The List (51 page)

“Mrs. Stokes. It's Renny. I'm sorry to call so late, but I'm in trouble and only have a few minutes.”

“What is it?”

“I'm in the Georgetown County jail. I need you to contact some people for me. Call Jo's mother, Carol Edwards, early in the morning and see how Jo is doing. Don't tell her where I am; they've got enough to worry about. Just tell them I'm still on the coast and unable to reach them. Then call Agnes Flowers, the lady I told you about.” Taking the slip of paper out of his pocket, he gave her Mama A's number in Charleston. “Tell her where I am and ask her to pray for me.”

“You're not hurt, are you? What in the world has happened?”

“I can't go into it now. I've been arrested for attempted burglary and only have a few minutes to talk. I'm OK physically, but I've made a serious mistake in trying to solve some problems.”

“My goodness. Let's see, I have Jo's phone number here. Is it the same as her mother's number?”

“Yes.” Renny paused. “Mrs. Stokes, go ahead and call Mama A tonight. She would be upset if I didn't let her know I needed help. If nothing else she can pray for me. They're going to take me back to a cell in a minute.”

“All right. Oh, Renny, this is awful.”

“It's my fault. Thanks for your help.”

The phone clicked off before she could reply.

A young guard took him to a shower where Renny cleaned up and changed into a white cotton jumpsuit with GCCC stenciled on the back in large black letters. He was given a pair of blue flip-flops and told to put his own clothes and personal belongings into a plastic bag. He had over two hundred dollars in his wallet.

“That should keep you in cigarettes and candy bars for a while,” the blonde said as she counted the bills on the table. “We'll note the amount on your account for personal purchases.”

The guard opened a thick metal door to the main cellblock. Renny had heard enough jailhouse horror stories to cause him to panic, but for some reason, perhaps the immediate result of Mrs. Stokes's intercession, he was surprisingly calm.

“In you go,” the guard said, sliding open a cell door.

There were six bunks in the cell. Only two were occupied by sleeping forms; neither acknowledged Renny's entrance. He climbed up on a bunk beside the door where he had a clear view of a camera mounted on the wall and quoted Psalm 23 to himself until he fell asleep.

At 7:00 the next morning, bright lights flooded the cellblock. Renny woke up suddenly and for several seconds had no idea where he was. Reality crashed in, and he closed his eyes, hoping everything would change.

“Good morning, up there,” a voice from one of the other bunks said. Renny rolled over and saw a small, balding man in his late forties putting on a pair of steel-rimmed glasses.

“I'm Winston Morgan.”

“Renny Jacobson.”

“Welcome to the GCCC version of
The Truman Show
,” Morgan said with a flourish of his right hand. “Where day is day when they turn on the lights and your every move is viewed by at least two people via countless visible and concealed cameras.”

Renny couldn't help but smile.

“Our other companion here, the one pretending to be asleep, is my former codefendant, Ralph Abercrombie. Say good morning to Renny.”

A muffled voice said, “Good morning.”

“Welcome to the white-collar crime cell,” Morgan continued speaking rapidly. “Our breakfast will be served by meticulously groomed attendants in about eight minutes.”

“Who are you?” Renny asked.

“I told you who I am. My immediate purpose is to set your mind at ease regarding your cellmates so that your stay on the set of the show will be as pleasant as possible.”

Renny hopped down from the bunk and stretched. “Thank you. I woke up feeling lower than I've ever felt before.”

“A common condition for the first night in the pokey.”

“Why are you and Ralph in here?” Renny asked.

Morgan held up his right index finger. “Lesson number one: Never ask a fellow inmate why he is in jail. If he volunteers the information, fine. But don't ask. You'll find that no one is here because they committed a crime. The most common explanation is that they were framed and double-crossed by their best friend or ex-wife. A close second is they were represented by an idiot lawyer.”

“Sorry. I'm afraid I'm guilty with no excuse.” Renny decided it was best not to mention his profession.

“Not a good position. But to answer your question, Ralph and I wrote a few too many bad checks—a few hundred too many.”

“Oh.”

“A few is usually not a serious problem, but a few hundred has a way of attracting major negative attention.”

“I guess so.”

