“I don’t know. I’ve never lost a close family member. I hope God would give me a special grace for that time. Just loving her was probably the best thing you could do as her friend.”
Mrs. Fairmont placed her coffee cup on the counter. “Do you think God will give me a special grace for the time I’m going through?”
“That you will get better?”
She nodded.
It was a difficult question, and I didn’t want to give a casual answer. I believed with my whole heart in divine healing. Some people in our church had been healed of serious diseases; others died.
“I know God loves you,” I said slowly. “Asking for his help is up to you.”
Mrs. Fairmont smiled. “You sound like Gracie, only she puts a lot more feeling behind it. God brought her into my life to help me years ago, and it looks like he’s added you for reinforcement.”
“Yes ma’am. I want to help.”
“I know. Run along and get ready for work.”
I turned to leave.
“And promise you’ll tell me as soon as you can why you’re interested in Lisa Prescott’s disappearance,” Mrs. Fairmont said. “That’s an old wound, and it’s not right to open it up without a reason.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I returned the newspaper clippings to the folder so I could copy them at work. When I came upstairs, I saw the back of Mrs. Fairmont’s head above the top of a chair in the den.
“I’m leaving for work,” I said.
“Christine?” she called out without turning around.
“No ma’am. It’s Tami.” I stepped into the older woman’s line of sight. “Do you want to call her?”
Mrs. Fairmont stared intently at me. “No, no. I thought you were Christine. What were we talking about earlier? My brain has gotten fuzzy.”
“I asked you about Lisa Prescott.”
Mrs. Fairmont shook her head with a sad expression on her face. “You know, they never did find her body.”
“Yes ma’am, I know. Don’t worry about that today.”
All the way to work, I prayed for Mrs. Fairmont.
I WENT STRAIGHT TO ZACH’S OFFICE. His door was open, and papers were stacked on his desk. His tie was loosened around his neck. He was taking a sip of coffee when I entered.
“I didn’t know you drank coffee.”
“I’m a backslider,” he replied.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I’m not offended. I needed a boost since I came in to work a couple of hours ago. Getting a head start on this project for Mr. Appleby is the only way I can create enough time in my schedule for the Moses Jones case this afternoon.”
“Could I go alone?”
“No.” Zach smiled. “You’ll do all the talking, but Judge Cannon wouldn’t appreciate a law student showing up in his courtroom without a supervising attorney.”
“I did some research about the little girl, but the most interesting information came from Mrs. Fairmont.”
I handed him the initial article and waited for him to read it.
“What did Mrs. Fairmont say?”
Zach listened without taking notes while I talked. He took another sip of coffee before he spoke.
“It’s obvious. Moses Jones was hired by a man named Floyd Carpenter to dispose of Lisa Prescott’s body and was paid a shiny, silver dollar to do it. He dumped her in the Ogeechee River, and the little girl’s face has haunted him ever since.”
Hearing Zach succinctly state my fears made me shudder. “That’s awful.”
“Yes, if there’s a shred of truth to it.”
“But it makes sense. Why else would Moses say the things he does?”
“Because he may be in a permanent mental fog. Did you research our obligation to suggest half-baked theories implicating our client in a forty-year-old missing child case to the district attorney while trying to convince her to release him on probation on a trespassing charge?”
“No.”
“And you don’t have to.” Zach pushed his chair away from his desk. “Before I began my other work this morning, I spent time praying about the Jones case. Once my head cleared of the misguided curiosity that dominated our interview session with him yesterday, I realized we shouldn’t be pretending to be a cold-case investigation team. We’re not actors on a TV show. Moses Jones is a real person who trusts us to help him with an immediate problem.”
“But what about Lisa Prescott?”
“Her disappearance was a tragedy. But why should we try to solve what police officers and detectives close in time to the events couldn’t figure out?”
I took a deep breath to avoid getting angry. “I believe everything happens for a reason,” I said deliberately. “It wasn’t an accident that I saw the picture of Ellen Prescott on Mrs. Fairmont’s nightstand and asked about it. It wasn’t a coincidence that Moses mentioned the Prescott girl to me. And this morning, Mrs. Fairmont tells me information known only to the police and Prescott family.”
“So God sovereignly brought all this together?”
“Maybe.”
“Which still doesn’t get you off the hook about making a choice. I’ve made my choice, and so should you. I think you should focus on what Judge Cannon appointed you to do—represent Moses in the trespassing case.”
I scrunched my eyes together but held my tongue.
“Make a face if you like,” Zach said, “but I’m trying to teach you to be a professional. It’s my job. Come back at nine o’clock, and we’ll call Maggie Smith.”
He looked down at some papers on his desk. Steaming mad, I left his office and walked down the stairs to the first floor. My shoes clipped against the wooden floor. One choice was easy. My interest in getting to know Zach Mays better on a personal level was gone. Julie was in the library when I arrived.
“Good morning,” Julie announced brightly. “My headache is gone. A bad one can hang around for a couple of days, but I’m feeling super.”
