Mrs. Spencer's Suicide

THE LINE IS long due to COVID-19 and all the Fourth of July shootings last weekend in the United States. I'm Raymond Johnson, attorney at law, and as far as I can tell, I died about three hours ago. I am now sitting in line at the pearly gates waiting for my interview.

Sitting next to me is Kola Ajose, a former Nigerian soldier, who'd been killed by gunfire from the ambushers at his general's motorcade. He asked me, "And how'd you get here man?" So I began to tell him my story.

* * *

"AFTER THIS MEETING, I knew Mrs. Merril Spencer, my client for a divorce case, was capable of shooting me," I told Penny Denny. 'Penny Denny' got his nickname, because of his small bets at the horse-racing tracks. I didn't learn until later, but he was the limo driver for her.

"Betting on horses is illegal in my country of Nigeria," Kola said.

"Not here. It is big business."

* * *

"MR. JOHNSON, I just want to say how I have changed my opinion about lawyers, after working with you. I have lost my faith in the legal profession." 

"I am now convinced attorney's are instruments of the devil. You certainly are an archdevil of his. A pastor once told our class that the most archdevil of lawyers wasn't an attorney— no, she was a novelist— Harper Lee, who blinded America to attorney's real nature, and does so with the rereading of her book for each generation."

Kola, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird. Why's that?" I asked her.

"Harper Lee's novel does the devil's work. She created Atticus Finch, who lawyers use as their moral integrity, to hold up to the world— which is pure propaganda— he threw the case, got an innocent man convicted and hanged."

"Take you Mr. Johnson. You want to win my case using what? Lies. Why? For the big money. Morals? Ha? Money. Power is all that motivates you?"

"And what did Harper Lee accelerate and help create? A world where respect is gushed on winning lawyers, and sorrow for losing. All wrapped up in a package of denial of racism."

"Well that's your opinion, Mrs. Spencer," I said. My interjection did nothing to slow her down. She kept going.

"Mr. Johnson, the devil's biggest asset is the belief by people like you that the devil doesn't exist," she said.

Kola's eyes got as big as silver dollars. "Mr. Johnson, that is what our priest always told us in church."

"Your legal profession, and the courts are no more than an association of pickpockets and con men wearing suits and using lies to obfuscate the real order— which is to protect the powerful."

"Mr. Johnson I suspect you will die by your lies. Good day."

"Oh my Mr. Johnson, and after that you ended up here?" Kola asked. 

"Not exactly, but kind of. Let me go on," I said.

* * *

"911 WHAT'S YOUR emergency?"

"There's a guy laying in a puddle of blood."

"Sir. What's your location?"

"I'm on the third level of the parking garage for the Cavelier Building at 525 N. Sam Houston Parkway."

"Your name sir?"

"Denny Sewald."

"Mr. Sewald, please standby until the emergency personnel arrive. Can you do that?"

"I'll wait."

* * *

"WHAT DO WE have here officer?" detective Sam Morris asked the uniform officer, who first arrived at the site. 

"Looks like a one-and-done," the officer said. "That guy called it in." 

"Hi. I'm detective Morris. You called 911?"

"I did."

"Why did you find this body?"

"I guess because I was walking to my truck and saw it. That is my F150 in its assigned spot."

"Do you know this guy? Who did this?"

"No. I have no idea."

"Did you see anyone suspicious or out of the ordinary?"

"No. I was just coming from my office heading for my next appointment— I sell for 740 KTRH— and saw him. Then I called 911."

"Did you show your driver's license and give your phone number to the officer?"

"I did."

"Here's my card. Call if you think of anything. You can leave."

The Crime Scene Investigation van drove up and parked. Maggie Condors, senior technician, got out.

"What do we have here?" she asked, pointing to the corpse of Raymond Johnson. 

"You tell me," detective Morris said.

"Maggie, call me after the autopsy. I've got to run, I've got another call," Morris said and left. 

"So that is how you died? Shot in a Houston, Texas office building's parking garage," Kola said. 

"It is. Isn't it sad? I'd just paid for a month's gym membership yesterday."

* * *

IT ALL STARTED with Mrs. Merril Spencer, when I got this referral from the reverend, Clarence Wright, of Washington D.C. Church of the Apostles, and chairman of The National Association of Evangelicals for Trump. 

"Raymond, I'm calling you about an embarrassing situation that is fomenting, and I need a delicate touch," he said. 

He wanted me to handle a divorce case for Reverend R. C. Spencer, pastor of Sam Houston Evangelicals, Houston, Texas, a Televangelist Church, who appears three hours on television every afternoon with his wife Merril.  

They broadcasted to a national audience on the church's own network, reaching two million Christians an hour. The church was the principal donor to Clarence Wright's Washington DC national association, who in turn were big donors to the Rumpolian National Party and zealot supporters of Donald Trump and backers of the "big lie.".

What Reverend Wright didn't tell me at first was he wanted me to represent the wife, not the husband. "Reverend Wright, I require a ten-thousand dollar retainer when I take on such a high profile divorce case," I said.

