Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (46 page)

Mr. Carpenter stood. “Objection, Your Honor. That was a statement, not a question.”

“He’s right,” the judge said to Sister Dabney. “You have to ask questions.”

“Have you talked to your pastor about this court hearing?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to your wife about it?”

“Yes. She knows I’m here.”

“Did she know where you were and who you were with in Las Vegas last July?”

“I was on a business trip with two members of the board of directors of my company.”

I held my breath, waiting for Sister Dabney to list specific details that would cause Mr. Paulding’s face to turn ashen. The woman preacher stared hard at the witness for a few moments.

“Even if I don’t know everything, you can’t hide from the Lord,” she said.

“Objection,” Mr. Carpenter said.

“Sustained. Ms. Dabney, remember to ask questions.”

“What about the man from Miami who loaned you money after you came back from Las Vegas?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He met you at the airport in Savannah and gave you a brown briefcase filled with one-hundred-dollar bills.”

Mr. Paulding’s mouth dropped open. Mr. Carpenter stood.

“I know,” the judge said before the lawyer could state his objection. “It’s not a question. Sustained.”

“What did you do with that money?” Sister Dabney asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you leave the airport with a man in a red car?”

“I know a lot of people with red cars.”

“And did he take you to a meeting where the money was divided up with other people?”

“Since I don’t know what you’re talking about, I can’t answer.”

“Was there a man from Chicago at that meeting?”

“I know several people from Chicago.”

Mr. Paulding shifted in his chair and looked up at the judge. “May I speak with Mr. Carpenter?”

“I know the man’s last name,” Sister Dabney continued. “It’s Laramie.”

The judge ignored Sister Dabney and spoke to the witness. “Unless legal grounds exist, your attorney is not allowed to advise you while you are subject to cross-examination.”

“Your Honor, if you could grant some leeway,” Mr. Carpenter interjected. “This is not a typical proceeding. I won’t overstep the proper bounds in advising my client.”

The judge looked at Sister Dabney. “Do you object to Mr. Carpenter speaking with his client?”

“They can talk, but it won’t change the truth.”

The judge stood. “Court will be in recess for five minutes. After that, I’ll expect both parties to move forward expeditiously.”

Mr. Carpenter met Mr. Paulding halfway between the witness stand and the table where Julie and I sat. The two men stepped to the side and put their heads together.

“What do you think Paulding did with the money in the brief-case?” Julie asked. “Do you think it was marked by the FBI in advance?”

“What?”

“Use your imagination. That’s what the crazy woman at the other table is doing.”

Sister Dabney was sitting with her eyes closed. Mr. Carpenter listened to Mr. Paulding, who was talking rapidly. I glanced back at Brenda Abernathy. She had a smile on her face. Whoever lost at the hearing, the reporter won.

“Something’s going on,” I said to Julie, gesturing toward Mr. Carpenter and our client.

“Yeah, he wants to know how long the judge is going to let her do this. I think she’s just getting warmed up. Once she gets really delusional, this could go on for hours.”

Mr. Paulding rubbed his forehead while he listened to Mr. Carpenter. The judge returned to the courtroom.

“Return to the witness stand,” the judge said.

Mr. Carpenter stepped between Mr. Paulding and the judge.

“Your Honor, at this time we withdraw our motion for summary judgment.”

Julie gasped.

“Does this mean I can’t ask any more questions?” Sister Dabney said.

“Correct,” the judge answered crisply. “The moving party has the right to withdraw the motion prior to entry of an order. The case will be placed on the civil trial calendar. This hearing is adjourned.”

Judge Cannon left the courtroom. Mr. Carpenter came over to the table. Mr. Paulding walked briskly past us toward the back door.

“Mr. Paulding, I have a few questions,” Brenda Abernathy called out.

“No questions,” Mr. Carpenter said, holding up his hand.

Mr. Paulding kept going without looking back. Sister Dabney pushed herself up out of the chair. Her expression didn’t reveal triumph.

“Take the file back to the office,” Mr. Carpenter said.