“That’s great,” I managed.
“Uh-oh,” Julie responded. “It’s too early in the day to be depressed. Is the pressure of maintaining two boyfriends getting to you?”
“Shut up,” I said.
Julie’s jaw dropped.
“I did it,” I said softly.
Tears rushed into my eyes, and I stumbled out of the room.
Right into the arms of Mr. Carpenter.
The older lawyer steadied me for a moment, then let go. Julie opened the door, saw Mr. Carpenter, and quickly closed it.
“What’s going on here?” Mr. Carpenter asked.
I sniffled. “It’s been a rough morning,” I said.
“That’s obvious. Come to my office.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
As I walked down the hall I glanced back and saw the library door close again. My tears receded, but my eyes were still red as we passed the secretary’s desk. She didn’t pay any attention to me.
“Sit down,” Mr. Carpenter said.
I sat in a blue leather chair.
“Answer me directly,” the lawyer continued. “Why were you crying in the office hallway at eight thirty in the morning?”
“It’s a combination of things.”
“Tell me every one. As managing partner, I’m responsible for this office and the people who work here. It’s better to address problems as soon as they surface instead of letting them fester.”
“I don’t want to get Julie in trouble.”
“I appreciate your sentiment, but I don’t know what took place. You might be the one in trouble.”
I hadn’t considered that possibility. Confessing sin, even if I wasn’t the primary guilty party, happened all the time in my family and wasn’t a new concept to me.
“I told her to shut up,” I said. “And I’m sorry. I’ll apologize as soon as I can.”
Mr. Carpenter tilted his head to the side. “Much worse things than that have been said in our partnership meetings. Why did you tell her
to shut up?”
I realized Mr. Carpenter was going to ferret out every piece of information hidden in my brain, so, in a methodical manner, I told him about Julie’s challenge. He listened without interruption.
“Anything else at the office upset you this morning?” he asked.
“Yes sir, I’m struggling with the best way to represent Mr. Moses Jones, my client in the misdemeanor criminal case. Zach Mays and I don’t agree on the best way to proceed.”
“What did you say was the client’s name?”
“Moses Jones.”
“Tell me about the client.”
“He’s an African-American man in his early seventies. He had a prior criminal conviction many years ago, something to do with moonshine whiskey.”
“Been in Savannah a long time?”
“I think his whole life.”
Mr. Carpenter touched his fingers together in front of his chin. The phone on his desk buzzed. He picked it up.
“Tell Bob Groves that I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I’m almost finished with Ms. Taylor.”
I waited, not sure whether the next few minutes would be my last on the job. If I left, it would be with a clear conscience. Mr. Carpenter hung up the phone.
“I’ve received good reports from several sources about the way you and Ms. Feldman have been working together,” the lawyer said. “The incident this morning is an opportunity for growth. Julie is probably scared that you’re telling me a boatload of bad things about her. That may be punishment enough for baiting you. When you go back, I expect you to confront her actions in a gracious yet professional manner.”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll meet with her later today.” Mr. Carpenter paused. “And keep me posted via weekly memos on the Jones case.”
“Yes sir.”
I left Mr. Carpenter’s office. I still had a job. I looked at my watch. It was past time for the phone call to Maggie Smith at the district attorney’s office. I turned to go upstairs, then remembered my obligation to Julie. I walked quickly to the library and opened the door. Julie looked up from a casebook.
“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “What’s he going to do?”
“Mr. Carpenter thought you’d be worried.”
“Worried? I’ve been frantic! Trying to figure out how I was going to break the news to my parents if I lost this job.”
“He wants to talk to you later.”
“Am I going to get in trouble? What’s he going to do to me?”
“Probably tell you to act more professional,” I said. “That’s what he said to me. He knows we’ve been working well together. He realizes this was a temporary blowup.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
I looked directly in her eyes. “I’m sorry I told you to shut up. We can joke around but shouldn’t be cruel.”
Julie looked down at the table. “Sure, like I said, I’m sorry too.”
I WENT UPSTAIRS TO ZACH’S OFFICE, determined to act professional. The stack of papers on his desk was higher than before.
“Sorry I’m late. Mr. Carpenter called me into his office,” I said.
“You didn’t miss anything. I just got off the phone with the DA’s office. Smith won’t want to commit to any modification of her plea offer without the judge getting involved. It’s an extreme position for a misdemeanor case, but she wouldn’t budge. We won’t know anything else until we go to court this afternoon.”
“Okay.”
“Why were you talking to Mr. Carpenter?”
“He had some questions for me.”
Zach stared at me for a few seconds. I remained silent.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll leave for the courthouse thirty minutes before the calendar call. The order of cases isn’t released in advance. We could be first; we could be last.”
I nodded and left.
Julie wasn’t in the library when I returned. On my side of the desk was a memo from Bob Kettleson. He wanted me to research a complicated municipal corporation issue before the end of the day. I read the memo again, thankful that I’d completed the course in law school and received an A.
Shortly before noon, the library door opened. I looked up, expecting to see Julie. It was Vince.
