Deeper Water

by Robert Whitlow

  "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 DAs 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 knewVince 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 watermeter 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."

  I didn't answer. Refusing his offer of a hand to steady me, I got into the sidecar as gracefully as I could. Zach turned on the motor and backed up. As he did, a car passed behind us as it entered
the lot. I turned my head and saw Julie, her mouth gaping open, staring at me from the passenger seat.

  "Do you want to know what the homeowner told me?" Zach asked.

  "Tell me after we get there."

  The pleasure I'd felt toward the end of the motorcycle ride on Saturday didn't return during the short, bumpy trip to the courthouse. I clutched the Jones file in my lap and looked straight ahead. I didn't have to wonder if every pedestrian or the people in other vehicles were staring at me. Zach turned into the courthouse parking lot and stopped next to a green motorcycle.

  "That's a nice bike, made in Italy," he said as we took off the helmets.

  I pushed myself up with my hands and got out of the sidecar. "I'm not wearing motorcycle clothes. Did your father take your mother to church in a motorcycle sidecar?"

  "Sometimes. But you have to remember, my parents were living near L.A."

  Zach locked up the helmets.

  "Which courtroom?" he asked as we climbed the steps.

  "I'm not sure."

  "Follow me."

  I held back for a second, but it looked silly for me to walk two steps behind him. We entered the building together.

  "What about the homeowner?" I asked.

  "After I told Mr. Fussleman about Moses' life on the river, he said it reminded him of Huck and Jim. He's willing to ask the judge for a lenient sentence."

  "What about the other dock owners?"

  "I hope they won't be here. Moses used Mr. Fussleman's dock more than any of the others, so you can argue he's the party who suffered the most damage." Zach glanced sideways at me as we waited for an elevator. "Have you written out your argument for the judge?"

  "No."

  "You'll have a few minutes after we talk to Mr. Fussleman, and maybe our case won't be the first one called."

  "Vince has a case-" I stopped. I could have ridden with Vince and avoided the sidecar.

  We got off the elevator and turned left down a broad hallway. A cluster of people were milling around.

  "I hope all these people aren't on our calendar," Zach said.

  He opened the door to the courtroom. It was a large room with bench seating. At least a hundred people were already present. The thought of making my unprepared argument to Judge Cannon in front of a big crowd made my hands sweat. Zach walked to the front of the courtroom. I followed. He turned around and spoke in a loud voice.

  "Is Mr. Fussleman here?"

  All the conversations ceased, and everyone looked around to see if Mr. Fussleman identified himself. No one raised his hand or came forward. There was a row of chairs in front of a railing that separated the crowd from the area in front of the bench and the jury box on the right-hand side of the room. Zach sat down and motioned for me to join him.

  "What is Mr. Fussleman going to say?" I asked.

  "Fussleman grew up here and knows men like Moses who roam up and down the river. I want him to meet Moses before the calendar call. Once Fussleman sees how harmless he is, he may ask the judge to let Moses go free without any more jailtime and even allow Moses to use his dock as long as he doesn't do anything except tie up for the night. That would take care of two problems at once."

  It was a much better plan of action than the nonexistent one I'd come up with.

  "That's great," I said.

  Zach glanced sideways at me. "I promised to help."

  I felt ashamed. I'd been petty and prideful. I pressed my lips together and silently asked God to forgive me. Zach stood up again. An apology to him would have to wait.

  "Is Mr. Fussleman here?" he called out again.

  An older man with gray hair and wearing a business suit raised his hand in the air.

  "Come on," Zach said to me.

  We walked to the rear of the courtroom. Zach extended his hand and introduced himself. "Thanks so much for coming," he said. "I know it's inconvenient."

  Zach introduced me to Mr. Fussleman, who smiled.

  "Mr. Mays told me this was your first case," he said. "One of my daughters is a young lawyer in Washington, D.C. When I thought about her, I had to see what I could do to help you sort this out."

  "Thank you," I said gratefully.

  "Let's step into the hallway," Zach suggested.

  More people were entering the courtroom. We found a quiet spot. Mr. Fussleman looked at me expectantly. I knew my job-to tell him Moses Jones was a harmless old man who wouldn't hurt anything except the fish he caught for supper. I did my best, but I kept thinking about the newspaper photograph of Lisa Prescott and her face that continued to accuse Moses from a watery grave. Mr. Fussleman listened thoughtfully. The few times I glanced at Zach, I couldn't decipher his expression. Vince walked past us and into the courtroom.

  "What do you want me to do?" Mr. Fussleman asked when I finished.

  "Tell Judge Cannon that as one of the dock owners, you support releasing Mr. Jones for time already served in jail, and in the future would allow him to tie up for the night at your dock so long as he didn't interfere with your use of the facilities or cause any damage to your property."

