Greater Love

by Robert Whitlow

  “No company.” Julie shook her head. “It’s a government-issued bearer bond.”

  I didn’t know what she meant. Maggie gasped.

  “Are you sure?” Maggie asked, leaning forward.

  Julie pointed to a phrase that appeared several times on the certificate. “If that means what I think it does, this is as negotiable as a check with your name written on it for one hundred thousand euros.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Maggie spoke. “Ownership of this bond is based totally on possession. That’s why it’s called a bearer bond.” She picked up the certificate. “Whoever has this bond in his or her possession can redeem it. Nothing could be simpler.”

  “And receive one hundred thousand euros?” I asked, my mouth dropping open.

  “More than enough for Jessie to pay your attorney fee and buy as many donuts as she wants,” Julie said. “What makes this one extra special is that it wasn’t issued by a private company; it came directly from the German government.”

  “Congress outlawed U.S. government–issued bearer bonds in 1982 because they were being used for money laundering,” Maggie said. “Without a name on the certificate, bonds like this one are ideally suited for money transfers where the parties don’t want anyone to know who paid who. Congress wanted to put a stop to that practice. But many foreign governments, including several in Europe, allow them. I learned about this type of thing in a drug case I prosecuted a few years ago.”

  “What should we do with it?” I asked.

  “That’s easy,” Julie replied. “I’ll fly to Munich and redeem it. I’ve had a recent unexplained craving for German sausage. Thirty-three thousand euros and change is a nice day’s work for each of us.”

  “No, it goes in a safe-deposit box,” Maggie responded. “My question is how Jessie got it.”

  I felt the blood rush from my face. “It has something to do with Clay Hackney. That’s why she was so terrified of him.”

  “After seeing this, I have to admit that’s possible,” Maggie said slowly.

  “Jessie’s gone,” Julie said. “And we can’t run an ad in the paper— ‘Bearer Bond Found. Call to Claim.’ I think we should—”

  “Put it in the safe-deposit box,” Maggie interrupted. “Besides, legal possession of the bond lies with the Dabney woman. She only gave it to Tami to figure out what it is.”

  Julie winced. “Yeah, I got carried away. If Sister Dabney redeems the bond, she could afford a desperately needed upgrade to her wardrobe.”

  “And there’s this,” I said, tapping the other sheet of paper with my hand. “What do you make of it?”

  Julie picked it up. “It’s not in German. And the doodling isn’t that bad. This flower has some good detail.”

  “And this looks like the edge of the bond certificate,” Maggie said, pointing to the green ink design.

  There was no doubt about the similarity.

  “But the rest of it is nonsense,” Julie said.

  The three of us peered at the columns of letters and numbers.

  “Maybe it’s written in code,” I suggested.

  Julie glanced at me. “I left my decoder ring in my other purse. Do you want me to get it?”

  “No, wait a minute,” Maggie said. “Let’s assume Tami is right. How would it work?”

  “My first cousin Mary and I wrote letters to each other in code after she moved to Florida when we were about twelve years old,” I said.

  “A sneaky way for you to communicate without your parents finding out,” Julie interjected. “I can see you doing that.”

  “It was a simple code,” I said, ignoring Julie. “Each letter of the alphabet became the following letter—a as b, b as c, and so on.”

  Julie ripped a couple of sheets of paper from a legal pad. “Let’s divide up a few lines and see if it works.”

  Within less than a minute, it was obvious the code used by Mary and me didn’t fit. The new letters were as jumbled as before.

  “I thought it was a good idea,” Julie said as we slid our sheets to the center of the table. “But now it feels kind of silly.”

  “Try advancing each letter two spaces,” Maggie replied.

  The results were still incomprehensible.

  “Go three spaces,” Maggie said.

  “It won’t hurt my feelings if my idea doesn’t pan out,” I said.

  “Let’s give it a try,” Maggie replied.

  Within a minute a new line of unreadable text took its place. Julie looked up.

  “How many letters are there in the alphabet? Are we going to try this twenty-six times? If somebody offered to sell us a computer program to do this, I’d put it on my credit card right now.”

  “Four letters,” Maggie replied.

  Julie sighed. We bowed our heads and began counting letters and writing replacements. After less than a minute, Julie gasped.

  “What?” I asked.

  She moved her sheet so we could see the four letters she’d written.

  “C-L-A-Y,” she said.

  “Mine is B-A-R-R-Y,” Maggie replied.

  “Apply the same thing to the numbers,” I said.

  We quickly recognized area codes for phone numbers. Dividing up the information, we spent the next thirty minutes deciphering the sheet of paper. It was a list of people and phone numbers. Most were men, but a few women were also included. Clay Hackney was the only familiar name.

  “What are we going to do with this?” I asked when we finished. “Should I take it to Jan Crittenden at the DA’s office?”

  “I’ll go with you,” Maggie said.

  “You’re not going to tell them about the bearer bond, are you?” Julie asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Maggie replied. “The bond will convince the police to begin a serious search for Jessie. If this stuff belongs to Hackney or some of his associates, they will be looking for her, too. We have to get to her first.”