“Lunch plans?” he asked.
I smiled. “Thanks, but I don’t have time for a long meal. Bob Kettleson needs an answer to a question, and I have a hearing in my criminal case this afternoon.”
“My appointed case is on the calendar too,” he said. “The client is going to pay a speeding fine and replace his muffler in return for dismissal of the racing charge.”
“I wish my case was so simple,” I sighed.
“What’s the problem?”
I eyed Vince for a moment. He was smart and less likely than Zach to try to impose his will on me in a condescending way. His input might be helpful.
“I’ll tell you if we can grab a quick sandwich.”
“I know a place,” he replied.
While notifying the receptionist that we were leaving for lunch, I glanced up the staircase and saw Zach looking down at us. He quickly walked away.
It was hot outside, and Vince started his car with his remote as soon as we left the building.
“It won’t do much good,” he said, opening the car door for me. “But it’s a nice thought.”
He drove a few blocks to a deli near the river. There was a parking place directly in front on the curb.
“Do you ever pray for parking spots?” he asked.
“No, I don’t own a car.”
“That will change once you graduate and get a job,” Vince said.
“I wonder where I’ll be.”
“Why not here?”
There was no tactful way to mention what Julie and I knew— Vince would be the summer clerk offered an associate attorney job.
“We’ll see,” I said.
The deli featured a dizzying selection of meats, cheeses, and breads. Vince waited while I looked at the menu.
“Could I order for you?” he asked.
“Sure. You did fine with lunch yesterday.”
“Is there anything you don’t like?”
“Chicken livers. My mother has cooked them every way possible, but I always have trouble convincing my mouth to send one down my throat.”
Vince placed the order, and I watched a man behind the counter slice two types of meat, three kinds of cheese, and add an assortment of unknown condiments to a piece of dark bread. We took our food and drinks to a booth for two next to a window. I could see the river glinting between two buildings. Vince prayed. I took a bite of the sandwich.
“This isn’t dull at all,” I said after I’d chewed and swallowed a bite. “I’m not used to a sandwich like this having much flavor.”
“Okay. Do you want to tell me about your case?”
I had the sandwich halfway up to my mouth. I stopped. “Not until I eat.”
Vince made a few comments while we ate. He seemed more relaxed than the previous day, and I realized he might have been nervous during our lunch. The thought that a man would be nervous around me suddenly hit me as funny, and I laughed.
“What is it?” Vince asked, quickly touching a napkin to his mouth. “Is there sauce dripping off my chin?”
“No.” I sipped my drink. “You’re fine. It was a private thought about me.”
I ate most of the sandwich and wished I could give what remained to the twins. They would have turned up their noses until coaxed into trying a bite.
“Now, tell me about State v. Jones,” Vince said.
“You remember the name of my case?”
“Your client is charged with multiple counts of trespassing, and Julie’s client, Mr. Ferguson, was allegedly impersonating a water-meter reader.”
“Why am I surprised?” I shrugged.
I began with the first interview. As I talked, I had the impression Vince would remember more about the
case than I would.
“Did Jones say anything else about the man named Carpenter?”
“No.”
“Have you done any research at the courthouse or on the Internet?”
“No.”
Vince looked at his watch. “We need to get back to the office. Let me think about it.”
With Vince, I knew the statement wasn’t a put-off.
I was able to deliver a memo to Kettleson with fifteen minutes to spare before leaving for the courthouse. I opened my State v. Jones folder and reviewed my notes. I knew if a plea bargain wasn’t reached with the district attorney, Moses would be expected to plead not guilty to the charges. I ran over in my mind Moses’ argument that he couldn’t be convicted of trespassing because the river belonged to God. If that was true, the posts put there by man were the real trespassers. Even a summer clerk couldn’t make that argument to a jury of sane adults. I went upstairs to Zach’s office. He was pulling his tie tighter around his neck.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“Really? Did you contact the homeowners I hadn’t interviewed?”
“No.”
“I did. One of them will be in the courtroom.”
Zach picked up his briefcase. “I’ll fill you in on the way over there.”
As I followed Zach to the first floor of the office, two thoughts crossed my mind. Both Zach and Vince were smarter than I was; however, Vince didn’t go out of his way to remind me.
21
“YOU’RE KIDDING,” I SAID, STANDING BESIDE ZACH’S BLACK motorcycle with the sidecar attached.
Zach handed me the helmet I’d worn on Saturday. “Ride or walk. It’s not very far. I didn’t unhook the sidecar after our ride to Tybee Island.”
“But you knew we had the arraignment calendar today. You could have driven your car.”
“Maybe I forgot,” he said with a grin.
I debated whether to go back inside and request use of the law firm car, but when I looked around the lot it wasn’t there. I took the helmet.
“This isn’t funny,” I said, slipping it over my head.
Zach put on his helmet and spoke into the microphone. “We’ll be able to park close to the entrance. There are special spaces reserved for motorcycles.”
Mountain Top Page 68
