Water's Edge (35 page)

Rose wanted to know about his legal career. As Tom described his journey, he realized how focused he’d been on getting ahead with minimal attention left for the people around him. He’d had a good working relationship with Mark Nelson, but too often Tom was curt and abrupt with support staff. He determined then and there that he would turn over a new leaf at Sweet and Becker. When he explained to Rose about his termination from Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther, she shook her head.

“That must have been very tough for you.”

“Yeah, but it helped a lot when I received that great job offer from another law firm.”

“Did you consider staying in Bethel?”

“I was encouraged by several people I respect to give it a try, but I don’t think it’s the thing to do.” Tom paused. “And not only for business reasons. It wouldn’t be good for Rick and Tiffany’s marriage if I stayed. If I’m in town, it will be tougher for her.”

Tom stared across the hills toward the mountains. “Elias says people are like houses. Most of the rooms may be filled with light, but there can still be a dark corner.”

“Yes.” Rose nodded. “I’ve experienced that.”

Tom waited.

“My papa was like that years ago,” Rose said, then looked up at Tom. “Before God changed his life.”

“So what I said makes sense to you?”

“Yes. It would be hard for me to trust a man who didn’t realize how deceitful the human heart can be.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I’m beginning to.”

Rose leaned into Tom for a moment, then stood to her feet and stretched. Tom didn’t want to move.

“I’d best get going,” Rose said. “I’ll need to help my mum get ready.”

Tom got up. When he did, he faced Rose, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her. She didn’t pull away.

“Was it okay to do that?” he asked when their lips parted.

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have let you do it.”

Tom dipped in for another kiss, but Rose turned her head to the side.

“That’s all the trust and encouragement I’m comfortable with for the time being.”

Tom straightened up. “Why?”

“This is going to be different for you, Tom. You’re not the same man who dated scores of women since you turned sixteen.”

“Scores of women? Who told you that?”

“Tiffany. She says you’ve had a commitment problem.”

“When did that come up?”

“She phoned me after we had dinner the other night. She was still trying to understand what’s happened to you and wanted to ask me more about it. It was a great opportunity to talk to her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“More of the same. That you’ve had a genuine change and were in the midst of discovering what that meant for every area of your life.”

It was an accurate assessment.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“She listened. I’m not sure what she really thought, but you should be careful. Dark corners have a way of creeping back. And Tiffany might try to change in an effort to win you, not because God is moving on her heart.”

“Do you think that really might happen?”

“Yes. Her feelings for you run deep.”

“How about your feelings?”

“Deep enough to let you kiss me.”

Looking into Rose’s eyes, Tom soaked up her beauty—part physical, part inner—radiating out. He leaned forward again. Rose kept him at bay with a finger to his chest.

“Let’s get going,” she said.

“Okay,” Tom said, taking a deep breath. “Thinking and acting differently are going to take some getting used to.”

They scrambled down from the rock. When they reached the parking area, a sheriff’s department car was parked behind Tom’s vehicle. Tom’s stomach twisted in a knot. He turned to Rose.

“I guess he recorded my speed and tracked me down.”

A deputy sheriff got out as Tom approached. Another sheriff’s department car, its blue lights flashing, pulled into the parking area. Tom reached behind his back to get his wallet.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” the deputy called out.

Puzzled, Tom held his hands out in front of him.

“Ma’am, step to the side and put your hands behind your head,” the deputy ordered Rose.

Tom glanced at Rose, whose face was pale. She clasped her fingers behind her head and moved away from Tom.

“Are you Joshua Thomas Crane?” the deputy asked.

“Yes, what’s going on here?”

“You’re under arrest. Put your hands on the roof of my car and spread your feet apart.”

chapter
TWENTY-NINE

A
fter he frisked Tom, the deputy told him to take off his backpack and empty his pockets. A female deputy got out of the second car. She searched Rose. Tom couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Look, I couldn’t have been going more than fifteen miles over the speed limit,” Tom protested. “There’s no need to turn this into a major event. And the woman with me was a passenger.”

