no, hell no, I had to keep working and keep breathing the dust.”
“Just got sicker and sicker,” Mavis added gravely.
“Now I won’t be able to work another year, two at max. And if we ever get ’em in court they’ll be liable for almost nothing. It ain’t right.”
“I agree,” Samantha said. “But we’ve had this conversation, Buddy, and more than once.”
“That’s why I want to sue them bastards in federal court.”
“Your language, Buddy,”
“I’ll cuss if I want to, dammit Mavis.”
“Look, I need to be going,” Samantha said, reaching for her briefcase. “I wish you would reconsider your decision not to sign this dismissal.”
“I’m not quitting,” Buddy said, gasping.
“Fine, but I’m not driving over here again for this. Understood?”
He just nodded. Mavis walked out with her, leaving Buddy behind for a few moments. At the car, Mavis said, “Thank you so much, Samantha. We are grateful. We went years without a lawyer, and now it’s comforting to know we have one. He’s dying and he knows it, so he has some bad days when he’s not too pleasant.”
“I understand.”
At the ancient Conoco station, Samantha stopped for gas and, hopefully, a drinkable cup of coffee. A few vehicles were parked to the side of the building, all with West Virginia license plates, and none of which she recognized. Jeff had told her to be more aware, to watch every car and truck, notice every license plate, look at faces without staring, and listen to voices while appearing uninterested. Assume someone is always watching, he had warned, but she found it difficult to accept.
“They believe we have something they desperately want,” he had said. The “we” part still troubled her. She didn’t recall joining anyone’s team. As she stared at the pump, she saw a man enter the store, though she had not noticed another vehicle arrive in the past few minutes.
Bozo was back. She paid with a credit card at the pump and could have sped away, but she needed confirmation. She entered through the front door and said good morning to the clerk at the register. Several old men were sitting in rockers around a potbellied stove and none seemed to notice her. A few more steps and she was in the tiny café, which was nothing but a cheap add-on with a dozen tables adorned with checkered cloth. Five people were eating, sipping coffee, and talking.
He was seated at the counter, staring at the grill, where a cook was frying bacon. She couldn’t see his face and didn’t want a scene, and for a second she stood awkwardly in the middle of the café, uncertain. She caught a glance or two and decided to leave. She drove back into Madison and stopped at a convenience store where she bought a road map. Her leased Ford had a GPS but she had not bothered to program it. She needed directions fast.
Half an hour later, as she drifted along a county road somewhere in Lawrence County, Kentucky, her new cell phone finally found enough service for a call. Jeff answered after four rings. She calmly explained what was happening, and he made her repeat everything in slow motion.
“He wanted you to see him,” Jeff said. “Why else would he risk being seen? It’s not an unusual tactic. He knows you’re not going to punch him or anything, so he just delivers a not so subtle message.”
“Which is?”
“We’re watching. We can always find you. You’re hanging around with the wrong people and you might get hurt.”
“Okay, I got the message. Now what?”
“Nothing. Just keep your eyes open and see if he’s waiting when you get back to Brady.”
“I don’t want to go back to Brady.”
“Sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the road for a few days.”
“Vague enough.”
She drove into Brady just before noon and saw no one suspicious. She parked on the street near the office, and from behind her sunglasses managed to scan the area before going inside. On the one hand, she felt like an idiot; on the other, she half expected to see Bozo lurking behind a tree. And what the hell was he going to do? Stalking her would bore any private eye to death.
The Crump brood was calling. Evidently, Francine had told one of them that she had changed her mind again and planned to meet with Ms. Kofer and make no changes to her existing will. This, of course, fired up the Crumps, and they were burning up the phone lines in an effort to find Ms. Kofer and set her straight, again. No one at the clinic had heard from Francine. Samantha reluctantly took the stack of phone messages from Barb, who offered the unsolicited suggestion that she should call only one, perhaps Jonah, the oldest, and explain that their dear mother had not called the clinic, and insist that they stop harassing the front desk.
She closed her door and called Jonah. He said hello pleasantly enough, then immediately threatened to sue her and get her disbarred if she again messed with “Momma’s will.” She said she hadn’t seen nor heard from Francine in the past twenty-four hours. She had no appointment scheduled with her. Nothing. This calmed him a little, though he was ready to erupt any second.
She said, “Could it be possible that your mother is playing games with you?”
“Momma don’t think like that,” he said.
She politely asked him to call off the dogs, to ask his siblings to stop calling the clinic. He refused, and they finally brokered a deal: if Francine came to the office seeking legal advice, Samantha would ask her to call Jonah and inform him of what she was doing.
She quickly hung up, and two seconds later Barb buzzed her. “It’s the FBI,” she said.
The caller identified himself as Agent Banahan, from the Roanoke office, and said he was looking for a man named Jeff Gray. Samantha admitted to knowing Jeff Gray, and asked the agent how she might go about confirming his identity. Banahan said he would be happy to stop by her office in half an hour or so; he was in the area. She said she would not discuss anything over the phone and agreed to the meeting. Twenty minutes later, he was in the reception area being examined by Barb, who thought he was quite cute and thought of herself as quite the flirt. Banahan was not impressed and took a seat in the small conference room where Samantha and Mattie were waiting with a recorder on the table.
After terse introductions, and a close examination of his credentials by both lawyers, Mattie began by saying, “Jeff Gray is my nephew.”
“We know that,” Banahan said with a smirk, and the women instantly disliked him. “Do you know where he is?”
Mattie looked at Samantha and said, “I don’t. Do you?”
“No.” She wasn’t lying; at that moment she had no idea where Jeff was hiding.
“When did you last speak to him?” he asked, in Samantha’s direction.
Mattie interrupted by saying, “Look, his brother was killed Monday of last week; we buried him on Wednesday, five days before you boys raided his office. Under the terms of his will, Jeff is the executor and I’m the attorney for the executor. So, yes, I’ll be talking a lot to my nephew. What is it you want?”
“We have a lot of questions.”
“Do you have a warrant for his arrest?”
“No.”
“Good, so he is not evading an arrest.”
“That’s right. We just want to talk.”
“Any and all conversations with Jeff Gray will take place right here, at this table. Understood? I will advise him to say nothing outside the presence of Ms. Kofer and me, okay?”
“That’s fine, Ms. Wyatt, so when can we chat with him?”
Mattie relaxed and said, “Well, I’m not sure where he is today. I just tried his cell and it went straight to voice mail.” Samantha shook her head as if she hadn’t spoken to Jeff in weeks. Mattie continued, “We were scheduled to go to court tomorrow to open the estate and start the process of probate, but the judge rescheduled it until next week. So, I don’t know where he is at this moment.”
Samantha asked, “Is this related to the actions the FBI took yesterday when it confiscated files from the office of Donovan Gray?”
Banahan showed her both palms and said, “Isn’t that pretty obvious?”
“Seems like it is. Who are you investigating, now that Donovan Gray is dead?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Mattie asked, “Is Jeff a subject of your investigation?”
“No, not at this time.”
“He’s done nothing wrong,” Mattie said.