“I think Samuels is in the break room,” the officer replied. “Have a seat while I check.”
I sat on a hard plastic chair and reviewed the notes of my inter-view with Sonny Miller. After about fifteen minutes, a black officer in his forties came into the waiting area.
“Ms. Taylor?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“We can meet in one of our conference rooms,” the officer replied in a mellow baritone voice.
I followed him into a plain room with a table and six chairs. There was a white grease board on the wall. We sat on opposite sides of the table. Officer Samuels had stripes and bars on his uniform that I suspected had significance.
“Officer Samuels, your name was on a list—”
“I’m not a patrol officer, Ms. Taylor. I’m a lieutenant.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know much about uniforms. My father was in the military but that was before I was born.”
“Which branch?”
“He was an MP in the army.”
“Really?” Samuels smiled. “Me, too. When was he on duty?”
I gave him the dates.
“He was about ten years ahead of me,” Samuels replied. “If he served as an MP, he knows what it’s like to be an unpopular man.”
“Yes, sir. He was shot in the foot by a drunken soldier while making an arrest. He still has a lot of problems with it.”
Samuels’ face became sympathetic.
“What can I do for you?”
I explained my purpose, then said, “I’ve already interviewed a man named Sonny Miller who was involved, and I’d like to confirm what he told me.”
“Was Sonny sober when he talked to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he’s probably not far off the mark. Sonny likes to pretend he’s a big shot, but he’s harmless.”
“Could I go over his statement?”
“Sure.”
Samuels listened without interruption as I read my summary.
“That sounds like Sonny,” he said when I finished. “Officer Daniels and I were there within a few minutes of the men showing up outside Paulding Development. It was a spectacle, but not a violation of any ordinance. The group stayed on the sidewalk and didn’t cause a disturbance. I knew all of them.”
“Do you recall what they said?”
“Not specifically, but the intent was clear. Jason Paulding should repent or face divine judgment for trying to buy the church property on Gillespie Street. I don’t recall anything about Paulding dangling over hell on a rotten stick. That may be something extra Sonny came up with from a sermon he heard. I have to admit that Officer Daniels and I chuckled a time or two. You can imagine the scene.”
“Yes, sir. I also met Rusty Steele.”
“Be careful there. He can turn mean when he’s intoxicated.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samuels leaned back in his seat. “Overall, it wasn’t much different from messages I heard in church as a boy.”
“But in a public place, naming a particular individual.”
“True.”
“Were there allegations of criminal conduct by Mr. Paulding?”
“It’s possible, but nothing more specific than calling him a crook. I’ll leave it up to the lawyers and judges to decide if that’s slander.”
“Wouldn’t you consider a statement like that serious if made about you?”
“I’ve been called worse, especially by a bunch of drunks.” Samuels paused and shook his head. “For all her weird ways and ideas, Sister Dabney has helped a lot of people most folks don’t care about.”
I swallowed.
“What kind of help?”
“Well, the other night she took in a boy whose father beat him up. The young fellow hid out at her house while we tracked down the father and apprehended him. The man had just gotten out of jail and went on a rampage that will land him behind bars for another long stretch. I think Sister Dabney reported the problem. If she hadn’t contacted us, other members of the family might have been seriously hurt or worse.”
“Have you ever been to her church?”
“Not on Sunday, but I’ve been by at other times. She also runs a food pantry and clothes closet. Have you met her yet?”
“No.”
Samuels looked at me for a moment, then laughed.
“I won’t ruin that moment by trying to prepare you. It wouldn’t do much good anyway. Sister Dabney can be sweet as sugar one moment and screaming at the top of her lungs the next. Did you know she likes to stand out in the rain and tell it to stop?”
“No.”
“Stands in her front yard without an umbrella, yelling at the sky. I asked her about it one time, and she quoted some verse from the Bible about opposing spiritual evil in heavenly places. I worry she might catch pneumonia.” The officer paused with a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering a time he’d watched Sister Dabney do something weird. “With her, you never know what you’re going to get. Maybe a psychiatrist could shrink her head and tell you what’s in it. But I’m just a cop. From where I sit, for all her odd ways, she does more good for this city than harm.”
“I’ll pass that along, but we have a client to represent.”
“Everyone has a job to do,” Samuels said, then leaned in closer, much as I suspected he would if questioning a criminal suspect. “But it makes no sense why a big developer like Jason Paulding would be interested in suing Ramona Dabney. I doubt she has any money. Lawsuits filed for spite are a waste of everyone’s time. Can you help me understand what’s going on?”
I couldn’t reveal Mr. Carpenter’s theory.
“No, sir.” I swallowed nervously. “If we subpoena you to court, would you be willing to testify?”
Samuels relaxed and smiled. “Unless they’re teaching something different in law school, I don’t think I’ll have a choice.”
“Yes, sir, but I want to treat you with respect.”
“Is that what they taught you in law school?”
“No, sir. That’s what my father taught me.”
