Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  “Did Floyd Carpenter suspect you found her on the riverbank?”

  Moses shook his head. “I don’t be knowing, only I see his face to this day.”

  “Where?”

  “In the water. Why do you think that be so?”

  It was an unanswerable question.

  “Didn’t you tell me Floyd Carpenter gave you a dollar that you threw in the river?”

  “Later, he come all the way down on the river where I be staying. I was eating my breakfast when he walk out of the woods with a long rifle on his shoulder. ’Bout scared me half to death. But he talk soft. Give me a shiny silver dollar.”

  “Why did he give you the money?”

  “He say if I be telling the truth, that dollar will make me a rich man. If I be lying, then I won’t never have nothing. I be poor my whole life except I got my boat.”

  “Telling the truth about what?”

  Moses pointed to the picture in the paper. “That girl with the yellow hair and blue eyes.”

  “Did you tell him then that you found her on the bank and tried to save her?”

  “No, the voice in my head tells me something ain’t right. I just shake my head and act dumb, but I be scared if ’n he don’t believe me. So I start sleeping more on the river, but he find me there.”

  “He came to see you in a boat?”

  “No, missy. Ain’t you listening? His face. It don’t need no boat.” He pointed again at the newspaper article. “He be like her.”

  I sat back in my chair and studied Moses Jones in a different way. The old man had lived most of his life haunted by people he’d never harmed.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” I said after a few moments passed. “All of it.”

  He looked at me and bowed his head slightly. I started to offer another consoling word, but the horrid, unjustified malice directed against Moses by Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Braddock hit me.

  “Moses, did you know Mr. Floyd Carpenter had a son?”

  “Yeah. He be a big-shot lawyer.”

  “He’s my boss. And he wants to know everything you’ve been telling me.”

  Moses gave me a puzzled look. “Why he care about me after all these years done flowed by?”

  “Because of Lisa Prescott. He and another lawyer named Samuel Braddock believe there is a connection between you and the little girl. They see you as a threat.”

  “What you mean?”

  “You were scared of Mr. Floyd and his gun. They’re scared of you and what you know.”

  “Why? I be sitting in this jail and can’t hurt nobody.”

  “That’s true. But they think you can harm them by changing the way people in Savannah think about them. The guilt of past generations is chasing them. And that guilt doesn’t ever get tired.” I paused. “Floyd Carpenter was the person responsible for Lisa Prescott’s death.”

  Moses’ face revealed his shock. “Why he do that? She not be more than a little thing.”

  I rubbed my hand as he had earlier. “For a lot more than a chance at five dollars.”

  27

  MOSES SHOOK HIS HEAD AFTER I SPENT ALMOST AN HOUR explaining as best I could what I’d uncovered.

  “That be too much old thoughts for my brain to hold.”

  “I know it’s complicated, but what I really need is your permission to talk to the district attorney’s office about the possible danger to you. The DA’s office could call in the police to investigate, and you could tell Detective Branson what happened that evening on the river. He seems like a good man.”

  “You be a nice’un, but out there”—Moses gestured with his arm—“ain’t nobody gonna believe me. Nowadays I may not be strung up on a tree limb, but I never get out of this jail. No, missy, you best keep this to me and you.”

  “Don’t you understand? You could be in real danger.”

  “For sure, every way be a rocky path. But the less folks that knows the way I go, the better off I be.”

  I searched for another approach to convince him. “Please, think about it. It would be awful if something bad happened to you.”

  Moses gave me a slightly crooked smile. “That be a kind word. I not hear talk like that since I was a small boy at my auntie’s house.”

  “I misjudged you, and I’m sorry.”

  Moses didn’t answer. I looked down at my legal pad. It was blank. I’d been so engrossed in what Moses had told me that I hadn’t taken a note. Perhaps no notes about our conversation would be better.

  “I’ll be back to see you soon,” I promised.

  “And don’t be forgetting about my boat. If ’n I get out of here on prohibition, I want that boat going with me. It ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  THE DRIVE BACK to the office didn’t give me enough time to figure out what to do next. Investigating Lisa Prescott’s disappearance had been theoretical. The danger to Moses was immediate and certain.

  Vince was working in the conference room adjacent to Mr. Braddock’s office. Two paralegals were at the other end of the table organizing documents. I placed the keys on the table and leaned close to his ear.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Do you have time to talk?”

  Vince motioned toward the other end of the table.

  “They’re up against a deadline, and I need to pull off some data from the Internet for Mr. Appleby.”

  “You’re working for Mr. Appleby?”

  “Yes. The information is in French and no one else can translate it. I should be finished within an hour. Where will you be?”

  “In the library.”

  To my relief, Julie wasn’t in the library. I logged on to one of the terminals and checked my office e-mail. There was a message from Mr. Carpenter asking for an update on the Moses Jones case. I skipped to the next item. It was from Zach.

  Tami,

  I talked with Maggie Smith. She agreed to place Moses Jones’ case on Judge Howell’s trial calendar. She also brought up the possibility of running the plea bargain past Judge Howell. If the judge goes along with the deal, Jones could be released in a few days. Thought you might want this good news as soon as possible. Follow up with me upon your return to the office.

