Water's Edge

by Robert Whitlow

  “My reputation means nothing.” Elias sighed. “All that matters is what the Lord has done in your life, and I refuse to let the devil steal that happiness from me. The troubles of this life are temporary; the joy that awaits will never end. Please don’t—”

  “Not now, Elias,” Tom said. “After what’s happened I can’t hear that kind of talk. I’m going to bed.”

  Upstairs, Tom took a shower to wash away the smell of the jail that lingered in his nostrils, brushed his teeth, and lay down to sleep.

  ______

  He woke up at 3:00 a.m. and sat up straight in bed. The events of the day crashed down on him. Slipping out of bed, he went downstairs to the kitchen. There was no light shining from beneath the study door. Tom was glad that Elias had decided to go to sleep. He drank a glass of water. He thought about the nasty tea served at the jail. The sweet well water had never tasted so good.

  When he came out of the kitchen, Tom rested his hand on the stair railing for a moment. A loud cry made him jump.

  “You can’t have him!” Elias called out from the study.

  Tom walked softly over to the study. The light was still off.

  “You can’t have him!” the old man cried out again. “I’m striking six times against the ground! It is the arrow of the Lord’s victory!”

  Tom heard Elias sharply clap his hands together six times. A couple of minutes passed in silence. Tom turned away. As he crept up the stairs, the skin on the back of his neck tingled. He stopped at the top of the stairs and listened again. Nothing.

  ______

  Tom woke to the smell of bacon. As soon as he entered the kitchen, Elias handed him a cup of coffee. Thick pieces of homemade bread were soaking in an egg batter. Elias turned on the burner beneath an iron skillet.

  “How does French toast sound?” he asked.

  “A lot better than the breakfast they’re probably serving at the jail.”

  Tom sat at the kitchen table and took a sip of coffee. Elias dropped a pat of butter into the skillet.

  “What were you doing last night?” Tom asked.

  “Did I wake you up?” Elias didn’t turn around.

  “No, I heard you when I came downstairs to drink a glass of water.”

  “Trying to do my part.”

  “The thing about the arrows. What’s that all about?”

  “It’s in the Bible,” Elias responded with his back still turned to Tom. “If you want to find it you can.”

  Surprised by Elias’s reluctance to talk about religion, Tom took another sip of coffee. After a good night’s sleep he felt more like fighting.

  “I need to speak with Esther Addington,” he said.

  Elias pointed to a phone number stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet that advertised a used-car lot. “She gave me a private number when we talked yesterday. She’s not answering the house phone. Her other children will be coming in as soon as they can make arrangements to fly over from Britain.”

  “If Esther hires me as Rose’s lawyer, I can use that as an excuse to meet with her at the jail.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure Charlie Williams will let me do it without a court order.”

  Elias flipped over a piece of toast and dropped another pat of butter in the skillet. “But would you actually represent her?”

  “No, she’ll need a lawyer when we go to court, but it would be a way to talk to her now. Rose doesn’t know I was following Arthur Pelham’s instructions and needs the background information. Williams wanted me to testify against Rose and make it look like she was the instigator of the theft.” Tom paused. “He’ll probably try the same approach with her and try to get Rose to testify against me.”

  Elias finished cooking the French toast and bacon. He placed a little pitcher of heated maple syrup and a stick of softened butter on the table. Rover walked over to the table with his nose in the air.

  “He smells the bacon,” Elias said.

  “Sit,” Tom said to the dog, who flopped down on the floor.

  Elias prayed a blessing over the food and added a few sentences of request that God would direct Tom’s path. Tom appreciated Elias’s sincerity but doubted the words reached further than the smell of the bacon.

  “Who’s going to be your lawyer?” Elias asked.

  “I thought about that when I was sitting in the jail cell. I’m not sure what to do. No local defense lawyer is sophisticated enough to take on this type of case, and it will cost $200,000 to hire a good white-collar-crime lawyer in Atlanta.”

  “Two hundred thousand dollars?” Elias shook his head.

  Tom ate the last bite of French toast. “I can’t solve that today. In an hour or so I’m going to call Esther and start there.”

  “And I’m going to Rocky River Church,” Elias said.

  “Are you sure you want to face all the stares and questions?” Tom asked in surprise.

  “Rather from people I know than strangers. Some of the church folks will pray for you.”

  Tom didn’t respond.

  Tom went upstairs after breakfast and turned on his cell phone. There were more than fifty new messages. Most of them were from people he knew in Atlanta who learned about his arrest from a brief TV news report. The callers sounded understandably awkward. There was also a succinct call from Nate Becker withdrawing the job offer for “reasons I’m sure you understand.” It was another blow that underlined the unrelenting horror of what was happening.

  Two reporters offered a “fair chance to present his side” if he granted “exclusive access.” Tom wondered how they got his number and deleted those calls. Toward the end of the messages a familiar, slightly shrill voice came on the line. It was Clarice, who’d obviously been crying. He listened to her message twice.

