Greater Love

by Robert Whitlow

  Hanging up the phone, I had to admit that Julie was right about one thing—the evening had left me emotionally spent. The adrenaline boost that spun me up when Mrs. Fairmont became ill had drained out of my system. I yawned, picked up Flip, and took him downstairs. With his mistress gone, I didn’t want him to have to sleep alone.

  Also, if anything unusual stirred in the house, the little dog was as reliable as a burglary alarm.

  I WOKE UP IN THE MORNING AND LOOKED OUT THE FRENCH doors at the courtyard, hoping I might see Mrs. Bartlett’s bicycle with Jessie sleeping on the ground beside it. A morning mist shrouded the neatly manicured space. A closer look confirmed it was deserted.

  During my morning run, I headed directly to Forsyth Park where I zigzagged back and forth across the area, running much slower than normal as I searched the ground and surrounding area for any clues of Jessie. I didn’t see anything connected to Jessie but really didn’t know what to look for anyway.

  After showering and dressing for work, instead of going directly to the office I drove to the hospital. At the information desk I was relieved to find out that Mrs. Fairmont was in a regular room. I took the elevator to her floor. Racks holding breakfast trays stood in the hall. The door to Mrs. Fairmont’s room was closed, so I knocked and peeked inside. Mrs. Fairmont was asleep on her back with her mouth slightly open. Her breakfast was untouched beside her bed. The tepid-looking coffee on the tray made me wish I could bring her a fresh, hot cup fixed exactly the way she liked it. The photo of Flip I’d packed in her suitcase was on the stand beside the bed. I watched her for a few moments, but she showed no signs of waking up. I went to the nurse’s station and introduced myself as Mrs. Fairmont’s at-home caregiver.

  “Dr. Dixon hasn’t made his rounds on this floor, so there’s nothing I can tell you,” replied a young nurse seated in front of a computer screen.

  I returned to the room, but Mrs. Fairmont was still resting peacefully, and I didn’t disturb her. I stopped by the gift shop and bought some flowers to be delivered later to her room. On my way out of the hospital, I called Mrs. Bartlett, but she didn’t answer.

  My route to the office took me down Montgomery Street and past Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. I slowed and saw both Zach’s and Vince’s cars in the parking lot. I wasn’t surprised to see them at work this early. Long hours were the norm at most established firms. It made me glad that Maggie trusted me to discipline myself. My cell phone rang. I picked it up, expecting Mrs. Bartlett.

  “Tami, it’s Zach. Did you just drive by our office?”

  “Yes, I’m at the light on the corner.”

  “I thought I saw you when I looked out the window. Do you have time to come in for a few minutes?”

  I hesitated.

  “I know you don’t drink coffee,” Zach continued, “but I bet I could find some hot tea.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

  I parked beside Vince’s BMW. It was just after eight o’clock, and I walked in with a couple of secretaries who knew me from the previous summer. They greeted me. Apparently, there hadn’t been a firm-wide memo to shun me.

  When I entered the lobby, Zach was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He quickly pulled his ponytail and smiled broadly when he saw me. My heart jumped.

  “How are you?” he asked. “I’ve missed talking to you.”

  My emotions suddenly welled up, and my eyes watered. Zach stepped forward.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I couldn’t believe my feelings had betrayed me without warning.

  “A couple of things,” I managed. “Mrs. Fairmont is in the hospital—”

  “Come up to my office,” Zach cut in, then turned without waiting for an answer and began walking up the stairs. I had no choice but to follow.

  Zach’s office was only slightly larger than mine, but he had a window view of the parking lot and the street where he’d seen me minutes before. Two miniature motorcycles rested on the front of his desk next to photographs of his parents and his sister, a missionary nurse in Zambia. Neat rows of framed diplomas and certificates hung on the walls. The walk upstairs settled me down.

  “Get your coffee,” I said. “I don’t need any tea.”

  “First, tell me about Mrs. Fairmont.”

