Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “How do you know it was false?”

  Julie stared at me. “Is this your attempt at sick religious humor?”

  “No, I’m thinking about Sister Dabney’s defense to the lawsuit. If she sincerely believes Paulding is going to be judged by God, does warning him make her conduct false or malicious? If so, hundreds of pastors could be sued for doing the exact same thing every Sunday morning.”

  “You’re as nutty as she is. This is slander, pure and simple. My question is whether any jurors would award any damages to Paulding after they stop laughing at Sonny Miller and his band of drunken preachers. Mr. C and our client wouldn’t be happy if this ended up as a big joke.” Julie started the car’s engine. “I wish we could get a copy of the script Dabney gave them. Not letting the guys hand out flyers was a smart move. Without something to pin them down, I’d worry the drunks wouldn’t agree on what they said when they get on the witness stand. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I think we should stay and see if she comes out of the house.”

  Julie tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Tami, you’re taking this investigation business too far. Mr. C didn’t send us on a stakeout.”

  “Aren’t you curious to see her?”

  “I’d rather let Dabney live in my imagination than meet her in person.”

  “Then tell me the truth about the rock.”

  “There wasn’t a rock,” Julie answered, putting the car in drive.

  “But he was thinking about it. I could see it in his bloodshot eyes.”

  AFTER WE RETURNED to the office, I typed up a summary of my interview with Sonny Miller and the brief conversation with Rusty Steele. I threw in my impressions of the church and ideas about possible resolution of the case. Julie and I spent the rest of the afternoon working on separate projects. Close to 5:00 p.m., Zach came into the library.

  “Are you ready to give an update on the Paulding case?” he asked.

  “Mr. Carpenter wants to meet with us in the conference room.”

  “I thought he was going to wait until later in the week.”

  “His schedule is his own. Bring your notes and come on.”

  The three of us walked down the hallway.

  Julie tugged on my arm and mouthed, “He’s still mad?”

  I nodded grimly. The conference room was empty.

  “I’ll let him know we’re ready,” Zach said.

  In less than a minute, Zach returned with Mr. Carpenter.

  “Hello, ladies,” the senior partner said.

  Mr. Carpenter’s slightly effeminate tone wasn’t a sign of weakness; it was a velvet scabbard that concealed a sharp sword.

  “I spoke with Jason Paulding about an hour ago. Dabney is aware that we’re documenting her attacks. She called Paulding personally and told him he’d better back off.”

  “Did she threaten him?” Julie asked.

  Mr. Carpenter referred to a legal pad.

  “She told him that he would face God’s wrath if he attacked her, and read him a Bible verse: ‘Touch not my anointed, and do my prophets no harm.’”

  “She can dish it out, but she can’t take it,” Julie said.

  Mr. Carpenter looked at me. “I know the Bible is filled with allegorical references that can’t be interpreted literally. What do you make of this?”

  I looked at Zach, who didn’t give any sign of helping.

  “I’m not sure about allegory in the Bible,” I answered, “but that’s a passage from the Psalms warning the Jews to respect the prophets who speak on God’s behalf. It could also have a secondary meaning as a messianic reference since Christ and Messiah both mean ‘the anointed one.’ Jesus was the ultimate anointed prophet.”

  “So Dabney believes she is a Messiah figure?”

  My head jerked back. I hadn’t considered the possibility of such a great deception.

  “Maybe, but I think it’s more likely she considers herself a prophet who shouldn’t be criticized.”

  “Kind of like Judge Cannon,” Mr. Carpenter said with a chuckle.

  The senior partner’s jokes weren’t funny, but Julie and I both manufactured a smile. Zach kept a straight face.

  “And if she keeps talking, it’s going to make our case easier. Tell me what you’ve uncovered that has Dabney so stirred up.”

  Julie went down the list of people she’d unsuccessfully tried to contact and ended with her conversation with Mr. McKenzie.