  I phoned the district attorney’s office. The receptionist checked with Jan Crittenden, then relayed the message that she could meet with us if we came immediately. Maggie made copies of the bearer bond and the original sheet of paper and our deciphered version. On our way to the courthouse, we stopped at Maggie’s bank and put the originals in a safe-deposit box.

  I was still slightly breathless when we entered the DA’s office. Jan came into the reception area and gave the two of us a puzzled look.

  “Can we meet in private?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  She led us to the conference room where we’d talked before.

  “Is this about Jessie Whitewater?” she asked as soon as we sat down.

  “Yes, but it also involves Clay Hackney,” Maggie added.

  “Hackney?”

  I nodded.

  “Should I see if Brett Duffy is available? That’s his case.”

  “I think so,” Maggie answered.

  Crittenden left the room and returned in less than a minute with a thick folder under her arm.

  “He’s out of the office for the afternoon, but I have the file.”

  In a less-rapid-fire manner, I told her everything that had transpired between Jessie and Clay Hackney. While still describing Jessie’s reaction to seeing Hackney in the courtroom, Jan stopped me and left the room. She returned with a handheld recording device.

  “Would you start over and let me record this for Brett?”

  I hesitated and glanced at Maggie.

  “Okay,” she said, “as long as we get a copy of any transcript and can correct it.”

  “No problem. I’ll put that at the beginning.”

  I repeated everything I’d already told the assistant DA but with greater detail. Listening to myself the second time, I was less convinced that I’d stumbled onto the greatest discovery since the Rosetta stone.

  “Will this motivate the police to find Jessie?” I asked when I finished. “I’m worried about her.”

  Jan reached over and turned off the recorder.

/>   “I wish your client was still around. Your theory is plausible, but it’s speculative.” Jan picked up the sheet of paper with the names and phone numbers on it. “I’m sure Brett would like a copy of this to include as part of the investigative file. Does anyone outside your firm know about this?”

  “Ramona Dabney, the woman who found it.”

  Jan nodded. “She posted the bond.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll see if I can get the police to increase efforts to find Jessie.”

  “Try Detective Houghton,” Maggie said. “He was at our office this morning investigating a break-in.”

  “Your office was burglarized? I didn’t hear about that.”

  “Yes, whoever did it came back twice.” Maggie touched the copy of the bearer bond. “He could have been looking for this.”

  Jan nodded. “If we could link Hackney to a burglary, that would help Brett. The current case is totally circumstantial.” Crittenden covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t have said that last part. Please don’t repeat it.”

  “We won’t,” Maggie answered. “At this point the interests of our client and your office look to be the same.”

  Jan picked up the sheets of paper.

  “Could you leave these with me? If the information becomes relevant to our case, we would need the originals.”

  “They’re in a safe-deposit box,” Maggie replied.

  “Good,” Jan said.

  “Will you try to find Jessie?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Jan nodded. “That will be my next phone call.”

  22

  THE UTILITY ROOM WAS A MUCH BETTER PRISON THAN THE DIRTY mattress and horrible stink of the forward hold of the ship. Before he locked her up in her new place, the man who’d hosed off Jessie gave her a full water bottle and the uneaten remains of two dinners. She couldn’t believe how much delicious food the men left on the plates. She tried to eat slowly, but after the first few bites she crammed the food from one plate in her mouth as fast as she could. Within a couple of minutes, she banged on the door. The man returned. Jessie was holding her cramping stomach.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said.

  The man pushed her down a short hallway and opened the door to a marine head. Jessie got sick. Losing the precious food was a disaster, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She splashed water on her face and peered in the mirror. Her filthy hair was plastered to her head, and her eyes were red with dark lines beneath them. She looked a lot worse than when she’d arrived at the Savannah bus station. There was a tiny bar of soap on the lavatory, and rubbing it in her hands she produced a tiny bit of suds. The man knocked on the door.

  “Time to go.”

  “Can I wash my face?”

  “You got one minute.”

  She scrubbed as fast and as hard as she could. The effort didn’t improve her hygiene very much; it did more to restore her will to live. If she could wash her hands and face, maybe she could survive.

  “Let’s go,” the man said when she opened the door.

  When they reached the utility room another man was waiting for them. He had a red kerchief tied around his face and a baseball cap on his head. His eyes were concealed by sunglasses.

  “Why do you have that on?” the man with Jessie asked.

  “You may not care that she’s seen you, but I’m going to be more careful.”

  “The boss isn’t going to let her—”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the first man said. “I called him. He wants to ask her some questions.”

  “He’s coming here?” the second man asked.

  “No, you idiot. He wants me to do it. Get on deck and make sure everything is shipshape for the night.” The man looked at Jessie. “If she doesn’t tell me what I need to know, she’s going back to the hold.”

  “No, please.” Jessie shook her head.

  “Then this should be easy.”

  The second man left them alone. The man with the kerchief over his face had thick, powerful-looking arms and large hands. He was wearing a black T-shirt, white shorts, and brown deck shoes.

  “Follow me,” the man said.

