Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  “Tami, hold on. I was about to come looking for you. I’ll let Mr. Carpenter know you’re here.”

  “Could it wait?” I asked, trying to think of a good reason to postpone a meeting.

  The secretary already had the phone receiver in her hand. She shook her head. I had no choice but to wait. I offered up a rapid prayer for help. Mr. Carpenter opened the door to his office.

  “Good morning, Tami,” he said. “Come in.”

  I entered the office and sat down. He didn’t go behind his desk but sat across from me in a leather side chair. Sitting so close to him increased my anxiety.

  “I hope I’m not in trouble,” I said lamely.

  “Of course not,” Mr. Carpenter answered lightly. “I read your memo about the Jones case with great interest. Clifton Cannon can be hard to deal with, especially if his sciatica is acting up.”

  “I don’t know, but it must have been bad yesterday. It’s disturbing that the judge’s back condition might affect how many years a man or woman spends in prison.”

  “The practice of law is filled with intangibles that law school doesn’t prepare you for.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What are you going to do next on the case?”

  “Uh, get ready to try it. I have to phone the courthouse and find out the dates for criminal trial calendars this summer.”

  “Zach will guide you. He’s a bright young man. If both of you get in over your heads, call on me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Mr. Carpenter stood. “Keep those memos coming. You’re a good writer. Written and verbal communication skills are the main keys to success for an attorney.”

  23

  I WENT TO THE LIBRARY AND PICKED UP MY FOLDER CONTAINING the old newspaper clippings. Julie wasn’t there, but I needed a place to think without interruption. I’d not told Julie anything about Lisa Prescott and didn’t want to start now.

  I went upstairs to Gerry Patrick’s office. The firm administrator’s door was open. She was on the phone but motioned me to come inside. I stood in front of her desk and waited until she finished the call.

  “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “You’d mentioned the possibility of a cubicle where I could work. Is that still available?”

  “Did you and Julie have another problem?” Ms. Patrick asked with an edge to her voice.

  The fact that the previous day’s incident was common knowledge in the hierarchy of the firm worried me, but I knew interoffice communication only required a few computer keystrokes and the click of a mouse.

  “No ma’am. Each of us met with Mr. Carpenter, and our relationship is better than ever. But I need to do some research without any distractions. Julie and I work well together, but we still take a few minutes here and there to talk.”

  “What are you working on that requires that level of privacy? Julie is also an employee of the law firm.”

  It was an insightful question that rendered me temporarily speechless.

  “You’re right,” I said after an awkward pause. “There’s no good reason for me to set up in a second workstation.”

  Ms. Patrick looked down at her desk. “Good. Have a nice day.”

  I MADE COPIES of all the newspaper articles and put them in a separate folder. I had no option but to talk to Zach. His door was closed. I knocked lightly and opened it a crack before he answered. He was staring at his computer screen and tugging on his ponytail.

  “Hey,” he said. “Did you get the dates for the trial calendars?”

  “Not yet, but I will. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Yeah.”

  I sat down next to the now familiar picture of Zach’s sister. “Do you promise not to get upset at me if I ask for some advice?”

  Zach gave me a puzzled look. “Have I been that hard to work with? My only goal is to help you mature as a lawyer as quickly as possible. The best way for that to happen isn’t to coddle you, but to challenge you and keep you focused.”

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  “No. I’ve told my parents all about you.”

  “What did you say?” I asked in surprise.

  “The truth as best I know it.” Zach smiled. “They know how unusual it is to meet a woman with your faith and convictions. I’d like to meet your family.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. How can we make that happen?”

  “I’m still working on it,” I answered, perplexed. “But this case is all I can think about right now. I need your help. How can someone access the firm microfilm records?”

  “Through Gerry Patrick. She has a key to the storage facility. It’s on Abercorn Road near the mall.”

  “Would you mind asking her? Ms. Patrick doesn’t like me.”

  “Why?”

  “For some of the same reasons you think I’m a woman of faith and conviction. We’ve had misunderstandings that make her suspicious of anything I say.”

  It was Zach’s turn to give me a puzzled look. “That makes no sense. Just tell her the name of the case, and the supervising attorney. She shouldn’t give you any problem.”

  I grimaced. “You’re the supervising attorney. It has to do with State v. Jones.”

  Zach sat up straighter in his chair. “Start talking.”

  Thirty minutes later, I finished. Zach read a couple of the articles while I nervously fidgeted in my chair.

  “Is that all?” he asked, looking up from the newspaper clippings.

  “Pretty much. I don’t think I left out any important details.”

  “And Mr. Carpenter isn’t aware of your suspicions?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s a smart man.”

  “I know.”

  “Do the partners know Vince is helping you?”

  “No. I think he worked after hours.”

  Zach frowned. “Have you thought this through to its logical conclusion?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve had this discussion before—Moses, a man named Floyd Carpenter, the shiny dollar, and Lisa Prescott’s body in the Ogeechee River. What changed?”

