Deeper Water

by Robert Whitlow

  Moses let out a long sigh that slightly whistled as it passed through his teeth. "'Cause that's where she be," he said softly.

  "How did she get there?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

  "There weren't nothing else I could do."

  I sat back in my chair. Moses looked at me and blinked his eyes. The old man was about to cry. I'd seen many confessions with tears at the altar of the church in Powell Station, but none that involved a murder.

  "Do you want to tell me?"

  He put his weathered hands on the table and closed his eyes. "I go fishing. Not in that boat chained to the pole out back, but in an old wooden thing that leaked termite-bad. I be minding my own self when I heated the sound on the bank. I thought it must be a hurt critter and rowed over to see for myself. It be getting dark, but I seen a piece of yellow scrap that caught my eye. I touched the bank and hopped onto the ground. I heard another sound. The bushes were thick, and I got cut bad getting to her."

  He opened his eyes and pointed to a two-inch scar on his forehead. "I be bleeding bad my own self by the time I got to her. She was a-hurtin' and bleeding here and here."

  The old man pointed to his mouth and ears. "Her eyes be open, but not seeing nothing."

  He stopped and bowed his head. I could tell he was slipping completely into silent memory and pulled him back.

  "Was she alive?" I asked.

  He looked up. "She be breathing. I run up the bank to an old dirty road, but no one there 'cause it way out in the country. I yell and holler. No help be coming. I go back and pick up that girl. She not much heavier than an old blanket. I put her in my boat. We both bleeding together. I row down the river as fast as I could go. It be getting darker and darker. I get to the big water so I can get her to the bridge for the hardscape road to town. Cars be there for sure. I put down my ear to listen." He shook his head. "And she be gone."

  "She fell into the water?"

  "No, missy. She be dead."

  "Did you take the body to town?"

  Moses shook his head. "I be black; she be white. We both be bleeding. What happen to me if'n I carry her to town? That night I be hanging by my neck from a tree with nobody asking no more questions."

  It made perfect sense.

  "What did you do with the body?"

  "I take her to the place on the river where I be staying. I don't know what to do. I stay up all night a-crying and walking round in circles. Before the sun comes arising, I tie a rope about her little feet and then onto a big rock. I push off into a deep spot, say a prayer, and that's it. She be there today."

  "Did you ever tell anyone what happened?"

  "My brother, he knew. And my auntie that helped raise me."

  "Are they alive?"

  "They be long dead."

  "What about Mr. Floyd Carpenter? Did he know you found Lisa Prescott?"

  "People talk, maybe my brother, and Mr. Tommy Lee bring me into his office and make me see Mr. Floyd."

  "Who is Mr. Tommy Lee?"

  "My boss man when I run bolita. Mr. Floyd, he be the big boss man."

  "What is bolita?"

  "The numbers."

  I gave Moses a puzzled look. He held out his hand and rubbed it. "You tell me two numbers and give me a dime. If they be right, I give you five dollars the next day."

  "Gambling?"

  "Yes, missy. But I never did sell bootleg. I drink it way back then, but I don't haul it. That be my brother. Only ways I go to jail for half a year instead of him."

  Moses' connection with the sale of untaxed alcohol wouldn't help me find out what I wanted to know.

  "Why did Floyd Carpenter want to talk to you about Lisa Prescott?"

  "I be thinking they call me a thief, but I turn in all my money. But all the talk is about the little girl, asking me what I saw, where I been. I be scared and say nothing. Mr. Tommy Lee, he holler at me and lift up his fist, but he don't mean it. Next day, I on the street running numbers, just like before."

  "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 DAs 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 a
t 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 conv
ince 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 eightpound 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.