Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  “Maybe if you or I used them, but coming from Sam, it sounds as natural as can be—a man so close in his relationship with God that he calls Him by a familial name.”

  “It could rub someone the wrong way.”

  “Yes, but it might convince someone that Sam is a good-hearted man who wouldn’t embezzle money from Papa’s people.”

  Mike smiled. “That’s a good phrase. I’ll consider it, but let’s try it my way first.”

  They returned to the kitchen, and Mike resumed questioning. He was pleasantly surprised by Sam’s ability to provide the right information even though Mike avoided leading questions.

  “How did you learn about the extra money in your bank account?”

  “When I received my bank statement. I opened the envelope and almost dropped it. I showed it to my wife and called the bank that afternoon to let them know there had been a mistake. The lady I talked to was real nice and said she would look into—”

  “Can’t go there,” Mike interrupted. “It’s hearsay. Do you remember her name?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did anyone from the bank contact you and accuse you of embezzling money?”

  “Nope. I hadn’t done anything wrong.”

  Mike looked through his notes before he continued.

  “At some point, maybe here, I’ll ask you about the dream and letter to Jack Hatcher. You’ll probably be the last witness, so Hatcher will have testified and, based on my questions, the jury will know about the letter. I haven’t written out that portion of your testimony because it will be influenced by the information received from Hatcher, Dressler, Bunt, Linden, and Niles. Add in the expert testimony of Darius York, and we may have a circus on our hands with me as chief juggler. You won’t be able to explain all the balls in the air, so we’ll keep it simple. You’ve been kept in the dark as much as anyone in the courtroom about what is really going on.”

  Sam nodded. “That’s true, except for what Papa shows me.”

  Mike nodded. “You’ve given me a new appreciation for that truth. Anyway, you should have the same approach to the cross-examination questions from Ms. Hall.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mike held up the copies of the two checks. “Mr. Miller, is your bank account number printed on the bottom of these two checks?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sam, pretend I’m Ms. Hall. You have to say ‘Yes’ or ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

  Sam smiled. “My mama would be proud of you for that one.”

  Mike repeated the question.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you have authorization to transfer $100,000 from the Craig Valley Gospel Tabernacle building fund to your account?”

  “No, ma’am, and I didn’t do it.”

  “Isn’t your signature on the bottom of the checks?”

  “It looks like my name, but I didn’t sign the checks. Someone else did, or they used an ink stamp without asking me.”

  Mike glanced at Peg, who nodded. Mike raised his voice.

  “Do you expect this jury to believe that Mr. Jack Hatcher, one of the most respected men in this community, is behind a conspiracy trying to frame you on this embezzlement charge?”

  Sam tilted his head to the side and looked at Muriel and Peg. “Mr. Hatcher, like the rest of us, will have to answer for what he’s done in this life. All I can speak about is my actions, and I didn’t try to take any money from my friends at the Craig Valley church. That’s been the truth from day one.”

  “Not bad,” Mike replied. “Not bad at all. Ms. Hall may not ask that exact question, but she’ll come after you at some point in the questioning. I’m impressed with your ability to think on your feet.”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

  “When?” Mike asked in surprise.

  “Walking behind that mower.”

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, MIKE CONFIRMED WITH THE BANK THAT Butch Niles was in the building then drove down the hill into town. When he approached the young receptionist and started to introduce himself, she cut him off.

  “I know who you are.”

  “Good. I’d like to see Mr. Niles, please. I called a few minutes ago to make sure he was in the building.”

  The young woman checked her computer screen.

  “He’ll be in meetings all day and won’t be available,” she replied curtly.

  Mike leaned closer to her desk. “I know you’re following orders, but tell Mr. Niles that if he tries to avoid service of this subpoena, I will notify the newspaper, and a reporter will be here within the hour to find out why.”

  The woman’s eyes grew bigger. “I’ll check again.”

  Mike sat on the sofa while she picked up the phone and talked for a few moments. When she hung up, she motioned for Mike to return.

  “Can you come back at two o’clock?”

  Mike started to protest because the time would interfere with Darius York’s examination of the original checks.

  “That will be fine.”

  He left the bank and drove to the jail. The same female deputy who had questioned his status as a bona fide lawyer was on duty.

  “Is Lamar Cochran in?” Mike asked.

  “He’s in the back. I’ll see if he’s available.”

  The chief deputy pushed open the metal door, and the two men shook hands.

  “Got another case?” Cochran asked.

  “No, helping Sam has become a full-time job,” Mike replied. “Would you be willing to serve a couple of subpoenas at two o’clock? I’ll be in a meeting at the district attorney’s office and can’t do it.”

  “I’m on duty at the jail.”

  Mike took out the subpoena and handed it to Cochran. “It won’t take long. I need to serve Butch Niles. He’s supposed to be at the bank at that time.”

  “What does Niles have to do with Sam’s case?”

  “I can’t tell you details, but Sam tossed a rock into a larger pond than he imagined and disturbed the water. Some big snakes are upset.”

  Cochran took the subpoena. “I’ll take a late lunch break and do it.”

