Water's Edge (23 page)

“Why is she so mad at me?” Rose asked.

“She’s upset about the questions you asked me the other day about my father. I’ll take care of it later. I have something more important to show you.”

Tom unlocked the middle drawer of his father’s desk and took out the deposit slip, envelope, starter checkbook, and sticky note from the trust account check register. He came over to Rose’s side of the desk and handed her the sticky note.

“You already know about this. But the rest of it is new. I didn’t turn it over to the district attorney because I’m not sure that it falls within the scope of the subpoena.”

Tom told Rose about his discovery of the designated trust account. He handed her the deposit slip; her mouth dropped open when she saw the amount.

“Is this my papa’s money?”

“That’s my question to you.”

Tom waited. Rose shook her head. “No, he would have told my mum about something this large.”

“Are you sure she didn’t know about it?”

“Positive. I’ve gone over all the financial records and reconciled everything since his passing. Papa made generous provision for my mum, but she’s not going to be a rich woman. Part of his estate is going to fund a charitable trust.”

“A charitable trust?”

“Yes.”

Tom wasn’t moved by that information. Giving could be motivated by guilt—an effort by Harold Addington to buy his way into heaven.

“I think the money in this designated trust account may be connected to Pelham Financial,” Tom said, shifting in his chair. “The bank president said the check opening the account came from a bank in Barbados with connections in London and Newcastle.”

“Newcastle?”

“Yes.” Tom took a deep breath and exhaled. “Rose, I’ve confirmed from more than one source that your father was in hot water at his job. Your mother said as much when we met the other day. I know it’s hard for you to hear this, but the path the money took through Newcastle and Barbados raises the possibility that the designated trust account contains funds misappropriated from Pelham Financial. If that’s true, the money has to be returned to the company. If it’s not, I have to find out who it belongs to.”

Rose looked puzzled for moment. “Are you saying my father embezzled money from Pelham and gave it to your father to put in a special account?”

Tom looked into Rose’s eyes. His resolve wavered. “Maybe.”

He waited for her to explode. Instead, she stared past him at the bookcase over his left shoulder.

“Something’s not clear about this money you found,” she said slowly. “We can agree on that. But I’m not sure you have the right idea in mind. I never knew your father, nor you mine. For many years Papa pursued money and success, but five years ago he had a major change in his life. Since then he’s lived as a good, honest Christian man. And everything I hear about your father indicates he was the same way.”

“For a much longer time.”

“It’s impossible for us to imagine them stealing or murdering or doing anything illegal. Even hearing the words from my mouth sounds absurd.”

“What’s your explanation?”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t know, but I think it’s best to start over, and for the time being assume what we believe about our fathers is true until proven otherwise.”

Tom thought about Arthur Pelham’s promise to provide evidence of Harold Addington’s embezzlement by the end of the week. Better to wait until proof existed than to hypothesize in its absence.

“All right,” he replied. “Now that you know what I’ve found, maybe you can look for additional information. What your mother found in the nightstand doesn’t answer these questions, and I’ve run out of rocks to turn over.”

“Have you gone through all your father’s personal effects and belongings?” Rose asked.

“There are boxes of stuff in Elias’s garage,” Tom admitted, “but most of it came from the sale of my parents’ home several years ago. Anything relevant to what we’re looking for is going to be recent.”

“Is that how you investigate a case? By ignoring obvious places to look?”

“No, I just don’t want to sort through a bunch of junk.”

“That’s what I’m going to do.”

Tom doubted any junk pile at the Addington residence was comparable to the boxes stacked in Elias’s garage, but he didn’t see any use in arguing.

“I’ll get started this evening.”

“And what will you be looking for?” Rose asked.

“Uh, anything that pertains to our fathers.”

“Especially what was in the empty folder you brought to court this morning.” Rose pointed to the manila file. “It makes no sense to me that a solicitor would open a matter and not have a scrap of paper about it.”

Tom couldn’t disagree. And the lack of documentation concerning the designated trust account was even more troubling.

“Are you going to tell anyone what Williams said in court?” he asked.