“Please get in the backseat of the patrol car,” the deputy replied.

“Why?”

“So I can transport you to the jail.”

“What about her?” Tom motioned to Rose.

“Is that Rose Addington?”

“Yes.”

“She’ll go in the other car.”

Tom didn’t budge. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why I’m being arrested.”

“Mr. Crane, if you don’t cooperate, I’ll handcuff you,” the deputy replied evenly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw the female officer putting Rose in the back of the other car.

“What about my vehicle?” Tom asked.

“You’ll be able to turn over your personal possessions, including your car keys, to a friend or relative after you’re processed at the jail.”

Tom could not believe what he was hearing. “Are you going to read me my Miranda rights?” he asked.

“No, because I’m not going to ask you any questions. Anything you say will be voluntary. Now, please get in the car.”

Tom lowered his head and got in the backseat of the car. The deputy closed the door. The vehicle containing Rose pulled out of the lot first. The officers turned on the sirens and flashing lights and drove at a high rate of speed toward town. Several times Tom started to ask the deputy another question but realized it was futile. The man was a uniformed transport driver, nothing more.

The Etowah County jail was behind the courthouse. The older part of the jail, built in the 1920s, had been converted to offices after a new cell block, complete with electric doors, was constructed in the 1970s. The two cars pulled into a secure space where prisoners could be taken directly into a holding area. Tom had never seen the inside of the new jail. The officer kept him in the car while the female deputy took Rose inside.

“I want to talk to Ms. Addington,” Tom said to the deputy in the front seat.

“Our instructions were to keep you separate,” the deputy replied.

“But I’m her lawyer.”

The deputy looked in the rearview mirror. “If that’s so, you’ll need to register as her attorney at the front desk. Then you can meet with her.”

“Take me to the front desk.”

“You have to be processed yourself.”

When Rose was no longer visible, the deputy opened the door for Tom.

“Have you been to the booking area before?” the deputy asked.

“No, I’ve never represented any criminal defendants in Etowah County.”

“Come with me.”

The deputy led Tom to a metal door and pushed a button. A few seconds later the door buzzed and the deputy pulled it open. “Straight ahead,” he said.

Tom and the deputy walked down a short hallway and beyond another metal door that buzzed as they approached it. They entered a room where another officer sat at a desk with a pile of paperwork in front of him. Through a glass partition Tom could see Rose sitting with her back to him.

“Rose!” he called out.

“She can’t hear you in the women’s section,” the deputy said. “This is Officer Johnson. He’ll take over from here.”

Johnson motioned for Tom to sit down.

“Are you going to tell me why I’ve been arrested?” Tom asked.

“Your full name,” Johnson replied.

“Not until you answer my question.”

The officer looked Tom in the eye. “As soon as I complete my paperwork, someone is going to meet with you. If you cooperate, that will happen sooner; if you don’t, it will take longer. The choice is yours.”

“Joshua Thomas Crane.”

The officer asked a series of basic questions. He fingerprinted Tom and made him stand for a mug shot photo. As he waited for the camera to flash, Tom thought about Rose being submitted to the same indignity. He started getting angry.

“This way,” Johnson said.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked sharply. “Tell me. Right now.”

Ignoring him, Johnson led Tom from the booking area and down a hallway to a metal door marked “Interview 2.”

“In there,” the officer said, holding open the door.

Tom entered the room. Seated behind a plain metal desk was Charlie Williams. The DA motioned for the officer to leave. Williams nudged a chair away from the table with his foot.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“What’s this about, Charlie?” Tom demanded, continuing to stand.

“Before I answer, I need to inform you of your Miranda rights.”

Tom stood mute as the DA repeated the familiar litany.

“Are you going to stand or sit?” Williams asked.

“Stand. And I’m formally notifying you that no one has a right to question Rose Addington until I have a chance to talk to her.”