  "I want to meet Mr. Jones before I agree to anything, but I don't think I have any objection to releasing him from jail." He hesitated a moment before continuing, "But I can't agree to let him use my dock."

  My face fell.

  "Unless he checks with me first," he finished.

  "It may be late at night," I replied.

  "I'm usually up past eleven. If it's later than that, he will have to pole his boat back down the river."

  His proposal was more than fair.

  "Can we meet with Moses?" I asked Zach.

  "Let's try."

  We returned to the courtroom.

  "There's Maggie Smith," Zach said.

  There were three female members of the district attorney's staff stacking up files at one of the tables used by the lawyers.

  "Which one?"

  "The shorter one with brown hair."

  Zach ushered Mr. Fussleman to a seat directly behind the railing. We approached Ms. Smith. Zach extended his hand.

  "We met at a young lawyers section meeting last year," he said. "You may not remember me-"

  "It's hard not to notice a male lawyer in Savannah with long hair who rides a motorcycle."

  I glanced down. Ms. Smith wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

  "One of the dock owners, a Mr. Fussleman, is here," Zach said. "He'd like to meet our client."

  "Why?"

  Zach turned to me, and I explained our purpose. Smith shrugged.

  "Okay. If none of the other dock owners show up, I won't oppose a guilty plea for time served as long as there is a period of probation. I don't want Jones claiming ownership of a dock by adverse possession."

  "Will you support the plea?" Zach asked.

  Smith looked at Zach and smiled. "No, but I'll be very clear that I don't oppose it."

  "Thanks," he said.

  We returned to the area where the lawyers were sitting. Vince and Russell Hopkins, his supervising attorney, were at the opposite end of our row. A side door opened, and a long line of prisoners wearing jail uniforms entered. Toward the end of the line I saw Moses. None of the men in his group were shackled. A smaller group in leg irons and handcuffs followed.

  "Why are some of them wearing handcuffs?" I asked Zach.

  "Probably felony cases. Moses and the others are the misdemeanor, nonviolent cases."

  Moses saw me and smiled. It made me feel creepy.

  "Let's talk to the deputy," Zach said.

  Zach went up to one of the deputies I recognized from my visits to the jail and told him about Mr. Fussleman. The deputy motioned to Moses.

  "You can talk to him at the end of the row," the deputy said. "But you'd better make it quick. The judge will be here in a minute, and he'll want everyone in their places."

  "Get Fussleman," Zach told me. "I'll tell Moses what we're trying to do."

  I brought Mr. Fussleman over. Zach was whispering into Moses' ear.


  "What dock be yours?" Moses asked Fussleman.

  "The one with the blue and white boat."

  Moses nodded. "Yes sir. That's a mighty nice piece of boat."

  "Thank you."

  "Moses, are you sorry that you used Mr. Fussleman's dock without permission?" Zach asked the old man.

  Moses looked at Zach then Mr. Fussleman. "I didn't use nobody's dock except as a place to put a piece of cotton rope. I'm sorry that the policemans put me in jail and lock me and my boat up. That's what makes my heart cry in the night."

  "Moses doesn't believe the river belongs to anyone," I said, "but he's agreed not to tie up at private docks without permission in the future, right?"

  I held my breath for a second, hoping Moses wouldn't back down on his promise.

  "That be right, missy."

  "And Mr. Fussleman might be willing to let you tie up if you ask his permission in advance before eleven o'clock at night," I added.

  Moses looked at Mr. Fussleman. "That's mighty nice of you, boss man. You let Moses know, and I'll clean that blue and white boat for free and scrub your dock. And you know that yellow line at the edge, the one that be going away fast? I paint it for you."

  Mr. Fussleman shook Moses' hand. "Come by when you get out of jail, and we'll talk about it." The dock owner turned to me. "This man doesn't need to be locked up. I'll testify if you need me."

  "All rise!" announced one of the bailiffs on duty. "The Superior Court of Chatham County is now in session, the Honorable Clifton Cannon presiding."

  The judge, an older, white-haired man, sat down without looking in the direction of the lawyers.

  "Be seated!" the bailiff called out.

  The judge turned toward the DAs table. "Ms. Smith, are you ready?"

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  "Let's hear pleas first, reserving the motion to suppress in State v. Robinson to the end of the calendar."

  "Yes sir, we have twenty-six cases here for arraignment. Based on the discussions with counsel, several of those intend to plead guilty."

  I licked my lips. There was less than a five percent chance that Moses' case would be the first one called. I desperately wanted to watch a few experienced lawyers navigate the waters before I was thrown in. I leaned close to Zach.