  “It’s really not that bad,” I began, then told him what had happened the previous evening. “Let Vince know. He might want to visit her.”

  “He and Mr. Braddock flew to Richmond early this morning, but I think they’re coming back tonight. I’ll send him a text message later.”

  “Thanks. I should be going,” I said, standing up. Zach remained seated.

  “You said a couple of things were bothering you,” he said. “What else?”

  I wasn’t sure I should say anything to Zach about Jessie, so I told him about Julie’s father. As he listened, I realized how much I’d missed being able to talk to him.

  He took out his phone.

  “I have Julie’s number. Thanks for letting me know about her dad. I’ll get in touch with her later.” He looked at me. “Is that all? I mean, it’s enough.”

  “No,” I admitted. “There’s also a problem with Jessie Whitewater, the young woman Judge Cannon appointed me to represent.”

  “Sure, wasn’t she going to stay with you and Mrs. Fairmont after Sister Dabney posted her bond? I thought it was a great idea, the three of you working together to help her.”

  “She spent a few days with Julie, then came to stay with Mrs. Fairmont and me. Last night, she went out for a bike ride and didn’t come back.”

  I told him as much as I felt comfortable sharing, carefully avoiding any reference to Clay Hackney.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he responded when I finished. “You can’t force someone to let you help them.”

  “I know, but I was too hard on her when she brought up the possibility of staying longer with Mrs. Fairmont. Jessie has been through enough tough times that it wasn’t necessary to be so negative.”

  “Maybe, but it’s out of your hands now. It’s hard to predict how much influence we’ll have on another person’s life. Sometimes we’re a comma; other times we’re a chapter.”

  I looked at Zach and wondered, when it came to my life, in how many chapters he was supposed to appear.

  “Thanks,” I said. “It helped to talk this out with you.”

  Zach went with me to the top of the stairs where a secretary stopped and asked him if he could explain something about a document he’d given her to type.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Take care of your work. I know the way out.”

  The office was in full swing, and as I descended the stairs I could see that several people were sitting in the lobby. At the bottom of the stairs, one of the receptionists, a middle-aged woman I recognized from the previous summer, called me over.

  “We miss having you here,” she said, then lowered her voice. “But I understand why you might want to work for a smaller firm. Are you enjoying it?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Any interesting cases?”

  “Everything’s a challenge right now because I don’t know what to do.”

  The woman shook her head. “That’s not true. Everyone said you were one of the smartest law clerks that’s ever worked here.”

  “Tell Mr. Carpenter I’m here to see him,” a male voice said over my shoulder.

  “Yes, Mr. Hackney,” the receptionist replied as she picked up the phone.

  I turned and froze. It was Clay Hackney. Up close, I could tell his blond hair was artificially lightened. Today, it was slightly spiked all over his head. He was wearing an open-collared shirt. There was a thick gold bracelet on his left wrist.

  Hackney eyed me. “I’ve seen you before. Where was it?”

  “This is Tami Taylor,” the receptionist chirped. “She worked here last summer as a law clerk.”

  He extended his hand. “Clay Hackney.”

&n
bsp; I had no choice but to shake it. In addition to the gold bracelet on his left wrist, he had a large man’s gold ring on his right hand.

  “Joe Carpenter is my lawyer,” he continued.

  “Tami worked with Mr. Carpenter.”

  “Good to see you,” I said to the receptionist. “Mr. Hackney. I’ve got to go.”

  “Drop the Mr. Hackney stuff with me,” he said with a short laugh. “There’s no need for that. Where are you working now?”

  “In an all-female firm,” the receptionist added.

  “Sounds like I should have hired your firm,” Hackney said.

  The door to the office suites opened, and Mr. Carpenter came out. I turned to leave.

  “Tami!” he called out.

  I had no choice but to face him. He strode up to me.

  “Good morning. What brings you over here? Not suing one of our clients, I hope.”

  “No, sir. I was talking with Zach—”

  “And meeting me,” Hackney cut in.

