Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love

by Robert Whitlow

  “What?”

  “Appeal it to the United States Supreme Court. It’s in Washington, D.C.”

  “I know where it is, but you can’t appeal an order like that to the Supreme Court.”

  Jessie’s face looked resolute. “Watch me.”

  I stifled a smile. “Okay. But until the Supreme Court reverses Judge Cannon’s order and takes me off your case, I’m still representing you. Would you like to sleep in a soft bed in a quiet place?”

  “What?”

  I repeated the offer. Jessie gave me a puzzled look.

  “Are you trying to send me to a mental hospital?”

  “Have you ever been to one in the past?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think I would remember if I’d ever been in a place like that. And I’ve never been locked up before either. Why did you say something about a soft bed, then start talking to me about other stuff?”

  “I’ll get to the point. A nice elderly woman may be willing to let you stay with her if you can make bond and get out of here. Would you be interested in that?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Mrs. Margaret Fairmont. I have an apartment in her basement.”

  Surprise flashed across Jessie’s face. “You want me to live with you?”

  “Both of us. Sister Dabney is willing to post a property bond to get you out if you agree to stay with Mrs. Fairmont and me while I work on your case.”

  “Post a property bond? What does that mean?”

  “She would put up her house in return for the police releasing you from jail while your case is pending. If you run away, she would have to pay the bond or lose her home.”

  And in an instant Jessie Whitewater changed from a hardened young woman into a girl. Her eyes watered and she rubbed them with the back of her hand.

  “Why would she do that?” she asked with a sniffle.

  “Because she cares what happens to you. I’ve filed a motion to reduce your bond so it will be less of a risk for her. But the only way Sister Dabney agreed to do this is if you agree to stay with Mrs. Fairmont. The judge is going to hear the motion later this morning. You’ll be brought over to the courthouse from the jail. Mrs. Fairmont will be there, so she can meet you and decide for sure if she’s willing to help.”

  “And I’d stay at the house where you live?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would I have to go to church?”

  “Not unless you wanted to. Sister Dabney would be glad to see you, but it wasn’t a requirement for the bond.”

  I could see Jessie trying to process what she was hearing.

  “This is real,” I said. “You’re not dreaming, although you might think you are when you see the house. It’s a beautiful old home in the historic area of the city.”

  “Where would I sleep?”

  “Probably on a bed in my apartment.”

  “And I would eat there?”

  “Yes, all the good food you want. Mrs. Fairmont’s health isn’t that great. She’s had several strokes. You’d be expected to check on her during the day and call me or 911 if she has a serious problem.”

  Jessie nodded. “My cousin Barry’s grandfather had a stroke. He couldn’t move his right arm when he came home from the hospital. I used to open jars for him.”

  “Where did he live?”

  “Not far from my stepmother and me after we moved to—” Jessie stopped. “I wish you would stop trying to trick me.”

  “I’m not trying to trick you; I’m trying to help you. Getting out on bond doesn’t mean the burglary case against you is going to be dropped. The best way to take care of that is to get the case transferred to juvenile court, but my hands are tied until you give me enough information to prove you’re a minor.”

  Jessie shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “What could be so bad about where you came from that you’d risk going to prison as an adult convicted of a felony? Remember, everything you tell me is confidential.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, not even the judge can make me tell him.”

  Jessie looked puzzled. “If everything I tell you is secret, how could you get my case sent to juvenile court? My age would have to come out in the open.”

  Finally, Jessie had admitted she wasn’t eighteen.

  “Juvenile court proceedings are closed to the public; the judge would hear the evidence in private. The only people who would have to know would be the judge, the assistant district attorney, and a caseworker.”

  “And if I’m not eighteen, the police would try to find my stepmother and tell her where I am, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And send me to live with her?”

  “I don’t know. If the situation is bad enough, you could be removed from the home.”

  “And sent to foster care?”

  “Maybe. There are a lot of good foster parents. A family in my hometown took in several kids over the years. Many of those children came back when they grew up to thank them.”

  Jessie shook her head. “No. I’ve talked to a woman who works back in the kitchen with me. She told me that even if I broke the window at the store and took some food, the judge won’t send me to prison. The worst thing that will happen is prohibition.”

  “You mean probation.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She may be right unless you’re charged with multiple thefts and burglaries. In that case, a prison sentence is much more likely. And with even one felony conviction on your record, it would make it harder to find a job, buy a car, rent an apartment, lots of things.”

  I could tell from the look on Jessie’s face that she had no interest in thinking about any of those things. She was living in the moment. And her main concern was maintaining her anonymity. Her lips were tightly shut.

  “Okay,” I said. “Do you want to talk to Mrs. Fairmont?”

  “Yeah.”

  I started to coach Jessie in what to say but hesitated. I didn’t want to manipulate the situation. Mrs. Fairmont needed to appreciate what she was getting into.

  “I’ll see you in court in a couple of hours,” I said.

  Jessie got up to leave the room. I came to the door and watched her walk toward the cell block. She stopped and turned around. Her face had a more mature sadness.

  “Thanks for helping me.”