I waited for his answer. My breath came faster and I fought  my urge to break the silence. "Okay Raymond. Give your account and routing numbers to my secretary and I'll see that the money is deposited today." 

* * *

NOW THAT I was on retainer, I watched their TV show to study how they interacted. She didn't show one ounce of animosity towards her husband. She carried herself on the set with grace and balance. She had an accent that was part Missourians and part Texan.

Their typical episode was to show poor and horrid living conditions in a montage of a dire need of food, medical attention or spiritual help to start off. The montage was overlaid against images of Jesus, the last supper and images of him on the cross. 

Back to the studio and some discussion of how terrible it was and cut to prayers. They then asked the audience and TV viewers for their prayers to help. 

Their pictures reappeared as they closed their eyes, held hands and the Reverend R.C. Spencer led them in prayer. The studio cameras would zoom in on tears, as they asked for prayers. 

As they prayed the producers cross-cut between the montage and back to them praying, and finally into their home-spun style pitch for donations. 

Their pitch commercial, updated for each day's issue in the montage, ran for five minutes asking for donations, also cross-cut between them praying, then back to the montage of the issue. The theme? It was unfortunate, but to do God's work— money was needed. Please help.

This went on over-and-over for three hours a day. They would end with live testimony on the issue and then repeat the montage, cross-cutting to the prayer and the donation's pitch. 

* * *

MRS. MERRIL SPENCER was more beautiful in person. She looked past me, to somewhere out the window, "Mr. Johnson, I'm Merril Spencer, wife of the  Reverend R. C. Spencer, Pastor of Sam Houston Evangelicals, Houston, Texas. I'm here about my divorce from R.C."

"Merril, what did he do?" I asked.

It was this attitude of hers— the one she showed me on the first meeting— and subsequently which makes me sure she is the one who killed me. 

She rubbed her jaw, thinking about what I had asked. She looked at her watch. "Mr. Johnson, I'd prefer if you referred to me as Mrs. Spencer."

Beautiful, yet arrogant, privileged and endowed, a goddess. "That's fine. Mrs. Spencer. My apologies," I said and lowered my eyes.

"Fine. Apology accepted."

"Mrs. Spencer, are you seeking a settlement from your husband with the divorce?"

"Yes. One million dollars."

"Okay," I pinched my lips together and nodded at her.

"And after the divorce, what about spousal support payments— alimony? What are you hoping to get per month?"

"I expect to get what I'm worth. Twenty-five thousand a month," she said.

"Mrs. Spencer, what we have to do is file paperwork that describes why you are seeking a divorce, and petitioning the court to grant you this settlement and alimony."

"Mr. Johnson, I'm afraid we'll have to do this tomorrow. I am out of time. I need to get back to the TV studio."

"Okay. But we have a lot more to do. A quick question, Mrs. Spencer, how do you feel right now?"

"I am committed to do this. I feel fine and I am looking forward to the next years of my life without the albatross. Mr. Johnson, I am not a self-pity party. I am a Christian who knows what she wants. I hope you are the one who can get it for me. Now I have to go. The car is waiting. I'm due back on set." 

"Please call my cell number and make an arrangement with my assistant Carla for our next meeting. Good day Mr. Johnson."

* * *

I FOUND OUT later from 'Penny Denny' her limo driver what she said after our meeting.

"Carla, that lawyer is impertinent," Mrs. Spencer told her assistant.

"Mrs. Spencer then let him go. Let's find an attorney you like and respect." Mrs. Spencer stared straight ahead, but never answered.

* * *

"OKAY, MRS. SPENCER tell me how your husband harmed you?" I asked at our next meeting. 

"He ignores me. He spends most of his off-air time with parishioners. He isn't interested in sex," she said.

"And you feel?" I asked. 

"Angry," she said. "Are these questions necessary?"

At that she got up and quickly left my office, leaving the door open.

"Call me when you have something better to ask?" she said as she exited.

"No wonder her husband didn't pay any attention to her," Kola said. 

"Next," the angel in charge of keeping the line moving said.

"What happened next?" Kola asked.

"Then the guy that hired me called," I said.

* * *

"RAYMOND, HOW IS our divorce case going?" Clarence Wright asked. Code for "what was my ten-thousand dollars retainer buying me."

"Clarence Mrs. Spencer feels hurt and angry, but I'm making a winning case for her." 

"Now Raymond, you do understand this is sensitive. We depend on R.C and Merril to raise money. We can't jeopardize their teamwork," he said.

"Clarence, come right out with it."

"Raymond, we're not spendthrifts— we don't waste money— but we're not going to step over pennies to get to the dollars. You get my drift?"

"I got you Clarence. I'll be in touch," I said and we rang off. 

"I don't get it. What did he mean by that?" Kola asked.

"What he meant was we'll pay just about anything to keep her quiet and on the show. That's what it meant," I said.

"Next," the angel in charge of keeping the line moving said.

* * *

"MRS SPENCER I can get what you want, but you are going to have to do three things for it to happen."

"And those are?"

"First, continue working on the TV show. Praying and treating your soon-to-be-ex husband with love and respect on camera," I said.