“You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“I’m still a lawyer, and as her attorney, I’m notifying you that she is not to be questioned.”

“Have you filed a notice of representation?”

“No, but I’m telling you as an officer of the court and hope you’ll comply with my request.”

“Duly noted.”

Tom stared at Williams. “Charlie, quit sparring and tell me what’s going on.”

Williams opened a folder on the table in front of him and took out a sheet of paper. He held it in a way that Tom couldn’t read it.

“This is an indictment returned yesterday afternoon by the Etowah County grand jury charging you and Rose Addington with felony theft by deception and conspiracy to commit theft by deception.”

“What?”

“The indictment was based upon credible information that you and Ms. Addington conspired to embezzle a large sum of money from Pelham Financial by depositing $1,750,000 in an offshore bank account.”

“Who at Pelham provided the information?”

“Owen Harrelson, the chief internal affairs officer, was the primary witness. He flew down yesterday and testified in front of the grand jury.”

Tom stared at Williams for a moment, then sat down in the seat. Suddenly everything made sense.

“Embezzlement occurred,” Tom said, his voice calmer. “But the perpetrators were Harrelson and a man named George Nettles, who works for a bank in the UK. Arthur Pelham will confirm everything. I’ve been cooperating for several days with Mr. Pelham and lawyers from the US Attorney’s Office in New York and Washington. What you have in your folder is a last-ditch attempt by Harrelson to avoid prosecution himself.”

“Do you want to explain that to me?”

“Yes.”

While Tom talked, Williams made notes on a legal pad. When Tom mentioned that Harrelson sent him documents implicating Harold Addington in an embezzlement scheme, the DA slipped some papers from his folder.

“Do you recognize these?” he asked, sliding them across the table to Tom.

Tom flipped through the familiar documents. “Yes, this is exactly what he sent me.”

Tom continued to lay out the sequence of events.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the designated trust account?” Williams interrupted at one point. “I asked you several times for information about your father and Harold Addington and even served you with a subpoena.”

“My knowledge didn’t come all at once. It took time for me to unravel the connections. The documents I found in Elias’s garage didn’t surface until after we had the hearing in front of Judge Caldwell. Eventually Arthur Pelham took over. All I did toward the end was follow his orders based on instructions received from the federal prosecutors. The last step was wiring the money to Pelham’s bank in Barbados. I did that a couple of days ago.”

“What was Rose Addington’s role in this?”

“Nothing except as executrix of her father’s estate. At first I believed what Harrelson told me about Harold Addington and confronted her with the alleged facts. She didn’t like it, of course, and part of the reason I kept digging was to satisfy her.”

“Are you romantically involved with her?”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Is that relevant?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but you’d ask the same question if you were sitting in my chair.”

“Yes, but her plans are to return to Europe in the near future.”

“And your plans?”

“I’m going to accept a job with Sweet and Becker, an Atlanta law firm that specializes in financial and commercial litigation. I’d considered staying in Bethel and hanging out a shingle, but I need to be in a big city to practice in the area of the law where I have real expertise.”

“In the course of your law practice, have you seen different kinds of schemes people put together to misappropriate funds?” Williams asked.

“A few. Most securities litigation has to do with finger-pointing after deals fail, not outright theft.”

“And you’re pointing the finger at Owen Harrelson and this man named Nettles?”

“Only because it’s the truth. Arthur Pelham is in Japan, but you can confirm everything I’ve told you in a fifteen-minute conversation with him.”

“That might not be necessary.” Williams reached for the papers he’d shown Tom. “If the US Attorney’s Office is about to issue a warrant for Harrelson, his credibility as a witness in front of our grand jury will be shot.”

“Arthur said that would most likely happen today. Is Harrelson still in Bethel?”

“I’m not sure, but I have his contact information. He testified early yesterday morning. He expressed concern that Ms. Addington might flee the country and wanted to get an indictment issued quickly. Who were you talking with at the US Attorney’s Office?”