“Should we wait for you?” I asked. “Your water hose broke.”

Mr. Carpenter looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.

“Right. Jason is calling someone to pick him up.”

Sister Dabney approached our table. Brenda Abernathy positioned herself directly across the bar from us. Sister Dabney stopped and instead of looking at Mr. Carpenter, directed her attention at me. I swallowed.

“It wasn’t revelation,” she said. “Don’t ever claim God is speaking when the information comes from a natural source.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, my mouth dry.

“Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

Sister Dabney sniffed the air. “You still don’t smell like smoke. His hand is on you.”

She continued past us. Brenda Abernathy blocked her way.

“Reverend Dabney, tell me more about the suitcase of money at the airport and the name of the man from Chicago.”

“You have to know the right person and ask the right question.”

“Who is that person?”

“Not me. Out of my way. I’ve got the Lord’s work to do.”

The old woman brushed aside the reporter and walked slowly from the courtroom.

“I’m going to run an article,” the reporter said, stepping closer to us. “If you want a chance for your side of this to be heard, now is the time to make a statement.”

Mr. Carpenter looked at her with steely eyes. “Ms. Abernathy, my client isn’t a public figure. Unless you want to take Ms. Dabney’s place as the defendant in a libel case, don’t print anything you can’t prove is true.”

32

JULIE AND I LEFT THE COURTHOUSE WITH MR. CARPENTER, WHO didn’t say a word until we were outside.

“Courthouse hallways have hidden ears,” he said. “We’ll debrief at the office.”

No one spoke during the short ride back to the office.

“Meet me in the main conference room in five minutes,” the senior partner said.

Julie and I went to the library.

“What just happened?” Julie asked. “You’re the expert. Enlighten me.”

“Mr. Carpenter dismissed the motion for summary judgment.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Mr. Carpenter was the one who talked to the client. He’ll tell us if he wants to.”

“Maybe, but Dabney was giving you the winks and nods, and spouting secret religious lingo that has to mean something.”

I didn’t want to speculate with Julie. “Sister Dabney is like any-one. There are layers to her.”

Julie sniffed. “And all of them are filled with fruits and nuts.”

WE WAITED IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM for Mr. Carpenter. It was the place I’d first met Jason Paulding. The painting of the antebellum Savannah waterfront hadn’t changed during the past few weeks, but Paulding’s dispute with Ramona Dabney had morphed several times. Vince opened the door and stuck his head inside.

“I saw you come in the building.”

“Mr. Carpenter dismissed the motion,” Julie answered. “We’re waiting for him now.”

“Why would he do that?”

Mr. Carpenter appeared at Vince’s shoulder, brushed past him, and closed the door in his face.

“What did Dabney mean by her comment to you?” he asked me before sitting down.

“Which one?”

“About her source of information.”

I’d had time to think about Sister Dabney’s words while in the car. I spoke deliberately. “I’m not one-hundred-percent sure, but I don’t think God supernaturally told her in a dream or vision about Paulding getting a suitcase of money at the airport. Someone she knows provided that information.”

“Do you think you could find out who it is?”

“The only way would be to ask Sister Dabney.”

“Is it true about the money?” Julie asked.

Mr. Carpenter made eye contact with each of us. “That’s not the right question. Being a summer clerk is less formal than working as an attorney, but the rules of confidentiality and attorney-client privilege apply with as much force to you as they do to me. I’ll be contacted by the state bar association before you take the exam next year. I want to be able to give you a positive reference. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” we both said.

“Our representation of Jason Paulding has taken a new turn. Tami, your job is to find out what Dabney knows. Then, if she agrees to keep quiet, we’ll dismiss the lawsuit against her with prejudice. The newspaper reporter doesn’t know anything more than what she heard in the courtroom. That’s not enough to print a story.”

“How am I supposed to convince her to keep quiet? Filing a lawsuit didn’t do it. And is it ethical to protect a client who’s committed a crime?”

