Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  “I’ll take it,” I said after a moment’s hesitation.

  Maggie Smith wasted no time on pleasantries once I took the call. “I spoke with Zach yesterday, and I was able to reassign the Jones case to Judge Howell’s docket. I ran the plea bargain past the judge, and she’s fine with it—release Jones for time served and a year on probation with no monetary fine. It’s specially set on her calendar this afternoon at two o’clock. I sent Zach an e-mail confirmation.”

  “I’m not sure my client—” I began, and then stopped.

  Moses had not withdrawn his agreement to the plea, and I couldn’t tell her otherwise.

  “What about your client?” Smith asked.

  “I need to let him know about the hearing.”

  “Fine, but the prisoner request list went over to the jail first thing this morning. He’ll be there and released in time for a cornbread supper. See you this afternoon.”

  I hung up the phone.

  “Good or bad news?” Julie asked.

  “It depends. We’re going in front of another judge with the plea bargain in the Jones case. The assistant DA thinks it will go through.”

  There was no avoiding Zach now. No matter how cooperative Judge Howell might be, she wouldn’t allow me to appear in court without a supervising attorney. I buzzed back to the receptionist.

  “Please let me know when Zach Mays arrives.”

  “He walked in the door right after I transferred the phone call.”

  There was no use putting off the inevitable. I slowly set the phone receiver back in the cradle.

  “Does Joel have any photos of the river marshes?” I asked Julie.

  “Yeah, at all times of the day. They’re gorgeous.”

  “If you want to buy me a going-away present, that would be a good choice.”

  I left Julie with a puzzled expression on her face and went upstairs to Zach’s office. He turned around when I entered.

  “Maggie Smith called,” I said. “The case—”

  “Is on for two o’clock this afternoon. I read her e-mail.”

  I turned to leave.

  “One other thing,” Zach said. “Mr. Carpenter is going to be there.”

  I spun around. “Who invited him?”

  “Nobody. He’s been keeping up with the case independently of your information.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  “That he’s more interested than I knew. But you’re not sharing information with anyone, and I don’t want to speculate about his motives.”

  “Motive is a good word.” I stopped and took a deep breath. “And I know I’m doing the right thing keeping you and Vince out of this.”

  28

  SOMEHOW, I NEEDED TO CONVINCE MOSES TO REJECT THE plea bargain and remain in the relative safety of the jail. All paths might be rocky, but not all held the danger of a fatal rock slide. I needed time to figure out the best way to safety.

  I checked on the availability of the law firm car. It was checked out for the entire day. I wouldn’t suffer the indignity of riding in the motorcycle sidecar or in the same vehicle with Mr. Carpenter and didn’t want to ask Vince to let me borrow his car. That left Julie. I returned to the library.

  And came face-to-face with Bob Kettleson.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “We have a meeting with the developer on the eminent domain issue you researched.”

  “Why do you need me? Everything I know is in the memo, and there is a hearing on my appointed criminal case this afternoon. I have to get ready.”

  “It’s a plea bargain,” Julie said. “And you told me the assistant DA is recommending it to the judge.”

  “What time is the hearing?” Kettleson asked.

  “Two o’clock.”

  “We’ll be back in plenty of time. The main reason for the invitation is that I’ve been pleased with your work and wanted to get to know you better. It’s a forty-five-minute drive to the client’s business, and I hate wasting the time.”

  I’d long since abandoned Zach Mays’ rules for summer associates. I silently appealed to Julie. All she gave me was a smirk.

  I picked up the folder that contained my memo and followed Kettleson out of the office. Because the client developed real estate up and down the coast, its main office was located between Savannah and Brunswick. We left the city and drove south. Kettleson spent the first thirty minutes of the trip talking about himself and didn’t direct a single question toward me. Finally, he asked me to list every course I’d taken during my second year of law school, the professor who taught the class, and the grade received.

  “Your municipal corporations background shows in your analysis. I wish you could have had Professor Sentell. He was the best.”