  “Yes,” Mr. Carpenter said, clearing his throat and glancing at his client in a way that made me suspect he didn’t have the highest opinion of Mr. Hackney. “I saw you in criminal court the other day. Are you starting to move into that area of practice?”

  “No, sir. I was there on an appointed case.”

  “Was your client the young woman sitting with you?” Mr. Carpenter smiled. “I couldn’t help but notice her. She looked like she should have been in juvenile court. But then, the older I get, the younger everyone looks.”

  “I’ve got to get going.”

  “Sure.” Mr. Carpenter waved his hand. “I bet you’re the first person at the office most mornings.”

  “Where is your office?” Hackney asked.

  “Here in Savannah,” I replied, then turned and walked away as fast as I could.

  I didn’t take a full breath until I was outside the building. I leaned against a white column and bowed my head. Julie was right. Not knowing the truth about Jessie’s connection, if any, to Clay Hackney was creating enormous stress.

  SHANNON WAS ALREADY AT THE OFFICE WHEN I ARRIVED.

  “I put a fax on your desk,” she said. “It came in late yesterday after you’d left the office.”

  On the corner of my desk I saw a cover sheet with “Chatham County District Attorney’s Office” across the top. I quickly looked at the second page. It was a notice of hearing in Jessie’s case set for later in the morning. A third page was a brief note from Jan Crittenden.

  I had to take an order to Judge Cannon in another case and ran the plea bargain by him. He agreed to accept it. Called your office to confirm your availability to enter a plea before he changes his mind. See you in court.

  The fax in hand, I returned to Shannon’s desk.

  “Did you talk to Jan Crittenden from the DA’s office about my schedule this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Then who did she talk to?” I asked, my voice getting louder.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who has access to my calendar?”

  “Uh, anyone can check a calendar unless the computer’s been turned off and requires a password to reboot.”

  “I usually don’t turn off my computer,” I said. “But I guess I’ll have to start.”

  I left Shannon with a puzzled look on her face and returned to my office. I phoned the district attorney’s office, but Jan wasn’t available. I left a message with a request that it be marked urgent and hung up the phone. I was fuming in frustration when Maggie appeared in the doorway with a small white paper sack in her hand. “I brought you something sweet,” she said, placing the bag on my desk. “Julie called me. After all that happened last night, I felt you needed a pastry to give you a pleasant start to the day. I know mountain girls love apples. This one has a flaky crust that melts in your mouth.”

  “Thanks, but you’re too late,” I muttered.

  I pushed the notice of hearing toward her. Maggie picked it up and quickly read it.

  “This isn’t good,” she said.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Ask Jan Crittenden to put it off without telling her why so I can try to find Jessie. But I’m not sure I can do that without lying about the reason.”

  “Just tell her you didn’t get the notice until you were already at the office.”

  “She knows it only takes a few minutes to swing by Mrs. Fairmont’s house to pick up Jessie and bring her to the courthouse.”

  Maggie sat down across from my desk. “Show up for the hearing, tell the judge the truth, let him revoke your client’s bond, and ask him to release you from further representation. Then, come back here and enjoy your pastry. You’ve already done ten times more for your client than any lawyer in this circuit would have. It didn’t work out because she wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “I don’t want to give up.”

  “It’s an unfortunate part of any criminal law practice. You can’t control another person’s behavior. Too often criminal clients do something that ruins the lawyer’s ability to help them. When that happens you do the best you can, but the results can be harsh.”

  I knew Maggie was right, but I couldn’t shake my lingering concern for Jessie’s safety. But what could I do about that? I’d hit a wall of the unknown. The joint rescue effort mounted by Sister Dabney, Julie, Mrs. Fairmont, and me had failed. This would be a situation in which I had to trust God without a glimpse of what the result would be. It was time to move on.

  “Okay,” I said to Maggie. “That’s what I’ll do.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No thanks.”

