Water's Edge (36 page)

“Arthur never gave me a name.”

“Okay.” Williams nodded. “How can I get copies of the notes your father took and the memos prepared by Harold Addington?”

“They’re in the desk in my father’s office along with copies of the documents Harrelson gave you. The e-mail he sent me is stored in my laptop. There are other e-mails from Arthur but nothing that gives the kind of detail I’m providing now.”

“Does Bernice Lawson know about this?”

“Not really. My father didn’t mention it to her when he was working with Harold Addington and neither did I.”

“She didn’t know about the trust account?”

“No, she’ll admit her bookkeeping skills aren’t the best. My father always oversaw his trust accounts. When I found the empty folder with Addington’s name on it shortly after I arrived in Bethel, I asked Bernice about it, and she couldn’t help me.”

Williams pressed his lips together for a moment. “Would you be willing to ride over to your father’s office with me so I could see what you have?”

“Does that mean I can’t stay at the jail?”

“Yeah.” Williams smiled slightly.

“What about Rose? She didn’t know I was contacting Harrelson and Nettles on behalf of the Feds to obtain additional information. She’s got to be frantic.”

“We’ll sort that out as soon as we can. For now, I want to confirm what you’re telling me.”

“Okay.”

“Wait here for a minute.”

Williams left the interview room. Tom stared at the bare walls for a few moments, then closed his eyes. The initial shock had worn off as he talked. Looking back, it wasn’t surprising that Harrelson would make a desperate move to escape prosecution. However, his gambit was too late. Tom’s greatest concern was that Rose was alone in a jail cell unaware of what was going on.

Several minutes passed. Williams didn’t return. Tom glanced down to check the time on his watch, but it had been confiscated in the booking area along with his other personal possessions. He rubbed the black ink that still smudged his fingertips. Once this was over, he would have a story to tell that would rival what had happened on the Ocoee. He began to pace back and forth in the windowless room. He tried to crack open the door, but a locking mechanism had triggered as soon as Williams left. Solitary confinement had a sharp psychological component. After less than an hour, he could feel its edge. He sat down, put his head on the desk, and began to pray. He mouthed a few words. Finally, the door opened and Williams returned.

“What took so long?” he asked.

“I had to make a few phone calls and decided it would be best to spend a few minutes with Ms. Addington,” the DA said.

“How is she?” Tom asked quickly.

“Unlike you, she didn’t have much to say. She refused to discuss anything without the presence of a barrister, as she calls it.”

“She’s got to be terrified.”

“Actually, she didn’t seem too surprised that we caught her.”

“What?” Tom asked in shock.

“Just an impression.” Williams shrugged his shoulders. “I also spoke with Noah Keller. He’s in the process of executing a search warrant at your father’s law office. I mentioned the documents in the desk and on your laptop. He went through everything in the desk and found the copy you made of the check taken from your father’s pocket after he drowned and the deposit slip for the designated trust account.”

“What about the memos from Harold Addington to my father?”

“Are you sure that’s where you put them?”

“Yes, in the bottom drawer on the right.”

“Noah didn’t find anything,” Williams replied, looking directly into Tom’s eyes. “Also, there wasn’t a laptop in sight. Are you sure you didn’t put it in your car or take it to Elias’s house?”

Tom jumped up from his seat. “There’s been a burglary—”

“Hold it,” Williams replied, motioning with his hand for Tom to sit down. “You gave a very convincing presentation, but there are incontrovertible facts that do not support your story. Everything I’ve uncovered indicates that you and Ms. Addington stole $1,750,000 from Pelham Financial and transferred it to an account in Barbados set up by her late father.”

“Arthur Pelham will verify—”

“No, he won’t,” Williams interrupted him. “And Arthur Pelham isn’t in Japan. He testified in front of the grand jury yesterday and verified everything Owen Harrelson said.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open. He slumped down in the chair. “Arthur gave me the wiring instructions for the money,” he said numbly.

“What proof do you have of that?”

Tom held up his left hand. “He called me on his way to the airport in Washington, DC, and I wrote the wiring instructions on my hand because I didn’t have anything else available.”

