Death of American Virtue - Ken Gormley [256]
Holmes received a fresh adrenaline rush when he met George Conway for breakfast, and the elf informed him that Moody had “played one of the [Tripp] tapes for the editors of Newsweek.” The specific tape was potentially the most damning of the bunch: the recording dated December 22. On this cassette, Lewinsky had supposedly spoken openly about her affair with Clinton and even outlined a plan to have Tripp fake a “foot accident” in order to avoid being deposed. Moody had reportedly played the tape for Michael Isikoff and several editors at Newsweek, a day or two earlier, which meant that the story could break at any time.
What Conway did not tell Holmes, however, was that he himself had heard the December 22 tape at Coulter’s apartment—Tripp’s lawyer had given the elves a sneak preview before turning it over to the FBI. Conway had been elated to hear the titillating sexual detail involving Monica Lewinsky’s relationship with Bill Clinton. What was noticeably missing, however, was any reference to the president telling Monica to lie, or Vernon Jordan telling her to lie or linking his assistance in finding her a job with the false affidavit. Although Tripp had bragged that this tape contained the “smoking gun,” Conway had noted with alarm that the key admission was missing. That meant that the sex angle might be the only viable path, if they wanted a perjury charge to stick.
Conway wished Holmes luck. Assuming the Dallas lawyers’ questions were framed carefully at this morning’s deposition, the elf noted encouragingly as he dabbed a napkin to his mouth, President Bill Clinton might finally run out of wiggle room.
JUDGE Susan Webber Wright and her law clerk, Barry Ward, exited their airplane on the tarmac at Washington National Airport, looking like cold Southern birds who had migrated in the wrong direction. Originally, Judge Wright was scheduled to preside over the Saturday deposition from her home in Little Rock. During a conference call with the lawyers, she had broken down and agreed to fly to Washington. It seemed to be the wisest course, she had concluded, if she wanted to keep a firm hand over the questioning. Her only other alternative was to rule on objections via her daughter Robin’s teddy bear phone, the only phone in her house with a speaker function that would free up her hands to take notes. Now the chilly Washington air and gray winter skies seemed to suggest that the teddy bear phone might have been a better option.
Judge Wright was wearing a red wool winter coat; that was the extent of her preparation for this wintry trip north. Under one arm, she carried a paperback novel, a prop designed to make her appear like an ordinary Washington tourist. A detail of U.S. Marshals was waiting inside the airport. When a gaggle of reporters in the baggage claim area recognized the Arkansas judge, they immediately started chasing her, trying to snap pictures. Judge Wright and her law clerk began running in the direction of the U.S. Marshal’s car, their suitcases banging off the curb as they attempted to outrun the Washington press corps. It was the first of many endurance tests in a case that had morphed from a barely tenable civil lawsuit into a national media event.
THE Paula Jones caravan over to the Skadden Arps law firm was a sight to behold. Jones herself was “excited.” She told her lawyers, “I want him [Clinton] to be called to account for what he did.” As the group piled into cabs, Susan Carpenter-McMillan hustled around like a wedding coordinator,