  “Tom, no matter what I read in the paper or see on TV, I’ll never believe you’ve done anything dishonest,” she said. “I’m very, very sorry this has happened. You’re a good man and don’t deserve this. If you ever need to talk to someone, call me. I mean it.”

  Clarice’s message broke down the spartan defenses Tom had built to help him survive the previous twenty-four hours. A tear stung the corner of his eye as he pressed the button to save her message. A few minutes later he phoned Esther Addington.

  “May I come over?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are there any reporters there?”

  “Not since last night. They really wanted to see Rose, but she’s—” Esther stopped.

  “I’m on my way,” Tom said.

  The street in front of the Addington home was Sunday morning quiet. Tom rang the doorbell and waited. It took a couple of minutes to open. Esther Addington looked very feeble.

  “Come in,” she said.

  She led the way into the living room. The house was quiet and deserted. She sat on a sofa. Tom sat in a side chair. He put his hands together in front of him.

  “Let me tell you everything I know,” he said.

  Esther listened impassively while he laid out the events of the past weeks except for the autopsy information. Esther shook her head.

  “That sounds like Harold,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “About five years ago he got caught up in a scandal at a bank where he was working as a consultant. His main contact at the bank was a man whose wife also had MS and wanted to take her overseas for experimental treatment not covered by the government health plan. The man came up with a scheme to borrow money on a supposedly temporary basis. When the man was caught he said Harold was in on it too. Eventually Harold was cleared; however, his contract with the bank was terminated. It was a stressful time, but God used it to bring Harold back to faith.”

  “Rose told me that last part, but I didn’t know the background. What was the name of the bank?”

  Esther repeated the name of the bank in the UK where George Nettles worked.

  “Did you have any accounts there?” Tom asked.

  “Yes.”


  Tom nodded. “That’s why Nettles and Harrelson would have documents with Harold’s signature on them.”

  “Yes, we closed the accounts when Harold came to work for Pelham Financial.” Esther paused. “Late last year Harold received a phone call one night from the man whose wife was sick. He’d gotten out of prison and wanted Harold to know it.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Brigham was his last name. I can’t remember his first name.”

  “Did he threaten your husband?”

  “If he did, Harold didn’t tell me.”

  “Did you ask?”

  Esther managed a wan smile. “You never met Harold. We didn’t have a marriage in which the husband tells everything to the wife. When I saw that closed look on his face, I knew it was pointless to try to break through.”

  “Have you tried to visit Rose at the jail?”

  “I was going to go today.”

  “Let me take you.”

  “Why would you want to go back?”

  Tom leaned forward. “I need to talk to Rose and tell her what I’ve shared with you. The best way to do that would be for you to hire me as her lawyer. It would just be temporary, of course, but it would give me the right to talk to her without being overheard and fill her in on information she doesn’t know. After that I can give you the names of some good lawyers who could actually represent her.”

  Tom watched while Esther considered his proposal.

  “All right.” Esther sighed. “I don’t see how that would hurt anything. It will take me a few minutes to get ready.”

  Tom waited in the living room. At least the Addington family had enough money to hire Rose a competent attorney, and without his cooperation it would be hard to prove she was a coconspirator in a crime. The phony evidence prepared by Owen Harrelson implicated Harold, not her, and contrary to Charlie Williams’s blustering, she hadn’t done anything that would constitute acts in furtherance of a conspiracy. Tom wired the money into a bank account to which she had no access. But right now, he knew none of that would comfort Esther Addington, and he wasn’t sure how Rose would receive it.

  Esther returned to the room. “I’m ready.”

  They passed several downtown churches on the way to the jail. The continuation of ordinary life by the citizens of Etowah County seemed surreal to Tom.

  “I wish Rose and I were going to church this morning,” Esther said, staring out the window as people walked up the sidewalk to the entrance of a redbrick church with a tall white steeple.

  They arrived at the jail. There were no TV trucks in the parking lot.

  “Identify yourself to the officer on duty and tell him you’ve hired me to represent Rose. I’ll do the rest.”

  Esther nodded. They entered the lobby. A young female deputy was sitting behind a glass partition reading a book. When she looked up and saw Tom, her mouth dropped open.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Tom nudged Esther.

  “I’m Esther Addington, and I’ve hired Mr. Crane to represent my daughter.”

  Tom slid one of his business cards from Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther beneath an opening in the glass.

  “And I’d like to see my client,” he said. “Please have her brought up to one of the interview rooms.”

  “Just a minute,” the deputy responded, staring at Tom’s card. “I’ll have to check on that.”

  The woman disappeared through a door. Tom calculated the chance of receiving a favorable response to his request at less than twenty-five percent.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Esther asked.

  “It depends on who she talks to.”

  Several minutes passed. When the deputy returned, she was accompanied by an officer about Tom’s age. He opened the door for the cubicle and came into the lobby. His name badge read “David Galloway, Assistant Chief Deputy.” Galloway and Tom had played together on the same high school football team.

  “Tom,” Galloway said, extending his hand. “I’m sorry about what’s happened. Between you and me, there are folks in the sheriff’s department who don’t like the way this has been handled. Everybody knows your family, and this just doesn’t add up.”

