“I’ve been hearing that from a lot of people, but I’m only in town for a few weeks to close down my father’s practice and try to land a job with another firm in Atlanta.”
“I understand, but I hate to see good people leave Bethel. The most important thing is to take the good influence your father had on you wherever you go.”
Judge Caldwell was treating him like a peer.
“I’ve not valued what my father had to offer as much as I should.”
The judge smiled. “That’s the testimony of an honest witness. Just remember that what he gave you is like seeds inside you. Give them water and light and they’ll grow.” The judge leaned back in his chair and studied Tom for a moment. “Did you know your father occasionally came by my office to chat even when he didn’t have a legal matter to bring before me?”
“No.”
“It started years ago. As a judge I have to isolate myself from both the public and the lawyers who appear before me. But with your father I could crack that door open without compromising my obligation to neutrality. If I saw him the next day in court, I could listen to his argument and either accept it or reject it without regard to what we’d discussed in private. That’s rare.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Everything from fishing to the people who were important to us.”
Tom looked down at the table for a moment. “We didn’t have that kind of communication, especially after my mother died.”
The judge leaned forward. “Even though he may not have told you how much he cared about you, I know that he did. Sometimes we have the hardest time telling the people we love the most how much they mean to us.”
“Did he ask you to tell me this?” Tom asked in surprise.
“No, but I knew him well enough to believe he’d want me to. That’s why I asked you to come see me in the phone message I left at his office.”
“Do you think my father would have wanted me to continue his practice?”
“He would have been more interested in you continuing his faith.”
Tom pressed his lips together and didn’t respond. The judge took out one of his cards and wrote something on the back.
“Here’s my cell phone number. You don’t have to go through any hoops to talk to me.”
After the judge left, Tom remained at the table, staring unseeing at the bookshelf across the room.
chapter
TEN
When he returned to the office from the courthouse, Tom dove into the financial records stashed in his father’s credenza. His heart sank as he pulled out stacks of handwritten receipts, scribbled entries, and hard-to-decipher notes in the margins of the old-fashioned checkbooks. He cleared everything else from the top of the desk and began placing everything in little piles. Tom couldn’t understand why his father hadn’t bought a simple computer-software bookkeeping program.
Three hours later, and to his great relief, Tom had determined the general business account contained a few thousand dollars with no significant checks outstanding. A stack of bills, some overdue, would take the account to zero, leaving Tom on the hook to pay Bernice’s salary for the days she’d worked since John Crane’s death.
Tom’s concern about the IRS was confirmed. His father had made three payments of $10,000 each, leaving an amount owed of $167,000. There wasn’t that much money in the estate. Fortunately, the IRS couldn’t hold Tom personally liable for the remaining balance. He closed the tax file. His inheritance would be limited to the goodwill expressed by people like Judge Caldwell and the folks from the Ebenezer Church.
Finished with the regular account, Tom found the trust account records in a separate drawer. Every lawyer is required to keep money that belongs to clients or third parties in a separate bank account. It was embarrassing that his father owed the government money, but it would be a permanent moral stain on John Crane’s good character if Tom uncovered irregularities in the trust account. There hadn’t been much activity in the trust account, and Tom was able to quickly verify correct amounts for ten open cases and made notes so he could notify the clients. A slip of paper stuck in the margin of the trust account check register caught his eye.
DTA – SDB – 35-89
The initials didn’t make sense, but the numbers were part of John Crane’s method of case identification. The first two digits were the length of time his father had been practicing law—thirty-five years at the time of his death. The second set of numbers indicated the order in which a case was opened in a calendar year. Tom moved a few boxes and found the cases that contained files opened since the beginning of the year. He flipped through the folders looking for number 35-89. When he found it, he didn’t have to pull it from the box to discover what it contained.
It was the Addington matter.
Tom knew the file folder was empty, but he carefully inspected the manila cover for any writing or notation, no matter how faint. There was nothing except a slightly bent tab on top. He searched both the regular and the trust accounts for any references to money paid by or to Harold Addington. Nothing turned up. Stumped, he knew there was only one person who might be able to help him. Picking up the phone, he called Bernice.
“It’s Tom.”
“Thanks for checking on me,” she said. “I’m alternating between an ice pack and heating pad, and it seems to be helping.”
“Keep it up. Listen, I’ve been going through the bank records—”
“Uh-oh.”
“No, no. Everything seems to be okay. But I found a slip of paper in the trust account ledger with ‘DTA – SDB – 35-89’ written on it. That’s the file number for the empty folder with Addington’s name on it. Did Harold Addington ever pay him any money?”
“Not that I remember. Did you find any deposits to the trust account in Addington’s name?”
“No, and I checked for any fees coming into the operating account since the beginning of the year. Any chance there might be something before that?”
“I doubt it. They didn’t start spending time together until late February or early March. Before that, it was too cold to go fishing.”
