Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (40 page)

“That’s helpful,” Abernathy said when Julie finished. “I’d like to get together with you some other time and talk some more about this. I was with Maggie Smith last week and your name came up.”

“Are you friends with Maggie?”

“Yeah, she gives me bits of information from time to time. I think she’s a great lawyer. Any other questions about Dabney?”

“Not from me,” Julie replied.

I thought for a moment.

“One,” I said. “Have you talked to Maggie Smith about Dabney?”

There was a brief pause.

“Only off the record.”

Julie looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

“We’re off the record,” Julie said. “Go ahead.”

There was another period of silence.

“Turn off your recorder.”

Julie pushed the button to stop the machine.

“Done,” she said.

“Dabney is being investigated by the police and district attorney’s office. I’ve been told there’s an informant involved.”

“A member of the congregation?” I asked in dismay.

“I don’t know, but Maggie says it’s someone on the inside.”

Images of the simple people I’d seen at the church flashed through my mind. It was hard to imagine who would be cooperating with a criminal investigation.

“Lieutenant Samuels didn’t mention anything about that to me,”

I said.

“He may not know.”

“And neither did Maggie when we had lunch with her,” I added, glancing accusingly at Julie. “She listened to Julie talk about the case as if she’d never heard of Sister Dabney.”

“Something about the state racketeering statute, but I’m not a lawyer,” Abernathy answered evasively. “I don’t think Maggie will be bringing any criminal charges until after my article is published.”

The reporter and the prosecutor were working together for maxi-mum publicity. My mouth went dry. We ended the call. I turned to Julie.

“Don’t blame me for picking on Dabney,” Julie said before I could say anything. “She’s making plenty of enemies all by herself.”

“I wish you hadn’t talked so much to Maggie Smith.”

“Do you think it really made a difference?”

“I don’t know. But a criminal investigation may not be good news to our client.”

“Why not?”

“If there are fines levied by the state against Sister Dabney as part of a criminal proceeding, they could take priority over a civil judgment and would have to be paid before the property could be seized by Mr. Paulding.”

“Ouch,” Julie said, her face falling. “You’re the one thinking like a lawyer; I’m the law student rushing to conclusions.”

SHORTLY BEFORE TIME TO GO HOME, the library door opened and Mr. Carpenter entered wearing an expensive-looking suit.

“Atlanta bullies the rest of the state,” he said. “There were lawyers from the Florida line to south of Chattanooga, all wasting an entire day for a twenty-minute argument. I think they should bring back the days when the court of appeals traveled across the state to serve the needs of the people.”

“How long ago were the good-old days?” Julie asked. “I’m not sure our books go back that far.”

“A good idea never goes out of style,” Mr. Carpenter responded with a smile. “Did you talk to the reporter?”

“Yes,” Julie replied.

“Give me the five-minute version.”

I was content to let Julie give a report. One of her strengths was succinct verbal organization.

“Not much gained,” Mr. Carpenter grunted. “That criminal stuff is hot air. Abernathy has her goal; we have ours.”

“Yes, sir,” Julie answered. “But I went ahead and added more questions based on the conversation.”

“Show me.”

Julie handed him a stack of papers.

“The new questions are in blue.”

“I haven’t seen color-coded sentences since I read a book to my granddaughter,” Mr. Carpenter said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

He quickly scanned the sheets.

“Does this contain your questions?” he asked me.

“Yes, sir, but they’re mixed in with the ones Julie prepared.”

“That doesn’t help me evaluate your respective work product.”

I glanced at Julie.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Keep it in mind. I’ve allowed you to cooperate, but from now to the end of the summer, keep things separate.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“And, Tami, I don’t want you slinking into the deposition on Wednesday looking like you’re at the dentist’s office for a root canal. You’ve been holding back on me, and I can tell it. You set a high bar for aggressiveness in the Jones matter, but in this business you’re only as good as the last case you handled. We have a job to do, and our conduct is governed by the Rules of Professional Responsibility, not the book of Revelation. Unless there’s something in the rules that applies, I expect zealous, wholehearted advocacy for our client. Is that clear?”

