While the coffee brewed, Tom cleaned up the mess from the broken lamp. He was caught between hope and apprehension. He wanted to believe that events set in motion the previous night would clear his name, but like a check in the mail, he couldn’t be sure until the funds hit his account. Thinking about that analogy brought an ironic smile to his face.
A woman who knew Elias had brought over a loaf of homemade bread that made the store-bought variety seem as tasteless as cardboard. Tom was finishing his second piece of toast made from the slightly nutty loaf when he heard a knock on the door. Through the window he could see a sheriff’s department’s car parked in the front yard. His heart sank.
Charlie Williams and Noah Keller were standing on the front porch. The DA was wearing an open-collared shirt and casual pants. Keller had on the same clothes from the previous night. Tom cracked open the door.
“Can we come in?” Williams asked. “We have some questions for you.”
Tom sighed. “Do you want any coffee?”
“I’ve had too many cups of coffee already,” Williams replied.
Williams and Keller sat on the sofa. Tom sat in Elias’s chair.
“Sorry to hear about Elias,” Williams began. “What happened?”
“He collapsed when I told him my father’s death may not have been an accident.”
Williams and Keller exchanged a look.
“It’s more than a probability,” Keller said. “Mitt Crusan, one of the men on Arthur Pelham’s security detail, came in last night and implicated Mr. Pelham and Jeff Scarboro in the deaths of your father and Harold Addington. That, along with a statement from Tiffany Pelham, justifies opening a formal investigation.”
“You talked to Tiffany?”
“At 2:00 a.m. She partially confirmed Crusan’s story.”
“What details did Crusan give?”
“That’s part of an ongoing investigation—” Keller responded.
“But in my opinion you’re entitled to know part of it,” Williams interrupted. “Arthur Pelham, his two security guards, your father, and Harold Addington were at Austin’s Pond. Your father tried to leave. He and Arthur tussled briefly, and Arthur pushed him into the water. According to Crusan, Arthur then ordered Scarboro to hold your father underwater until he drowned.”
“Why was my father there at all?” Tom asked numbly.
“Crusan claims Addington brought him on the pretext of fishing but knew there was going to be a meeting with Arthur. After your father was killed, Arthur and Addington argued, and Scarboro strangled Addington. Then they made the deaths look like a boating accident.”
“Addington may have been part of the embezzlement scheme after all?” Tom asked.
“Crusan’s statement is just the beginning. He’s talking to try to save himself. For all we know, he could have done what he claims Scarboro did. Before it’s over, they may all be pointing fingers at one another.”
“What about the $250,000 check?”
“My guess, it was either a forgery by Arthur or something Addington did. There may have been two break-ins at your father’s office: one shortly after his death, the other while you were in jail.”
“That’s why the Addington folder was empty.”
“Yes, and the check could have been stolen at that time. But that’s speculation.” Williams checked his watch. “I talked with an investigator at the Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington during the drive to see you. He confirmed what Rick Pelham told Noah last night. Arthur has been the target of a federal investigation for over two years.”
Tom sat back in the chair. “What are you going to do about the charges against me?”
“Nothing for now,” Williams replied.
“What?” Tom sat upright.
“You heard me,” Williams answered. “I shared the information about your father out of respect for him, but prosecutorial discretion is based on careful deliberation. Right now, the investigation is expanding.”
“What about Rose?”
“There are serious questions about her father but less about her. I’m going to recommend that the magistrate set a bond for Ms. Addington with two conditions: surrender of her passport and an agreement not to leave Etowah County while charges are still pending.”
“What sort of bond? Not a million dollars?”
“No, I was considering $100,000. Her mother has enough property in the county to make that.”
“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“It’s different from what the two of you were facing yesterday.”
“What about Arthur’s passport?” Tom asked. “Are you going to confiscate it and make him stay in Etowah County?”
“That will be up to me,” Williams said.
“Will you keep me informed?”
“Why do you think I drove out here at this time of the day with all that’s going on?”
“Yes, and I appreciate it. When will Rose know she can post bond and get out?”
“Sometime this morning.”
The two men left. Tom finished a second cup of coffee, then showered and put on clean clothes. He considered staying at home, but feeling restless he decided to go into town. When he arrived at the office there were still broken shards of glass on the sidewalk where he’d shattered the door. He was cleaning up the glass when Bernice arrived. She got out of the car with tears streaming down her face.
“I can’t believe this is happening!” she wailed. She came over and threw her arms around Tom’s neck. “I’ve not been able to sleep since Hal Millsap called me.”
Tom held her until she calmed down. “Come inside,” he said. “There are good things that you don’t know about.”
“Good things?” Bernice wiped her eyes. “Tell me now.”
“I will, I will.”
Tom held the door open.
“What happened to the door?” Bernice asked as if suddenly noticing it.
“I didn’t have a key and had to get in,” Tom replied. “Who should we get to fix it?”
