J
AN
C
RITTENDEN FINISHED HER CONVERSATION AND TURNED TO
me.
“You got my fax,” she said with a smile. “I hope that didn’t create a problem for you.”
“No, I already had one.”
I quickly told the assistant DA what had happened the previous evening. She listened with a serious expression on her face.
“Do you want me to take it off the calendar and give you some time to try to locate her?” she asked.
“You’d do that?”
“Yes. The case won’t be called for trial until later this year.”
“That’s very kind,” I answered in amazement, then stopped as I saw Mr. Carpenter and Clay Hackney enter the back of the courtroom. I should have suspected Hackney’s presence at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter earlier was due to an imminent court appearance. Seeing Hackney suddenly changed my mind. I faced Jan. “But I’d rather have the police looking for Jessie than leave her unaccounted for. Even though she won’t admit it, I know she’s under eighteen and shouldn’t be on her own.”
“Okay.” Jan nodded as another lawyer came up to speak to her. “That makes sense from the personal side of things, but I can’t promise how much effort the police will put into tracking her down. It won’t be a high priority.”
“I understand.” I glanced again in Hackney’s direction. “Can you not call the case out loud, but just motion to me when it’s time?”
“Okay,” Jan replied with a puzzled expression. “We’ll take care of the bond revocation toward the beginning of the calendar.”
I sat against the wall not far from the group of prisoners brought over from the jail. Mr. Carpenter remained beside Hackney. I avoided looking in their direction. The judge arrived. Everyone in the courtroom stood.
“Be seated,” Judge Cannon said briskly.
The judge accepted plea bargains in three cases, which made me even more depressed. Jan motioned to me and I stepped forward close to the bench.
“
State v. Whitewater
,” Jan said in a normal tone of voice that I hoped couldn’t be heard beyond a few feet away.
“Where’s your client?” Judge Cannon asked me.
I kept my voice soft. “Not here, Your Honor. She was released on bond, and I don’t know where she is.”
“Have you attempted to contact her?”
“My client was staying with Mrs. Fairmont,” I said. “She left the house last night and didn’t come back. I have no idea where she is.”
“The State requests the Court issue a bench warrant and bond forfeiture,” Jan said.
“Does the bondsman know your client skipped out?” the judge asked me.
“Yes, sir. I called Ms. Dabney last night. She’d posted a property bond with her residence as security.”
The judge looked at Jan. “Does the State have an objection to continuing the case for a few weeks so the guarantor on the bond can make efforts to locate the defendant? I’m reluctant to revoke a bond one day after it’s issued, especially in the case of a property bond from a private citizen.”
Jan glanced at me. “The State has no objection to continuing the case. It won’t be called for trial until later this year.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” the judge said. “Put it on the November trial calendar. Ms. Taylor, I’m instructing you to notify Ms. Dabney of my ruling. I want to give her reasonable time to find your client.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turned around. Clay Hackney was sitting in the front row staring directly at me. He couldn’t have heard what the judge said, but that didn’t keep him from being interested. Anger rose up inside me, and I walked over to him. Before I could say anything, Mr. Carpenter spoke.
“Are you going to be a regular over here?” he asked.
“No, sir. It’s an appointed case.”
“Of course.” Mr. Carpenter nodded and turned toward Hackney. “Every young lawyer in the circuit has to serve on the appointed criminal list. It can ruin a good day. Sitting in the office admiring the view, when suddenly you get a call from the judge’s office that you have a new client at the jail who has been charged with four counts of aggravated assault that took place while the defendant was burning down a nursing home.” He looked back at me. “Judge Cannon didn’t waste any time getting you involved. Whitewater is an unusual name,” Mr. Carpenter continued. “Sounds Indian to me. And Jessie could be a man or a woman. Which is it?”
I felt the blood rush from my face.
“You heard the call of the case,” I managed.
“Of course,” Mr. Carpenter replied. “The judge has a microphone on the bench. Is the woman who posted the bond the preacher we sued last summer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a small world,” Mr. Carpenter said. “I hope your client turns up.”