  “I think he has a lot of promise related to a tortious interference with business or contractual relation claim,” she said, “especially if Paulding had to pay more for the same goods and services. That would prove financial injury.”

  “But you don’t know,” Mr. Carpenter said.

  “No, sir. We’re scheduled to meet with him tomorrow morning.”

  “He’s a former client of the firm,” I added. “Zach is going to go with us.”

  “Did you represent him?” Mr. Carpenter asked Zach.

  “No, sir.”

  “It was Ned Danforth,” I responded. “But it’s been awhile ago and it was only one case.”

  “Anything else?” Mr. Carpenter asked Julie.

  “No.”

  “Let’s hear from you,” he said to me.

  I omitted the messages I’d left for people who didn’t answer the phone and started with my conversation with Sonny Miller and Rusty Steele at Bacon’s Bargains.

  Mr. Carpenter interrupted me as I explained what the protesters did.

  “Jason mentioned this in our initial interview but didn’t give me details. He was out of town the day it took place, and he heard about it from his staff. Later a police officer identified a few of the men who were there.”

  “Miller mentioned policemen were there.”

  “What did the officers tell you?” Mr. Carpenter asked me.

  “Nothing, yet. I tried to contact Officer Samuels, but that was before I interviewed Sonny Miller. Now I know what to ask him.”

  “Do that as soon as possible, even if you have to track him down in his patrol car.”

  “Also, I left a message for a reporter at the newspaper,” I said.

  “She’s not on a newsbeat. She writes the weekend column for the Home and Garden section. Finally a former church member verified that Dabney spoke to the congregation about Mr. Paulding and accused him of criminal conduct.”

  “Good.” Mr. Carpenter nodded. “That should be enough to support a slander action even without any evidence of economic damage.”

  “But I still think Julie’s witness might be the best,” I replied.

  “Saying a businessman is a thief doesn’t sound that bad. Last week I saw a man standing in front of a used-car lot holding a sign accusing the owner of ‘robbing him.’ Was that libel?”

  Mr. Carpenter waved his hand. “The guy with the sign isn’t sit-ting on a valuable piece of property that our client needs. Get me in a courtroom in front of a jury, and I’ll convince them the value of a man’s reputation is worth a lot more than Dabney can pay. That’s all we need to get a judgment.”

  “What next?” Zach asked.

  “I want a complaint with a notice to take Dabney’s deposition attached to it on my desk by the end of the week. We’ll serve her, take her deposition, keep looking for more evidence, and amend the com-plaint to increase the number of allegations.” Mr. Carpenter pushed his palms together. “Winning a lawsuit is as much about maintaining pressure as it is proving facts. Attacking from multiple angles is key. Don’t let your opponent have any hope of relief short of surrender. Develop that reputation, and lawyers who see your name on pleadings will either refuse to take a case because they don’t want the hassle or advise their clients to settle quickly if they do.”

  I’d taken a trial practice course in law school, but the professor emphasized courtroom decorum, not the psychology of war. Mr. Carpenter’s perspective made me doubt I’d ever be a trial lawyer. The senior partner looked at me and smiled.

  “You’ve got that
potential in you, Ms. Taylor,” he said. “I know where Bacon’s Bargains is located. Not many female law clerks would go there alone to interview witnesses like Miller and Steele. The absence of fear is the beginning of courage.”

  “Julie was—”

  “You’re right, Mr. Carpenter,” Julie cut in. “I’ve been calling her Tami the Tiger.”

  I cut my eyes toward Julie. “No you haven’t.”

  “Behind your back.”

  “There’s no excuse for what this Dabney woman has done and is continuing to do,” Mr. Carpenter said, ignoring us. “Make sure there are requests for admission, interrogatories, and a request for production of documents served with the complaint.”

  “Yes, sir,” Zach answered.

  Mr. Carpenter continued. “Before she left, I asked Myra to double-check the real-estate records to confirm Dabney’s ownership of the property. She confirmed that Dabney’s husband deeded his one-half interest to her as part of a divorce settlement three years ago.”