  I SPENT AN HOUR AT THE OFFICE, CONFIRMED THE TIME OF THE hearing with Maggie, then drove home to pick up Mrs. Fairmont. I walked into a quiet house. I checked my watch. If Mrs. Fairmont wasn’t ready, there wouldn’t be time for her to get dressed. She wasn’t in the den or either parlor. I called upstairs.

  “Mrs. Fairmont! It’s Tami. Are you ready to go?”

  At the sound of my voice, Flip raced down the steps. I met him a few steps from the bottom.

  “I’m looking for something!” Mrs. Fairmont replied.

  I took the steps two at a time. The elderly woman was in her bedroom, wearing an attractive green dress with a colorful scarf. She’d already put on her shoes.

  “I have a necklace that goes with this outfit,” she said, rummaging through the bottom drawer of one of her three jewelry boxes.

  I’d never helped Mrs. Fairmont find a piece of jewelry and considered the boxes off-limits. Seeing them on top of her dresser made me nervous.

  “It has a few emeralds that set off the diamonds nicely.”

  “Should you wear something that fancy to the courthouse? I think the scarf is pretty enough.”

  “It would be for you. I need more help than a scrap of cloth.”

  She pulled out a drawer in one of the other jewelry boxes.

  “Here it is!” She held up a narrow necklace in front of the mirror. The precious stones glistened.

  “It’s beautiful,” I admitted.

  “Please help me with the clasp. I don’t want it to fall off.”

  I fastened it securely around Mrs. Fairmont’s neck. She adjusted it with her right hand.r />
  “This used to be snug. Now it hangs down. I’m shriveling up like a prune.”

  “A sweet prune.”

  She smiled at me in the reflection in the mirror. “I hope so. I can count on you for compliments. If your young woman comes to live with us, I’ll put the expensive pieces in the safe-deposit box at the bank. There’s no use providing unnecessary temptation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I quickly agreed. “And there might be other items that should be taken from the house.”

  “We’ll see. The silver tea set in the blue parlor is a museum piece, but to an untrained eye it just looks old.” She smiled. “Like me.”

  WE ARRIVED EARLY AT THE COURTHOUSE SO MRS. FAIRMONT wouldn’t be rushed. A handful of people were seated in the spectator section in the courtroom. Neither Sister Dabney nor Maggie had arrived. I led Mrs. Fairmont to the same row where she’d sat for the swearing-in ceremony.

  “Please, sit here. I want to introduce you to Jessie and let you talk before the case is called. I don’t think Judge Cannon will have any questions for you, but it may come up where Jessie will stay if her bond is reduced.”

  People began to drift into the room. I’d attended a few of these motion calendars the previous summer. What struck me then and now were the faces of the men and women. The public read crime statistics. But there were no numbers in the courtroom, only people with unique problems and feelings. Most were probably family and friends of defendants who were being brought over from the jail. For them, the calendar call was a chance to see a loved one, even if only briefly from a distance.

  Jan Crittenden and two other employees of the district attorney’s office arrived with a thick stack of files. Jan came over to Mrs. Fairmont and greeted both of us.

  “Here to watch?” she asked the elderly lady.

  “You could say that. Give my regards to your aunt when you see her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jan turned to me. “Any new information?”

  “Not yet. I’m still working on it.”

  “Okay. I’m sticking with what I told you the other day. I won’t put up any evidence or argue against reduction in the bond. It’s up to the judge.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jan left. The back door of the courtroom opened and Sister Dabney entered. Her face was red, her hair plastered to her head with sweat. When I saw her my stomach tightened. She must have walked several blocks in the morning heat. She slipped into one of the back rows. I sighed in relief.

  “Sister Dabney is here,” I said in a low voice to Mrs. Fairmont when I sat down.

  The elderly woman turned her head.

  “Where is she?” she asked. “I don’t see her.”

  “Sitting in the back. She’s here to observe. If she posts Jessie’s bond, it will be done after the hearing.”

  A side door opened and two deputies escorted in a line of male prisoners wearing handcuffs and leg irons. Then a female deputy brought in three women who were not shackled. Jessie looked small and young between the more-mature women. I realized it might be harder for Mrs. Fairmont to talk to Jessie than I’d thought. I walked past the bar and approached the deputy, a woman I recognized from the jail.

  “May I talk with my client for a minute or two before the judge arrives?” I asked, motioning to Jessie.

  “Okay.”

  Jessie looked nervous.

  “Over here,” I said, guiding her away from the other prisoners and toward Mrs. Fairmont.

  Jessie licked her lips and followed. We stayed close to the wall. A low wooden bar separated us from the front row.

  “Jessie, this is Mrs. Fairmont, the lady I was telling you about. She owns the house where I live.”

  Mrs. Fairmont stood and held out a bejeweled hand. Jessie glanced down at the diamond rings on the elderly woman’s fingers and her eyes widened. She gave Mrs. Fairmont’s hand a short jerk.

  “Would you like to come home and stay with Tami and me?” Mrs. Fairmont asked.

  “Yes.” Jessie nodded, her eyes still wide.

  “I have a dog named Flip. He’s a Chihuahua.”

  “I love dogs,” Jessie answered. “They like me, too.”