It was my moment of truth.

“Yes, sir,” I answered weakly.

Mr. Carpenter left. Julie turned to me.

“It wasn’t very dramatic, but you made the right choice.”

“I just couldn’t quit. At least not yet.”

28

ON TUESDAY SEVERAL PEOPLE CAME BY SISTER DABNEY’S HOUSE to let her know a reporter was asking questions about her and the church.

“I thought she was another woman lawyer,” Sonny Miller said as he stood on the front porch.

“Another woman lawyer?”

Sonny rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you about the tall girl who asked me a bunch of questions a few weeks ago outside Bacon’s Bargains. She claimed she wasn’t a real lawyer, but she sure acted like one. She had one of those yellow pads and wrote down notes of what I said.”

“What did she ask you about?”

“That day you sent Rusty and me and the other boys to preach on the street in front of that building on Second Avenue. I mean, everybody knows what we did. It weren’t a secret.”

“And that’s what the lawyer was interested in?”

“No, she wanted to know how you got people to do what you want them to do by hitting them over the head with what it says in the Bible. I told her you believed no one should eat unless they work. Hey, could I pick up around the church and get paid a few bucks? I ain’t eaten anything since a bologna sandwich about this time yesterday. Walking over here I saw where someone dumped out an ashtray right next to the driveway. It’s a mess.”

Sister Dabney pressed her lips together. Attacks weren’t new, but it was getting harder and harder for her to view persecution as a chance to counterpunch for the gospel and land a few licks for the truth. Fighting on multiple fronts caused fatigue. Martyrdom had its appeal.

“Wait here,” she said.

She went to the kitchen, got a black plastic bag, and returned to the porch.

“Don’t come back until this is full,” she said to Sonny. “And while you’re picking up trash, think about asking the Lord to put your sins in a dark bag where no one can see them and throw them away.”

Sonny took the bag. “And what can I be thinking about to eat?”

“I’ll fry an extra pork chop.”

Sonny turned around and took off for the church at a slow trot.

“Don’t just look for something big to put in that bag,” Sister Dabney called after him. “The Lord hates little sins as much as big ones.”

WEDNESDAY MORNING I couldn’t get the Dabney deposition out of my mind during my morning run. Over the past two days I’d considered countless scenarios—everything from Sister Dabney rebuking Mr. Carpenter like an Old Testament prophet to the woman preacher leaving the room in triumph after the senior partner sheepishly agreed to drop the case. In my most realistic version, Sister Dabney stared at me without saying a word until I broke down in tears, vowed never to practice law, and quit my job. Of course, there was also a good chance Mr. Carpenter would do nothing more than make Sister Dabney look like a bigoted idiot.

All my clothes were conservative and modest, but I selected a dress I knew Mama liked and left off the faint swipe of lipstick and hint of makeup I’d started using since working at the law firm. I wrapped my hair in a bun and checked my appearance from several angles. Then I debated: I’d never worn my hair in a bun to work, but it would send a strong signal of respect to Sister Dabney and might divert her wrath into another direction. The hairdo would be lost on Mr. Carpenter. Julie, on the other hand, would attack me mercilessly. I opened my fingers and let my hair fall past my shoulders. Wearing my hair in a bun today would be an act of cowardice, not conviction. I brushed it out.

When I walked into the library, Julie was staring at a computer screen.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked in surprise.

“Trying to do my job.”

“You usually begin that later in the day.”

Julie pushed her chair away from the computer.

“I had trouble sleeping last night and decided I may as well do something productive besides tossing and turning in bed.”

“Is there a problem with Joel?”

“No, he wasn’t there.”

I felt my face flush. “That’s not what—”

“Actually, my mind was spinning in circles about your preacher woman’s deposition. Have you thought how she might react to being questioned? Mr. Carpenter will be aggressive.”

“I know.”

“What if she stands up and starts screaming at the top of her lungs or goes postal and pulls out a gun?”

“She might yell, but I don’t think she’s violent.”