  Zach

  A few hours before, this would have been welcome news. Now, it doubled the pressure I felt. I noticed that Zach had also sent it to Mr. Carpenter. My mouth went dry, and the pressure doubled again. I glanced at the ceiling and offered up a prayer for help.

  I tried to work on the Folsom divorce case while I waited for Vince to finish, but it was trivial compared to the threats facing Moses. I checked my watch every five minutes. Shortly, before the hour was up, the library door opened. I looked up in relief.

  It was Zach.

  “Did you read my e-mail?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “It sounds hopeful, but I’m not sure Moses is ready to get out of jail. You heard what he said when we explained the terms of probation to him. He’ll violate the terms of release and go back to jail without any chance of getting out for a long time.”

  “He’s a grown man. As long as he understands what’s expected of him, compliance is his responsibility. Do you think he wants to stay locked up? We don’t have the right to keep him in jail if there is a reasonable chance to get him out.”

  “We might get a not-guilty verdict at trial,” I responded. “Then he wouldn’t have to worry about probation. I met with him this afternoon and explained our trial strategy. As we talked it made more and more sense. I mean, jurors are regular people who can appreciate an honest mistake, especially when no property damage has occurred.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I can’t believe what I’m hearing. The case is exactly where we want it to be, and you think the best course of action is for our client to go to trial? What’s really going on? This has to do with Lisa Prescott, doesn’t it?”

  I pressed my lips tightly together.

  “What did you find in the
microfilm records?” Zach continued. “Even if you uncovered incriminating information about Moses Jones, it doesn’t give you the right to be judge and jury, sentencing him to jail.”

  The door opened, and Vince stepped in. He saw Zach and started backing out of the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I’ll check with you later.”

  “Hold it,” Zach said.

  “What?” Vince asked.

  Zach stared at Vince, then turned toward me. “Because you two are working on the Jones case together doesn’t mean you can withhold information from me. Tami was supposed to take me with her and conveniently forgot to let me know.”

  “Oh,” I said, stung, “I got caught up and—”

  Zach interrupted. “I want to hear what’s happened since we met this morning.”

  The three of us sat around the table, with Zach at one end and Vince and I across from each other.

  “Out with it,” Zach said.

  I looked at Vince, who seemed nervous. Zach hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “I’m only an associate. Do you want me to bring in one of the partners to help sort this out? I don’t know who’s here this afternoon, but Mr. Carpenter is the most familiar—”

  “No!” I blurted out. “That would be cruel.”

  “No more than the accusations you’ve made against him,” Zach shot back.

  “Not cruel to me,” I replied testily. “Leave me out of this. I’ve never had a realistic chance of working here, and based on what I know now, I wouldn’t accept a permanent job if Mr. Carpenter offered me one. This is all about Moses Jones. You have no idea what you’re about to do to him.”

  Zach’s neck was slightly red. “Then tell me. I’m listening.”

  I looked at Vince.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  I faced Zach. “First, I need to ask you a question. Is your primary loyalty to Moses Jones as a client or to this law firm?”

  “Is there a conflict between them?”

  “Yes. And if I don’t tell you the details, then you won’t have to make a choice.”

  I saw Zach hesitate. I knew he liked his job working for Mr. Appleby. I turned to Vince.

  “And everyone knows you’re a lock as the next associate of the firm. You warned me the other day, but have you thought about the negative impact this could have on your future? Are you helping me because God has called you or because it gives us a chance to be together?”

  The slightly embarrassed look on Vince’s face told me what I needed to know.

  “I’m trying not to be cruel to either one of you or anybody else,” I continued in a calmer tone of voice. “I came to the conclusion this afternoon that what happens to me doesn’t matter as much as taking care of my client.” I stood up. “From now on, I’m not going to discuss this with either one of you. I’m exhausted and ready to go home.”

  I left Zach and Vince together in the library. I didn’t know where Julie might be, but I wasn’t going to stick around. I found her coming out of Ned’s office.

  “Are you ready to leave for the day?” I asked.

  She looked at her watch. “Yeah, it’s later than I thought. I have a few things to grab from the library.”

  “I’ll wait for you at the car.”

  “It’s blazing hot outside.”

  “Then you’ll hurry, okay?”

  Julie glanced questioningly over her shoulder. I hoped the thought of me roasting in the late-afternoon heat would keep her from having a long conversation with Zach and Vince. I walked slowly along the sidewalk in the shade cast by the building. I reached the car and watched the front door. In less than a minute Julie joined me.

  “Was anyone in the library?” I asked.

  “No, why?”

  “Just curious. I’d finished a meeting with Zach and Vince, and they stayed after I left.”

  “About the Jones case?”

  I knew I had to answer, and partial information was much more likely to satisfy Julie’s curiosity so we could change subjects.

