The Mind of Dan MacAvoy: A Woody White Legal Thriller

By Dallas Clark

In The Mind of Dan MacAvoy, Dallas Clark's third Woody White legal thriller, Dan MacAvoy is a former Marine who returns from a tour in Vietnam, scarred by a horrific combat experience, only to have his t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Feb 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798822932739

Dallas Clark

Dallas Clark, a graduate of Wake Forest University with a BA and JD, seamlessly blends military and legal expertise to weave gripping legal thrillers. As a devoted Marine, Clark earned the Navy Commendation Medal with Combat "V" for his service in Vietnam. Post-service, he attained certification as a military judge and family law specialist.In his debut, The Investigation Officer's File, Clark draws on personal experiences as a legal officer undertaking the task of determining if an innocent man has been convicted of crimes relating to the murder of an officer in Vietnam. His second work, Murder at Fourth and Elm, skillfully explores the return of Woody White to the practice of civilian law and his first murder case, showcasing Clark's narrative mastery in the legal-thriller realm. The latest Woody White Legal Thriller, The Mind of Dan MacAvoy, forcefully pulls readers to the precipice, offering more than a courtroom battleground-a relentless plunge into the chilling recesses of one man's wounded consciousness.Now retired in Greenville, North Carolina, Clark's life is enriched by family-three daughters, sons-in-law, and five grandchildren. His narrative prowess, forged through diverse life experiences, transcends genres, providing readers not just with gripping stories but a profound glimpse into a man navigating the complexities of courtroom drama.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday, December 19, 1970

2438 Lincoln Street

Raleigh, North Carolina

10:30 a.m.

As soon as Dan MacAvoy turned onto Lincoln Street, where Jimmy Allen’s parents lived, his head exploded with another headache. The first headache hit when Dan was at Camp Pendleton, California, awaiting discharge from the Marine Corps. It woke him from the nightmare of being in that foxhole with Jimmy, his best buddy. When a headache hit during the day, Dan had to find a quiet place, close his eyes and wait for it to pass before he was able to think, speak, or even function.

He needed that quiet place today because he was paying his condolences to Jimmy’s parents. and he knew they would want him to tell them about Jimmy’s tour as a Marine in South Vietnam, and how their son was killed in combat, an event Dan could not forget.

He pulled his mom’s Ford Falcon to the curb in front of Allen’s house, cut the engine, put his hands on the steering wheel, and tried to will this latest headache out of existence. He had not notified the Allens he was coming, he just hoped they would both be home on the Saturday before Christmas.

When the headache became only a throb, Dan felt he was as ready as he could be, so he took a deep breath, walked to the front door and rang the bell.

Mrs. Allen was about five and a half feet tall. Her beautiful gray hair fell to her shoulders, and her crow’s feet and wrinkles did not detract from her beauty. Dan could see her eyes through the screen door, the saddest eyes he had ever seen.

May I help you?

Another deep breath. Mrs. Allen, I’m Dan MacAvoy. Jimmy and I were in the same platoon in Vietnam. I came to pay my respects.

Mrs. Allen stepped back, clasped her hands together and touched the gold cross hanging from her necklace. She looked at Dan for a moment, then turned and said loudly, James, come here, we’ve got company. She opened the screen door and said, Come in, please. Did you say your name was Dan?

Yes, ma’am. As Dan stepped into the living room, Mr. Allen came from the back of the house and shuffled over to his wife. He was stooped like an old man, though he could not have been more than fifty years old. He needed a shave, his uncombed hair needed cutting, he was barefoot and his belt was unbuckled.

Mrs. Allen’s voice caught as she introduced Dan. James, this young man, Dan, served with Jimmy in Vietnam. He came to pay his respects. Mr. Allen grabbed Dan’s forearm and shook his hand. He did not speak and tears formed in his eyes. The silence was broken by Mrs. Allen. Dan, please have a seat and let’s visit. How long have you been home?

About four weeks. I’m staying with my parents for now. It took a while just to get used to east coast time. I’m not working yet, not even looking for a job. I’m afraid it’s gonna take a bit for me to get used to civilian life after being in the Corps.

How did you and our Jimmy meet?

We were on the same flight from Okinawa to Da Nang and were assigned to the same platoon and squad. We were together every day, except when each of us went on R and R.

When did you enlist?

Right after high school graduation. My mom and dad wanted me to go to college, maybe East Carolina in Greenville or the community college at home in Kinston. They felt I’d have a better life if I got a degree, but I went into the Corps.

Mr. Allen finally broke his silence. I—we—begged Jimmy to go to NC State here in Raleigh instead of going into the military. You’re right, a degree will make a difference in your life. If only Jimmy had gone to school… He could not finish the sentence.

The conversation about much of nothing continued for a few minutes. Dan knew no one was ready to talk about the elephant in the room, Jimmy’s death, so they sat in silence until Mrs. Allen saved the day.

Dan, we were just getting ready to have lunch, chicken salad, Jimmy’s favorite. Please join us and visit some more. We’re so glad you are back.