I stared at Hackney for a moment. The expression on his face could be interpreted as either disinterest or disdain.
“State v. Hackney!”
Chief assistant District Attorney Duffy called out. “Motion to modify terms of discovery.”
“That’s us,” Mr. Carpenter said, rising to his feet.
I left the courtroom. When I reached the hallway I began to question how I could have been so stupid. Instead of attempting to hide something in plain view, I should have asked Jan Crittenden to call Jessie’s case after Hackney left the courtroom. If he didn’t know Jessie had come to Savannah, he did now. Also, I’d given no consideration to Sister Dabney’s situation. Pushing for revocation of Jessie’s bond would put enormous financial pressure on her, a fact Judge Cannon immediately recognized, but I did not.
Returning to the office, I logged on to my computer. There was a new e-mail from Julie.
Maggie told me about the judge revoking Jessie’s bond. Don’t tell Dabney, but I’ll get it paid so she won’t lose her house. It’s not that big a deal to me. I made a bunch of money when I short-sold some stocks before a big dip in the market.
I read the e-mail three times before I could believe it. I printed it out, took it into Maggie’s office, and handed it to her.
“That’s unethical,” she said after a few seconds. “A lawyer can’t post bond for a criminal client. It opens the door for abuse in directing cases to the lawyer—”
“The judge didn’t revoke the bond,” I said, then told her what happened. “What amazes me is that Julie is willing to help.”
I
PHONED
S
ISTER
D
ABNEY AND TOLD HER
J
UDGE CANNON WASN’T
going to immediately revoke the bond. I omitted the part about my willingness to let that happen but told her about Julie’s offer to step in and save her house.
“She’s closer to the kingdom than she knows,” Sister Dabney responded. “Don’t give up on her.”
“I won’t. What about Jessie? Has the Lord shown you anything about her?”
“To keep praying. The battle for Jessie’s soul isn’t over, not yet. The criminal case was just a way to gather more reinforcements.” Sister Dabney paused. “And Mrs. Fairmont will be going home from the hospital.”
The way Sister Dabney said “home” made me suddenly fearful.
“To heaven?” I asked, my throat tightening.
“No, to her house on Hull Street. She came late to the vineyard, but it’s not time for her to receive her reward.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, cheering up. “Can I tell her what you said? That might lift her spirits.”
“Yes, but she already knows it. An angel came to her hospital room this morning and spoke it into her right ear.” At lunchtime, I returned to the hospital to see Mrs. Fairmont. She was sitting up in bed with the TV tuned to the Food Network.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked.
“I will once they quit draining all the blood out of my body. I thought doctors stopped leeching patients a couple hundred years ago. And I’ve been so hungry I had to turn on TV to see something to eat.”
It was great to see the elderly woman so feisty.
“Your breakfast was here when I stopped by this morning, but you were asleep.”
“I slept so late they took away my tray. Now, lunch is running late because of a problem in the kitchen. If I’d known you were coming, I would have asked you to bring me something.”
“I could go and come back—”
“No, no.” Mrs. Fairmont waved her hand. “I’m just looking for an excuse to complain.”
“When are they going to discharge you?”
“I have no idea. Dr. Dixon thinks I had a heart attack.”
“But Mrs. Bartlett told me the tests last night ruled that out,” I said with surprise.
“Until they did more tests this morning. He also sent a psychiatrist to see me. Imagine that! Dr. Bardwell or Barnwell, something like that. She was nice enough, but I could tell she wasn’t satisfied with my answers. If there isn’t something wrong with you when you go to the hospital, there will be before you leave. Once all these doctors get together and agree that my heart and my mind are leaving me, my next stop is going to be Surfside.”
“You’re going home,” I said emphatically.
“Come sit on the bed beside me,” she said, patting the sheet.
The elderly lady was so petite there was plenty of room.
“You’re right,” she said in a soft voice.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m supposed to help Jessie,” she said with a satisfied smile.
“Jessie’s gone.”
Mrs. Fairmont gave me a blank look.
