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. There 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 attor ney. 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 eightytwo 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."
"That's quite comprehensive," Mr. Carpenter replied.
"Yes sir. That's what I intend."
Mr. Carpenter nodded his head. "Very well, I have a few things to say to you."
I stood up straight. I had no intention of slouching in the face of the firing squad.
"First, Oscar Callahan told me you were a young woman of exceptional conviction and personal courage. Nice sentiments, but I had no idea how firmly rooted those qualities are in your character. Fearlessness in the face of intense pressure can't be taught; it is forged in the trials of life. Second, I never dreamed that a summer clerk would take representation of a client so seriously that she would risk losing a job and damaging her entire career to maintain zealous though misplaced advocacy. I have no doubt that you will someday be an outstanding lawyer. Third, you have earned the right to know why I want to talk to Mr. Jones."
"It doesn't matter what you say-" I began, aware I was being manipulated.
"Tami! Let him finish," Zach interrupted.
"And I don't mind Zach and Vince staying if those are the terms you set for me. Why don't we all sit down?"
Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Carpenter pulled up a chair and sat across from Moses. My mind reeling, I sat on the bench beside Moses. Mr. Carpenter gestured with his hand, and Zach and Vince sat down. The older lawyer looked at Moses.
"Mr. Jones, I'm going to tell you some things, but I don't want you to say anything to me without Ms. Taylor's permission." He looked at me. "Is that agreeable?"
Mr. Carpenter was a cagey man seeking a way to gain control of the situation through flattery and deceit.
"No sir. Talk to me first."
Mr. Carpenter's jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. "Very well. My father was a businessman here in Savannah. People described him as `colorful,' which is a euphemism for a criminal who has enough money to buy his way into respectability."
The senior partner's candor shocked me.
"Many years ago while I was in college, his niece, a little girl named Lisa Prescott, disappeared and was never found. Our family always suspected foul play, but the police never found her body or identified a suspect. Through some of his criminal connections, my father heard a rumor that Mr. Jones knew something about Lisa's disappearance. According to information in a file kept by my father, Mr. Jones was questioned at least once but denied knowing anything. Now you know why I took such an interest in this case. Moses Jones isn't a name easily forgotten, and when Sam Braddock and I pulled out the old records, we realized the connection. We didn't even know if Mr. Jones was still alive." He looked directly at Moses. "We're all getting older, and once and for all, I want to know the truth."
Moses turned to me. "What you be thinking, missy?"
Mr. Carpenter's matter-of-fact recitation of the facts threw me completely off guard. His approach bore none of the threatened pressure.
"What are you going to do if Moses doesn't want to talk to you?" I asked, stalling for time.
"Keep working on what my father started. That's more important than anything he could tell me."
"What do you mean?"
"Not only did we lose Lisa; her parents died a year later in an automobile accident. The double tragedy was the catalyst for change in my father's life. He stopped being `colorful' and moved into legitimate business activities in which he made a lot more money than he ever did on the shady side of the law. Lawrence Braddock helped him go straight. Together, they set up the Lisa Prescott Foundation."
"Foundation?" I asked in a subdued voice.
"Yes. Lisa's mother, Ellen, was my father's baby sister. Her husband didn't have any surviving family, and everything passed to my father under their wills. He didn't touch a penny of the money, but established a charitable foundation that has given away millions to children's causes in Georgia and South Carolina. Sam Braddock and I have served on the board of the foundation for more than thirty years."
"Why didn't you tell me anything about this?"
Mr. Carpenter raised his eyebrows. "Why should I? You were representing Mr. Jones in a trespassing case."
"But why did you want to talk to Mr. Jones alone?"
"I wanted to push him hard for the truth." Mr. Carpenter rubbed his hands together. "However, that won't happen since his attorney has demonstrated a tenacious ability to frustrate my efforts at communication."
"Do you believe Mr. Jones was responsible for Lisa's disappearance?"
"I don't know; the notes in the file mention a rumor that Mr. Jones found her body. The rest is a mystery I'd like to solve. Will you allow me to question him?"