  My file in Jessie’s case was pathetically thin. There just hadn’t been much to work with. I tossed it on the front seat of Mrs. Fairmont’s car and drove to the courthouse. The upstairs courtroom was already bustling with activity. Jan Crittenden was huddled in a corner with another lawyer. I headed in her direction to wait my turn. At least one case on the morning calendar would not be moved to dead file storage.

  19

  JESSIE MOANED AND TURNED OVER. HER HEAD ACHED, AND THE ground beneath her was moving up and down. She was lying on a foul-smelling mattress in a dark enclosed space. The ground moved again. She heard a slap against the wall near her head and scooted off the mattress onto a cold, metal floor. The slap was followed by a side-to-side movement that let her know she wasn’t in the middle of an earthquake. She was on a boat.

  Directly overhead, Jessie could see a few slivers of light through cracks around a square hatch. There wasn’t enough light to see anything in the room, and crouching, she used her hands to explore. The space extended about ten feet forward along walls that sloped toward each other. It was about twice that far in width. She stood and stretched her hands toward the hatch. She jumped, but her hand didn’t touch the ceiling. When her feet came down they hit the floor with a thud. Within a few seconds there were sounds overhead. Jessie’s heart sank. She should have kept quiet. There was a loud creaking noise in the area of the hatch, which opened, letting in a blinding shaft of sunlight. Jessie shielded her eyes.

  “It stinks down there,” a male voice said.

  When the rush of fresh air through the hole reached her, Jessie took in a deep breath, then coughed violently.

  “Your buddy had better be glad she woke up,” a second male voice said. “He gave her enough of that stuff to knock out two grown men.”

  “You can’t take chances when you grab someone in a public place. I think he was crazy to take the job. We got the easy part.”

  Jessie blinked as her eyes started to get used to the light. Two men were peering down at her. Both were shirtless, tanned, and wearing baseball caps and sunglasses.

  “Get her a bottle of water,” one of the men said. “I’ll stay here and watch.”

  Jessie’s lips were dry. She tried to lick them but didn’t have any saliva.

  “No way,” the other man said. “Shut the
hatch. She doesn’t get anything to drink until the man in charge says so.”

  “Please,” she croaked.

  “That’s stupid. You just said we’re lucky she’s alive, and now you want her to die of thirst.”

  “She’s not going to die, but a little thirst might help her attitude later. No water and no sleep are good ways to get someone to talk.”

  Jessie stumbled forward a step then fell to her knees.

  “Get the water,” the first man repeated.

  “Only if it’s on your head. Our orders were to keep her in the hold. We’re not even supposed to be checking on her.”

  “Wait a minute. Whose idea was it to open the hatch to make sure she was okay?”

  “We’ve done that. Shut it.”

  “And I want to give her a drink. How old do you think she is? Fifteen?”

  “Old enough to cause a lot of trouble. Shut up and get the water. Then we’re not opening the hatch again.”

  One of the men closed the hatch. Jessie sank to the floor. She wanted to cry, but there was barely enough moisture in her body to squeeze out a single tear. After the whiff of fresh air, the stale air in the hold smelled even worse. She rested her head on her knees. She didn’t know if she really was close to death, but life hadn’t offered much to her. Dying might not be such a bad thing.

  The metal hatch opened again. This time she was able to look up. One of the men tossed in a plastic bottle of water and then slammed shut the hatch. The bottle rolled away into the darkness. Jessie frantically crawled on her hands and knees in the direction it took and felt along the slimy floor until she found it. Unscrewing the cap, she leaned against the side of the boat and took a small sip of water that she swished around in her mouth. She took five more small sips then carefully screwed on the cap and held the water close to her chest. She didn’t know how long the water would have to last, but the tiny sustenance it provided renewed, at least for now, her will to live.

  Jessie closed her eyes and pretended she wasn’t in the dark, smelly hold. Within seconds she knew where she wanted to go—Mrs. Fairmont’s den. The elderly lady was sitting beside her on the couch showing her pictures with Flip curled up at their feet on the floor. Jessie started to imagine going to the kitchen for a snack, but her stomach growled and stopped before she left the den.