Williams looked at Tom with pity. “That’s quick thinking but not very probative. The grand jury had evidence that the money was deposited two days ago in an account set up by Harold Addington a few months before his death. I received confirmation from Clayton Loughton that you personally handed the wiring instructions to a bank officer. Once the money left the designated trust account, the embezzlement was complete.”

Tom rubbed his temples. His head was starting to hurt. Williams put his hands on the table and leaned forward.

“Tom, you know I can’t make a specific promise of leniency, but it looks to me like Ms. Addington tricked you into completing what her father started. She kept her distance so the evidence against her is circumstantial, not direct. In my view, you shouldn’t take the lion’s share of the blame and punishment for this. I’ve known and respected your family as long as I’ve been in Etowah County, but there’s no way I can keep you from going to prison. However, if you help me get substantial jail time for Ms. Addington, it won’t hurt your chances of getting out while you still have the ability to go for walks in the woods.”

Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His head was pounding. “How would I connect Rose to this?”

Williams put his beefy hands together. “You plead guilty, then testify for the State when her case comes to trial. I’m sure the two of you had conversations that furthered the conspiracy. You already said she pushed you along. If she gave you any information that advanced the conspiracy, it would be sufficient to meet the requirements of the statute.”

“All she had were the notes her father made about Pelham. I made a copy of those and kept them at the office. But now you say they’re gone. Beyond that, this was my doing based on what Arthur told me. He lied to me from the first time we talked at the Parker-Baldwin house until our last phone conversation when he gave me the wiring instructions for transfer of the money.”

“Is that your defense? Your word against Arthur Pelham’s? How do you think that’s going to play in front of an Etowah County jury?”

Tom set his jaw. “I guess we’re going to have to find out.”

“I’m not going to take that as a final answer,” Williams said, standing up.

The DA picked up the folder, walked to the door, then stopped and turned around. “One last thing. I think your father figured out what Addington was doing and confronted him about it at Austin’s Pond. I realize the way the two of them died casts suspicion on your father, but I don’t believe that’s the whole story.”

Tom didn’t respond. Williams opened the door.

“Officer Weldon!” the DA called out.

A middle-aged man with graying hair came into the interview room.

“Please show Mr. Crane where he can change clothes and take him to the disciplinary cell. Because he’s a lawyer, I don’t want him mixing with the rest of the jail population. Segregate him during meals but provide extra exercise time outside and in the gym. He’s not a high-security risk.”

The DA left. Tom followed Weldon back to the booking area where he was handed an orange jumpsuit with “Etowah County Correctional Center” stenciled on the back. The officer handed him an orange plastic bag.

“Put your street clothes and shoes in here.”

Tom slipped into the jumpsuit and stared at himself in the mirror. The ramifications of his arrest began to hit him in waves. There would be a front-page newspaper article in Bethel; the news would be picked up by the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
; reporters from TV stations in Chattanooga and Atlanta would descend on the Etowah County jail; there would be a lot of false misinformation spewed across the Internet. He would be disbarred. There was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Let’s go,” the officer said.

Tom followed Weldon down a short hallway and through a solid metal door to another hallway.

“Is there an outside window in the disciplinary cell?” Tom asked.

“No, but you can see the guard station through the little opening in the door, not that there’s much to watch. Smith spends most of his time staring at the monitors.”

They reached the cell. The window in the door was a narrow slit. The officer entered a code on a number pad beside the door, and it clicked open.

“Lunch is in forty-five minutes,” Weldon said. “Then you can go outside for an hour in the exercise yard.”

“When can I make a phone call?”

“After you eat. There is a pay phone in the hallway near the booking area.”

Not thinking of anything else that would prolong the conversation, Tom stepped into the cell. The door clicked behind him. There was a cot with a thin mattress on it to the right, a toilet without a seat against the rear wall, and a chair in front of a small bare table to the left. Tom sat down on the bed, which bowed beneath his weight. Places like this cell existed in countless communities across the country, but Tom never thought about the people who inhabited them. Now he was one of them.