  Mike handed him a second subpoena for additional records. “Give him this one for documents, too. He can be served as an officer of the bank.”

  MIKE WENT TO THE COURTHOUSE. HE’D CHECKED WITH THE court administrator the previous day to make sure Judge Coberg would be in his chambers in case a dispute arose about the expert’s examination of the evidence. Mike walked upstairs. Two lawyers were arguing a motion in the judge’s office, but the secretary reassured Mike that the judge would be back from lunch before 1:30. His preparation complete, Mike returned home. Peg’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Mike immediately called her cell phone.

  “Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes, but I guess you forgot my doctor’s appointment this morning, so I drove myself.”

  “Did you remind me?”

  “Last night before we went to sleep, but I’m not sure your brain had any storage space available.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “No need. I’ve already seen her. Everything looks good, and she’s going to let me increase my activity to include driving short distances.”

  “That’s great, but I’m sorry I forgot.”

  “I look forward to getting you back after next week.”

  Mike hung up the phone and called Darius York, who was on his way to Shelton.

  “There will be some legal sparring about the typewriters,” Mike said. “The judge will be available to sort things out.”

  “Will the checks be available?”

  “Yes.”

  THE ADRENALINE PUMPING THROUGH MIKE’S VEINS WOULD HAVE allowed him to skip lunch, but he forced himself to eat. Peg came in while he washed an apple.

  “Can I fix you something?” he asked.

  “Part of that apple would be nice.”

  Mike cut it in two and handed half to her. They sat at the kitchen table.

  “Libby Gorman’s niece was
at the doctor’s office,” Peg said after she took a bite. “Her baby should be here in about a month.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “She saw me and looked the other way when I came into the waiting room.

  And she and her husband don’t even go to the church!”

  Mike sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t have anything to be ashamed about, so I sat down beside her and asked how she was doing. She mumbled something then went to the restroom. When she came out, she sat on the opposite side of the room. It was bizarre. What could Libby have told her?”

  “I can imagine a few things, but it appears the sabbatical spin isn’t the only message out there.”

  Peg ate another bite of apple.

  “People didn’t like you when you were an attorney, but it was usually someone you sued.”

  “And some of them later hired me when they wanted to file a lawsuit. A minister is a different kind of target. Lawyers are expected to be mean. Ministers are supposed to be perfect, so any arrow of criticism can find a place to stick. I think it boils down to people feeling better about themselves if they can find something wrong with someone who is supposed to be righteous.”

  “That’s sick.”

  Mike tossed his apple core across the room into the disposal side of the sink. Judge, who was lying on the floor, turned his head and watched the trajectory of the fruit.

  “That’s where you need to send what happened this morning. Don’t carry it around. Grind it in the disposal and flush it out of your system. Otherwise, it will rot.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  Mike leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Take my own advice? That’s tough to do.”

  MIKE WAITED FOR DARIUS YORK AT THE FRONT OF THE COURTHOUSE. The former FBI agent was easy to spot as he walked up the sidewalk. York walked erect with his gray hair neatly trimmed, a small mustache the only departure from the TV stereotype of a government law enforcement officer. He carried a large black catalog case.

  “Is everything you need in there?” Mike asked.

  “Yes, so long as I have a power source.”

  They sat at a scarred wooden table in the courthouse library while York explained what he hoped to do with the checks and typewriters. Mike was pleased with the understandable way York described the evaluation process. Some scientifically minded people could only communicate with their peers. Mike looked at his watch. It was time to go.

  They walked down the hall to the district attorney’s office. Mike approached the receptionist and asked to see Melissa Hall.

  “They’re in the conference room,” the receptionist replied.

  Mike quickly tried to decide who else had decided to join them as they walked down the hall. Opening the door, his question was answered. Sitting on the opposite side of the table from Hall was Maxwell Forrest as counsel for the bank. The older lawyer nodded in Mike’s direction without smiling. Mike introduced York.

  “The original checks are in the file,” Hall said.

  Mike looked at Mr. Forrest. “And the typewriters?”

  The older lawyer spoke in a measured tone. “Without conceding that any typewriters described in the subpoena are in the bank’s possession, the subpoena is subject to a motion to quash.”

  Mike pressed his lips together. “I’m going to Judge Coberg’s chambers to ask for immediate relief. You’re welcome to join me.”

  “The hearing on the motion is set tomorrow,” Forrest replied.

  “But my expert is here today.”

  Mike turned to Hall. “Mr. York would like to review the checks while I talk to the judge.”

  “Okay,” Hall replied, her eyes switching back and forth between Mike and Forrest.

  “Are you going to approach him ex parte?” Mr. Forrest asked Mike.

  “Only if you don’t show up.”

  Mike left the room. Once in the hallway, he slowed and listened for the sound of footsteps behind him. He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder. The older lawyer was closing the door of the conference room.

  “I’m coming,” Forrest grumbled. “But you’re only going to embarrass yourself if you continue with this foolishness.”

  “I’m already embarrassed.”

  The two men walked in silence up the stairs to the judge’s chambers.