  “He gave a few guest lectures.”

  I spent the rest of the trip listening to Kettleson tell me about his experiences in law school where he’d been selected for the law review. I was tempted to ask him to list all his second-year classes and the grades he’d received, but I kept my mouth shut and tried to organize my thoughts about the Jones case. Kettleson’s nasally voice didn’t help me concentrate.

  The meeting with the client included an architectural presentation of the plans for the disputed property and legal analysis by Kettleson in which he read my memo without giving me credit for the research.

  “Joe Carpenter, our top litigator, will be the lead lawyer if a lawsuit has to be filed,” Kettleson said in conclusion. “But I hope litigation won’t be necessary after our senior partner, Mr. Braddock, makes his calls to the politicians. No one is better connected in Chatham County, and he has well-placed friends in Atlanta and Washington.”

  The client catered lunch. I anxiously looked at my watch.

  “Mr. Kettleson, don’t forget I have to be back for my hearing,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t stay long.”

  He was wrong. We stayed until the company’s managers began to drift back to work. On the ride back to Savannah, I kept looking at my watch and taking a peek at the speedometer. Kettleson stayed quiet, and I didn’t try to interrupt his thoughts. We pulled into the law firm parking lot at 1:50 p.m. If I’d brought the Jones file with me, Kettleson could have dropped me off at the courthouse.

  “It’s only a couple of minutes to the courthouse,” the senior associate said as he turned off the car.

  “Except I don’t know how I’m going to get there.” I rushed into the building. Vince was sitting in the reception area.

  “Here’s your file,” he said. “I’ll drive you to the courthouse.”

  We passed Kettleson on the way out of the building.

  “That worked out great,” the senior associate said. “Look for another project from me when you get back.”

  We reached Vince’s car.

  “How did you know about the hearing?” I asked.

  “Julie told me.”

  “For once, I’m glad she has a big mouth.”

  It was only a few blocks to the courthouse.

  “Did you see Zach or Mr. Carpenter leave?” I asked.

  “No. Why is Mr. Carpenter going to be there?”

  “You know he’s probably been shadowing everything I’ve done. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows I’ve been snooping around the microfilm records.”

  “Are you going to tell me more?”

  “No.”

  We stopped and waited for a light to turn green.

  “I want to help,” Vince said, moving forward.

  “You’re helping right now. Trust me, this is for the best.”

  “I’ll let you out and find a place to park.”

  Opening the car door, I climbed the steps two at a time. Fortunately, there wasn’t a line at the security check, and an elevator was waiting with the door open. It was 1:58 p.m. when I opened the back door to the courtroom. It was much smaller than the one used by Judge Cannon. Zach and Mr. Carpenter were sitting in the area reserved for the lawyers. Moses and a single deputy were in the prisoner dock. Ther
e was no sign of Maggie Smith or the judge. I walked breathlessly down the aisle. The two lawyers turned toward me as I approached.

  And I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that Zach and Mr. Carpenter had been working together all along.

  “Glad you could make it,” Mr. Carpenter said.

  “Bob Kettleson—” I began.

  “We know,” Zach said. “I checked on you a couple of hours ago.”

  I couldn’t bear to look Zach in the face. “I need to talk to Mr. Jones,” I said.

  Zach stood up.

  “No!” I said so loudly that it filled the courtroom. “Alone.”

  Zach looked at Mr. Carpenter, who shrugged.

  “Okay,” Zach said.

  I went to Moses. The deputy moved several feet away. I positioned my body so Zach and Mr. Carpenter couldn’t see. Up close, the old man’s face was as wrinkled as a crumpled-up newspaper. His eyes were slightly yellow around the edges.

  “That’s Floyd Carpenter’s son,” I whispered.

  “I see that, missy. They favor each other.”

  “I don’t know exactly why he’s here, but it can’t be anything good. Until I can figure out a way to protect you, I think you should stay in jail. It’s the safest place you can be.”