  He took Jessie to the small mess where the men on board prepared and ate their meals. There was a table with seating for six people. The man sat down and motioned for Jessie to sit across from him.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

  Normally, Jessie would have feigned ignorance, but forty-eight hours in the dank hold had dealt with that response.

  “You want to ask me some questions.”

  “Not me, someone else.”

  “Clay.”

  The man didn’t change expression.

  “Do you know his last name?”

  “Hackney.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He came over to see Rod Burrell, who was dating my step-mother.”

  “How many times did he come over?”

  “Several. I’m not sure.”

  “What happened to Rod?”

  “I don’t know, but Clay sent some men to our house to teach him a lesson. They dragged him out of the house. I was in the bathroom and ran away as soon as they left. I walked down the railroad tracks and ended up catching a ride to Savannah with some Mexican guys who cut down trees.”

  “Do you know what happened to Rod?”

  “No, but I hope they beat him up.”

  The man grunted. “Did he ever hit you?”

  Jessie pointed to the left side of her face. “Once he hit me so hard I thought my cheek was broken.”

  “Did you see the two men who came to the house to deal with Rod?”

  “Not clearly. They chased me into a blackberry thicket. One man left to bring in some dogs to find me. While he was gone, the other man was struck by lightning. That’s when I ran to the railroad tracks. That’s all I remember.”

  The man nodded. “You’re doing great. When you ran off, did you take something that belonged to Rod with you?”

  Jessie immediately thought about the leather pouch. Keeping her voice level, she said, “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  The man took out a cell phone and entered some numbers.

  “I talked to her,” he said, then repeated what Jessie told him. He listened for a moment. “No, she didn’t say anything about it, but I believe she’s telling me the truth. A couple of days in the dark convinced her to cooperate. I’ve thought all along that Jack grabbed the stuff. And after Bruce was struck by lightning there was nobody to say he was lying. The girl was in the thicket when Bruce was killed. She brought it up herself without me mentioning it.”

  The man listened for a moment.

  “Are you going to come out on the boat and talk to her?”

  Jessie’s heart started beating rapidly as the man listened again. The man put the phone on the table. Jessie stared at it like a snake about to strike.

  “It’s on speakerphone,” the man said.

  “Go ahead,” a scratchy voice responded.

  The man with the kerchief adjusted the cloth that had slipped below his nose. He kept his eyes on Jessie.

  “Did you take a piece of paper with writing and numbers on it that belonged to Rod? You wouldn’t have been able to read it.”

  Jessie swallowed and licked her lips. “No.”

  “What about some pieces of paper with words in a foreign language written on them?” the voice on the phone asked. “They would have been in a brown leather pouch with a gold snap on top.”

  “I saw a leather pouch on the table when I left the bathroom,” Jessie replied, her voice trembling. “But I didn’t touch it. I think Jack grabbed it.”

  “She took it,” the man across the table said as soon as she’d answered. “I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Where are the papers?” the man on the speakerphone asked, his voice getting louder. “Especially the one with the writing on it. Tell m
e, and we’ll let you go free.”

  Jessie knew the pouch was in the metal box at the edge of the vacant lot. She may have taken the paper with the writing on it out of the box, but at the moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d done with it. One thing she knew for sure—the man on the phone was lying. Jessie’s link to the sheets of paper was keeping her alive. She frantically tried to remember what people with secret information did in books. She quickly settled on a strategy she’d read in a story about buried treasure.

  “I hid it. I’d have to show you where it is,” she said.

  The man raised his hand to strike her. Jessie cowered.

  “Kelvin, pick up the phone!” the voice on the speaker commanded.

  The man lowered his hand and grabbed the phone.

  “Why did you tell her my name?” the man with the kerchief asked as soon as he had the phone next to his ear.

  Whatever the man on the other end of the call said dealt swiftly with Kelvin’s objection. And from her jailor’s reaction, the man talking to him could generate fear, even in someone as intimidating as the man across the table from her.

  “Yeah,” he said and clicked off the phone. He stared hard at Jessie.

  “This is your last chance. Where is the stuff in the leather pouch?”

  Jessie nervously clasped her hands together under the table. She’d made her plan, and now she didn’t know what to do except stick to it.

  “I’d be glad to show you,” she said, trying to sound helpful.

  Kelvin stood up. Jessie braced for a blow.

  “Back to the hole for you,” Kelvin said. “And don’t expect any food or water until you change your mind. Believe me, I’ll let you die down there, then sail out a few miles from shore and throw your body overboard. Nobody will ever know or care what happened to a runaway like you.”

  WHEN MAGGIE AND I RETURNED TO THE OFFICE, A NEW, SOLIDwood door had already been placed in the door frame. Inside, workers were installing the monitors for a security system.

  “You have two messages from Zach Mays in your voice mail,” Shannon said cheerfully as I passed by. “He’s so polite.”

  “He is,” I responded, giving her a curious look.

  Before entering her office, Maggie turned to me. “Don’t forget, you’re a lawyer, not a private investigator. Let the police do their job. When Jessie turns up, it will be your chance to help her.”