WHEN I RETURNED TO THE OFFICE, Julie wasn’t in the library. There was a Post-it note from Gerry Patrick beside my stack of work. The office administrator wanted to see me as soon as I returned. I walked upstairs with apprehension. Her door was open. She motioned for me to enter.
“I just heard that Margaret Fairmont is in the hospital.”
Ms. Patrick had introduced me to Christine Bartlett and her mother. I explained as simply as possible what had taken place at the elderly woman’s house. But I couldn’t keep the tears from my eyes.
“I guess I’ve been in a little bit of shock,” I said, taking a tissue from a box on the corner of Ms. Patrick’s desk. “Thinking about it again upsets me more now than it did last night.”
“I’ve received rave reviews from Christine about your care.”
“You have?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“That’s nice to hear, but it looks like I’ll need to find another place to stay.”
“Why?”
I chose my words carefully. “Mrs. Bartlett told me she wouldn’t need me to stay at the house if her mother is in the hospital or a nursing home.”
Ms. Patrick frowned. “I hadn’t considered that. Christine ought to have someone in the house to watch over all her mother’s valuables. An empty house is an invitation to thieves. Is the antique silver still there?”
Mrs. Fairmont had a collection of eighteenth-century teapots, forks, and knives worthy of a museum.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She should have put that in a safe long ago. I’m going to call Christine and suggest she let you stay on until—”
“Please don’t,” I interrupted. “Mrs. Bartlett has so much on her mind; I don’t want to add to it.”
“That’s unselfish, but Christine should exercise common sense in the midst of a crisis. She’s been impulsive ever since our school days.”
“You wen
t to school together?”
“Yes, she’s a few years older than I am. I won’t tell you how many, but we’ve known each other a long time.”
I stood up to leave.
“One other thing,” Ms. Patrick said. “Has Zach talked to Mr. Carpenter about the two of you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Make sure he does.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And it should be obvious that the firm would frown on your moving in with him.”
My face flushed red.
“I’d never do that in a thousand years,” I managed.
“No need to be dramatic. A simple ‘no’ would suffice.”
I WENT DOWNSTAIRS TO THE LIBRARY. Julie was at the worktable sipping tea from a Styrofoam cup.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
“Is something wrong with it?”
“You look like you just got some bad news.”
“I’m upset about Mrs. Fairmont.”
“Vinny told me about going back to see Mrs. Fairmont in ICU.
He said he prayed for her. I told him I’m sure it made you feel better even if Mrs. Fairmont couldn’t hear him. Prayer has as much to do with us as it does God.” I wasn’t in the mood for a theology lesson from Julie.
“I’d better type the notes of my meeting with Lieutenant Samuels while it’s still fresh. I’ll print a copy for you as soon as I’m finished.”
I BURIED MY MIND IN WORK. Toward the middle of the afternoon the door opened. Zach came into the library.
“I’ve finished the first draft of the complaint,” Julie said.
“How long is it?” Zach asked, eyeing the thick stack of papers. “This isn’t a class-action lawsuit against Microsoft.”
“It’s thorough,” Julie responded with her nose upturned. “I’m sure Mr. C wants Dabney to realize the seriousness of her actions.”
“And the discovery?” Zach asked.
“The requests for admission are done. I’m about to start on the interrogatories and requests for production of documents. Mr. C wants to notice Dabney’s deposition before she has time to respond to the lawsuit, so I’ll attach one of those to the complaint, too.”
“Let me read what you’ve done so far.”
Julie handed the complaint to Zach, who sat down at the table next to her. Julie watched him read. I continued with the research I was doing on another project. Several minutes passed before Zach turned over the final sheet.
“This is good,” he said. “You organized it very well.”
“So I’ve redeemed myself after the disaster with McKenzie?”
“I told you not to worry about that. Learn from a mistake and go on.”
Julie spoke in a syrupy voice. “How come I like it when you teach me a lesson, but it makes my skin crawl when Tami corrects me?”
“I’ll leave that to the complexities of women beyond the under-standing of men.”
The office intercom came on.
“Call for Tami Taylor on line 801. It’s a Mrs. Bartlett.”
I looked at Zach and Julie.
“I’m about to find out when I’ll be sleeping on the street.”
I hit the numbers.
“Where are you?” Mrs. Bartlett asked.
“At work.”
“What time are you coming to the hospital?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Mother is doing much better, but of course you know that. They are going to move her to a regular room as soon as it’s ready. Dr. Dixon left a few minutes ago. He confirmed she had another stroke, but it’s not as serious as they first thought. Naturally, the first thing she asked about this morning was that dog of hers. I would have thought she’d want to ask how I was holding up under the strain. Anyway, I assume you took care of the animal before leaving the house. Gracie has enough sense to let him out so he doesn’t soil one of the carpets. That would be the end of him at my house, but Mother will tolerate anything if he’s involved. They’re not sure how long she’ll be here. You can help keep the house in order until they discharge her. She asked about you and remembered your name, which the doctor said was a good sign, since it required use of recent memory. Then she ran on about some of my escapades when I was a teenager while one of the nurses was in the room. I had to interrupt to keep her quiet. Mother’s blood pressure was fine; mine was about to pop through the roof.”