  “I done told you I ain’t gonna die in no jailhouse.” Moses spoke louder and gestured toward the deputy. “He brung all my stuff in those two pokes. I be thinking about going home. Is that right?”

  “If the judge accepts the plea bargain. But what I’m trying to tell you is that it won’t be safe for you on the street.”

  “I be going straight to the river. Only who gonna tote my boat for me?”

  The old man’s concern about his boat gave me an idea.

  “We’ll ask the judge to let you stay in the jail until arrangements can be made to transport you and your boat at the same time. It would be a shame for you to get out and then have the boat sent for scrap.”

  “It ain’t no big beer can—”

  Before Moses could finish, a side door to the courtroom opened. Ms. Smith and a slender, dark-haired woman wearing a judicial robe entered the courtroom.

  “All rise!” the deputy called out.

  “Be seated,” the judge said. “Ms. Smith, call your case.”

  “State v. Jones.”

  Moses and I stepped into the open area in front of the bench. Zach joined us. I stood between him and Moses. Mr. Carpenter remained in his seat. Vince sat behind him.

  “This is Ms. Tami Taylor, a rising third-year law student at the University of Georgia,” Zach said in a syrupy voice that made me want to slap him. “She’s a summer clerk with our firm. Judge Cannon appointed her to represent Mr. Jones in this matter.”

  “Welcome to Savannah, Ms. Taylor,” the judge said. “I hope you’re having a pleasant summer.”

  I was barely able to muster a crooked smile. The judge nodded toward Ms. Smith.

  “Proceed.”

  Maggie Smith handed a file to the judge. “As you know, opposing counsel gave me permission to discuss a potential plea bargain in this case ex parte with you—”

  “I didn’t agree to any ex parte—” I interrupted.

  “I did, Your Honor,” Zach cut me off. “I’m the supervising attorney. Under the circumstances, it was the most efficient way to dispose of the case.”

  “What circumstances?” I asked.

  “Ms. Taylor,” the judge said, “we’re not in a rush here, but you and Mr. Mays can discuss a better method of interoffice communication at a later time. If you’ll be patient, I’d like to hear from Ms. Smith.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Smith spoke. “The defendant is charged with twenty-four counts of trespassing by tying up his boat at private docks. No property damage occurred, and one of the complainants, Mr. Bill Fussleman, sent a letter to my office offering to accommodate the defendant’s boat at his dock upon reasonable notice in the future. We are recommending that the defendant be sentenced to time served of eighty-two days, plus one year probation.”

  “What ’bout my boat?” Moses spoke up.

  Smith continued. “The defendant’s boat was confiscated when he was arrested. It’s in the impoundment lot at the jail and can be released simultaneously with the defendant.”

  “So, he should remain in jail until arrangements can be made for the transport of his boat,” I said.

  The judge gave me a puzzled look. “Is that what your client wants to do?”

  I swallowed. “We were discussing that when you called the case.”

  Moses, Maggie Smith, Zach, and I all stared at one another.

  “Our firm will make arrangements for the boat to be removed and delivered to Mr. Jones,” Zach said, breaking the stalemate.

  “Very well,” the judge said. “Are we ready to proceed with the plea?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Zach responded.

  I frantically searched for another delay tactic but came up empty. Zach’s duplicity was infuriating.

  I listened numbly as Judge Howell went through the constitutional litany required when a defendant enters a guilty plea. Most of the phrases had been the subject of intense scrutiny in cases that made their way to the Supreme Court. Today, it sounded like meaningless gibberish.

  “Is your client prepared to enter a plea of guilty to the charges?” the judge asked.

  “If that’s what he wants to do,” I answered resignedly.

  The judge looked from me to Moses. “Do you want to plead guilty, Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes’m, so long as I get to go home.”

  “All right, I’ll accept your plea and sentence you to time served of eighty-two days, plus one year supervised probation. The defendant is released on his own recognizance. Mr. Jones, your attorneys can assist you in setting up the initial schedule with your probation officer. After that, make sure the officer knows how to get in touch with you and keep all scheduled appointments. I don’t want to see you in court again. Anything else?”

