Marine One

'You don't think Collins was playing around with the first lady, do you?'

'Hard to say. Nothing surprises me anymore. I've seen people do all kinds of stupid things. She's attractive, he's attractive, and the president was an ass. Who knows.'

'Even if they were, you saying that would make Collins want to kill the president? Why? He's going to do what? Divorce his wife and marry the first lady? Never happen.'

'No, hell, no. I'm not saying that.'

Byrd moved forward and said in almost a whisper, 'I'm just saying these are interesting photographs. You're the one with the big brain, you figure out what this is. You figure out why they're whispering in each other's ear and touching. I know why I whisper in a woman's ear, and I know why I accidentally brush against her ass.'

'That's just impossible. No way.'

Byrd sat forward and looked at me hard. 'Maybe that's why he's sleeping in the other room. Maybe Melissa Collins is the only other person who knew about this.'

'That's impossible,' I said, staring at the photos, running through them again and again. They were all from one party. People were mingling around punch bowls and sandwich trays. Waiters and waitresses were scattered throughout carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres. But in six of the eight photographs, there was Colonel Collins standing right next to the first lady, and either she was whispering to him or he was whispering to her. I thought maybe it was because they were close to a source of music or noise. But none of the other people standing near them seemed to be having the same problem.

'When were these pictures taken?'

'Three months before the accident.'

I put them back in the envelope. 'I can keep these?'

'You can keep them, but not use them. You can't show them to anybody or ask anybody about them. But you may use them to lead you to other evidence, if you get my drift.'

'He's got to testify, Tinny. And bring his document.'

'Won't happen.'

'Then WorldCopter may go up in flames and he may be responsible.'

'He said that was your problem, not his.'

'What's his name?'

Byrd looked at me intensely. 'No, you don't. No way am I turning him over. You'll subpoena him to trial. I know you will. Or you'll try and depose him and force him to lie under oath, which you know he won't do. No way.'

'Then maybe I'll subpoena your ass and ask you to testify to his name under oath.'

Byrd laughed. 'Yeah, but I'd be happy to lie under oath. I got no problem with that, and you know it. And I'm like a journalist. I don't give up my sources.'

'Even journalists can be forced to give up their sources in federal court.'

'Not this journalist.'

'So what do I do?'

Byrd looked around the restaurant and then back at me. 'We've got to find out who else was at Camp David that night. Then we'll know why.'

19

WE DROVE TO Hackett's office early in the morning so we could get set up for the deposition. His Washington offices were spectacular, just like his offices in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. He had a paneled, corner office at each location, surrounded by those of numerous associates who ran his cases day to day. He had no partners. That would require sharing his profits.

He'd fly in on his Gulfstream and set up shop for a day or two at each office each month, but his primary office, his home base, was still in New York. Since the crash of Marine One he'd spent most of his time in Washington. He had increased his staff, hired a couple of additional attorneys, and taken on a well-known woman to handle the PR. Her job description must have been to get him on the front page every week. She issued written statements from him on everything. Every time the NTSB said anything, every time WorldCopter said anything, every time a document was filed with the court, every time there was a hearing, the press always got his opinion in a faxed, professionally prepared statement, which was usually quoted word for word.

Knowing all that, I should have anticipated what Hackett did next. When we arrived at his office and were ushered into the gorgeous conference room, sitting around the table and against the walls were at least ten reporters with their notepads ready and 'gotcha' looks on their faces.

I tried not to say anything right away. I shook Hackett's powerful hand, as did Rachel, then the hands of the other three attorneys who sat by him. Rachel and I sat down and put down our heavy litigation bags. After we exchanged superficial pleasantries, I asked Hackett, 'Who invited the press?'

'Well, obviously since you didn't, and we're the only two parties coming to this deposition, I must have. Did you really think someone else might have?'

'I just like to confirm things. I thought maybe they had offices here.'

Hackett smiled. 'The press calls me all the time, just as I'm sure they call you. Unlike you, I answer them because I have nothing to hide. They asked me what was happening next in the case, and I told them about this deposition. They asked if they could come, and I said of course. Depositions are open to the public. So unless you obtain an order from the court before the start time of this deposition-ten minutes according to my watch-they'll be here. You set this deposition for nine o'clock. Mrs. Collins is here, the court reporter is here, and I'm here. So we're ready to begin. If you find the presence of the press and the scrutiny of your case intolerable and want to try to exclude them, you will have missed your chance to take Mrs. Collins's deposition and you won't get another. Now, are you ready to begin?'