“Not even my mum. It would devastate her.”

“Okay. We’ll keep this between us and talk in the next few days.”

Rose stood up. Tom held the door open for her. He heard Bernice huff as Rose passed by. As soon as the door closed behind her, Bernice spun around in her chair.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

Tom told her about the hearing in front of Judge Caldwell. The anger Bernice felt toward Rose was instantly redirected.

“That’s total nonsense. We have enough crime in Etowah County that Charlie Williams has better things to do than make a ridiculous claim about your father killing Harold Addington. Now, if it was the other way around—”

“Don’t go there,” Tom interrupted. “There are other issues involving Harold Addington.”

Bernice raised her eyebrows.

“And I’m still sorting them out.”

chapter
NINETEEN

T
om left work early so he could begin sorting through the boxes in Elias’s garage. The old man joined him outside, not to help but to watch from a chair. Rover sat at Elias’s feet.

“You keep surprising me,” Elias said as Tom carried out a box and set it on the ground.

“How’s that?”

“I never thought you’d tackle those boxes. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the Burk girl?”

“I need to do this myself.”

Tom sat opposite Elias. He placed a box between them and opened it. It contained cookbooks from a small antique bookcase that used to sit in his mother’s kitchen. Little strips of paper extended from the sides of the volumes. Tom opened one to a pork loin recipe his mother often prepared when guests came for dinner. He saw her faded handwriting on a slip protruding from another book. When he pulled it out, it read “Tom’s Favorite Cookies.” He didn’t have to open the cookbook to know it contained a recipe for chocolate chip cookies with chopped pecans and a hint of brown sugar. His mother would cut the cookies thin and cook them crisp so they could withstand a dousing in milk and still deliver a sharp crunch.

“This makes me hungry,” Tom said, showing the slip to Elias and telling him about the cookies.

“I remember those,” Elias said. “She used to put them in a jar in the cabinet above the stove so you couldn’t get to them.”

“And she kept putting them there after I could.”

Tom gently shut the book. “How can I throw this away?”

“You don’t have to.”

Tom set the cookie recipe book aside and repacked the box. He’d intended on flying through the boxes, but sitting in the warm afternoon sun, it was more pleasant to slow down and reminisce. Unfortunately, pleasant memories from the past couldn’t completely dispel Charlie Williams’s harsh accusation from the morning. Tom resisted the urge to tell Elias about the DA’s suspicions. As with Esther Addington, the old man would be horribly upset by the news, and sharing the information wouldn’t relieve Tom’s hurt. He looked through a box that contained high school yearbooks for both his parents and himself and set it aside to keep. When he opened the next box he caught his breath.

It contained legal-size file folders.

He pulled out the first one. Written on the tab was “Creswell Estate.” But to his surprise, it didn’t contain records from the probate court. Instead, there were extensive notes by his father that included Bible references. As he read the correspondence he realized it was a case in which his father helped Christians try to resolve a dispute without going to court.

“Did you know he did this?” Tom asked Elias, holding out a Settlement Agreement form that contained Bible verses about forgiveness.

Elias squinted at the papers for a minute. “Oh, yes. I’m the one who told Billy Creswell to call your father. After Billy’s father died, his two sisters who lived in Florida came up to claim an equal share of the estate. It upset Billy because he and his wife had cared for Billy’s parents without help from the sisters for years.”

Tom turned to the back page of the agreement to see what happened. “They gave Billy an extra $20,000 for eight years of care? That’s not much extra from an estate worth over $500,000.”

“Yeah, but Billy got a chance to say a few things to his sisters. I guess the repentance on their part was a bit shallow.”

“Especially if you measure that sort of thing by actions.”

“Which is a good test,” the old man agreed.

Tom continued checking the files in the box. Each one had to do with Christians and churches.

“I wonder why he didn’t keep these files at the office,” Tom said.

“Maybe because most of the meetings took place in the evenings.”

Tom pulled out the last folder in the box. This one was different. The case involved a rural church pastor who’d stolen money for years from the cash offerings received on Sunday morning.