“No crime was committed,” Mr. Carpenter answered, his jaw set. “But the circumstances of the transaction would be embarrassing to Paulding and his business partners.”

“I’m not sure I can do this.”

Mr. Carpenter put his hands together in front of him. His face remained stern.

“Tami, I’m asking, not ordering. Let me know in the morning.”

Mr. Carpenter left the conference room. Julie turned to me.

“Talk about a mission impossible. You know how at the beginning of the movies they ask the main character if he wants to accept—”

My blank expression about movie trivia must have stopped her. “Anyway, it’s a long shot, but I’m sure you’ll give it a try.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“I don’t understand Dabney, but I know you.”

We returned to the library where Vince and Zach were waiting for us. Julie downloaded her pent-up energy telling them about the hearing and our return to the office.

“So, it’s up to Tami to save the day,” Julie concluded. “Didn’t you just know that’s where this case was going to end up? Of course, she has to pray about it.”

“How can you be so flippant?” I asked. “These are real people whose lives are affected.”

“Because you already take yourself too seriously and will get even more morose if you believe the future of humankind and civilization and the price of oil all depend on whether you do the right thing. All you can do is your best with God’s help. How people respond is up to them. That’s true in a lawsuit and in life.”

“Julie,” Vince said, “you’re a philosopher, psychologist, and theologian all wrapped up into one.”

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“As serious as you are.”

Zach turned to me. “If you decide to talk to Dabney, maybe I should go along.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully. “I might need the moral support.”

I WARMED UP THE SUPPER prepared by Gracie while Mrs. Fairmont napped in the den.

“Did you have a nice day at work?” she asked when we sat down at the dining room table.

“It was interesting,” I answered with a sigh.

“So many people don’t really enjoy what they do for a living. They think a job is a way to collect a paycheck and good fringe benefits. Harry loved architecture because he could create something that would last. I got a sad call today. One of the first houses he designed in Savannah is going to be torn down to expand a parking lot for an office park. Can you imagine? We ought to drive over to the house so you can see it before it’s gone. Would you like to do that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Fairmont was having a good day and kept me entertained with stories from the past during the meal. She didn’t mention seeing the condemned house again until I finished putting the dishes in the washer.

“Are you ready to see the house?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Do you want me to drive?”

“I think that would be safer,” she answered with a smile. “My independence probably stops at the street.”

She gave directions as we left the historic district.

“It was an innovative bungalow,” she said, telling me to turn at the next traffic light. “So many houses built for middle-class families in Savannah after World War II had no flair, but Harry studied what was being done with smaller homes in California and brought some of it here. I wish I could remember the name of the first couple that owned the house. I can see the wife’s face in my mind. Her husband had been an officer in the army.”

We turned down a street that had gone through the transition from residential to commercial. At the end of the street was a single-story brick building that contained the offices of an insurance agency, a CPA firm, and two lawyers. A bulldozer was parked at the edge of the paved area. Orange ribbons marked the perimeter of another building.

“This is it,” Mrs. Fairmont said.

We turned into the parking lot. There was an architectural rendering of a building identical to the present one with a notice across the bottom that spaces would be available for lease in six months. Behind the sign were three houses, two that needed to be torn down and a third that wasn’t in as bad shape. Mrs. Fairmont pointed to the third house.

“It’s run-down now, but it was very cute when it was owned by people who cared.”

The house had an interesting roofline and a pop-out dormer on the second story. The bushes and landscaping had already been scooped from the earth. The lot was totally flat, but the house might as well have rested on the edge of a precipice.

“Do you want to get out?” I asked.

“No, and I’m not sure it was a good idea to come. It makes me sad. Change doesn’t always consider feelings. Let’s go.”

I put the car in reverse. At the end of the road, Mrs. Fairmont told me to turn a different direction. A few blocks down the road I saw a sign for Gillespie Street. We were at the opposite end of the street from the first time Julie and I drove down it.

“Can we turn here?” I asked.

Mrs. Fairmont glanced up. “I wasn’t paying attention. We’re going the wrong way, but this will work if we circle around.”