  “Yeah, I met with him this afternoon at the jail,” I said casually. “One of the things we discussed was trial strategy. I think my chances of getting a not-guilty verdict are greater than you might think, but Zach and Vince are unconvinced.”

  “Your client admits the crime. I can’t imagine a credible defense.”

  I stretched out my explanation until Julie stopped in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s house.

  “You’re dreaming,” Julie said. “The best you could hope for would be a hung jury if you convince a couple of people to feel sorry for him.”

  “And a hung jury might be as good as an acquittal. How many times do you think the district attorney’s office wants to take up the court’s time trying a misdemeanor trespassing case?”

  “You have a point,” Julie admitted with a nod of her head. “Once again, I underestimated you. I didn’t think you had the guts to force a trial.”

  As Julie drove away, I wasn’t sure I had more guts than an eight-pound chicken.

  INSIDE THE HOUSE, I greeted Flip, whose excitement at my arrival seemed to increase each afternoon. Mrs. Fairmont was asleep in her chair with the television blaring. I gently touched her on the shoulder. She didn’t respond. I shook her harder. To my relief she stirred and opened her eyes.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Who are you?” she asked as she glanced up at me with bleary eyes.

  “Tami Taylor. I’m staying at your house this summer while I work for Samuel Braddock’s law firm.”

  “Samuel Braddock?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  It was the first time Mrs. Fairmont’s memory for people she’d known for years was fuzzy.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. “I’d be happy to fix your supper.”

  Mrs. Fairmont closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them. “Yes, that would be nice.”

  Gracie hadn’t come that day, but there were leftovers in the refrigerator. I quickly prepared two plates of food and began warming one up in the microwave. After the stress that threatened to crush me at the office, the normalcy of fixing supper was therapeutic.

  I returned to the den and found Mrs. Fairmont sitting in the chair with her eyes closed. It was a sad sight that made me ache over the ravages of aging. I heated up the other plate of food and placed them on the dining room table. Flip, smelling the meal, took up his position beside Mrs. Fairmont’s chair. I returned to the den and roused her again. At first I thought I might have to assist her to the table, but once on her feet, she walked without any problems to the dining room.

  Mrs. Fairmont seemed to enjoy her supper but didn’t respond to my attempts at conversation beyond a single word or two. I was just getting to know her and didn’t want to see her slip away permanently into a pit of mental confusion.

  “Lord, please don’t let this be the time,” I prayed softly.

  Mrs. Fairmont glanced over and gave me a sweet smile. “You’re a nice young woman,” she said. “Would you like to stay for a cup of after-dinner coffee?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll fix it for you.”

  I brought coffee to the table along with a cup of tea for myself. We drank in silence. Mrs. Fairmont touched a napkin to her lips.

  “I should invite Samuel and Eloise Braddock over for dinner,” she said. “They are such a gracious couple, and we have many good memories together.”

  “It would be best if I’m not here that evening,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “So you can discuss good memories.”

  I LAY AWAKE THAT NIGHT. Most of the challenges I’d faced in my life seemed theoretical compared to the sober reality facing Moses Jones. My responsibility to the old man rested on my chest like a great weight and reduced me to one of the simplest prayers.

  “Help me,” I prayed over and over and over.

  I finally drifted off to sleep with the words lingering on my lips.

  I AWOKE IN THE MORNING and enjoyed a five-second stretch before reality retur
ned. I sighed and reluctantly resumed my burden. During my morning run, I took a new route away from the historic district into the modern part of the city. I needed new scenery.

  Mrs. Fairmont wasn’t downstairs when I returned, but she responded when I pressed the Call button on the intercom.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

  “Fine. I’m going to call Christine and tell her to take me to lunch. Have a nice day.”

  I walked as resolutely as I could to the office and went directly to the library. Julie hadn’t arrived, and there weren’t any notes from Zach or Vince. One of my main goals for the day was to avoid contact with either one of them. I checked my law firm e-mail account. I’d received another project from Bob Kettleson. I grimaced. One consequence of my leaving the firm would be increased work for the senior associate. Julie burst through the door.

  “Wow, what a night,” she said. “I met the most awesome guy. He lives on my street, and we met while he was walking his dog, a cute little thing with pointy white ears. Joel graduated a few years ago from the design school here and opened his own studio. He’s a photographer, and some of his shots were the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. He asked me out to dinner on the spot and took me to the neatest French restaurant in a house on West Oglethorpe Street.”

  “I know the place,” I said.

  “He lived in Paris for a year after graduation. And get this, he’s Jewish without being over the top about it. Just like me. We had so much fun. I haven’t laughed so hard in months. His work is so good that I’ve got to get my father to buy a few prints for my mother. He invited me to synagogue Friday night, then to the beach on Saturday. My mother will flip when she finds out. Maybe we can do something clean and wholesome one evening with you and either Vinny or Zach.”

  Julie stopped and laughed. “That sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  The library phone buzzed, and I picked it up. It was the front desk receptionist.

  “This is Tami.”

  “You have a call from Ms. Smith at the district attorney’s office. She asked for Zach, but he’s not here.”