“But don't worry about us. As codefendants, the authorities initially placed us in separate cells and appointed different lawyers to represent us. Our lawyers convinced us to testify against each other, which we did as persuasively as we could. I said it was all Ralph's fault, and he said it was all my fault. The jury said it was all both our faults.”

Renny thought for a moment. “So, you're in both categories—you were double-crossed by your best friend and represented by an idiot lawyer.”

“Bingo! You catch on fast, young man. You'll do well here.”

A guard with a cart of food trays rumbled down the hall.

“Breakfast in bed again, Ralph. Rise and shine.”

After breakfast, Renny lay in his bunk praying for Jo. A guard rapped on the bars. “Jacobson, you have a visitor.”

Renny ran his fingers through his hair and wished he'd had an opportunity to brush his teeth. “Let us know if it's snowing outside,” Morgan joked as Renny, his flip-flops slapping the concrete floor, followed the guard down the hall.

“Will do.”

They passed through the main door of the cellblock and went down the hallway past the booking area to the same interview room where Detective Cook had compared Renny's status to Jesus' on the cross. The guard opened the door and let Renny go in.

The door slammed, and one of the largest men Renny had ever seen turned around and faced him. Dressed in a white shirt and khaki slacks, the man extended his hand and smiled. “I'm A. L. Jenkins, your lawyer.”

Renny let his hand be swallowed in the lawyer's massive paw. “Hello.”

“Sit down,” Jenkins said, and they sat across from each other at the small metal table.

“Are you an idiot—I mean, appointed lawyer?” Renny asked.

“No.” Jenkins laughed.“I know Agnes Flowers. I've practiced law in Georgetown for ten years, and she called early this morning asking me to see you.”

“Did she tell you I was a lawyer, too?”

“Yes, she said you recently started working for a big firm in Charlotte. Could someone from your firm help you?”

Renny couldn't imagine Barnette Heywood's reaction to a request for legal help in his current circumstances. “There aren't any criminal defense lawyers in our firm. I'm sorry about what I said.”

“No problem. I know I look more like a right guard for the Packers than an attorney. Actually, I was an offensive lineman in high school and college.”

“I was a linebacker,” Renny responded. “A small linebacker who would have hated to see you on the other side of the ball. Where did you grow up?”

“Orangeburg. After high school I received a football scholarship to South Carolina State and later went to law school at USC in Columbia.”

Renny liked the big man's demeanor.

“If I can, I'd like to help you,” the lawyer continued. “I've checked the warrant docket, and you have four charges: criminal trespass, possession of burglary tools, criminal damage to property, and attempted burglary. The first three are misdemeanors; the attempted burglary is a felony.”

“How can you help? I was caught on the roof of the house, trying to cut open a skylight.”

“Well, it may be possible to get some of the charges dismissed and work out a sentencing agreement as part of a plea bargain on what is left. But first I need to ask you some questions.”

“May I ask one first?”

“Sure.”

“How much are you going to charge? I'll need to make arrangements to pay.”

“No problem. Mrs. Flowers said she would take care of my fee.”

Renny's mouth dropped open. “I can't let her do that.”

Jenkins shook his head. “Actually, I think you should, or at least let her think she is. She tells me you are a special young man.”

Renny felt a rush of emotion at Mama A's expression of love. “How do we let her think she's paying?”

“I'll bill her a small amount, and you can pay the rest without mentioning it to her. Without a trial, my fee should be around twenty-five hundred.”

“That's fine. I'm not rich, but I can come up with that much money even if I have to sell something.”

“OK. Now, let me ask a few questions. Did you give a statement to the police after you were arrested last night?”

“No. A detective named Cook started to question me and when I told him I would prefer to talk to a lawyer first, he said I was nailed to the—”

“C-r-o-s-s. He needs to get a new line,” Jenkins said. “It's good you didn't talk to him. It will be better if we can deal straight with the district attorney's office.”

“It's not that I deny what I've done, I just didn't see the point in rehashing everything with him.”

“Don't worry. He knows they have what they need without a statement, but you'd be surprised how many people confess even when there is insufficient evidence to convict them otherwise. It just shows that God has put in all of us the desire to be free from a guilty conscience.”

“Are you a Christian lawyer?” Renny asked.

“Actually, I'm a Christian who practices law.” Jenkins smiled. “That's how I know Agnes Flowers. I've spoken at her church several times, and she invited my family over for dinner one Sunday after the meeting.”