"I'll do that.."

"You can't ever disclose the divorce terms— go on TMZ or any talk show. Degrade your ex husband, the church or your TV show. Can you agree to that?"

"Mr. Johnson, just come out with it. What is it?"

"Do you want your settlement and your alimony?"

"I do."

"Then you're going to have to do a little acting for me. Play a little bluff on them— sort of a sting, if you please."

"How?" she asked.

"Bluff them to settle out of court."

"What do I have to do?"

"Exaggerate a little, and tell a couple of little white lies. Then we send our proposal to his lawyers and try to get a settlement out of court.

Adjusting and pulling at her blouse's cuffs she paused and stared at a point on the wall. "Okay, I can do that," she said, her voice's pitch higher than normal.

"I'm going to ask you a set of questions. You are going to answer them as I have written them out. You must be convincing and make the answers sound convincing."

"I can do that," she said. "Will this work?"

"It will work, Mrs. Spencer. They just want you to go away.". 

"Why?"

"Why?" I shot back. "Why?---- Mrs. Spencer is always about two things: money and power."

"Oh, I see."

"So yes. It'll work."

"Here are your questions with the answers to practice.

She glanced at the top of the first page and put it in her purse.

"How long do you need?"

"Two days."

"Okay. Wednesday. 4 p.m. I'll be ready," she said.

* * *

"ON WEDNESDAY AT 4 p.m. Mrs. Spencer at the conference table, asked, 'You know these answers are all lies, counselor? How can lies win my case?'

"Lies Mrs. Spencer are the building blocks of the legal profession. You tell them, repeat them and pretty soon people will believe them. You want to get your money don't you?

"Yes. Of Course."

"When they hear what we have planned for them in open court, they will settle. Never in their lives would they want these details out— true or not. That's our gambit. There will be no trial. No court," I reassured her.

* * *

"I TURNED ON the recorder and started. "Mrs. Spencer, did your husband ever cheat on you with another woman?"

"Yes. He did. I caught him several times."

"Where?"

"He was in his office with the door shut when I walked in on them. 

"What did you do about it?"

"I hired a private investigator and he followed my husband."

"And what did you find out?"

"I found out he not only cheated with another woman but he cheated with men as well."

"He would go off to motel rooms after he left the country club with one of the golf caddies each week."

"And how did this make you feel?"

"Shocked and devastated," she said, making her voice crack and sounding distraught.

"He is a man of the Lord and he violates God's commandments—" Mrs. Spencer started to sob and cry.

"Is this when you decided to divorce him?"

"Yes. The private detective told me that my husband had many evenings at the motels. He said he had photos and recordings too."

"And did you look at the photos?"

"No. I said I didn't want to see them. He kept them though."

"And what do you want and why?"

"I want to get away from him. "But most importantly, I want to get my life together."

"Mrs. Spencer, could you work with him on air after the divorce?"

"I am a professional. It'll be hard at first, but I can separate God's work from my personal life. Yes. I will continue to be his  partner on Christian TV."

"Thank you. Do you have anything else to add."

"No," she said. 

I turned off the recorder. "Okay Mrs. Spencer we're done for today.

If I like it; I'll have this audio taken over to your husband's law offices, including our proposal for a settlement. When I have word from them, I'll call you."

"She sounds like a natural at it, Raymond," Kola said.

"She did," I said, "didn't she?"

"Next, the angel in charge said, trying to keep the line moving.

* * *

TEN DAYS LATER, I got the call. They had accepted her conditions, and the terms just as we had proposed. Our gambit had worked. They sent over the agreement and Mrs. Spencer signed.

"Then what happened?" Kola asked.

"Here, I'll explain for you," I told him.

* * *

"HOMICIDE DETECTIVES SQUAD. How  may I direct your call?" the operator asked. 

"This is Maggie Condors, CSI, I have a report for Detective Morris. Is he there?" 

"Just a moment please."

"Morris here."

"Detective, they've just finished the autopsy and lab work on the dead lawyer in the Cavalier Building parking structure, Raymond Johnson."

"And?"

"Suicide. No doubt. After we rolled the body the .32 Colt automatic was under him. He had gunshot residue on his right hand and red and brownish stippling burns on his temple. He shot himself. The gun was an inch away when it fired. Slug matched the pistol. He killed himself."

"Hmmm— okay?" Morris said.

"The report will be on your desk later today. I'll send it out after we hang up."

"Maggie thanks," the detective said, and rang off.

Detective Morris called his boss. 

"Boss? That dead ambulance chaser, in the Cavalier Building on N. Houston Parkway in the parking structure? Cause of death was that he shot himself."

"Oh really. How sad. Well that's a good start," he said.

"I'll send the report up to you when I get it."

* * *

WOW MR. JOHNSON and that is how you ended up here. That is a sad story. Did you really kill yourself?" Kola asked.

"I did."

"Did you really lie and tell yourself she killed you?"

"I did."

"Are you sorry?"

"I am?"

"Was Harper Lee really the lawyer's biggest propagandist?"

"Most definitely."

Trying to keep the line moving, "Next," the angel in charge said.

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