“Okay, get some rest.”
“If I wake up in the morning and feel better, I’m going to get in the car and come down for a few—”
“Bernice,” Tom interrupted.
“Yes, sir. I’ll stay home if I need to.”
After Tom hung up the phone, he opened his wallet and took out the business card Rose Addington had given him. He didn’t have much to tell Esther and Rose Addington, but he owed them a brief response to their questions. He dialed Rose’s number. She answered on the third ring, and Tom identified himself.
“Is your mother available?” he asked.
“She’s resting right now. May I take a message and have her ring you later?”
“Uh, I can probably fill you in.” Tom quickly summarized what he’d found in the trust account ledger. “I wish I could shed more light on the matter, but I can’t. The small amount of money left in the trust account is clearly linked to other clients, and there’s no record of a fee paid by your father to the operating account.”
“Can you come over now?” Rose responded.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s too late for tea, but maybe you could drop by on your way home? Mum lives at 4598 Windermere Lane.”
Tom knew the street. He passed the entrance to the subdivision on the way to and from Elias’s house.
“Why do you want to see me?”
“So we can have a chat.”
The British lass wasn’t very chatty.
“Okay. Would thirty minutes be too soon?”
“That will be fine. Do you need directions?”
“No.”
Tom turned onto Windermere Lane, a short cul-de-sac at the backside of a subdivision known as Western Heights, a neighborhood of well-built two-story brick homes on large lots in natural settings. As soon as he heard the address, Tom knew that Harold Addington, even if he was a
disappointment to Arthur Pelham, must have earned a decent salary. The Addington house was on the right as he entered the cul-de-sac. Tom drove through a buffer of trees and parked in front of the house. The small yard between the natural area and the house was carefully manicured, the bushes neatly trimmed. Twin stone lions crouched on either side of the front door.
Something about the place made Tom uneasy. He looked around. There were multiple cameras on the house and several on trees in the wooded area. Extensive home security systems weren’t common in Etowah County. Some residents didn’t even lock their doors at night. He walked up the steps and stood between the lions while he pressed the doorbell. The glass sidelights were obscured by intricate ironwork, which doubled as a barrier to forced entry. He heard two dead bolts click before the door opened. Rose Addington, wearing blue slacks and a gray shirt, stood on the threshold.
“Come in,” she said with a smile. “Mum is in the kitchen.”
Tom followed her from the foyer into a formal living room. The interior of the house was furnished with typical American furniture.
“Did your father work from home?” Tom asked.
“Quite a bit, actually. He had an office upstairs.” Rose pointed to a long staircase. “After you called I double-checked the checking account records for the year and didn’t find any payments by Papa to your father’s office.”
“Neither did I.”
“But that doesn’t answer all our questions.”
Tom noticed two more surveillance cameras that monitored activity on the staircase. They passed through a dining room into a long narrow kitchen with a breakfast nook. Esther Addington, looking tired, was sitting at a round table surrounded by four chairs. She extended her hand to Tom.
“I’m not feeling too well today,” she said. “Please sit down.”
Tom and Rose sat on opposite sides of Esther.
“Tell me what you found,” the older woman said.
“Not much,” Tom began and then repeated what he’d told Rose. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Is everything we discuss with you confidential?” Rose asked.
“Not necessarily. We’re talking about my father’s law practice, not mine, which means I’m not here as a lawyer but as executor of his estate.”
“Do you represent Arthur Pelham or his company?”
“No.”
“But you might in the future?”
“It’s possible.”
“If that happened, would you reveal what we discuss with you?”
Tom shifted nervously in his chair. “Not if you consider this conversation as a preliminary step to hiring me. Under the rules, that sort of exchange of information is protected from disclosure by the attorney-client privilege.”
“Even if we don’t ultimately hire you?”
“Yes. Please get to the point.”
Rose ignored him. “And I’m told you’re a close friend of the Pelham family.”
“That’s true.” Tom nodded. “Rick Pelham is a lifelong friend, and Mr. Pelham has reached out to me, especially since my father’s death.”
“Mum,” Rose said, glancing at her mother, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Your papa thought differently.”
Esther, who had her hands in her lap, placed a folded sheet of paper on the table.
“After Harold’s death, I found this in the nightstand on his side of the bed. I believe it may help.”
Tom picked up the sheet of paper and opened it. John Crane’s name and phone number were written at the top, followed by phrases that included “termination of employment agreement,” “disclosure to third parties in UK, US, and Barbados prohibited,” “confidential communication applies to financial transactions,” and “transfer of funds.” At the bottom of the sheet Addington had written “Tom Crane???” Tom looked up.
“Harold was concerned about his position at Pelham, and it’s likely he talked to your father about it,” Esther said.
“And when we saw your name at the bottom, it made us wonder if your father ever contacted you about Papa’s concerns,” Rose said.