“How do you know? Haven’t you ever taken a religious history course? People do more crazy, violent things in the name of religion than anything else. And most of them believed they were obeying God the whole time.”

“No.” I shook my head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Are you going to guarantee the safety of everyone in the room?”

Julie persisted.

“You sound hysterical.”

Julie looked at me, her eyes wide. “I’ve had premonitions like this before and they’ve been pretty accurate. I’m warning you to be on the lookout for anything threatening. Dabney might be willing to hurt herself if she can get vengeance against her enemies. Is Mr. Paulding going to be here?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Muttering, Julie turned back to the computer terminal. I opened the file and stared unseeing at the deposition questions. The minutes dragged by. Julie left for a meeting with one of the other lawyers. At ten o’clock the intercom buzzed. I jumped. It was Mr. Carpenter’s secretary.

“This is Tami,” I said, pressing the button.

“Come into the main conference room. Mr. Carpenter wants to meet with you and the client. Bring your investigation files.”

As I walked down the hall, all I could think about was why Jason Paulding had decided to attend the deposition. I knocked softly on the door to the conference room and entered.

“Tami, you remember Jason Paulding from our initial interview.

While we wait to see if Dabney shows up, I thought it would be helpful for Jason to hear what you’ve uncovered in your investigation.”

“What part?”

Mr. Carpenter gave me a forced smile. “The relevant parts would be a good starting place.”

I sat at the table and read excerpts from the witness statements in a monotone voice. Mr. Carpenter interjected comments about the connection between the information and the legal requirements for libel and slander.

“As you can see, we have her both ways,” the senior partner said at one point.

There was a knock on the door. Mr. Carpenter’s secretary came in.

“Ramona Dabney and the court reporter are in the reception area.”

“Thanks, Sharon.”

The secretary left. Mr. Carpenter turned to Paulding.

“I owe you that bottle of wine,” the lawyer said with a smile, then turned toward me. “I’d bet Jason a liter of good cabernet that the defendant wouldn’t show up.”

“She’s never backed down in any of my attempts to deal with her,” Paulding answered with a shrug. “I didn’t think she’d start now.”

“Are you staying?” I asked, trying to hide my apprehension.

“Of course not,” Mr. Carpenter answered. “Jason, I’ll give you a call when we finish and give you my initial take on what we get from the witness. Don’t expect to hear from me for several hours.”

“I just wanted to claim that bottle of wine,” the developer replied. “Spending five seconds in the same room with Dabney would spoil it.”

“I’m glad he won’t be here,” I said as soon as the door closed behind him. “I think his presence would have needlessly antagonized the witness.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Carpenter answered grimly. “That’s my job.”

He pressed the button on the phone for the intercom. “Send in the court reporter, wait two minutes, and send in Ms. Dabney.”

The court reporter, an efficient-looking middle-aged woman, arrived and set up her machine at one end of the table. I sat with my sweaty hands resting on the conference table. I could see that Mr. Carpenter had marked up the questions Julie and I had prepared.

“You should be taking this deposition,” Mr. Carpenter said.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t want to. It’d make you a stronger lawyer. But don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to push your limits. Believe it or not, it still happens to me every now and then. There was a case in federal court in Jacksonville six months ago—”

The conference room door opened, and Sister Dabney came into the room. She was wearing a light blue dress that looked like it had come from a thrift store. Her hair was in a tight gray bun; however, a few strands had escaped and were plastered to her forehead. It must be a hot day outside. The wrinkles in her face were more pronounced up close. Like me, she’d not put on any makeup. Her eyes went to mine and stopped.

“This is Ms. Taylor, one of our summer law clerks,” Mr. Carpenter said affably. “And I’m Joe Carpenter, the attorney representing Jason Paulding in this case. Please sit beside our court reporter so she can do her job more efficiently.”

Sister Dabney paid no attention to Mr. Carpenter. She kept her gaze fixed on me. I felt myself slipping into one of my imaginary scenarios. But no tears came to my eyes.

They came to hers.

Mr. Carpenter cleared his throat. “Would you like a glass of water or a cup of coffee?”