After Dan and Mr. Allen sat at the kitchen table, Dan noticed a framed picture of Jimmy in uniform sitting on the window over the sink.

Mrs. Allen brought glasses of iced tea to the men, each garnished with a sprig of mint, and placed a saucer of sliced lemons next to Dan. As she spooned chicken salad onto the plates, Mrs. Allen asked, What degree or area of study are you thinking about if you go back to school?

Well, I’m not sure what I might take. I’m not interested in any particular area of education or work. My dad is a captain in the highway patrol and now has a desk job, but when I was growing up, he was always running the roads as he called it, lots of time at night, and I sure don’t wanna be a patrolman. I guess I’ll just take some courses and maybe find something I like.

After a few bites, Dan said, Mrs. Allen, this chicken salad is really good. I can understand why this—uh, was Jimmy’s favorite.

Mr. Allen finally spoke again. Was Jimmy a good Marine?

Sir, Jimmy was the best Marine I ever served with. He was our squad leader so he met with the platoon commander, a lieutenant, to get orders about each operation, and told us what our squad—that’s about twelve men if we were at full strength, which we never were—was ordered to do. He was a real leader, we trusted him, and we followed him. You should be proud. He was the best and he was my best friend.

When she finished her lunch, Mrs. Allen asked Dan, I made a key lime pie last night, and it is really good, if I may say so myself. Would you like a slice?

I love key lime pie, so, yes, please.

When Mrs. Allen handed the dessert plate to Dan, her hand was shaking so badly the fork almost fell off. Were you with our Jimmy when… She could not finish the question, but Dan knew what she wanted to ask, and he knew the answer.

When Dan began telling the parents of his best buddy about the night their son was killed, and how Jimmy then saved Dan’s life, he began breathing rapidly and his heart felt as if it would explode. He had to stop several times as the horror of it came back to him.

Mrs. Allen was standing when Dan began, but soon began swaying back and forth. She put her hands over her ears, as if she did not want to hear the horror and slowly collapsed to the floor, in the fetal position, wailing and moaning after hearing what happened to her son in that foxhole. Mr. Allen picked her up and they held each other closely. Soon they sat at the table with Dan.

Mr. Allen choked as he said, The Marine that escorted the casket to the funeral home here in Raleigh, he told us he was under orders to not let anyone open the casket, so we didn’t get to see our son before we put him in the ground, but we make sure we visit him every week.

For the next few minutes, the Allens talked about Jimmy’s life as a youngster and teenager in Raleigh, even laughing once at some minor misstep Jimmy made. When the conversation dried up, Dan knew it was time to leave.

Mr. Allen, Mrs. Allen, it was an honor to have Jimmy as my friend and fellow Marine. I would have given my life to save his, that’s what us Marines do. I will never forget him. Thank you for letting me visit.

Mrs. Allen came to Dan and hugged him tightly as her tears fell onto Dan’s sweater. They shook from the loss of a son, and a friend. Mr. Allen sat in his chair with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, his tears falling onto his unfinished pie. Dan gave Mrs. Allen one last hug, shook Mr. Allen’s hand, and let himself out.

By the time he opened his car door, another headache hit, so he sat and closed his eyes until it subsided. When he finally started for Kinston, he asked the same questions he asked when he was discharged: Where are these headaches and nightmares coming from? Why can’t I sleep; why can’t I remember things, and why am I angry all the time? When will this stop?

Dan had no way to know that these difficulties not only would not go away, they would escalate, but he knew one good thing—he would never again have to tell the story of Jimmy Allen’s last night, when he was killed by the NVA and how he then saved Dan’s life.

Only he would.

In a courtroom.

To save his own life.

Chapter Two

Monday, December 21

The Cavanaugh Law Firm

417 S. Evans Street

Greenville, North Carolina

10:30 p.m.

"Mr. Hawkins, I appreciate your contacting me to help you get custody of your children, but I’m up to my eyeballs preparing a complicated wrongful death case and just don’t have the time. That’s the bad news.

The good news is that my associate, Woody White, is an excellent attorney who knows his way around the courtroom and has experience in custody cases. May I tell you about him?

Yes, sir, please.

Max Cavanaugh continued, When Woody was a Marine Corps lawyer stationed at Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point, he did so well in a case I was in that I knew I didn’t want him against me, so I hired him, my first associate. He graduated from Wake Forest undergrad and law school, volunteered for the Marines in the middle of the Vietnam War, earned his commission, and then volunteered to serve in Vietnam and was awarded a medal for his overseas tour. He tried cases over in ’Nam and Okinawa, and when he was assigned to Cherry Point, the Corps sent him to military judge school. He’s not afraid of anything, and after I hired him, he tried a custody case against a lawyer who was thirty years older than he and kicked that lawyer’s ass. He can do the job for you. May I refer you to him?

Woody needed referrals from Mr. C (as Woody called him) to grow his own practice because in July 1970, when he was hired, he didn’t know many people in Greenville, and not many knew him. After all, he’d been away from Greenville for over nine years, seven at Wake, and over two in the Corps.

