Duty to Investigate

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

0456, 07 November 2003

Beck Residence

Chicago, Illinois

Mike Beck glanced across the bed, saw the blond hair of a beautiful young woman, struggled to remember how she’d gotten there, and slowly recalled that they met on the plane from Boston the night before. She rolled over and stretched, as trusting and content as one of Mike’s ex-wife’s cats, causing the sheet to slide below her breasts. Mike hurried to her side of the bed.

“Sorry; I have to catch a plane,” he said. “Why don’t you sleep in and make yourself at home? There’s coffee and eggs in the kitchen and you can just lock the door on your way out. I’ll call you when I get back in town next week.”

She smiled again and rolled back to the middle of the bed. Within ten minutes Mike shaved, showered, and dressed. He walked to the kitchen and pushed the start button on the coffee pot. He then opened the briefcase that had been left near the door of his home office by his assistant, Brenda Higgins, and took out the folder titled USMC PENSACOLA. The folder was bound in the same manner as a deposition transcript and included several tabs: orders, a packing list, itinerary, rental car numbers, frequent flyer numbers, phone numbers, lodging reservations, and restaurant lists. This was the first time Mike had seen this folder, but he’d seen hundreds of similar folders prepared by Brenda. In fact, she prepared a new one for every trip.

A second folder inside Mike’s briefcase was titled ARAMEX v AGCO and held Mike’s personal laptop. During the trip to Pensacola, Mike planned to read both the folder and everything on the laptop. Never having done any previous work on the case, he expected to appear in court to try the case on the following Tuesday.

Mike opened the folder to the PACKING LIST section and returned to the bedroom. He quickly went down the list, putting everything into the suitcase: the Marine Corps dress summer uniform, black shoes, cover, ribbons, belt, socks, white T-shirts, and a selection of civilian clothes.

When Mike returned to the kitchen, he peered out the window and observed the front gate open. He knew Brenda had gotten up at 3:30 a.m. to take him to the airport, which seemed utterly ridiculous since he could easily have driven his car and left it at the airport parking lot. Mike knew better than to negotiate the issue with Brenda and just took it for granted that anytime he left town, she would show up at his door an hour and a half before flight time. Indeed, Brenda insisted on dropping off and picking up Mike from the airport on every occasion, business or personal, and many unknowing secretaries, paralegals, and associates incurred Brenda’s extreme displeasure for offering rides to Mike.

At age 38, Brenda exuded a powerful sexuality, with raven black hair, dark eyes, and a stunningly beautiful face. If critically examined, Brenda might be considered a little overweight, but few men saw her that way. Instead, most were infatuated with her beautiful eyes, perfect skin, and ravishing breasts. This morning, Brenda pulled her vehicle to the side of Mike’s house, parked, and entered through the back door.

As Mike walked into the entryway, Brenda, with a smile on her face, asked, “Did you decide to buy yourself a used Honda Civic?”

Mike ignored the question.

“Let me guess,” Brenda said. “Is she a court reporter, a cocktail waitress, or just a horny housewife?”

Mike continued to ignore Brenda as she faked a disgusted look.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“I think I have everything.”

Mike and Brenda spent the trip to the airport reviewing the work he’d left for her at the office.

Brenda pulled over to the curb at O’Hare International’s Terminal Four and got out to help Mike unload and to say goodbye. When Brenda leaned down to pick up Mike’s briefcase, he couldn’t help but notice her substantial cleavage and that she wore a lacy black bra. He also noticed that she wore a new and very attractive outfit. Mike looked Brenda in the eyes.

“That’s a nice outfit. Is it new?”

Brenda blushed. “Yeah. I picked it up on sale. I’m getting so fat that I can’t fit into my old stuff anymore.”

As Brenda pulled away from the curb, a surge of emotion overwhelmed her. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the traffic. Even the smallest compliment from Mike had that effect on her. She knew he had an eye for the ladies, but she sometimes wished he had more of an eye for her.