“I don’t know. And I can’t believe you’re thinking about that at a time like this.”
Tom took Bernice into his father’s office and brought her up to date. “And I’m sorry now that I didn’t talk to you sooner,” he said. “You have a good sense about people, except for Rose Addington.”
“I was suspicious because I didn’t know her.”
“There’s something else you should know,” Tom said, taking a deep breath. “And it’s very bad.”
“What?” The look of alarm returned to Bernice’s face.
“I believe my father was murdered.”
Bernice’s face grew pale, then tears started to stream down her face. She buried her face in her hands. Seeing Bernice cry made tears come to Tom’s eyes.
“Your daddy was such a good man,” Bernice managed through her sobs. “I can’t believe someone would want to hurt him.”
Tears continued to roll down both their cheeks. Tom looked around the office with blurred vision. Every inch of the space spoke of his father’s presence. It was almost more than his heart could bear. He’d grieved at Austin’s Pond for his mother. He mourned the loss of his father sitting in John Crane’s chair.
“Do you know what happened?” Bernice asked after several minutes passed.
“Arthur Pelham was involved.” Tom cleared his throat. “I’m sure more details will come out, but it just hurts that he’s gone.”
Bernice, her eyes red and swollen, nodded.
“You should go home,” Tom said.
“I came in to protect you. I didn’t know what you’d face if you were here.”
Another wave of sorrow washed over both of them. Tom got up and wiped his eyes.
“This is too painful. I’m going to the lumberyard and buy a piece of plywood to cover the hole in the door.”
Bernice nodded. “I need a few minutes alone in here.”
Tom drove to a local building supply store and bought a piece of plywood
that he screwed onto the door frame of the office. He wrote “Office Closed” on a sheet of paper and taped it to the wood. Working with his hands helped him not feel the pain in his heart. When he finished, Bernice was sitting at her desk. She had a slight smile on her face.
“You know,” she said, “while you were boarding up the door, I remembered something your daddy gave me after your mama died.”
She opened the top drawer of her desk, took out a slip of paper, and handed it to Tom. In now-faded handwriting, his father had written:
The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death. (Isaiah 57:1–2)
Tom looked up. Bernice spoke. “I was sitting here thinking that your mama and daddy are at rest, forever together in a place without evil or pain. Someday we’ll be with them. And none of our memories will hurt us again.”
Tom closed his eyes. The same presence he’d experienced in his father’s office enveloped him standing in the reception room. The air smelled fresher. His heart felt lighter.
“This helps,” Tom said, handing the slip of paper back to Bernice.
“Good. It made me feel close to your daddy even though he’s gone.”
A banging on the door interrupted the moment.
An unfamiliar voice called out, “Is anybody in there?”
“Don’t answer it,” Bernice whispered.
“I’m looking for Tom Crane.”
“Who is it?” Tom asked.
“Christopher Olney. I work for the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
Tom looked at Bernice and shrugged. “I’d better let him in. We’re not in heaven with my parents yet.”
Tom opened the door. Olney looked about the same age as Tom. He was wearing a suit and tie and carried a black briefcase in his hand.
“I’m Tom Crane.”
Olney stepped forward and extended his hand. “Rick Pelham gave me your address and said I might find you here. I’m with the investigative unit. Is there someplace we can talk privately?”
“In there,” Tom said and stepped aside so Olney could enter the office. Tom turned to Bernice. “No interruptions, please.”
“Any exceptions?”
Tom thought for a moment. “Rose Addington.”
Tom closed the door and offered Olney a seat.
“I’ll get right to it,” Olney said. “This morning FBI and SEC agents are raiding the offices of Pelham Financial in New York, Boston, Los Angeles, Washington, DC, and here in Bethel. We’re going to seize paper and electronic records and conduct preliminary interviews with employees willing to make statements. All the assets of the company have been frozen by order of Susan Fielder, a federal judge in the Southern District of New York. Within the next few days, she’ll appoint a receiver to oversee the administration and distribution of the Pelham assets. Parallel action is being taken by the authorities in the UK.”
Tom thought about the people at the local Pelham office. “What about Arthur Pelham and Owen Harrelson?”
“They’re currently designated as ‘persons of interest,’ but that’s a preliminary step to formal indictment of those implicated by the ongoing investigation.”
“And me?” Tom asked.
“You’re also a person of interest.”
Tom swallowed. So far, nobody viewed him as a gullible-but-innocent by-product of a wide-ranging embezzlement scheme carried out by others. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My bosses would like to review the sequence of events leading up to your arrest by the local authorities, and I’m here to ask if you’ll voluntarily cooperate with that investigation.”
“What do you mean by cooperate?”
“It’s simple. Tell us what you know and show us what you have. It’s likely duplicative of what we already know; however, we want to be thorough.”
“Already know? Do you mean you were watching me this whole time?”