“Do you know Rev. Dennis Mullin?” Tom asked.

“No.” Elias shook his head.

Tom turned over another sheet of paper. “He lived in Floyd County. Reverend Mullin was pilfering money from the offering plates on Sunday. The owner of a local department store became suspicious and started marking the bills he gave at church. The next week, the minister’s wife would use the money to buy fancy shoes or expensive clothes. Instead of seeking a criminal warrant, the leaders of the church tried the peacemaking thing.”

Tom kept reading. “But it didn’t work out. Mullin denied any wrongdoing and resigned.” Tom glanced up at Elias. “How can a man who claims to be a Christian do something so obviously wrong that anyone with half a conscience would say it’s a sin?”

“He divides his mind,” Elias said, raising his hand to his forehead. “One part preaches the gospel and prays for the sick. The other part steals money and justifies it by convincing himself that he’s underpaid for his work as a minister. The same thing happens for other kinds of sins. Many preachers live isolated lives. They hunker down and don’t let anyone get close enough to see what they’re really like. Then when temptation comes along, they don’t have anyone to call on for help or keep them accountable.”

“What kept you honest?”

“A mixture of love and fear. I both loved God and feared him.”

Tom thought about Harold Addington. “You say this happens a lot?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And it’s not limited to ministers?”

“Any Christian can fall into this trap.”

Tom worked his way through ten boxes. The Addington name didn’t appear. Tom stood and stretched.

“Most of this stuff can go to the Burk family and be put in a yard sale,” Tom said. “Where should I put it?”

“Back in the garage but in a different place.”

Elias used his hands and arms to help himself up from the chair. “Watching you work has made me hungry. Let’s eat.”

______

The following morning Tom was drinking a cup of coffee at the office and talking to Bernice when the phone rang. She listened for a moment and put the caller on hold.

“Owen Harrelson is on the phone. Remember him? He’s the one who hit Randall Freiburger. He must have found out about you investigating the case. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes,” Tom responded quickly. “I’ll take it in the office.”

Tom quickly found the file. Getting a statement from the defendant before his insurance company started stonewalling would be a coup for the lawyer who eventually represented Freiburger.

“This is Tom Crane,” he said.

“Arthur Pelham asked me to give you a call about the Addington matter,” Harrelson said. “It’s a sensitive situation, but Mr. Pelham assures me I can speak frankly and confidentially with you about it.”

“Uh, sure.” Tom quickly had to reorient himself. “My interest in the matter isn’t as an attorney but as the executor of my father’s estate. I have to make sure trust account funds are returned to the proper party.”

“A duty I fully appreciate in my role as internal affairs officer for Pelham Financial.”

At a company like Pelham Financial, an internal affairs officer was a cross between an auditor and a CIA operative.

“As I’m sure you know,” Harrelson continued, “my job is to minimize the opportunities for employee embezzlement and investigate it when it occurs. Petty thefts can’t be totally avoided, but we’ve never suffered any major misappropriation of client funds. The Addington matter falls in the middle.”

“The middle?”

“Yes, everything is relative when you’re talking about a company that manages over $35 billion. All Pelham employees with access to client accounts are bonded, and I was about to turn the loss over to our insurer when Arthur stopped by my office and said you might be able to help us recover the funds off the record. That would allow us to dodge an embarrassing blip in publicity and a negative entry on our balance sheet. It would also remove the need for the insurer on the bond to recover the funds from Addington’s estate. It’s my understanding he had a very valuable stamp collection, so I feel certain we’d recover the money, one way or the other.”

Tom was impressed with Harrelson’s research. “What can you send me to support Pelham’s ownership of the funds?”

“I’ve reconstructed the transfers. Addington sold certificates of deposit for our bank in Barbados to legitimate buyers but didn’t report the transactions. Instead, he generated CDs to a shell company in the UK. He held the CDs for a monthly cycle, redeemed them, deposited the money in the Newcastle branch of a British bank, then transferred the funds out of the UK back to Barbados, where they ended up in an account for another dummy company he controlled.”