  “They’re right.”

  Tom introduced Galloway to Esther.

  “I know you’re a lawyer,” Galloway continued, “but under the circumstances you’re going to have to tell me a way I can let you meet with Rose Addington without getting into a lot of trouble.”

  Tom thought for a moment. “Call Judge Caldwell and ask him.”

  Galloway’s eyes opened wide. “Are you serious? Call the judge at home on a Sunday morning?”

  “He’s the one who will eventually decide if I can talk to Rose. I may as well find out now.”

  “I don’t have his cell phone number.”

  “I do.”

  Tom took out his phone, found the number, and showed it to the officer. Galloway pressed his lips together.

  “He’s probably at church,” Tom continued. “But it would mean a lot to me if you’d try.”

  “The worst thing he can do is yell at me.” Galloway shrugged. “And if I were in your shoes, I’d want an old teammate to help if he could.”

  Galloway left. On an issue like this, without any specific rules that applied, Nathan Caldwell was the kind of judge who didn’t need to hear from the lawyers. He would do what he wanted to do. When Galloway returned, the officer’s face was impassive. Tom’s heart sank.

  “You can meet with her,” Galloway said.

  “You talked to the judge?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. I told him what you wanted to do. He said if anyone asked me about it to have them contact him on Monday.”

  “Thanks.” Tom turned to Esther. “Wait here. I’ll ask the guard on duty to take Rose to the visitation area as soon as we’re finished.”

  Tom followed Galloway through a metal door. They turned right into the much smaller women’s area of the jail. There was a single interview room.

  “Wait here, and I’ll have her brought up,” Galloway said. “One of the guards will take you back to the front when you’re finished.”

  Tom’s heart beat faster as he waited. Rose entered the hallway wearing a smaller version of the orange jumpsuit. She looked at him with a steely gaze. The female guard left them facing each other.

  “We can talk in here,” Tom said, motioning toward the interview room.

  “About what?” Rose asked, not moving.

  “Everything. After we’ve talked, you can see your mother in the visitation room. I gave her a ride to the jail.”

  “I want to see her now. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “But I have plenty to say to you. Please, let’s go in here so we can talk in private.”

  Rose slowly walked into the interview room while Tom held the door for her.

  “Why aren’t you in jail?” she asked as she sat down.

  “Someone posted my bond, and I got out last night.”

  “I don’t have a bond.”

  “I know. It’s because you’re considered a greater flight risk as a non-US citizen.”

  “How did you get in here to talk to me?”

  “Your mother hired me to be your lawyer. It’s a—”

  “What?!” Rose exploded. “That’s the most outrageous—”

  “It’s just a way for me to meet with you,” Tom said, holding his hands out in front of him. “I’m going to help your mother find a lawyer who can actually represent you. I need to tell you why we were arrested.”

  Rose sat with her jaw clenched. Tom quickly explained what had happened with Owen Harrelson and Arthur Pelham.

  “I got trapped, and you had nothing to do with any of this. That’s what I’ll tell your lawyer, and I’ll work with him any way I can to get you out of this.”

  “Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Rose asked.

  “About what?”

  “Our fathers and how they died.”

 
Tom swallowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

  “The autopsy?”

  Rose’s eyes filled with tears that she angrily wiped away. She stood to her feet. “How could you deceive me about that?”

  “I didn’t deceive you. Charlie Williams wasn’t sure what to make of—”

  “That’s not what he told me,” Rose said, cutting him off. “I saw the autopsy results. My papa was trying to expose a multimillion-dollar theft by people at Pelham and trusted your father with the information. The money—”

  “I know how it looks, but—”

  “Don’t interrupt me! The money transferred to your father’s trust account was going to prove what was going on, but once your father got control of it, he decided to kill my father and keep it for himself.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Stop lying to me! Williams showed me the check your father wrote to himself !”

  “Let me explain. That check doesn’t mean—” Tom protested.

  “No,” she replied, spinning around. “Listening to you is one mistake I’m never going to make again! Leave now and stay away from my mother.”

  Rose jerked open the door. “I don’t want to talk to this man anymore!” she shouted down the hallway. “Get him out of here. He’s not my barrister!”

  chapter

  THIRTY-TWO

  Rose ran down the hallway toward a female guard, who opened a metal door. The door slammed shut. Tom stared down the hallway for a moment, then slowly walked away. A guard in the booking area for the female prisoners pressed a button so he could leave. Esther Addington was waiting for him in the lobby.

  “How is Rose?” she asked anxiously.

  “Upset with me. She doesn’t want me to have any contact with you.”

  “Why?”

  There was no use keeping silent. Tom told Esther about the results of the autopsy. The older woman’s face, already pale, became more ashen.

  “I know how it looks,” he said, “but there has to be an explanation.”

  “Rose is right,” Esther replied in a trembling voice. “I’ll make other arrangements to get home.”

  “There’s a taxi service on Oakdale Street. Someone from the jail can call and—”