  “Yes’m. My boat.”

  Judge Howell smiled. “Of course. Your boat is released from impoundment without payment of any storage fees. Remove it from the lot within seven days.”

  Judge Howell rose and left the room. Ms. Smith turned to Zach and me. “I’m glad we could work this out. Trying cases like this gives the public the impression we don’t have anything important to do.”

  “Thanks for your cooperation,” Zach said.

  Smith shook Zach’s hand and smiled sweetly. “I know you don’t do criminal work, but I hope to see you around.”

  The assistant DA left the room. The deputy handed Moses two plastic bags.

  “Keep catching those big croakers,” he said. “You’ve been the best worker we’ve had on trash detail for a long time, but I hope we don’t see you again.”

  “Thank you, boss man,” Moses answered.

  I took Moses by the arm to guide him out of the courtroom behind the deputy.

  “Tami!” Mr. Carpenter called out. “Just a minute.”

  Moses and I kept moving toward the side door of the courtroom. The senior partner walked over and blocked our way. He faced Moses.

  “My name is Joe Carpenter.”

  “I know who you be,” Moses said, staring at the floor.

  “And Mr. Jones is leaving now,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll see you when I get back to the office.”

  Mr. Carpenter didn’t budge. “It’s not you I want to talk to,” he answered. “I have business with Mr. Jones.”

  I knew there was no use appealing to Zach. I frantically looked to Vince for help. He stepped back and didn’t say anything.

  “Sit down on that bench,” Mr. Carpenter commanded Moses.

  The old man complied. Mr. Carpenter turned to me. “Ms. Taylor, your business here is finished. Go back to the office. I’ll meet with you later this afternoon before you leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I responded, planting my feet as if guarding a
basketball goal.

  Mr. Carpenter’s head jerked back. “What did you say?”

  “I’m staying here with my client,” I said more bravely than I felt.

  Mr. Carpenter’s eyes narrowed. “What I have to discuss with Mr. Jones has nothing to do with you.”

  I nodded my head toward Moses. “That’s for him to decide. Moses, do you want me to stay with you?”

  “Yes, missy.”

  I looked Mr. Carpenter in the eyes. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “I’m going to ask this man some—”

  “Mr. Jones doesn’t have to talk to you or answer any questions,” I interrupted.

  Mr. Carpenter turned toward Zach and Vince. “Go!”

  The two young men stared at each other for a second.

  “I want them to stay,” I said.

  “Why?” Mr. Carpenter asked, his face getting red. “They have no more business here.”

  “So they can witness what you’re about to do.”

  “What I’m about to do is fire you and tell you to get out of my sight,” Mr. Carpenter exploded. “Now move aside!”

  Zach and Vince stepped back at the sound of Mr. Carpenter’s voice. I held my ground. The river had been crossed. All that mattered was protecting Moses.

  “Do whatever you want to do about my job, but I’m not going to abandon my client.”

  Mr. Carpenter turned to Moses. “Mr. Jones, has Ms. Taylor told you she’s a lawyer?”

  “No sir, she always be saying she’s not a real lawyer, but she sure enough got the grit to be one.”

  “I’d say she has grit where she should have brains,” Mr. Carpenter replied sarcastically.

  “You can insult me, Mr. Carpenter,” I replied, my own eyes flashing. “And you can fire me. But Judge Cannon signed an order authorizing me to represent Mr. Jones, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  Mr. Carpenter glared hard at me for several seconds until a sneer turned up the corners of his mouth. “Ms. Taylor, I want to be totally clear about this situation. Are you refusing to let Mr. Jones talk to me unless you are present?”

  “Yes sir. And I’m telling him that he doesn’t have to talk to you at all if he doesn’t want to.” I looked down at Moses. “In fact, I’m advising him not to answer any questions or provide information about recent or past events now or at any time in the future.”