He put his hurting head in his hands. One part of his brain was still trying to digest the magnitude of Arthur Pelham’s betrayal. The other part was worried about Rose. Each problem towered over Tom like a high, unassailable wall. His analytical ability was worthless. He had no crevice of information that could provide a toehold toward escape from the abyss into which he’d fallen.

The cell door opened, and Officer Weldon handed him a tray of food and a paper cup that contained a dark-brown liquid.

“I’ll be back for the tray in fifteen minutes,” Weldon said, then closed the door.

Tom took a bite of a chicken salad sandwich. It tasted like rubber. He nibbled a few stale potato chips. Dessert was a dingy white pudding. Tom wasn’t hungry. He sipped the drink. It was unsweetened tea. He was thirsty and drained the cup. The final swallow was bitter, and when he looked down, he saw bits of tea leaves.

Weldon returned, and Tom handed him the tray.

“You can make a phone call now.”

They returned to the hallway near the booking area. An old-fashioned pay phone hung on the concrete wall. Scribbled on the wall beside the phone were phone numbers for two bail-bond companies and the number for Lamar Sponcler’s office. If it hadn’t been Saturday afternoon, Tom might have phoned the lawyer. Instead, he dialed Elias’s number. The phone rang and rang. Elias didn’t have an answering machine so Tom waited. Finally, the familiar voice answered.

“Hello.”

“Elias, I’m at the jail. I’ve been arrested.”

“I know. A couple of men from the sheriff’s department left a few minutes ago,” the old man said, his voice shaky. “They had a search warrant and wanted to go through the whole house. I got dizzy and had to lie down.”

The ripples of agony had already begun.

chapter
THIRTY

T
his doesn’t make any sense,” the old man said when Tom paused for a moment. “Everybody knows you wouldn’t steal any money. There’s got to be a misunderstanding.”

“There is. And it started when I believed Arthur Pelham. It’s a complicated story that I can’t get into right now, but I need you to call Esther Addington. If they showed up with a search warrant at your house, the same thing probably happened at hers. Please let her know you talked to me, and I’m going to take care of it. Can you do that?”

“Yes, but what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Tom rested his head against the wall for a moment. “Contact one of the local magistrates and find out if I can make bond. I was so upset after my arrest that I didn’t ask Charlie Williams about it.”

“Gary Abernathy is still the chief magistrate. I’ve known him for years.”

“And he liked my father. He won’t mind if you call him at home. The amount of the bond may be high. I don’t have much in my checking account—”

“You can have all I have,” Elias interrupted. “And I can put up this place as a property bond.”

“I know you mean that,” Tom replied softly. “But it’s likely going to be more than we can pay. Also ask Abernathy about the amount of Rose’s bond. Her mother should have the assets to get her out.”

“How will I let you know?”

Tom hadn’t thought about that simple but difficult logistical issue. “Uh, I’m sure they have visiting hours at some point today. You could drive to the jail and see me.”

“I’ll get on it as soon as my head clears.”

“Thanks, Elias.” Tom paused. “When you were praying in the night, did you ever suspect I might be in danger?”

“Yes, but it had to do with the Pelham family. My concern was with Tiffany.”

Tom grunted. “You were half right.”

“I’m sorry,” Elias said. “I should have—”

“No,” Tom interrupted. “That won’t do any good.”

Elias mumbled something Tom couldn’t understand. All he caught was the old man saying, “Bye.”

Tom hung up the phone. Officer Weldon was talking to Officer Johnson.

“Can I go to the exercise yard?” Tom asked.

“I’ll take him,” Johnson said. “The other prisoners have finished and are back in the cell blocks.”

Johnson led Tom through a series of doors. The last one opened onto a rectangular 200-by-300-foot space. It was surrounded by a ten-foot fence topped with coiled razor wire. There was a basketball goal with a metal net at the far end of the yard.

“There he is!” called out a man in a group of a dozen or so standing outside the fence.

Several people raised cameras and began taking photos. Tom quickly stepped back into the hallway. “Take me back to my cell. I’m not going to perform like an animal in a cage.”