  “Will you be able to help me around the house?”

  “I can wash dishes, mop the kitchen floor, make the beds, hang clothes on the line.”

  “Mrs. Fairmont has a clothes dryer,” I said.

  “I ran one when we went to the Laundromat.”

  Mrs. Fairmont looked at me. “I’d be happy for Jessie to stay with us while you help her.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Jessie replied. “I promise to be good.”

  I glanced at the back of the courtroom and saw Sister Dabney sitting with her eyes closed.

  I returned Jessie to her place with the other prisoners. The back door of the courtroom opened, and Mr. Carpenter entered with a couple of men wearing dark suits. Jessie, who was standing slightly behind me, gasped.

  “What is it?” I asked, turning to the side.

  “Don’t let him see me,” she replied, putting her hands over her face.

  “Who?”

  “The man with the blond hair.”

  One of the two men with Mr. Carpenter had blond hair. He looked to be in his mid- to late thirties. The other man had dark hair streaked with gray.

  “Who is he?” I asked, having to turn to the side because Jessie was crouching behind me.

  “All rise!” the bailiff called out. “This court is now in session, the Honorable Clifton Cannon, presiding!”

  “Please sit in front of me,” Jessie hissed.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Duffy,” Judge Cannon said to the assistant district attorney in charge of the morning’s calendar, “approach the bench. There’s something I need to discuss before we get started.”

  The chief assistant DA stepped forward.

  “Don’t leave me,” Jessie whispered.

  “There’s no need to be scared.”

  “Please!”

  I couldn’t ignore the panic in Jessie’s voice. I leaned over toward the deputy.

  “May I stay here with my client?”

  “Yeah.”

  I quickly placed a chair in front of Jessie and sat down. Jessie was hunched over in a ball. I’d stumbled upon her fear factor. My heart rate picked up as my mind raced into overdrive.

  If the motion to reduce Jessie’s bond was called while Mr. Carpenter and the blond-haired man were in the courtroom, it would be impossible to hide my young client from the man she wanted to avoid. There was no way to quietly move her to a place where I could talk to her and find out what was going on.

  Mr. Carpenter passed through the bar. Several lawyers scattered across the open area in front of the judge greeted him. When Mr. Carpenter’s eyes met mine, I suddenly had a sinking feeling he knew all about Jessie Whitewater and that his appearance in the courtroom was linked to my own.

  The judge spoke in a loud voice. “Mr. Duffy, call the first case.”

  I didn’t know the order of the cases. My heart leaped to my throat in anticipation of Jessie’s name being at the top of the list.

  “Your Honor, Mr. Carpenter requested that his motion in State v. Hackney be placed first on the calendar. He needs to be in federal court in front of Judge McKnight later this morning, and I have no objection to bringing his motion before you at this time.”

  “Very well, proceed,” the judge said.

  Mr. Carpenter stood. I felt myself caught in his peripheral vision.

  “Thank you, Mr. Duffy,” said the gray-haired lawyer in a carefully measured voice. “Your Honor, we’re here this morning on defendant’s motion to conduct an independent examination of evidence. In response to the criminal discovery statute, we’ve been informed there are tape-recorded conversations that may be utilized in this case. My client has retained Dr. Martin Link to perform independent testing of this evidence. With the Court’s permission, I’d ask Dr. Link to come forward and be sworn.”

  “Proceed.”
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br />   The man with dark hair streaked with gray approached the witness chair, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth.

  “Dr. Link, please tell the court about your educational and professional qualifications.”

  The witness, who had a very pleasant British accent, was a physicist with an impressive academic background in the United States and Great Britain.

  “What particular area of expertise will you utilize in evaluating potential evidence in the case of State v. Hackney ?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  “Voice recognition analysis.”

  “What specialized training and experience do you have that qualifies you to perform voice recognition analysis?”

  This brought forth a much longer answer and several follow-up questions about Dr. Link’s familiarity with the topic. He’d written a score of articles published in scholarly journals and developed a computer program that sounded so sophisticated it could mimic the inflection in Lincoln’s voice when he delivered the Gettysburg Address. If I hadn’t been scared on Jessie’s behalf, I would have enjoyed listening to the testimony. Mr. Carpenter paused.

  “Your Honor, we ask that Dr. Link be designated as an expert witness in the area of voice recognition analysis. We further move that he be given access to any and all tape recordings in the State’s possession in this case so he can perform his own analysis.”

  The judge turned to assistant DA Duffy. “Do you have any questions for the witness?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  To my surprise, Duffy didn’t vigorously attack the doctor. Instead, he focused on finding out more about Dr. Link’s training and experience. Each question seemed to strengthen, rather than weaken, Mr. Carpenter’s argument that the scientist was an expert who should be allowed to conduct his tests. Duffy finished and sat down. Judge Cannon finished making notes on a legal pad in front of him and then looked up.

  “The Court grants defendant’s motion that Dr. Link be recognized as an expert witness and orders the State to allow him to perform independent analysis of any tape recordings in the State’s possession. Mr. Carpenter, prepare an appropriate order and send it to Mrs. Duffy for his review prior to submission to the court.

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