  “Additional information makes it seem more plausible.”

  “Which still doesn’t address the ultimate issue. What is the significance of solving a missing person case after everyone except our client is dead? Lisa was an only child, and her parents are deceased, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Floyd Carpenter is dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which leaves Moses, an old man, alive.” Zach spoke with emphasis, “And our client.”

  “But the truth needs to be known.”

  Zach picked up a pen and twirled it around with his fingers. I steeled myself, determined not to back down.

  “What are you going to do if you search the firm archives and find out that Floyd Carpenter consulted with Mr. Braddock or his father about the disappearance of the Prescott girl? What if there are incriminating notes, even a written confession? What if Moses Jones is mentioned by name as an accessory or principal in the commission of a crime? Are you going to violate your ethical duty and turn the information over to Maggie Smith? Would you run to the newspaper and humiliate the Carpenter family in a massive exposé? What would be helped by that except a reporter’s career? If you contact the newspaper, make sure you suggest a headline that includes the verse about the sins of the fathers being visited on their children to the fourth generation.”

  With each question, my resolve weakened. “But don’t you want to know what happened to Lisa?”

  “Of course I’m curious. But a lawyer has to consider the consequences. It’s a boring analogy, but I leave out favorable contract provisions if I think they might trigger a response from the other side that could cause greater harm to my client’s primary interests. Your decision is much more important because of the impact on Moses’ freedom.”

  Zach’s last comment gave me an idea. “If Moses isn’t guilty and can shed light
on what really happened to Lisa Prescott, it could help his trespassing case.”

  I could tell from the look on Zach’s face that for once, I’d brought out a point he hadn’t considered.

  “That’s far-fetched,” he said.

  “It would enable the police and district attorney’s office to solve a crime and close a file even if it’s decades too late to bring someone to justice.”

  Zach still looked skeptical.

  “And I’m not ignoring all the good points you made about not humiliating Mr. Carpenter and his family, but I can’t get away from the belief that I’m supposed to dig as far to the bottom of this as I can. I need to get over pretending to be a crusader and go forward only to the extent I should as a lawyer—”

  “Law student.”

  “Who is acting in a professional, ethical manner. I’m working at the firm with at least a small hope of landing a job after graduation. Throwing that away for no reason would be stupid. I don’t want newspaper publicity for myself and don’t want to hurt someone else’s reputation. I’ve been persecuted enough to know how it feels.”

  “But once you release information, you can’t control where it goes. We should try to lessen interest in Moses so he can slip back into the river marsh and live out his life in peace, not make him an unwilling celebrity.”

  “That sounds nice,” I said, “but you’re wrong. Moses Jones is not at peace.”

  “And you’re not his pastor.” Zach glanced at his watch. “Look, I have a meeting with Mr. Appleby and a client in five minutes. Do you still want the key to the storage facility?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll okay it, but tell me what you find out. I can’t escape the responsibility that will fall on me if you get out of line.”

  I’d not considered the possible risk to Zach’s job.

  “Yes. And I’ve listened to what you said.”

  Zach leaned forward and spoke with intensity. “But have you heard?”

  I bit my lower lip and nodded.

  Zach left to get the key from Gerry Patrick. In at least one way, this morning’s conversation had been a success. I’d avoided an emotional meltdown when Zach Mays challenged me. Returning, he handed me the key.

  “It’s checked out in my name, so let me return it to her. Are you going to use the firm car?”

  “Unless you give me the keys to your motorcycle.”

  Zach managed a slight smile. “This is a more explosive situation than you realize. A getaway on a motorcycle might be your best means of escape.”

  “And I’m not going to be reckless, on or off a motorcycle.” I stepped toward the door. “I’ll talk to you before doing anything else. I promise.”

  THE FIRM CAR had been checked out by the runner going to the federal courthouse. She wouldn’t be returning for an hour and a half.

  Bob Kettleson’s paralegal had left me a note on the library door. I went to her cubicle where she handed me a memo instructing me to research the relative priorities of eminent domain for a parcel of riverfront property claimed by a private utility and the city, state, and federal governments. When I returned to the library, Julie was there.

  “Oversleep?” she asked.

  “No, I’ve already talked to Vince, Mr. Carpenter, and Zach this morning.”

  “Not all at once, I hope.”

  “No, although that could happen.”

  “Yeah, if Mr. Carpenter served as mediator. Vinny has come by twice looking for you. I think he used a bathroom excuse to get out of a big important meeting with Mr. Braddock and a rich client.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know. I asked him if it had to do with lunch, and he shook his head. Have you hurt his feelings?”

  “No.”

  “You know how confident he always looks with that laptop under his arm, but he seemed worried about something. I offered to be a sounding board for him if he gets lovesick and needs a friendly ear.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “But I thought about it. I’ve helped more couples work through issues than a marriage counselor. My mother still wishes I’d become a psychologist.”

  “Vince doesn’t need psychotherapy. He’s more stable than the hard drive of his computer.”