Greenville had grown in those nine years, and Woody thought it would continue to grow. East Carolina University was having record enrollments each year, there were new industries building plants north of town, the population was increasing, and perhaps the biggest factor of all, a new medical school for ECU was established in 1969, making Greenville the medical center of Eastern North Carolina.

Woody was grateful to be practicing with Mr. C, who was one of the most outstanding attorneys in eastern North Carolina. He had been a Marine in World War II, then law school at Wake Forest, after which he was an FBI agent under J. Edgar Hoover. He married Lou and moved to Greenville, where he practiced alone until he hired Woody. There were few lawyers with the expertise, trial skills, and dedication to work equal to that of Mr. C.

Woody was happy that his mom Frances still lived in Greenville. She became a widow when Woody was a high school sophomore, a very independent widow, sometimes too much so. As she moved into life as a senior citizen, Woody was glad he was available to care for her if she needed it, or if she would admit she needed it.

And then there was Maria, the love of his life. Woody had an unrequited crush on Maria in high school even though she probably didn’t even know he existed. They ran into each other at the Elbo Room, a bar in Greenville one Saturday night when Woody was still in the Marines. Maria wrote her name and an invitation to call her on Woody’s palm, so he called and they quickly fell so deeply in love that they married five months later. Maria became pregnant and their baby was due in the spring of 1971. Life was good, and he was excited to be working on Mr. Hawkins’s custody case.

But life would become more exciting and challenging when Woody was appointed lead counsel in a case where his client faced the death penalty for killing his father.

Chapter Three

Wednesday, December 23

The Cavanaugh Law Firm

11:30 a.m.

Mr. C, I met with Mark Hawkins. Thanks for referring him to me. He said something that triggered an idea I’d like to run by you. Mr. C leaned back in his chair, unwrapped and lit his second Nat Sherman cigar for the day, and nodded for Woody to proceed.

I need an expert witness. Here’s why. Mr. Hawkins told me his wife was a certified bitch. Well, she’s not certified because she’s never been evaluated, but her mom was hospitalized at Dix Hill with manic-depressive disorder, which I believe can be inherited. I’m thinking about having an expert conduct an evaluation of Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and their children and make a recommendation to the court as to custodial placement of the kids. Has that been done here, and do you know such a witness?

No, and yes. As far as I know, that has never been done in Pitt County courts, but it should, and I do know such a witness. Diane Glenn. She’s a marriage and family counselor, maybe also a clinical psychologist. I’ve sent families in disarray to her, and she helped them. You’d have to talk to her about a custody evaluation. I imagine she can also tell whether a parent has a mental disorder. Tell you what, I’ll call her before noon and clear the decks for you to make an appointment.

Monday, December 28

Greenville Marriage and Family Counseling

529 S. Evans Street

10:35 a.m.

Woody was surprised he was able to make an appointment with Diane Glenn so quickly, and since it was warm for a December morning, he walked the four blocks to her office, a small building across from the public library, next to a savings and loan. The large sign on the front door directed visitors to enter at the rear of the building, probably taking into consideration that patients might want privacy.

When the administrative assistant introduced Woody to Dr. Glenn, he thought her pale blue eyes were focused enough to see into the soul of a client. Her strong handshake belied her petite build, her brown hair was cut pageboy-style and framed a round, welcoming face. She wore a conservative, very well-tailored dark blue suit with three yellow pansies in the left lapel, a pale blue shirt and, quite unexpectedly, high-top red Chuck Taylor basketball shoes. Woody thought the shoes not only gave pop to Diane’s attire but seemed to say, I know I’m different. Deal with it! He later found out, much to the embarrassment of another lawyer, that her shoes were not worn as a fashion statement.

Her office was very well-appointed with a large, uncluttered desk and a workspace behind it. The two comfortable-looking dark brown leather armchairs in front of the desk looked like one could sink into them, and the date on her PhD diploma from Temple confirmed Woody’s guess that she was in her early forties, although she looked much younger.

Max speaks very highly of you, Woody. I’m sorry, may I call you Woody, and will you call me Diane?

She had a way about her that put Woody at ease as they sat in the armchairs. He thought it was nice there was no desk between them and was curious if there was a purpose to the seating arrangement.

Of course, Diane. I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice. May I ask a question about the arrangement of your office?

Certainly.

Do you meet with everyone like this, sitting next to them instead of sitting across from them behind your desk?

"Woody, that is very perceptive, and yes, I do, because I believe it helps the client or visitor feel more comfortable and hopefully become more able to open up to discuss what are most often very difficult situations. I try to have clients call me by my first name, not Doctor Glenn, to make them more comfortable.

Max told me what you had in mind, so you probably have questions about my areas of interest and expertise. Why don’t you ask and I’ll answer.

For thirty minutes, Diane answered questions about her formal education, internships, and work experience as a counselor. Woody told her about the Hawkins case and then asked questions about how she would conduct an evaluation. Her answers convinced Woody that she would be the ideal witness in a custody case.

She gave Woody her CV when he left, and if Woody had reviewed