1500, 07 November 2003

Naval Reserve Center

NAS Pensacola, FL

Lieutenant Colonel Mike Beck, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve, was drunk when he walked off American Flight 333 from Chicago to Pensacola, stepped to the side, and dialed his civilian law partner, Sidney Johnson, using his cell phone.

“Did we get a verdict in the Boston case?” Mike asked.

“Mike! We got a verdict all right. Hell, we kicked their asses! No, we murdered the sons of bitches. Sixty-five million in compensatory damages and one hundred million in punitive damages.”

“Sid, you did a great job working this one up for trial. The motion to exclude their expert witness was a work of genius.”

“Listen, Mike, your cross-examination won this case. This one’s going to send shockwaves up the insurance boys’ asses, and by the time you get back from temporary duty, we’ll have settlement offers on half our big cases.”

“I hope you’re right, Sid.”

“Oh, I’m right. Have a good time in Pensacola and try and stay out of trouble. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

Mike continued walking from the gate to the cocktail lounge. Its small size made it easy to spot his friend, Steve Way, sitting at the bar, talking to a salesman in a wrinkled suit. Steve would talk to anyone, especially after a couple of beers. His ability to communicate with people made him a great trial lawyer, but it also made him a pain in the ass as a friend.

This red-haired farm boy from southern Indiana, six feet tall and 180 pounds, believed above all else in The American Way of Life. He always seemed in a good mood and could make people feel better about the world and themselves. Mike sat on the vacant stool next to his friend.

“Hey, Wrong Way. You ready to get into some trouble?”

With a warm smile, Steve gave out a yell. “Mike! Damn, you’re looking good, old buddy.”

Turning toward the bartender at the end of the bar, Steve yelled over the crowd, “A beer for my compadre and two more over here.”

The bartender walked away from a small crowd waiting to order and brought three beers. Seeing the bartender’s reaction and looking at Steve, Mike knew he’d already consumed a lot of beer.

“When does the Colonel get in?” Mike asked.

Wrong Way slurred his reply. “He’s already here. He checked in at the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters a couple hours ago.”

Mike decided to drink one beer, dump the salesman, and get to the Bachelor Officers Quarters’ at the Pensacola Naval Air Station as soon as possible.

1850, 07 November 2003

Naval Reserve Center

NAS Pensacola, FL

Lieutenant Colonel Beck and Major Way hustled into the conference room and found seats among the other instructors on the Trial Advocacy Team. Many had been on the team for years, and Beck considered them his closest friends. They’d flown in from New York, Boston, Philadelphia, St. Louis, and Los Angeles. The Team included 20 of the leading trial lawyers in the United States who were drawn from the Air Force, Army, Navy, and Marine Corps Reserves.

At exactly 1900, the officer in charge of the Trial Advocacy Team, Colonel Max Dickenson, USMC, marched into the conference room. The training officer shouted, “Attention on deck!” All instructors stood at attention, a common military courtesy, but one that was rarely practiced in the legal community. However, it seemed a natural reaction with regards to Col. Dickenson.

“It’s great to see all of you again,” Dickenson said. “The training officer is passing out this year’s course schedules and tentative assignments. I’m sure you all brought your calendars, and I would like you to check for conflicts this evening and resolve any issues with the training officer before we leave on Sunday. He is also giving you the case file for next year, which we will review tomorrow. Dinner this evening will be at Maxi’s at 2100.”

0450, 08 November 2003

Naval Training Center

NAS Pensacola, FL

Mike Beck and Steve Way stayed in downtown Pensacola, drinking until past 0200, but Mike still got up at five in the morning for a six-mile run. He had a pot of coffee brewing and sat in front of the television, watching the news and lacing his running shoes when someone knocked on the BOQ door. Mike opened the door and was surprised to see Col. Dickenson standing in the corridor.

“Good morning, Mike. You have the coffee on yet?”

“Yes, sir. Should be ready in a second.”

“I figured you would be going for a run and wondered if you would mind if I tagged along.”