I looked at Zach and Vince. Neither one spoke. I turned to Mr. Carpenter. "Only if it is considered an ongoing part of the attorney/ client relationship between Mr. Jones and Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter."
Mr. Carpenter hesitated. "So that I will be bound by the attorney/ client privilege and couldn't disclose the information obtained to the police. That's finesse."
"Agreed?" I asked, ignoring the compliment.
Mr. Carpenter nodded. "Yes."
"And I'll ask the questions first," I continued. "It will go a lot smoother that way; then you can follow up."
"But you don't know what to ask," the older lawyer protested.
"Just listen. You can evaluate my effort."
FOR THE NEXT THIRTY MINUTES, I guided Moses through his story. When he described Lisa's injuries after he discovered her on the riverbank, I glanced at Mr. Carpenter, whose eyes were red and moist. The lawyer wiped away tears when Moses told about the simple burial in a watery grave. For the first time since Mr. Carpenter blocked our exit from the courtroom, I allowed myself to relax. The tension flowed out of my shoulders.
Moses concluded with the two times Floyd Carpenter tried to talk to him, and the reason he kept his mouth shut. Mr. Carpenter pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes for at least the third time.
"I'm sorry," Moses said. "But I be too scared to say nothing to your daddy."
"I understand," Mr. Carpenter replied.
I spoke. "Is there anything else you remember about what happened to Lisa?"
"No, missy. That be it."
"Mr. Carpenter, do you have any questions?"
The lawyer bowed his head for a moment. "Do you know the place where you laid her in the water?"
"Yes sir."
"I know she's not there, but could you show it to me sometime?"
"Yes, boss man."
"And did you ever hear any rumors or stories of why she was left on the riverbank or how she got there that evening?"
Moses pressed his lips together. I held my breath.
"I be thinking something myself That little girl been hit in the head a lot worse than if she'd been in a bare-knuckle fight. Something hard done that. And there be small pieces of glass caught up in her dress. I saved a few of them in a tin can for a long time, but they be lost now."
"A hit-and-run driver," Mr. Carpenter said, turning to me. "Who didn't leave her lying in the road or call an ambulance, but thought she was dead and dumped her off in a secluded place. The police found blood on a curb along the route Lisa would have taken home from a music lesson on the day she disappeared. The first test was inconclusive, but the second came back as a blood-type match. Of course, there wasn't DNA testing back then, and the blood type was one of the more common ones."
"Why wouldn't someone who hit her call for help?" I asked.
"The driver could have been drinking, on drugs, driving a stolen vehicle, or simply panicked. We'll probably never know. People don't always think things through in the heat of the moment."
I could certainly identify with that type of mistake.
Mr. Carpenter continued. "Every car taken in for repair to the front grille or bumper during the next few months after Lisa disappeared was inspected by police, but nothing turned up. If it was a hit-and-run driver, he laid low long enough to avoid being identified. My father hired a private detective firm that continued seeking clues after the police shut down the active file. Nothing turned up."
Mr. Carpenter stood and extended his hand to Moses. They shook hands. I watched in disbelief.
"Mr. Jones, thank you for trying to help Lisa," Mr. Carpenter said. "Knowing someone tried to save her means so much to me." He choked up again. "And hearing your story gives me hope that she may not have suffered as much as, or in ways, we'd always feared."
"No sir, she never woke up until she passed."
Mr. Carpenter nodded. "How can I get in touch with you about going to her burial place on the river?"
"Through Bill Fussleman," Zach offered. "He's the homeowner who is going to let Mr. Jones tie up his boat for the night at his dock. Fussleman's address and phone number are in the file."
"That be fine, boss man," Moses said. "I be looking out for you."
"Can I take you someplace?" Mr. Carpenter asked Moses. "I'll drop you off anywhere you like."
"No sir. I be walking. It gonna feel good breathing free air and stretching out my own two legs."
"And you?" Mr. Carpenter asked me. "Are you going back to the office? You still have a job."
"Yes, and thanks, but I think I'll walk. Free air sounds good to me too."