  “That’s not bad,” Julie said approvingly. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

  I BEGAN WORKING on the eminent domain project but kept a careful eye on the clock. Vince didn’t return, and Julie was engrossed in her own research. As soon as an hour and a half passed, I went to the receptionist desk. The car was available until noon, and directions to the storage facility in hand, I drove across town to a modern, three-story building with a reflective glass exterior. Microfilm can’t be kept in a miniwarehouse without climate control, and the storage company shared the space with two insurance companies, an investment adviser group, and a CPA firm. I took the elevator to a top-floor office. A nice-looking man about my age with dark hair and dressed in blue jeans and a casual shirt sat behind a tall desk. He wore a name tag with “Eddie” on it. The area was filled with rows of lockable file cabinets in the middle and small rooms around the edges.

  “I’m from Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. I need access to their microfilm records.”

  “Sign in,” Eddie said, sliding a logbook in front of me. “Have you been here before?”

  “No. I’m a summer clerk.”

  “Where are you in law school?”

  “University of Georgia.”

  While I wrote my name, Eddie typed on his computer. “There is a reader set up in their site,” he said. “If you want hard copies, it also serves as a printer. It’s a lot like the machines you find in a modern deed room.”

  I’d not been in enough modern or old-fashioned deed rooms to know what he meant. I followed him to one of the enclosed rooms.

  “This is it.”

  I put the key in the door and opened it.

  “Make sure you sign out at the front when you leave,” he said. I hesitated.

  “Do you know how to use the reader?” he asked.

  “No.”

  We stepped inside. The walls were lined with lateral filing cabinets that had numbers on the front. The reader looked a lot like a computer.

  “Slip the film in here,” he said, “then turn this knob until you reach the file you want. If you want to make a copy, press the Print button.”

  The button was clearly marked.

  “How do I find a particular file in the cabinets?”

  He pointed to two cassettes lying beside the reader. “You can scroll through the index of files alphabetically and locate the numbers for the cassettes in the cabinets.”

  It seemed easy enough. I sat down in a chair in front of the reader. “Thanks,” I said.

  Eddie didn’t leave. “If you need specific help, I’ll be here,” he said. “I’m going to start applying to law schools after the first of the year. How do you like it?”

  “It’s hard but a great education.”

  “Do you have a business card?” he asked.

  The fact that I was alone in the facility with a man I didn’t know made me feel suddenly uneasy. I turned in my chair and cleared my throat so I wouldn’t sound nervous.

  “No, they don’t give those to summer clerks.”

  “How about your home number or e-mail address?” he asked. “I’d like to chat sometime. You know, get your opinion about schools.”

  “I don’t give out personal information to people I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound professional.

  He pointed to his name tag. “My name is Eddie Anderson.”

  “Eddie, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  He left. I took a few deep breaths and made sure the door to the tiny room locked behind him. However, I suspected the custodian of the records probably had a master key for the whole facility. I offered up a prayer for protection. The thought of looking through old files that might hold clues to Lisa Prescott’s disappearance was creepy enou
gh without adding the young man to the mix.

  I checked the index for files with Carpenter in the heading and wrote down the locations. Before I had a chance to pull any of the cassettes, a knock at the door made me jump. I didn’t want to open it, but couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. I stood and planted my right foot firmly in place to prevent him from easily forcing his way into the room. I cracked open the door.

  “Yes?” I asked tensely.

  “Someone from your office called when he couldn’t get you on your cell.”

  I quickly decided not to inform him that I didn’t own a cell phone.

  “Is there a message?”

  “Call Vince Colbert.”

  “Do you have a phone I can use?”

  “Sorry, but it’s not allowed. And you took my request a few minutes ago the wrong way. It wasn’t a lame pickup line. I’m trying to find out information about law schools from people who actually go there. I took a tour through the admissions office at Georgia, but I’m sure part of it was propaganda—”

  “I’m not the best person to give you a broad view,” I interrupted. “I live off campus and keep to myself, but I’ll take a minute to talk before I leave. Where is the nearest phone?”

  Eddie glanced past me.

  “In your purse?” he asked, gesturing toward the place where I’d put it on the table beside the reader.

  “No.”

  “Then you can use my cell. It’s at the sign-in desk.”

  “Thanks.”

  As we returned to the entrance area, I felt slightly ashamed at my harsh reaction. Eddie reached under the desk and handed me a phone.

  “Reception is best in that part of the room,” he said, pointing to a place near a window.

  “Thanks.”

  I went to the window, called the office, and asked for Vince. While I waited on hold, I tried to imagine why he’d made the effort to track me down at the storage facility. He picked up the phone.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Trying to solve the mystery of Lisa Prescott’s disappearance. Is there a problem?”

  “Interest in what you’re doing has gone up the ladder at the firm. I went into Mr. Braddock’s office to get a file for a meeting and saw a memo on his desk from Mr. Carpenter. The subject line included your name.”