Hackett loved gamesmanship. I wasn't going to let him or his scheming distract me. I sat down, opened my notebook, looked at the court reporter, and said, 'Swear the witness.' I looked at Melissa Collins carefully for the first time. She was surprisingly attractive. I had met Chuck Collins and found him rather ordinary-looking, in a Marine sort of way. He was in excellent shape with short hair and sharp features, and he was always tan from his noontime runs. But I didn't think anyone would call him handsome, although Tinny had. I had always carried around a stereotype that attractive people married other attractive people. I found it unusual when an average-looking person married someone attractive. This seemed to be one of those exceptions. Melissa Collins was beautiful. Especially for a woman of her age, maybe thirty-five. She was tall and slender and at least the same height as Collins. She had steel blue eyes and looked directly at me with infinite curiosity and clarity. It was quite an amazing look. She was obviously strong, and composed.

Many attorneys begin by asking witnesses if they understand they've been sworn to tell the truth, and other silly questions that are essentially throat-clearing, but I had abandoned that long ago. I went right at the hard questions from the beginning, then asked follow-up questions as I went along. I just asked whatever question came to my mind and only looked at my outline later to make sure I had covered everything.

She had clearly been prepared for the usual approach. I started in by asking if she was the wife of the pilot of Marine One, which she of course quickly acknowledged. I then asked, 'Did you ever consider divorcing Colonel Collins?'

Hackett came out of his chair. He accused me of harassing the witness, of trying to intimidate her, of inappropriate questions, whatever he could come up with. I looked at her again and said, 'Your attorney has objected, but he did not instruct you not to answer, which was wise on his part because that is inappropriate in a federal case. Did you ever consider divorcing Colonel Collins?'

'No,' she said softly and firmly. She was annoyed by my question but wasn't going to show it.

I went back and started at the beginning of her relationship with Collins, how they had met, where they had been married, the various places they had been stationed, his time in the Marine Corps, how difficult the separation was, and how absolutely wonderful their relationship was before he was killed. 'Did you and your husband ever sleep in separate bedrooms?'

This time Hackett came unhinged. He accused me of invading the privacy of her relationship with her husband, which of course I responded to by pointing out that she had made a claim for loss of consortium-the loss of sexual satisfaction from her marriage-and that as I understood it, she wanted WorldCopter to pay her for that loss. I had to determine what that loss was. Hackett acknowledged that and said that I was entitled to inquire, but the questions had to be appropriate. The question was of course appropriate. He just hated it. After our debate Hackett stood up. 'We're going to take a break. I want to speak to my client about this.'

Being obstreperous is common among attorneys. It was what they did. And they got away with it because, if you brought a motion to stop it, the judge would always say, now now, you young children get along, go back and try it again. There just aren't enough judges around who will spank an attorney for behaving badly.

Hackett probably wanted to ask her why in the hell I was asking about her and her husband sleeping in separate rooms, and if there was something he should know. Clearly she hadn't told him about their marital problems. He'd find out soon enough. It wouldn't make any difference in his demands or anything else about the way he'd approach the case, but he'd find out. And he'd be a little annoyed. But I wasn't there just to point out things to him that he didn't know, I was there to find answers that would change the case. If a woman came into a courtroom crying about the death of her loving husband, and it turned out they hadn't slept together in five years and she'd filed for divorce while sleeping with someone else, that was an entirely different case.

She returned. Hackett sat down beside her. 'She's ready to answer.'

'Do you remember the question?'

'Yes.'

'And what's your answer?'

'Our relationship was fine. We slept together in the same bed, every night.'

I looked her in the eye and saw nothing but hardness. So she was willing to lie. Either that or Tinny Byrd had gone to the wrong house. So how do you prove that a woman hadn't been sleeping with her husband? Who else is going to testify about that when she's lying and he's dead?

'You're still living at the same house where you lived on the day of the accident?'

'Yes.'

'And have you changed anything, have you rearranged any furniture, moved anything from one closet to another, anything like that?'