Mike could smell the ocean breeze when the two walked out of the BOQ room and down the three flights of stairs towards Gate Two. The sun was barely visible to the east, and sea birds were starting to squawk. The civilian gate sentry gave a quick look at their military identification cards and did his best to give Col. Dickenson a proper salute. The two proceeded out the gate and started running south on Pensacola Drive. Both were long-distance runners and in great shape. Mike held back to let Dickenson set the pace. After a couple of miles, Dickenson started talking.

“Mike, we need to discuss your Marine Corps career.”

A loud laugh burst from Mike’s gut. “Sir, I don’t have a career. Everyone knows that. I’ve been passed over for promotion three times.”

“I thought you would say that, but I have a plan, and I’m hoping to convince you to go along with it. First, Mike, I have rated you above everyone else on the trial advocacy team for the past three years, and I meant every word in your fitness reports. You set the kind of example that the course needs to motivate the students to be the best trial lawyers, and I intend to do everything in my power to see that you stay on the team.”

The colonel stopped talking to catch his breath, keeping up the pace while ascending the overpass. Beck took the opportunity to interrupt.

“Sir, because of my failure to get promoted I have a mandatory retirement date in less than a year. I’ve enjoyed the program and would like to stay on as an instructor, but it just isn’t possible.”

“Well, Mike, will you hear me out? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why you’ve been passed over. You have the best fitness reports I’ve ever seen, every award imaginable, and a first-class physical fitness score. The problem is that the only reserve billet you’ve had is as a member of the trial advocacy team, and you haven’t even signed up for a command and staff course. But I have a way to fix both problems.”

Without slowing down, Colonel Dickenson turned his head and proudly smirked. “There is a billet opening for Staff Judge Advocate at the Fourth Division. The reason the billet has never been filled is that the general already has a full-time civilian attorney with the Office of General Counsel, someone who does everything for him and who hasn’t seen the need for a reservist. But the OGC lawyer happens to be an old friend of mine, understands the need to get you promoted, and is willing to play ball with us.”

The faster he talked, the faster Dickenson ran, and Beck worked hard to keep up.

“The best part is the drill site—New Orleans. All you have to do is enroll in the Command and Staff course and study one weekend a month in New Orleans. The next time you come up before the promotion board, you’ll have a non-trial advocacy billet, a fitness report from a two-star general, and the Command and Staff course. I think the the promotion board would react favorably to someone sticking it out and doing all that without a guaranteed promotion. All right, now you can talk, and I’m going to shut up.”

Beck slowed to turn at the halfway point and then started to answer. “Sir, while on active duty I was a prosecutor and a defense counsel. I’ve never done anything as a reservist except teach trial advocacy, and I’ve forgotten anything I learned at the Basic School about being a Marine. In short, I don’t know jack s**t about operational law or being a staff judge advocate. What if I got mobilized?”

This made Dickenson cackle. “Mike, if things get bad enough for the Fourth Division to be mobilized, I’m taking my family to Canada.”

They both burst out laughing, and Dickenson continued. “Besides, you aren’t really going to be a staff judge advocate. Leave that to the OGC attorney. You just worry about finishing the Command and Staff course.”

“Can I think this thing through and make sure I can do it?”

Dickenson had a curious look on his face. “There’s a kicker. There is also a Deputy Staff Judge Advocate billet open at Fourth Division. I have it reserved for Major Way. Think about how lonely you must be in your big ten-million-dollar mansion in Chicago and think about what in the world you intend to do with all your money. I’m betting that one weekend a month with your buddy in New Orleans is about the most fun you can expect in life. But think about it and give me an answer on Sunday.”

After that, Colonel Dickenson stopped talking and picked up the pace. He made one last comment to Beck as they split up back at the BOQ. “Mike, let’s keep this secret among us girls. Don’t even tell Wrong Way. I really don’t want a dozen instructors coming to me asking why they can’t have the billet. Check?”

“Check, sir. I won’t say anything to anybody.”