Water's Edge (28 page)

The courthouse was now open, and Tom called Judge Caldwell’s office. The judge didn’t have an available spot on his calendar until the end of the week. Tom didn’t want to tell Harrelson on the phone that it would be several days before they could see the judge, so he sent him an e-mail notifying him of the date and time of the hearing. There wasn’t an immediate reply. Maybe Harrelson was in a break room drinking a desperately needed second cup of coffee. Tom took a few minutes to prepare a simple motion and order authorizing him, as executor of his father’s estate, to turn over the balance in the designated trust account to Pelham Financial.

Working on the Addington/Pelham matter helped get Tom’s mind off his father. But now that he’d done all he could before the hearing, the specter of what happened at the pond returned. He fidgeted in the office for a few minutes, then walked into the reception area. Bernice had the bank records from the garage spread out on her desk.

“Making any progress?” he asked.

“What you see is progress. It looks like everything is here except for a few statements shredded by mice looking for something to line their nest.”

“I hope there isn’t a mouse hiding in the bottom of the box.”

“I already checked, and if I’d found one, you would have heard me scream on Main Street.”

“I’m going out for a while,” Tom said.

“When will you be back?”

“Uh, a couple of hours or so.”

Bernice gave him a puzzled look. “Where are you going?”

Tom hesitated. It would be odd to tell her that he didn’t have any destination in mind. “Uh, I’m going to the Rocky River Church and see if Lane Conner has time to talk with me. Elias and I heard him speak a couple of weeks ago, and he said he wanted to get together before I left town.”

“Do you want me to call the church and find out if he’s available?”

“No, it’s a nice day for a drive.”

Bernice shrugged and returned to stacking checks.

Driving through town with the car windows down and the breeze blowing against his face, Tom felt a little bit better. The road to the church was one of the more scenic in the area. He passed Henderson’s cattle farm with its lush green grass and contented cattle grazing in the morning sun, then crossed the bubbling creek that gave the Rocky River Church its name. There were a couple of cars parked near a small sign that read “Church Office.” Tom didn’t feel comfortable barging in without making an appointment but hoped the minister wouldn’t mind. He opened the door. A young woman with blond hair was sitting behind a desk.

“I’m Tom Crane. I was wondering if Reverend Conner was in. I don’t have an appointment, so it’s okay if—”

The woman picked up a phone, pressed a button, and announced Tom’s presence.

“Have a seat. He’ll be right out,” she said.

Tom sat on an upholstered sofa.

“I’ve known your uncle Elias since I was little girl,” the woman said. “He baptized my mama and daddy in the creek on the other side of the church. I’m sorry about your daddy. I never met him, but of course I’ve heard a lot of good things about him.”

“Thanks,” Tom managed.

Lane Conner came into the room. He was wearing a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots.

“That’s how we dressed where I grew up in south Georgia,” the minister said in response to Tom’s look. “My kinfolk have been farmers for generations. Come into the office.”

Tom followed the minister into a large office lined with bookshelves.

“Have you read all those books?” Tom asked as they sat down.

“Parts of most of them,” Conner replied with a smile. “I’m not the first man to read the Bible, and I want to benefit from the wisdom of those who’ve studied it before me. Computer research for pastors hasn’t caught up to what’s available in the legal field, probably because there isn’t as much money to be made.”

“That may be true, but you’re a better speaker than most of the lawyers I listen to.”

“Coming from you, that’s a high compliment.”

Tom shifted in his seat. “Like I said, I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“Don’t worry about it. What brought you by?”

Tom suddenly realized what Conner would be interested in hearing about. “Some things have happened in my life since I met you a few weeks ago.”

Telling Lane Conner what God had been doing in his life made it seem more official. Tom started with his first prayer based on Psalm 78:72 and went from there.

“I guess you hear stories like this a lot,” he said at one point.