  “Did she have a lawyer in the divorce case?” Zach asked.

  “No, the husband filed it pro se. She never answered the com-plaint, and the divorce sailed through. There’s not much to go on, but it looks like he decided to give her the church without a fight when he left town. There’s no security deed against the property, so she owns it free and clear.”

  “Good,” Julie said.

  “One other thing. Dabney contacted the minister at Paulding’s church the other day and made some defamatory comments to him.

  The minister is willing to sign an affidavit, and Jason specifically wanted us to follow up with him. Nobody believes a minister in a court of law; they always support their parishioners. But it’s necessary to get something from him for client relations.”

  “Tami and I will do that,” Julie said.

  “One question,” I said. “What was the name of Dabney’s husband? The people I’ve talked to simply called him Preacher.”

  Mr. Carpenter referred again to his legal pad.

  “Fredrick Russell Dabney.”

  My mouth went dry. “Is Ramona Dabney’s middle name Rachel?”

  “No, it’s Rachel Ramona Dabney.”

  “Anything else?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  I looked at Zach, who shook his head.

  “Okay,” Mr. Carpenter said. “Let’s go to war.”

  I WAS BURSTING TO TALK with Zach as we returned to the library, but when I caught his eye a second time, he put his finger to his lips.

  “I can give you a ride home today,” he said.

  I felt relief that maybe his anger toward me had lessened.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “But that’s my time to bond with Tami,” Julie said, jumping in. “I’ve been taking her home all summer.”

  “We definitely came unglued at Bacon’s Bargains.”

  “Julie was there, too?” Zach asked.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Forgive and forget,” Julie answered. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can’t believe you were going to make me look bad in front of Mr. C.”

  “I was only going to tell him that I wasn’t alone. I wouldn’t criticize you.”

  Julie grabbed her purse and left.

  “What are we going to do about Reverend Dabney?” I asked as soon as I was sure Julie had gone. “It has to be the same person Mr. Callahan mentioned.”

  “Not here,” Zach said.

  We walked in silence from the office and got into Zach’s car.

  “Is the library bugged?” I asked. “Can we talk now?”

  “No and yes. This isn’t Grisham’s firm in Memphis. But I need some time to figure out whether the connection between Dabney and Callahan makes a difference in our case. It’s been at least forty years since Mr. Callahan was around her. Our client’s problems developed within the past few months. If you’d blurted out something about Mr. Callahan in front of Mr. Carpenter, it would have taken him down a line of questioning we might not want to follow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Zach pulled into traffic on Montgomery Street.

  “I guarantee you, Joe Carpenter would call Oscar Callahan and pick his brain about Dabney.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I think it’s a great idea. Mr. Callahan is a smart lawyer and much better qualified to be an expert about people like Reverend Dabney than I am.”

  “But something about Dabney bothers me,” Zach responded. “I don’t want to put Mr. Callahan at risk.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to work on the case.

  After I received the e-mail from Mr. Carpenter, I asked myself why I’ve been so reluctant to help. Now that I’m involved, I’m not sure where justice lies in this dispute.”

  “Welcome to my world,” I said with relief. “I’ve been uneasy about this case since the first meeting with Mr. Carpenter. Even if she’s judgmental, Reverend Dabney is still a minister. You and I should be concerned that we’re persecuting a Christian who is following her conscience.”

  “I’m in a different place,” Zach said. “It’s weird, but chills ran down my back when Mr. Carpenter read that verse from Psalms. It sounds like Dabney is threatening Paulding.”

  “Threatening him? I saw Reverend Dabney’s church and the house where she lives. She’s made a few phone calls and sent a group of homeless men to stand on the sidewalk in front of Mr. Paulding’s business. What could she do to really hurt him?”

  17

  PEOPLE HAD BEEN CALLING SISTER DABNEY ON THE PHONE AND knocking on her door all afternoon. Sonny Miller came by smelling like a brewery and wanting to trade information for a new pair of shoes.

