“Surely it isn’t six already?” I tried to stand up, realizing quickly how long I’d been sitting. “Ow!”
“Yes, it’s six. Have you been sitting there this entire time?” he asked, laughing at my pitiful attempt to rise. He reached out his hand to steady me.
“I didn’t realize I’d been looking at this stuff for so long. Do you have any way for us to find old newspaper articles around here, or could we only do that at the paper?”
“Whoa, Snoop Dogg,why don’t you sit down, eat a bite, and tell me your story?” He set the pizza on top of my desk and pulled up a chair. He had brought two extra Cokes down with him. I had finished off mine hours earlier, so I was grateful for the thoughtfulness.
“Good idea. I am starving.”
He grabbed a piece of pizza, propped his Nikes up on the table, and leaned back in his chair, letting me know he was ready for the scoop. As he took a bite of pizza, I noticed his muscular calves. They made me confident his favorite pastime was running. “So, Miss Savannah. What in the world are you doing here on a Saturday night, hundreds of miles from home, in a basement at a courthouse in Jackson, Mississippi, snooping into the lives of some of Jackson’s most prominent and influential citizens? Surely, this is a good story.”
I leaned back as well.“You’ll think I’m an idiot. Shoot, half the time I think I’m crazy, chasing some wild concoction of a story that no one gives a horsefly’s rear end about.”
“Did you just say ‘a horsefly’s rear end’?” He slapped his hands on his khaki shorts in amusement.
“Yes, have you never heard that before?” I realized then that I myself had only ever heard my mother say it.
“No, can’t say that I have. And I don’t know that you need to say it around anyone else,” he said, going back to his pizza.
I started eating my pizza with fervor, trying not to chew and talk at the same time.“Thanks for the advice. So, if I tell you what I’m working on, do I have attorney-client privilege?”
“Only if you pay me.”
“How much do you charge?”
“Well, tonight I have a special going . Tonight I am only charging one dollar per client per visit.”
“Are you telling me I only have to pay you one dollar for the entire visit and I will have the undivided attention of your services?”
“It is your lucky day.”
“That’s a mighty cocky smile, Mr. Attorney Wannabe. But here.” I grabbed the satchel beside me, pulled out a dollar bill, laid it on the table, and pushed it toward him.“I hereby pronounce you my attorney. And whatever I tell you is strictly confidential and can never be repeated.”
“Absolutely. I’m all yours. Compensation has been exchanged and privilege is granted. Shoot with your concoction.” He took a long swig of his Coke. He was a tall, good-looking fellow, with a quick wit and true southern charm. His blue-and-white T-shirt complemented his flawless dark skin, and his calm demeanor made him easy to talk to. For the next hour my new attorney listened to everything that had transpired in my life in the last two weeks. He sat rather mesmerized and quiet the entire time until I mentioned P&R Printing. Gregory’s wheels began turning themselves.
I wiped my mouth and took another drink of my Coke.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking, what would a pageant need with either jewelry or a printing company?”
“All beauty pageant women wear jewelry; that’s a given. But money, not jewelry, causes people to rig pageants. So unless she’s selling diamond tiaras and has the market on the whole Miss United States of America Pageant, that’s not where she’s making the money. Now for printing, they have to print these.” I reached down and pulled out Amber’s and my Mother’s ridiculously large programs. You’d better not touch this one without gloves,” I said, pointing to Vicky’s book. “You might be a lawyer, but she, my friend, is CIA material.”
He feigned difficulty lifting them as he brought each one to his side of the desk. “These things are huge! Why in the world would they need something this large?”
“This is how pageants make money for their prizes.”
“I thought they had sponsors for prizes.”
“They do for some, but the girls also sell program pages to businesses in their local cities. The money from those pages, at five hundred dollars a pop, offsets the expenses of the pageant and pays for scholarships.”
“Savannah, there are over five hundred pages in here. That’s $250,000. Combine that with sponsors’ goodies and ticket sales, and somebody’s making some money. I think your story is on the money. Follow the money, Savannah,” he said, and he closed up the empty pizza box and walked it to the trash can.
Turning around so I could see him, I said, “What am I going to do, break into bank records and find out if someone received large sums of cash after the pageant money was collected? I don’t have the time or the capability to do something like that.”
He walked back and sat down. “Savannah, you don’t always have to prove things, sometimes you just need to know things.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” I told him, putting my head in my hands and sighing from sheer exhaustion.
“I’m saying, what do you know?”
“What do I know?”
“Yes, what do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“OK, what do you think you know?”
“I think I know a judge changed his scores.”
“Go on.”
“I think I know which judge, who at face value has no motive and a wife who owns a printing company.”
Gregory opened two program books in front of him. Each had its own list of acknowledgments to vendors who had donated their work. In both books, some twenty-five years apart, on line three, thank-yous went out to P&R Printing Company for the printing of program books, letterhead, and the new Miss Georgia United States of America personalized stationery. “Look, it’s right here in black and white. Now, even if P&R printed these monster books out of the goodness of their hearts, it’s unseemly at best. No judge should have any dealings with a pageant in a manner like this. It muddies the water.”