“I told you last night when we talked on the phone.”
“I thought that was a dream.”
“No, ma’am. I wish it was. Jessie didn’t come back from her bike ride to Forsyth Park. I drove around last night looking for her and checked again while running this morning. There’s no sign of her anywhere.”
Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her forehead with her hand. “Maybe I’m more confused than I thought. There’ve been so many people in to see me. Why do you think she didn’t come back?”
“It looks like she ran away.”
“I told the nice young man that changed the light this morning about Jessie. We also talked about Christine.”
My ears perked up. “What did he look like?”
“Oh, he was a nice-looking young man, mid- to late twenties, I’d say. He works for the hospital.”
“Which light?”
Mrs. Fairmont pointed to the ceiling on the right-hand side of the room. “We had a good chat. I want to report how courteous he was if they send me one of those surveys in the mail.”
“What did he say?”
“That when I go home I might want to invite Christine over for coffee. You know, we don’t ever relax with each other. And there’s so much we should be able to talk about without getting into an argument. It’s up to me to break the pattern. We could sit on the veranda when the weather gets cooler.”
“Did the young man say anything about Jessie?”
“No. We mostly talked about Christine. I didn’t realize Jessie had run away.”
I patted Mrs. Fairmont’s hand. “I believe you’ll go home and sit on the veranda with Mrs. Bartlett and drink coffee. She knows you’re a greater treasure than all the antiques in your house put together.”
Mrs. Fairmont looked at me with eyes that suddenly filled with tears.
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she’s concerned about you. There’s tenderness beneath her bossiness.”
“You’re right.” Mrs. Fairmont smiled. “And you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to tell Christine I love her. We haven’t said that to each other in years. She might think I’m senile and crazy, but I’ll do it anyway.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Because we let little hurts and slights steal those words from our vocabulary.”
I squeezed Mrs. Fairmont’s hand. “I love you.”
“Lean close,” she said.
When I did, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I love you, too. You may be young, but you’ve taught me a lot. I don’t want to think what my life would be without you.”
I gave her a hug, relieved it wasn’t a good-bye embrace. That day would come; however, if Sister Dabney and the angel who changed the lightbulb were right, it wasn’t as close at hand as I’d feared.
W
HEN
I
RETURNED TO THE OFFICE
I
WAS ABLE TO WORK ON MY
other files without having Jessie’s case lingering at the edge of my mind. Judge Cannon’s decision placed her matter in limbo—the police weren’t trying to catch her, and there wasn’t anything I could do that might convince her to return.
Late in the afternoon Gracie called to tell me she’d fed Flip and let him out to play in the courtyard. I was in the middle of researching a new file Maggie gave me, and with no one at the house, I decided to stay at the office and continue into the evening. Around 8:30 p.m. I took a break and walked into the hallway to stretch. I heard a tapping noise coming from the reception area. For several days I’d seen squirrels in the parking lot but couldn’t imagine what they might find interesting at the front door unless someone dropped a few tidbits of food on the way into the office. It was getting dark outside. All the lights in the office were turned off, except for my office, which didn’t have a window. As soon as I entered the reception area, I had a clear view of the front door. There was a man standing there with his head down, focused on the lock. He was wearing white surgical gloves.
I screamed.
The man looked up. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He spun around and ran off. I took a step toward the door in order to get a better look at him, but then, realizing it wasn’t safe, I stopped and waited for my breathing to slow down. I listened but didn’t hear the sound of a vehicle driving away. Scared he might be waiting for me outside, I ran to my office and called 911.
“Stay where you are,” the lady on the other end of the line said. “I’ll report it right away.”
Within a couple of minutes I saw a blue light flashing down the hallway followed by a loud knock at the front door. Two police officers were standing where I’d seen the man a few minutes before. I unlocked the door, let them inside, and told them what had happened.
“Is that your Cadillac parked in front of the building?” one of the officers asked.
“It belongs to my landlady, Mrs. Margaret Fairmont.”
One of them left and went outside. I showed the other officer the rest of the office then we returned to the reception area.