  “I don’t need a drunk to bring me gossip,” she scoffed. “I know where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

  “But do you know who I’ve been talking to?” Miller replied with slurred speech. “You don’t need to spend hours rocking in that chair of yours trying to figure it out. All it’s going to take is a new pair of shoes, and I’ll tell all I know. Didn’t you say one time that God spoke to a fellow through a donkey?”

  “And you’re supposed to be a man, not a donkey, which is what you turn into when you put that bottle to your lips. Get off my porch and don’t come back until you’re clean!”

  “You shouldn’t never have sent us over to that company on the east side,” Miller said as he backed away unsteadily from the door. “You stirred up a hornet’s nest, and you don’t have to be a preacher to know that ain’t smart. It was a mean thing to do, Sister. We’re supposed to be loving everybody.”

  “Go!” she roared.

  Miller kept backing up, almost falling when he reached the three steps leading down from the porch. Standing on the sidewalk waiting for him was Rusty Steele, a brown paper sack wrapped around a bottle in his right hand. The two men glanced back at the house as they walked down the street.

  Miller’s visit was followed by a phone call from Betsy Garrison.

  “I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you,” Sister Dabney said. “You shouldn’t be calling me if you’re in trouble. Not till you repent of your backbiting and rebellion.”

  “I’m not in trouble, and if you knew my heart, you wouldn’t be talking to me that way.”

  Sister Dabney closed her mouth and waited for insight that didn’t come.

  “I’m not your enemy,” Garrison continued. “You’ve been mad at me ever since I saw the truth about Lynnette when you didn’t see it coming. But that’s not why I’m calling. That Paulding fellow who wanted to buy the church property has hired a law firm to sue you. A girl who works there called me this morning asking a bunch of questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “About you and the church meetings where you told us you wouldn’t sell. She ’specially wanted to know about Paulding going to jail.”

  “He’ll end up behind bars if he doesn’t repent.”

  “I know, but in the meant
ime he’s hired lawyers to come after you. It’s the outfit that has the fancy office on Montgomery Street.”

  “I don’t care who he hires. They can’t make me sell. This land belongs to God.”

  “The whole earth is his, but I thought you ought to know so you can be praying. And if you need money to hire a lawyer—”

  “Keep your money,” Sister Dabney said, cutting her off. “I won’t use the weapons of this world to fight God’s battles.”

  “There’s wisdom in a multitude of counselors.”

  “That’s not speaking about lawyers and lawsuits.”

  “Anyway, I told the girl who called to get in touch with you herself. She wanted me to sign an affidavit. I told her no. Her name is Tami Taylor. She sounded awful young to be a lawyer. And she knew a little bit about the Bible. Do you want the number?”

  “No,”—Sister Dabney paused—“but I appreciate you calling. You and I have been through a lot together, and you were right about Lynnette. What’s happened isn’t an excuse for some of the things I’ve said.”

  “Do you want to talk in person?”

  “Yes, but give me time to seek the Lord.”

  “I need to do that, too.”

  Sister Dabney hung up the phone and stared across the kitchen for a moment. She needed to begin the process of healing with Betsy Garrison. They’d fought too many battles together to part as enemies instead of comrades. Repentance knew no strangers. A preacher who didn’t keep short accounts would soon run out of spiritual capital.

  Sister Dabney went into the living room and sat in the red rocker. Before she could go to war about the attack from the lawyers, she needed to let the light shine into her own darkness. After thirty minutes of personal cleansing, her thoughts turned toward the young lawyer named Taylor. Something about her was worth hearing. Sister Dabney closed her eyes.

  And kept rocking.

  ZACH DROVE AWAY after dropping me off in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s house. Even though we’d talked about the Dabney case during the ride, the edge had been off his voice. Having a man upset with me was a new experience. I didn’t like it. Thankfully, we were back to working on the same team.