I looked at the others and put my hand over the receiver.
“Mrs. Fairmont is better. I’m not kicked out.”
Zach pointed skyward. Julie gave me a thumbs-up. I listened for another three or four minutes.
“Make sure you stop by the hospital on your way home,” Mrs. Bartlett concluded. “They can tell you the room number at the information desk. Mother insisted I leave the room to get in touch with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up the phone. I told Zach and Julie what Mrs. Bartlett said.
“God heard Vince’s prayer, Julie. It wasn’t just for our benefit. It helped Mrs. Fairmont.”
Julie didn’t turn away from the computer screen. “I’m hearing fingernails on a chalkboard.”
“I need to let Vince know.”
“Go ahead,” Zach said. “I’ll help Julie with the discovery that will be served with the complaint.”
Julie scooted her chair closer to Zach as I left the room.
BECAUSE VINCE WORKED so closely with Mr. Braddock, the senior partner had carved out a workstation for the summer clerk near his office. Within the short time span of the summer, Vince, and his ever-present laptop, had become invaluable to the older lawyer.
“Can I interrupt?” I asked. “It’s about Mrs. Fairmont.”
Vince pushed back his chair and listened as I told him about the phone call.
“So we’re not going to be neighbors,” he said. “I’m not sure you would have liked the apartment below mine anyway. I smelled an odd odor outside the door when I walked by last night.”
I held my nose for a second. “I’m supposed to be with Mrs. Fairmont. She wants me to come by the hospital after work.”
Vince hit a few keys on his keyboard and stared at his screen.
“Mr. Braddock has bombarded me with questions for a meeting he has in the morning. He’s gotten used to a fast turnaround.”
“So you won’t be able to come with me?”
“Not until nine o’clock.”
“Is the research something I could help you with?”
“No, it would take as long for me to explain the issues as it will to unravel the problem. But I want to see Mrs. Fairmont and spend time with you outside the office as soon as possible.”
20
SISTER DABNEY HAD SPENT SO MUCH TIME IN THE RED ROCKER reserved for war that she hadn’t been on the front porch all week. Some people tired in a fight; spiritual warfare energized her. One of the verses she fired in a shower of arrows was “Let God arise, and his enemies be scattered.” Over and over she proclaimed the words, knowing her cause just, her right to triumph indisputable. Where the arrows landed depended on Providence. Her job was to bend the bow in faith and let them fly. And woe to those who abandoned heaven’s protection. She knew their blood, and the blood of those close to them, would be upon their own heads.
On Wednesday evenings at seven o’clock the congregation came together for a prayer meeting. Sister Dabney walked slowly over to the church to unlock the building. Only a handful would probably attend, but the power of two or three in unity could shake heaven and earth.
She stepped inside and turned on the lights. Bare bulbs illuminated cement-block walls painted a pale yellow. Rows of simple wooden pews stretched from the rear to the front platform. A thin gray carpet covered the floor. On the platform stood a rickety book stand with her purple rocker behind it. The blandness of the interior made the explosive color of the rocker stand out.
Sister Dabney walked up the aisle, following a path taken by multitudes in repentance. Familiar faces, for
gotten names, unknown futures. She climbed the three steps to the platform and took her seat in the rocker. She didn’t mix with the congregation until the conclusion of the service. The back door opened, and a few people came shuffling in. Many were there for the sack of groceries offered at the end of the meeting. Others came because they believed praying mattered.
At seven, two women Sister Dabney had plucked from the gutter several years before joined the small cluster of people. The women now had good jobs and would leave enough cash in the offering box to pay for the food.
The prayer meeting started. Anyone prayed who wanted to. After about thirty minutes, the back door opened, and a teenage girl hesitantly peeked inside. Sister Dabney recognized a young woman whose father and mother had long resisted the demands of the gospel and forbidden their daughter to have any contact with the church or its leader. The girl’s countenance told a tale of sadness that could be read without prophetic revelation. Sister Dabney’s militancy melted. Before her stood the need of the moment. Tomorrow’s battles gave way to today’s troubles. She motioned to a woman and pointed to the girl. The woman got up, went to the child, and guided her to a pew. Seconds later, the young woman dissolved in a pool of tears.
Sister Dabney cried out in a loud voice, “That’s it! He’s here! Let us pray!”
“I CAN SEE WHY YOU LIKE ZACH,” Julie said as she slid a complete set of the pleadings in Paulding v. Dabney across the table. “He inspires me, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way he looks at me, his tone of voice, the little smile when he’s teasing, and the pull on his ponytail for emphasis. It’s all darling. It made me want to work extra hard to do a good job.”
“Are you trying to steal him away?”
“Could you stop me?”
I didn’t know what to say. I was better equipped to land a catfish than catch a man. Julie must have seen the bewilderment on my face.
Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope Page 22