“We were aware of the transfer of money by Addington to a designated trust account administered by your father. The uncertainty lay in whether your father and Addington were low-level participants in the embezzlement scheme or had another agenda. That couldn’t be determined prior to their deaths.”
“Were you aware they were murdered?”
“Not until someone from our office talked to Rick Pelham early this morning. That obviously lies outside our jurisdiction and doesn’t answer the questions we have about the financial transactions.”
The sterile, clinical way in which Olney discussed the deaths of Tom’s father and Harold Addington hurt. Tom looked away for a moment. “What specifically do you want from me?” he asked with a sigh.
“Tell me what happened and why you acted as you did. Until you transferred the money from the designated trust account to the bank in Barbados, you weren’t under suspicion for illegal activity.”
“But now I am?”
Olney tilted his head to the side. “That’s for you to explain, if you’re willing to. As a lawyer, you know that anything you say to me can, and will, be used against you if criminal charges are filed.”
Tom’s efforts to lay everything on the table for Charlie Williams hadn’t ended well. He wondered if he had a better chance with Olney. The SEC investigator sat waiting for a response. Olney was just doing his job. Eventually Tom’s story was going to come out. He offered a silent prayer for guidance, then spoke.
“I can’t corroborate some of what happened because my laptop and hard copies of documents were stolen two days ago from this office, but I’ll verbally tell you what happened.”
“I understand.”
Olney placed his briefcase in his lap and clicked it open. He took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Tom. “This is a waiver of your right to remain silent.”
Tom didn’t need to read the document to know what it said, but he did anyway. After Tom signed it, Olney took out a digital recorder. “May I record our conversation?”
Tom opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a smaller unit. “Only if I can.”
It was the investigator’s turn to hesitate. “Agreed,” he said. “Let’s get to it.”
Two hours later Olney reached up and turned off his recorder.
“Are you finished?” Tom asked.
“Yes, that’s all.” Olney waited while Tom turned off his recorder. “Based on our interview, it will be my recommendation that you be included in our list of potential witnesses. And not be indicted unless something else turns up.”
Tom felt relief but no joy. “What about Rose Addington?”
“She never was a direct target of our investigation. Her father’s role remains ambiguous. There are indications he may have intended to participate in the scheme but no evidence that he was successful.”
“You don’t believe he was a decoy or fall guy being set up by Pelham, Harrelson, and Nettles?”
“That’s your theory, which is new to us. I’ll include it in my report.”
“Are you going to talk to Rose Addington or her mother? They’ve been through so much, and I don’t want them to face renewed accusations against Harold.”
“That’s not my call. I was sent here to meet with you.”
Tom wanted to protect Rose but realized he had no control over what happened.
“Will you be in touch with our local DA? That should have an impact on the state charges against Rose and me.”
“He’ll be briefed within the next couple of days by an attorney from the Department of Justice.”
Olney stood up, signaling an end to the meeting. “And I’m sorry about your father,” the agent said. “Usually these types of scams don’t involve murder. If that happened here, I hope justice is done.”
Tom opened the door for the investigator. Bernice was in the lobby talking to a man holding a microphone in front of her face. A woman stood behind the man with a TV
camera on her shoulder.
“There he is,” the man said, suddenly ignoring Bernice. The camera turned toward Tom. “Mr. Crane, what do you think about the FBI action taken against Pelham Financial this morning?”
“He knows more about it than I do,” Tom said, motioning toward Olney.
The reporter ignored the agent.
“Is it true there was a fight at Arthur Pelham’s home last night when you threatened to expose his embezzlement?”
“I’m not going to comment on that,” Tom said.
“Does this mean the criminal charges against you and Ms. Addington are going to be dismissed?” the reporter persisted.
“That will be decided by Mr. Williams, the district attorney, or Judge Nathan Caldwell, the superior court judge.”
Tom stepped back into the office and closed the door before the reporter launched another question. He sat down and called ICU at the hospital. Once he reached the proper person, the woman immediately transferred him to the nurse’s station.
“Your uncle is stable and resting,” the nurse on duty informed him. “Dr. Thomas has already been by to see him this morning and will be back this afternoon.”
“When should I be there if I want to talk to the doctor?”
“Around 4:00 p.m.”
“Is my uncle conscious?”
“Yes, he was watching the news on TV earlier.”
“About Pelham Financial?”
“Yes, they ran a live feed from the headquarters for half an hour. Did you know this was going to happen?”
Tom didn’t respond. “Thanks for the update on my uncle.”
It was going to be impossible to hide from scrutiny, but Tom wanted to stay as far from the spotlight as possible. He walked quietly over to the door and listened. Not hearing anything, he opened it. Bernice was sitting at her desk. The reception room was empty.
“I’m not answering the phone,” Bernice said as she brushed back a stray strand of hair. “Everything is going to the answering machine. And I didn’t really want to talk to that reporter, but he was nice enough, very polite when he asked to come in. He mostly wanted to know about you.”
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