“Not as often as I’d like.” Conner tapped his finger on his desk. “What you mentioned about 1 Corinthians is very true. You might also want to read the book of 1 John. It says there that the Holy Spirit is a better teacher than any author on these shelves.”

When Tom finished, Conner stared at him for a few seconds as if he were about to quiz Tom on his Bible knowledge.

“Did you know Harold Addington?” Conner asked.

“Uh, no. I never met him. How about you?”

“He came to the church on a regular basis, and we spent quite a bit of one-on-one time together in this office. I delivered the eulogy at his funeral. Harold Addington was a man who was willing to make hard choices to do the right thing even if it might cause negative consequences for himself.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of choices?”

“I can’t answer that specifically because what he told me was shared in confidence. But he said he talked to your father about it.”

Tom’s eyes opened wide. “My father?”

“Yes.”

Tom paused. “Did you talk to my father about these choices, whatever they might be?”

“No.”

“Do Esther and Rose Addington know what you’re talking about?”

“Now you’re sounding like a lawyer,” Conner replied. “But the answer is no.”

“How serious was the situation you talked to Harold Addington about?”

“Serious enough to affect a lot of people. Harold Addington was a moral, upright man. I’m sorry he died prematurely.”

“Do you suspect any foul play?”

“No, no. Good people die in accidents leaving the rest of us to wonder why it happened. Most of those questions are unanswerable this side of heaven. But it doesn’t keep me from having regrets.” Conner took a deep breath. “May I ask you a question?”

Tom nodded.

“If we’re talking about the same serious situation, what are you going to do about it now that Harold and your father are gone?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Finish it,” Conner replied as emphatically as he spoke when preaching a sermon. “Accidents happen, but I don’t think it’s an accident that you, like your father, are a lawyer. And from what I’ve heard, you have much more expertise in these areas than he did. The fact that you came here today so we could talk about Harold was an answer to prayer.”

“How?”

“I’ve been praying for you about this ever since we met at the church.”

Tom was momentarily speechless. “Have you talked to anyone else? Especially Charlie Williams, the DA, or anyone else who works for the government?”

“No, just Harold. That’s what he requested, and I honored it while he was alive and hope I still am. The fact that I know he confided in your father is the reason I brought it up to you at all. My guess is you know more than I do.”

Tom stood up. “Thanks for taking time to meet with me.”

“Come back any time,” Conner said, his voice more casual. “It was great hearing what God is doing in your life.”

Tom drove slowly back to the office. His mind, on the other hand, was racing.

chapter
TWENTY-FOUR

B
ernice greeted him with a question: “Did Owen Harrelson get in touch with you?”

“No.”

Tom took out his cell phone to see if he’d missed a call and realized he’d turned the phone off before he went into Lane Conner’s office.

“What did he want?”

“To talk to you. He called three times while you were gone. Said it was important. Do you need his number?”

“No, I have it.”

Tom went into the office and closed the door. Each conversation with Harrelson was more contentious than the last. He placed the call.

“Harrelson here,” the executive growled.

“It’s Tom Crane.”

“I got your e-mail. I see you were too scared to call me directly. I told you to schedule the hearing toward the beginning of the week.”

Tom kept his voice level. “I took the first available slot on the judge’s calendar. If this week doesn’t work for you, we can try to reschedule early next week.”

“Do that. Arranging a trip to Bethel toward the end of this week will create a scheduling nightmare.”

“Okay, I’ll contact the judge’s office and let you know.”

Since Harrelson was already mad at him, Tom decided to ask a question that had been bugging him since he made his PowerPoint presentation to Rose Addington.

“Now that we have a couple of extra days, I’d like to supplement my file in case the judge has any reluctance in signing the order.”

“What would you add?”

“The identities and contact information for the European investors who dealt with Harold Addington. The names are blacked out in the information you sent me.”

“Of course I removed the names. Our client lists are confidential.”

“And it would remain confidential with me. All I want to do is confirm the dates the customers thought they were buying CDs in the Barbados bank. It won’t be necessary to tell them their money was diverted.”