“Well, sure it does, but it all but says right here that they did the work free for sponsorship purposes.”
“Sure, they did it free. Can you imagine the stink if they had charged for it? That would be blatant misconduct. But what if their free services are a cover-up for a kickback? And what if their kickback comes with a perk for the pageant director? ‘You help me and I’ll help you.’The Cummings get a whopping tax deduction, and the pageant weasels their way out of a whopping printing bill. This really isn’t that hard to see.”
“What am I going to do, walk up to their door with a bunch of what ifs? ‘Um, ma’am, I think, though there is no way on God’s green earth I can prove it, that you are taking a kickback on the inflated price of advertising pages in a pageant program book in order to manipulate scores for a pageant director in Georgia. Now, don’t let your foot kick me in the behind too hard as you throw me out your door!’ Are you whacked? I’m going to be the human-interest story by the time you’re through with me.”
“Savannah, you should have gone to law school. You don’t go in there declaring what you don’t know. You put them on the stand, letting them assume you know everything. Then, eventually, they give themselves away. They’re either frustrated you’ve got it wrong, or their expression reveals how right you really are.” He stood and paced as if he were trying the case of a lifetime.
“You’re saying I need to act like I know all this as fact in order to prompt a response?” I asked.“Would you please quit pacing?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“What do you think we are doing here, acting out parts in a John Grisham novel?”
“Well, at least he knows how to write a good legal thriller, plus, he’s good-looking like me and from Mississippi too.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“Y
es ma’am, I know I’m adorable, but back to the business at hand.”
“So, after I get sued for slander, you’ll be my attorney, right?”
He waved my dollar in front of my face.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “And that’s about all you’re worth, too. We’ll probably end up in jail together.”
“Well, at least you like me!”
“Yeah, at least I like you!”
After spending two more hours examining possibilities, I felt I needed more. I needed facts, not assumptions. “Let’s go on a tour of Jackson. Let’s go check out some printing companies and some of Cummings’s office buildings.”
“We can go look,but I will not allow you to step out of the car.”
“You can lock the doors.”
“I can and I will,” he said, getting up himself. We walked out to his car and he opened the door for me to climb in.
“Nice car for a law clerk,” I said, admiring his shiny silverVolvo.
“Thank you. A man’s got to have a nice ride.”
The tour of Jackson began. We traveled through the Historical District, and Gregory gave me a tour of some of the oldest African-American churches in the nation. He also showed me where Medgar Evers lived. Then we progressed to an area of town where the Cummingses owned the entire block. All in a row on West Capital Street stood Cummings Enterprises, Patricia’s Precious Stones jewelry store, and P&R Printing at the top of the street.
“Here’s the Cummings Compound, as we like to call it here in Jackson.”
“So they’re not quite the sweethearts of Jackson as you first led me to believe?”
“Well, they’re high-profile, influential people. They own most everything in this city, including a few people. So, it is my job to protect this city. It is your job to protect your own behind.”
“So, since behind protection is my job, what do you say we get out and take a walk up the street?”
“You’re a persistent little creature.”
“Yes, I am. Let’s walk.”Things were pretty quiet for a Saturday evening. A few people were walking about, and I could hear music and laughter coming from up the street.
“So how did you get here?”
“I was born and raised here.”
“And law school? Was that always the plan?” I asked as we admired the grand entrances of the Cummings Compound.
“That was a father’s dream for his son. Then it became the son’s dream for himself.”
“My dad would be happy at this point if I were simply self-sufficient, seeing as I had to use his credit card to get here.”
“I would agree with him, seeing as you’ve yet to pay for the pizza.”
“I haven’t left yet. I’ll pay you for that pizza.”
“Savannah, you’ve had me so distracted I didn’t even realize where we were. If someone sees us back here, we’ll have more tongues wagging than a carpool of St. Bernards,” he said as he noticed that I had drifted to the back of the Cummings’s buildings.
“I just wanted to see what they had back here,” I said, walking over to the back door of Cummings Enterprises and wiggling the handle, knowing it would be locked. It was.
“You can’t go inside. You’re going to get yourself arrested and who’s going to come get you out?”
“That would be your job, Counsel.”
“Not on your life.”
“Gregory, look,” I whispered, pointing to an open window.
“Give me a lift.”
“I will not. I will leave you behind, right here all by yourself.”
“OK, then, I’ll lift myself,” I said, reaching as high as I could, barely able to grasp the tip of the window sill. I jumped up and was able to get a weak hold on the inside trim, all the while trying to glide my right foot up the side of the brick building. But with nothing to hold on to, I collapsed into a heap on the asphalt parking lot.
“You’re pathetic.”
“You’re pathetic for not helping me.”
“This is breaking and entering. This is a federal offense, a reason people go to jail and others are disbarred.”
“This is not breaking and entering. The window is open. So, technically it is only entering. And I’ve seen enough Law & Order to know that many a defense is won on a technicality. Now please, you don’t have to enter. Just give me a boost.”
