he might know where the body is and fishing to see whether he’d dropped off any clues during his drunken chitchat. Well, I played along, and thanked him for the information he gave me the night before, which was nothing. I thanked him twice, then three times, and I could feel Romey sweating on the other end of the phone. He called twice more that day, at the office, then called me at home that night, drunk again. It was almost comical, but I thought I could string him along and maybe he’d let something slip. I told him I had to tell Roy, and that Roy had told the FBI, and that the FBI was now trailing him around the clock.”
“This really freaked him out,” Foltrigg added helpfully.
“Yeah, he cussed me out pretty good, but called the next day at the office. We had lunch, and the guy was a nervous wreck. He was too scared to come right out and ask if we knew about the body, and I played it cool. I told him we were certain we’d have the body in plenty of time for the trial, and I thanked him again. He was cracking up before my eyes. He hadn’t slept or bathed. His eyes were puffy and red. He got drunk over lunch, and started accusing me of trickery and all sorts of sleazy, unethical behavior. It was an ugly scene. Ipaid the check and left, and he called me at home that night, remarkably sober. He apologized. I said no problem. I explained to him that Roy was seriously considering an indictment against him for obstruction of justice, and this set him off. He said we couldn’t prove it. I said maybe not, but he’d be indicted, arrested, and put on trial, and there would be no way he could represent Barry Muldanno. He screamed and cussed for fifteen minutes, then hung up. I never heard from him again.”
“He knows, or he knew, where Muldanno put the body,” Foltrigg added with certainty.
“Why weren’t we informed?” Trumann asked.
“We were about to tell you. In fact, Thomas and I discussed it this afternoon, just a short time before we got the call.” Foltrigg said this with an air of indifference, as if Trumann should not question him about such things. Trumann glanced at Scherff, who was glued to his legal pad, drawing pictures of handguns.
Foltrigg finished his tomato juice and tossed the can in the garbage. He crossed his feet. “You guys need to track Clifford’s movements from New Orleans to Memphis. Which route did he take? Are there friends along the way? Where did he stop? Who did he see in Memphis? Surely he must’ve talked to someone from the time he left New Orleans until he shot himself. Don’t you think so?”
Trumann nodded. “It’s a long drive. I’m sure he had to stop along the way.”
“He knew where the body is, and he obviously planned to commit suicide. There’s an outside chance he told someone, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
“Think about it, Larry. Let’s say you’re the lawyer, heaven forbid. And you represent a killer who’smurdered a United States senator. Let’s say that the killer tells you, his lawyer, where he hid the body. So, two, and only two, people in the entire world know this secret. And you, the lawyer, go off the deep end and decide to kill yourself. And you plan it. You know you’re gonna die, right? You get pills and whiskey and a gun and a water hose, and you drive five hours from home, and you kill yourself. Now, would you share your little secret with anyone?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know.”
“There’s a chance, right?”
“Slight chance.”
“Good. If we have a slight chance, then we must investigate it thoroughly. I’d start with his office personnel. Find out when he left New Orleans. Check his credit cards. Where did he buy gas? Where did he eat? Where did he get the gun and the pills and the booze? Does he have family between here and there? Old lawyer friends along the way? There are a thousand things to check.”
Trumann handed the phone to Scherff. “Call our office. Get Hightower on the phone.”
Foltrigg was
“This really freaked him out,” Foltrigg added helpfully.
“Yeah, he cussed me out pretty good, but called the next day at the office. We had lunch, and the guy was a nervous wreck. He was too scared to come right out and ask if we knew about the body, and I played it cool. I told him we were certain we’d have the body in plenty of time for the trial, and I thanked him again. He was cracking up before my eyes. He hadn’t slept or bathed. His eyes were puffy and red. He got drunk over lunch, and started accusing me of trickery and all sorts of sleazy, unethical behavior. It was an ugly scene. Ipaid the check and left, and he called me at home that night, remarkably sober. He apologized. I said no problem. I explained to him that Roy was seriously considering an indictment against him for obstruction of justice, and this set him off. He said we couldn’t prove it. I said maybe not, but he’d be indicted, arrested, and put on trial, and there would be no way he could represent Barry Muldanno. He screamed and cussed for fifteen minutes, then hung up. I never heard from him again.”
“He knows, or he knew, where Muldanno put the body,” Foltrigg added with certainty.
“Why weren’t we informed?” Trumann asked.
“We were about to tell you. In fact, Thomas and I discussed it this afternoon, just a short time before we got the call.” Foltrigg said this with an air of indifference, as if Trumann should not question him about such things. Trumann glanced at Scherff, who was glued to his legal pad, drawing pictures of handguns.
Foltrigg finished his tomato juice and tossed the can in the garbage. He crossed his feet. “You guys need to track Clifford’s movements from New Orleans to Memphis. Which route did he take? Are there friends along the way? Where did he stop? Who did he see in Memphis? Surely he must’ve talked to someone from the time he left New Orleans until he shot himself. Don’t you think so?”
Trumann nodded. “It’s a long drive. I’m sure he had to stop along the way.”
“He knew where the body is, and he obviously planned to commit suicide. There’s an outside chance he told someone, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
“Think about it, Larry. Let’s say you’re the lawyer, heaven forbid. And you represent a killer who’smurdered a United States senator. Let’s say that the killer tells you, his lawyer, where he hid the body. So, two, and only two, people in the entire world know this secret. And you, the lawyer, go off the deep end and decide to kill yourself. And you plan it. You know you’re gonna die, right? You get pills and whiskey and a gun and a water hose, and you drive five hours from home, and you kill yourself. Now, would you share your little secret with anyone?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know.”
“There’s a chance, right?”
“Slight chance.”
“Good. If we have a slight chance, then we must investigate it thoroughly. I’d start with his office personnel. Find out when he left New Orleans. Check his credit cards. Where did he buy gas? Where did he eat? Where did he get the gun and the pills and the booze? Does he have family between here and there? Old lawyer friends along the way? There are a thousand things to check.”
Trumann handed the phone to Scherff. “Call our office. Get Hightower on the phone.”
Foltrigg was
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