“I already gave you the dates.”

“But I have no way to cross-check the amounts,” Tom persisted. “This would provide independent, corroborating evidence from a source outside Pelham.”

The phone was silent for a moment. “Are you questioning the truth of the information I provided to you?”

Tom had engaged in conversations like this before. Usually it happened when he was taking the deposition of an opposing party in a lawsuit.

“No, but it might be important to the judge. One of the things I have to do is anticipate what he may want, and I don’t want you to waste a trip.”

“You’re not getting the names of our clients. Drop it.”

Tom wasn’t going to be put off. “What about additional records from the bank Addington used in the UK? I understand you used to work there. Do you have a contact who could provide specific deposit records from Addington that will match up with the amounts given to him by the depositors? That would be another way to provide independent verification of what occurred.”

“No, and I think you’ve played lawyer long enough.” Harrelson raised his voice. “Your job is to get an order signed by the judge and put an end to this attempt to embezzle money. That’s what you need to be thinking about. I’m about to go into an important meeting. This conversation is over.”

The phone clicked off. Tom stared at his cell phone. He wasn’t used to someone hanging up on him. He glanced again at the papers in the folder. Harrelson was hiding something. The Pelham executive had been very defensive about his security measures. Most likely it was a serious slipup by his department. But his adamant refusal to supplement the information furnished to Tom raised another possibility—Harrelson might be guilty of a wrong beyond negligent financial safeguards.

Tom took out a legal pad and started making notes. He outlined three possible scenarios: Harrelson could be an incompetent employee, a knowing participant in an embezzlement scheme as Addington’s partner, or the person Harold Addington was trying to expose with John Crane’s help. Caught in the middle of Tom’s theories were the rope burns around Harold Addington’s neck and the faded check in the plastic bag. Tom tore off the sheets of paper on which he’d written his notes and slipped them into the growing Addington file.

Tom and Bernice left the office together. He stopped to lock the front door.

“You’ve been awfully quiet the past few days,” Bernice said.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“And I’m here to help. I appreciate the paycheck, but I’ve never worked here primarily for the money.”

“I know. You’re doing a lot already.”

______

That night Tom couldn’t sleep. His conversations with Lane Conner and Owen Harrelson kept playing in his mind. Slipping out of bed, he went downstairs to the kitchen and ate a piece of apple pie. He checked to see if light was shining beneath the door to Elias’s study. All was dark. Glancing down the hall in the direction of the old man’s bedroom, Tom opened the study door.

The pine-paneled room had a faded oval rug on the floor. To the left was a rolltop desk. Several books were stacked on the desk. Above the desk was a crude painting of the Crane family homeplace. Tom vaguely remembered the aunt who did it. In the middle of the room was a straight-backed chair with a decorative pillow on the floor in front of it. An open Bible rested on the seat of the chair. On the walls were several cross-stitched Bible verses in small frames. One verse caught Tom’s eye:

Now it came to pass in those days that He went out to the mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.

—Luke 6:12

Tom picked up the Bible from the chair and read the passage. It was a night of decision for Jesus. The following morning he selected the twelve apostles. Tom, too, had some big decisions to make. He had to expose the deeds of darkness but wasn’t sure where to shine the light.

He nudged the pillow with his foot. Elias probably used the pillow while he knelt in front of the chair to pray. Tom hadn’t knelt to pray since he was a little boy repeating a rote prayer before going to bed. Slipping out of the chair, he placed the Bible on the seat, dropped to his knees on the pillow, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

Praying in the quiet of the night without pen and paper or a computer screen was new. Tom expected to be distracted. To his surprise, his mind cleared and calm flowed over him like a soothing balm. For the first time since he’d talked to Charlie Williams, he felt inner peace. What happened at Austin’s Pond was deeply troubling, but there was a place in the presence of God where that problem didn’t reign supreme. That was because the study was a thin place. He opened his eyes.