Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [192]
This was not a partisan thing, in Wisenberg’s estimation. He disliked politicians across the board. One of his favorite books, an obscure manifesto written by Albert J. Nock in 1943 and titled Memoirs of a Superfluous Man, took the position that “politicians are a professional, criminal class, so we shouldn’t be surprised when they commit criminal behavior or engage in criminal behavior.” Wisenberg thus started with this jaded view of politicians, including presidents. Even within that suspect universe, he felt that Clinton was especially “pernicious.” He would say of the forty-second president: “I thought he was, even for the American political system, unusually mendacious.”
As Wisenberg sped along empty roads in the white Plymouth van, he cranked up a tape of Ralph Stanley and the Clinch Mountain Boys. With his short, black hair and pinstriped suit, he didn’t look like a man who would appreciate loud bluegrass music. But Wisenberg was an iconoclast, even when it came to his musical taste. Jackie Bennett squinted at his note pad, trying to decipher the directions in the dark. The group in the traveling OIC road show also included FBI agent Steve Irons and another prosecutor named Steve Binhak. Bennett turned down the volume of the bluegrass tape so that the four men could discuss strategy. They all agreed on this much: “There’s something going on that’s very unholy here, involving either the White House or close aides of the White House.” The mood in the van was one of being “excited by the prospect of developing this evidence.”
Bennett believed that this might be one of those rare moments in a criminal investigation when all the suspicions that the prosecutors had developed over a period of years were proven true. Specifically, Bennett thought to himself, “Gosh, this might be something that confirms our suspicions about the manner in which this administration does business.” He later acknowledged that by this time, “I was as skeptical of Clinton and the people he surrounded himself with.” He hoped that this trip to Maryland might prove that OIC had been right all along.
The neighborhood where Linda Tripp lived was falling asleep when the OIC van pulled up, at nearly 11:00 P.M. Tripp’s house on Cricket Pass in Columbia, part of a neat planned community about fifteen years old, was identified by a single light burning on the front porch. When Tripp cracked open the door, the OIC team produced identification badges and trooped inside. The house, Bennett immediately noted, was filled with expensive-looking antiques and vintage furniture. Linda Tripp, a biggish woman with a tangle of blond hair that appeared as if it had been dyed, led the men into the living room. Tripp sat in a chair and lit one of many cigarettes she would chain-smoke that night. Sol Wisenberg would remember Tripp as “dumpy, unattractive.” She was wearing a blouse and a pantsuit—most likely the same clothes that she had worn to work that day. A teenage son bolted down the steps and laughed, “I guess the feds aren’t coming.…” As soon as he peered into the room, he hustled back up stairs.
Bennett took a seat to Tripp’s immediate right. He asked the fifty-one-year-old informant to repeat the story that she had relayed over the phone. Looking nervous and sounding almost paranoiac, Tripp explained that she had worked at the White House during the early Clinton period and added, “I know what these people are capable of.” She then began recounting the story of Monica Lewinsky and her own love-hate relationship with the young intern, stating that she had tape-recorded the conversations with Monica (even after her lawyer informed her it was illegal) in order to “protect” herself.
One prosecutor interrupted Tripp so that he could state,