  “Is the judge available?” Mike asked the secretary.

  The woman picked up the phone and then motioned for them to go back.

  Judge Coberg was sitting behind his desk. Mike took a copy of the subpoena for the typewriters and Mr. Forrest’s response from his briefcase and handed them to the judge.

  “The Miller case is set for trial next week, and my expert is in town to examine tangible evidence. Mr. Forrest doesn’t want the bank to produce the typewriters—”

  “I see,” the judge interrupted. “Mr. Forrest, your response.”

  “There’s no showing of relevance sufficient to justify the burden upon the bank to locate and produce these machines, if in fact, they exist. This case is rife with attempts to abuse the subpoena power. Mr. Andrews is using multiple subpoenas as a club to threaten and harass various officers at the bank as well as demand extensive documentation without any justification of relevancy.”

  “Today, we’re only here about the typewriters,” Mike responded. “I wouldn’t be troubling the Court except for the limited opportunity between now and the time of trial for my expert witness to examine this equipment.”

  “What is the relevance of the machines?” the judge asked.

  “I want my expert to run comparison testing.”

  “Comparison to what? You’re going to have to give me more than generalities.”

  “Checks,” Mike replied. “I want to determine if one of these machines was used to type the name and amount on the checks listed in the indictment.”

  The judge nodded. “Very well. Motion to quash is denied. Mr. Andrews, how long will your expert be in town?”

  “This afternoon.”

  The judge turned to Forrest. “Instruct the bank to locate and deliver the items identified in the subpoena to the district attorney’s office before four o’clock.”

  Mike and Forrest left the office in silence. They walked down the stairs together. Upon reaching the bottom, Mike expected the older lawyer to turn left and exit the courthouse in the direction of his office. Instead, he stayed beside Mike as he approached the district attorney’s office.

  “Aren’t you going to call the bank?” Mike asked.

  “Take care of your own business; I’ll handle mine,” Forrest answered curtly.

  York and Hall were in the conference room. York had set up a scanner and microscope on the table. When they entered, he was examining one of the checks under the microscope. A legal pad beside him contained a list of notes. Forrest stepped forward and looked over York’s shoulder at the notes. Mike joined him and was about to slide the pad out of the way when he saw that the writing, if not in code, was so illegible that it would have taken an archaeologist to decipher.

  “What are your findings?” Forrest asked.

  “Don’t answer,” Mike responded quickly.

  York looked up from the microscope at the two men hovering behind him.

  “Counsel, please allow me to do my job.”

  Forrest backed up. “Just curious.”

  Mike and Forrest sat across the table from each other, with Melissa Hall at one end and York at the other. The expert examined the checks and continued to make notes. The tension was palpable, and after a few minutes, Mike bowed his head and closed his eyes. Maxwell Forrest, like York, was doing his job, but Mike couldn’t decide if the older lawyer was merely being an obstructionist or waging an all-out war. It was still impossible for him to imagine his former boss engaging in conscious criminal conduct.

  “What did the judge do?” Hall’s voice took Mike out of his reverie.

  “Denied the motion to quash,” Mike replied. “The typewrit
ers are to be here by four o’clock.”

  Forrest spoke. “Mike thinks the checks were typed at the bank.”

  Hall’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “You do?”

  “I’m investigating any possible connections.”

  “What is the bank’s position?” Hall asked.

  “That this is a diversion designed to frustrate justice,” Forrest replied. “Mike is an excellent lawyer, Ms. Hall, and you’d best be prepared for the unexpected when you go to court next week. Based solely on the subpoenas and potential witnesses I know about, this case could take most of the week to try.”

  “Is that right?” Hall asked Mike.

  “Maybe.” Mike shrugged.

  Hall stood up. “I need to talk to Ken.”

  In a few minutes, the district attorney entered the room. York didn’t look up from his microscope.

  “Mike, can we meet with you in private?” West asked.

  “Yes, as soon as we take a break to wait for delivery of some typewriters from the bank.”

  York looked up. “I’ll be finished with the checks in about five or ten minutes.”

  Forrest looked at his watch. “I sent a text message to the bank. They will deliver three typewriters.”

  “I’ll be in my office,” West said, turning around. “I’ll leave the door open.” Everyone resumed their positions around the table and waited. Mike opened his briefcase and began making notes on a legal pad. Fifteen minutes later, York pushed his chair away from the table.

  “I’m done.”

  “Can he wait here for the typewriters?” Mike asked Hall.

  “Yes, there’s nothing scheduled for this room the rest of the afternoon.”

  Mike stood up and looked at Forrest.

  “No communication with my witness, please.”

  Forrest waved his hand. “I’m just an observer on behalf of a client.”

  Mike followed Hall to Ken West’s office. The district attorney swiveled his chair when they entered. Hall closed the door.

  “What’s going on with this case?” West asked.

  “I’m representing my client with all the zeal I can muster,” Mike replied. “You know I can’t divulge my trial strategy.”

  “But taking up an entire week of court!” West raised his voice. “We have other business to attend to, including two aggravated assault cases against repeat felons.”