Tom remembered the phone message he’d thrown away when he cleared out his office in Atlanta, and Arthur Pelham’s comment that he was disappointed in Harold Addington’s job performance. He handed the paper back to Esther.
“No, my father never mentioned any member of your family to me. But you believe your husband was worried he might lose his job?”
“Yes.” Esther nodded. “He was under enormous pressure at work but wouldn’t tell me exactly why. He felt it might cause problems for me later if I knew any specific details.”
Tom felt himself go cold on the inside. Men in the financial arena who shielded their wives from information occasionally did so to shield them from harm in anticipation of criminal charges.
“That’s the way he put it?”
“Yes, he knew I didn’t understand the technical aspects of his work.”
Tom stood. He wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible.
“I’m sorry I can’t shine any light on the situation. If I find out anything else, I’ll contact you immediately.”
“Thank you.” Esther sighed.
“Oh, one more thing,” Tom said. “I’m going to tell Charlie Williams, the district attorney, that I’ve not found any clear evidence of a professional relationship between my father and Mr. Addington.”
“From what we’ve talked about today, I’m not sure there wasn’t a ‘professional relationship,’ as you put it,” Rose responded. “You don’t know why there is an empty folder with the Addington name on it in your father’s office or the reason your father put a note in his financial records with the file number written on it. And we found a sheet of paper with notes apparently made during a conversation between them about business matters. Would I be missing something?”
“No,” Tom admitted.
“And why did the government’s barrister ask us questions? It really upset Mum when he came by the house with a detective in tow.”
“Two men died, and it’s his job to do a brief investigation,” Tom replied. “I wouldn’t read anything more into it than that.”
“Just the same, we’d ask you not to tell Mr. Williams anything until we have a bit more clarity,” Rose said.
Tom didn’t think Rose could legally muzzle him but didn’t tell her so. She led him to the door.
“Thanks for stopping by,” she said.
When Tom was in his car, he counted five exterior surveillance cameras, with an unknown number throughout the house. Now he had a reasonable suspicion why the district attorney was investigating the dead British man. And it had nothing to do with a boat tipping over at Austin’s Pond. If Addington was engaged in some form of criminal activity, the grave wouldn’t stop the investigation— especially if it involved fraud or theft committed against Arthur Pelham and Pelham Financial.
chapter
ELEVEN
Returning home, Tom found the front room empty and the study door closed. A scratching sound revealed Rover’s presence. A moment later both Elias and the dog emerged from the study.
“I thought you didn’t like company in there,” Tom said, scratching Rover’s head as the dog moaned softly.
“That dog is a blessing,” Elias replied.
“Huh?” Tom asked as a drop of drool dangled precariously from Rover’s mouth.
“Have you already forgotten about Balaam’s donkey?”
“No,” Tom answered, looking up. “But the day you tell me Rover is talking to you is the day I contact Dr. McMillan to discuss putting you in a place with locks on the doors and strong orderlies who will keep you from wandering off.”
“You don’t scare me.”
Tom looked toward the kitchen. “What’s for supper? I’m hungry.”
Fifteen minutes later two plates were on the table. While they ate, Elias talked about his day with Rover. Tom was glad the old man and the dog were doing so well toget
her, but his thoughts kept drifting to his father’s federal tax liability.
“Did my father ever talk to you about his financial problems?” Tom asked during a lull in the conversation.
“I know he owed the government money. Will you have to pay it?”
“No.”
“Do you think you should anyway?”
“Is that what the Bible teaches?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Don’t spend any time trying to find out. I have enough problems in my life without adding to them.”
While they rinsed the dishes in the sink, Elias said, “What do you think about inviting some folks over for supper? I have an old charcoal grill in the garage. We could cook steaks.”
“It’s your house.”
“Good. I was praying this afternoon and believe we’re supposed to invite Esther and Rose Addington for a meal. We didn’t get the chance to talk much after church on Sunday and—”
“There’s no need,” Tom interrupted. “I went to their house on my way home from work and finished the conversation.” Tom put the soap in the dishwasher and closed the door. “God answered your prayer as soon as it left your lips.”
______
The following morning Tom fixed pancakes and link sausage for breakfast. He waited until Elias came into the kitchen to drop the pancake batter on the griddle.
“How did you sleep last night?” Tom asked.
“I was up for a while praying,” Elias responded with a yawn.
“If I get to sleep through the night without waking up, I’m going to take advantage of it. You don’t have to go anywhere during the day. Why don’t you pray then?”
“That’s not how it works. Before Jesus selected the twelve apostles, he spent the entire night in prayer.”
Tom flipped over a pancake. “Why did he have to pray? He knew everything.”
“He was showing how a man can walk with God. The Bible says Jesus only did what he saw his Father do.”
When the pancakes were ready, Tom put them on plates and took the sausage from the oven where he’d been keeping it warm. He’d already melted butter and warmed up pure maple syrup. Elias took a bite of pancake.
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