“That is being an accomplice to a crime.”
“I will tell anyone who asks that I forced you.”
“With what, a high heel?”
“I don’t wear high heels,” I said, pointing to my flat black sandals.
“Well, whatever you are going to do, you need to hurry. In Jackson, Mississippi, a black man in an alley with a white woman makes for nothing good in the eyes of busybodies.”
“Just a quick hoist. You go back to the car, drive around the block, and I’ll meet you at the courthouse.”
“You don’t even know how to get back to the courthouse,” he said, exasperated. He bent down.
“Trust me, I’ll find it. And you can go back to work. Now please, hoist!” Gregory relented. As I put my foot in his hands, he hefted me with enough effort to give me a firm grip on the window.
“How in the world . . . is this . . . a human-interest story?” He panted as he struggled to push me the rest of the way through.
“I’m a human and I’m interested. That’s all you need to know.” In reply, he pushed me so hard I flew through the window, landing on both head and shoulders and causing a loud crash as I toppled a picture frame.
“What happened? Are you all right?” he called in a half-whisper, half-petrified yell.
I poked my head out of the window and peered out.“Let’s just say it is now officially breaking and entering. Go; I’ll catch up with you later.” I closed the window that separated us. I used my shirt tails to collect the broken glass as best I could, all my years of watching courtroom dramas having made me cautious. I laid them all back neatly on an unsuspecting employee’s desk and headed through the dark corridors in search of . . . anything. I found a rag in a kitchen area and used it to open and close doors, searching by the dim parking-lot lights streaming in the windows.
When I began to think my first crime spree would prove utterly pointless, I noticed a cracked door. Behind the door was a dark staircase that led to purgatory for all I knew. But I had to go. While descending the dark stairwell, it became undeniably clear that I had taken leave of every good sense I had ever possessed. “Mercy,” I said out loud,“I am in Jackson, Mississippi, breaking into an office building, searching for something, I don’t even know what. I’ve sunk low. Desperately low.” Sinking even further into blackness, it was evident by the lack of any light that this room had no windows. I felt safe enough to search for the light and finally found a switch. The light was blinding.
Once my eyes adjusted, I began to take in the environment around me. The room resembled the courthouse basement, with row upon row of shelving bearing boxes upon boxes of documents. I meandered down each aisle, searching for anything marked P&R Printing. Near the back were about six rows full of boxes for P&R Printing, which had been in business for over thirty-five years according to the dates on the labels. About halfway through row three, I found thirty-some boxes marked “banking records.” I began in 1972, the year of Katherine, and searched for anything linking P&R Printing to the Miss Georgia United States of America pageant. I found absolutely nothing.
After what felt like hours of absolutely nothing, I turned the corner and saw a box marked “Personal.” Pulling out my handy-dandy rag, I carefully opened the lid. It, like the last thirty-something boxes I had drifted through,was filled with nothing but papers and cards. Then the name Todd caught my eye. But this name wasn’t Carl Todd, the director of the Miss Georgia United States of America pageant or of Carline Todd, his daughter. This name was Catherine Todd.
I painstakingly pulled the file out and laid it in front of me. Inside were twenty-two neatly rubber-banded notes. I
opened each one. They were personal notes from Catherine Todd, thanking “Patty” for the jewelry and printing. In each she made reference to the “special gift enclosed,” and each note was dated. Going immediately back to the bank statements and following the date of each note, a major deposit, identified simply as “Gift,” was made exactly one week after the date of each letter into Patricia’s personal account. Each deposit ranged from fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars, far more than any reasonable printing bill would have been.
I sneaked back upstairs and pilfered around until I found a copy machine. I made copies of each letter and each deposit, then returned the originals to their proper places. Exiting the same way I had entered, I took extra care to wipe the window and sill free of any fingerprints. As I turned the corner to return to West Capital Street, I tucked the photocopies underneath my shirt. I sensed a car come alongside me and heard a voice say, “Get in the car.”
I hopped in, and every ounce of adrenaline left me, causing me to go limp. “I thought I told you I’d meet you back at the courthouse.”
“You would have never made your way back there, even by morning,”Gregory said as he pulled into his parking place in front of the courthouse.
“Well, thank you. Let’s get inside, so I can show you what I got.”
We descended to the basement, and for the next couple of hours I told him what I had found. He determined that no matter what the money was for, whether for jewelry or for the printing, it was unethical at best and, at worst, motivation enough for a judge to alter his vote.
I decided I wanted to meet the Cummingses before I left. Gregory decided I was certifiable. But he prepped me nonetheless on how I would need to present myself. I wasn’t sure I would take all of his advice, but I would use what I thought was worth using.
Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning we both fell asleep in our chairs, our heads lying on opposite sides of the desk.
“Hello,” I said, not sure where I was or how I got there.
“Savannah? Did I wake you up, darling? It’s nine o’clock,” said the familiar voice from the other end.
“Yes. But that’s OK. I needed to get up anyway.” I slowly tried to extract myself from the chair I had become one with during the night.
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