Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  “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 re
pair 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.”

  29

  THE THREE MEN LEFT THE COURTROOM. I STAYED BEHIND with Moses and watched the door close behind them. The courtroom became totally quiet. State v. Jones was over. I collapsed on the bench, put my head in my hands, and began to weep.

  “What be bothering you, missy?”

  The crushing pressure of the past weeks demanded an emotional release. My weeping turned to sobs. I felt the old man lightly place his hand on my back. Several minutes passed before I regained my composure. Thankfully, no one disturbed us. I lifted my head and sniffled loudly. Moses was sitting beside me. I cleared my throat.

  “I’ve been sharing your burden for a few weeks. You’ve been carrying it for forty years. I don’t know how you’ve done it.”

  Moses nodded. “That be right, missy. I be toting a very heavy load. Just like the big rock that dragged that poor little girl’s body to the muddy bottom.”

  I took a tissue from my purse and blew my nose. I looked at the old man’s weathered face. Pure love for him rose up in my heart. I touched him lightly on the arm.

  “And it’s time you stopped carrying that load, along with the other loads dragging you down all your life.”

  “What you mean?”

  I turned sideways so I could look directly into his face. “Jesus gave his life so you wouldn’t have to carry the burdens of the past, no matter where they came from. His burden is easy and light. Give what’s left of your life to him.”

  The old man blinked his eyes. “You sound like my ol’ auntie. I know that be true for young folk, but not for an old broke-down fellow like me. Too much done gone by for me to catch up.” Moses looked across the room. “The faces in the water, they be talking to me. They tell me the end of my days.”

  “No,” I answered with feeling. “Listen to Jesus. God wants you to look up, not down.”

  Moses slowly tilted back his head. After a few moments, there was a puzzled expression on his face. “That be a sweet sound,” he said.

  I didn’t hear anything, but my heart understood. “That’s what happens in a court of praise.”

  And in a gentle, natural way, the Lord used me to guide Moses Jones to a place of freedom and peace. Our tears, young and old, flowed together as he received the love of Jesus with childlike wonder. The spillover blessed me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Mama would have shouted in victory. Our celebration, though quieter, was no less triumphant.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked after the last prayer ended.

  “I never be more ready.” Moses paused. “And you know what, missy?”

  “What?”

  “I think you be a lot more than a real lawyer.”

  WE LEFT THE COURTROOM and went in opposite directions. It was hot outside, but the heat had lost its power to oppress me. I walked at a leisurely pace. Wisdom adapts to things that cannot be changed, so I took my time returning to the office. The thanksgiving that had bubbled up in my heart while the Lord touched Moses returned. God was good. My mistakes and foolishness hadn’t stymied his purposes.

  I arrived back at the office ready to confess my sins to Zach. But he wasn’t in his office, and the attractive secretary who worked for him informed me that he and Mr. Appleby had left for an emergency weekend meeting in Mobile with representatives of a Chinese shipping company. The Chinese company was going to increase its business on the East Coast and the Gulf of Mexico and wanted a single law firm to coordinate their activities in the United States.

  I was a bit ashamed as I admitted to myself that I was relieved he was not in. I dreaded rehashing my embarrassing miscalculation of Mr. Carpenter’s interest in Moses Jones and Lisa Prescott.

  “Zach will be making trips to Shanghai if this deal goes through,” the young woman said. “I told him I’d like to stow away, carry his suitcase, do anything to see that part of the world.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “Oh, you know how he is,” she gushed. “He pulled on that cute ponytail and smiled.”

  “DID YOU GET THE CASE TAKEN CARE OF?” Julie asked lightly when I entered the library a few minutes later. “Joel is going to the cocktail reception at Mr. Carpenter’s house tonight. I want you to meet him, but promise you won’t say anything goofy. I told him you were super-religious—kind of like my cousins in New York—so he won’t be totally shocked.”

  “Has he told you to shut up yet?” I asked.

  “No, don’t be silly. He’s a great conversationalist, especially for a guy. He said more in thirty minutes than Vinny has all summer. Not that I’m trying to dump on Vinny, but you know what I mean. What happened in your case?”

  “Judge Howell accepted the plea agreement. Moses is free.”

  “Awesome. I know that’s a relief. What about the little girl? What did you find out?”

  “That he didn’t do anything criminal. He tried to help her.”

  “How sweet. Oh, I almost forgot.” Julie pointed to a fresh folder on my side of the table. “Bob Kettleson’s secretary left that for you. She says he wants an answer Monday morning.”

  I sat down and flipped open the folder. Fortunately, the problem was in an area of civil procedure familiar to me. I spent the next forty-five minutes documenting what I knew to be true. The memo could be typed first thing Monday morning.

  Julie looked at her watch. “Listen, do you think we could sneak away early? I’d like some extra time to get ready for the party.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead. I’d like to get a head start on this memo. I can just walk to Mrs. Fairmont’s.” I didn’t want to get into a big discussion with Julie about it, but I really didn’t plan on attending the party.

  The door opened, and I looked up to see Vince entering the library. Julie greeted him first.

  “Tell me everything that happened in court today. Tami made it sound so vanilla that I know she’s holding out on me. She is absolutely the worst liar on the planet.”

  Vince looked at me.

  “I didn’t lie,” I answered.

  “But I didn’t get the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” Julie responded.

  “I don’t have time now,” Vince replied. “I broke away from a meeting for a couple of minutes. Maybe we can talk tonight at Mr. Carpenter’s house.”

  “That won’t work. I’ll be with Joel at the party, and he’s not within the attorney/client relationship.”

  “We’ll get alone for a few minutes and make him jealous,” Vin
ce answered.

  “Where did that come from?” Julie asked. “But it’s a great idea.”

  Vince looked at me. “Would you like me to pick you up?”

  “I’m not sure that I’m going to make—”

  “You’ll be there,” Julie interrupted. “I’m sure there will be fancy flavors of water for the nondrinkers in the crowd. You might even have time to witness to Ned before he tosses down too many martinis. If anyone needs to repent, he’s it.”

  “I wish you would go, Tami,” Vince added. “I’d really like to talk to you about something.”

  “If I go, it’s only a few blocks from Mrs. Fairmont’s house. I can walk.”

  “Pick her up at seven thirty,” Julie cut in. “Cinderella never walks to the ball; she always arrives in a coach.”

  Vince held out his hands, palms up.

  “Okay,” I replied with a smile. “I’ll see you at seven thirty. Do you know where I’m staying?”

  “Of course he does,” Julie answered. “He’s been stalking you since day one.”

  “I know the house,” Vince said.

  After Vince left, Julie turned to me. “What are you going to wear? This is a dressy occasion.”

  “Maybe the blue suit I wore the first day of work.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying you need to buy a strapless cocktail dress, but please don’t wear something frumpy. I’d offer to go shopping with you, but that would destroy our friendship.”

  After a moment of rare silence, Julie asked, “So, is Vince the front-runner?”

  “I’m not sure if either he or Zach is a runner.”

  Shaking her head, Julie expelled an exaggerated sigh.

  I WENT UPSTAIRS to see Gerry Patrick and knocked on the door frame.

  “Come in,” she said, looking up from her desk.

  “I need to buy a dress for the party tonight at Mr. Carpenter’s house. Any suggestions?”

  “Waiting till the last minute, aren’t you?”