Deeper Water (41 page)

Vince leaned back in his chair. "Okay. But while you're thinking about Zach and Mr. Jones, you need to decide what you're going to tell Mr. Carpenter. He's expecting to hear from you."

"I know, but I think it all leads to the same place. First, I have to talk to Moses. This is his case, his life."

We returned to the office. The firm car was checked out and would be gone for the rest of the afternoon. I was stranded.

"You can borrow mine," Vince offered.

"Are you sure?"

He handed me the keys. "Of course. You're only driving across town."

"Thanks." I walked rapidly to the library. I didn't want to run into Zach or Mr. Carpenter. All I needed was the folder containing copies of the newspaper clippings. It was time to find out whether Moses' memory, like Mrs. Fairmont's, could be unlocked by a picture. I opened the library door. Julie was sitting at the table.

"Any success?" she asked.

"Not yet," I answered quickly. "I'm going to the jail to talk to Moses Jones. The date of trial hasn't been set, but I've got to start getting ready."

"Are you going to ask more questions about the Prescott girl?"

"Maybe."

Julie placed a book on top of the papers stacked in front of her.

"I'm going with you. You'll need a witness of what he tells you."

"That's unnecessary," I answered, trying to stay calm. "You should be working on your own cases."

"Not if I need to help you. Besides, we can take my car."

"Vince is loaning me his car."

Julie's eyes widened. "When are you going to move into his apartment?"

I felt a flash of heat across my entire body and an overwhelming urge to yell at her. I closed my eyes to fight it off.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Julie said. "I keep forgetting that you don't share my sense of humor."

"And I don't need your help."

Julie held up her hands. "Don't be so touchy. But you can't trust your judgment when you're so upset about everything."

"I'm not upset about everything. Just your crude comment."

"You're wrong about that." Julie held up her right hand and pointed at her fingers. "You're upset with Mr. Carpenter because his questions scare you, mad at Zach because he doesn't agree with you all the time, and tired of me teasing you. I don't know for sure, but I also suspect Gerry Patrick and Bob Kettleson have gotten under your skin. To top it all off, you're frustrated by everything that's been happening in the Jones case. Judge Cannon and the assistant DA are blocking you at every turn, and you don't see a way out. If it weren't for your iron will, you'd be close to cracking."

Julie sat back in her chair with a self-satisfied look on her face. My mother couldn't have done a better job of dissecting my struggles.

"Maybe you should have gotten a PhD in psychology," I replied as evenly as I could, "but I still don't want you to go to the jail with me."

"Suit yourself. But I'm here if you need me."

I picked up my folder and left. The midday heat had driven out the effects of the air-conditioning left from our drive to lunch. I turned the fan motor on high. Backing out of the parking space, I heard the sound of a horn and slammed on the brakes. Turning my head, I saw Mr. Braddock behind me in his silver Mercedes. He shook his head and smiled. I said a quick prayer of thanks that I'd not hit his car, but all the way to the jail couldn't get the look on his face out of my mind. How could a man with such deep-seated evil living within his soul smile and wave? The Old Testament prophet was right when he wrote that the heart of man was deceitfully wicked above all else, who can fathom it?

Arriving at the jail, I identified myself to the female deputy on duty and asked to see Moses. I waited in the open area outside the interview rooms until he appeared, escorted by a corrections officer who looked as young as my brother Kyle. We went into an interview room.

"Hello, Mr. Jones," I said as the door closed with a low thud.

"Yes, missy," he replied as we sat down across from each other. "I be worrying that you forgot about Moses and going to leave him in this place to die."

"No sir, I've been working hard. Your case will be coming up for trial sometime in the next few weeks. I don't know the exact date, but as soon as I do, I'll be here to let you know. There's a chance we will have a different judge."

"That may be help." The old black man nodded. "But I not know what I'm going to say."

"We'll practice going over your testimony until you know everything I'm going to ask you," I replied with more confidence than I felt. "You can't deny tying up your boat at private docks for the night, but we'll let the jury know that you didn't realize it was private property."

"That river, it belong to God who made it."

"Yes, I understand and agree, but that's not our best argument. An innocent mistake on your part will be easier to explain, and we'll also be sure to produce evidence that you didn't damage anyone's property or scare the landowners. Ignorance of the law isn't usually a legal excuse, but the jury can find you not guilty if they think you had an honest misunderstanding. Does that make sense?"

Moses shook his head. "No, missy. You be talking and talking."

"That's okay for now. We'll go over everything and break it down so you can follow."

I laid the folder with the newspaper clippings on the table. When I did, I felt my heart beat a little faster. I cleared my throat. Moses ran his tongue across the most prominent tooth in the front of his mouth.

"Moses, I have something else to show you." I opened the folder and took out the initial article about Lisa Prescott's disappearance. It contained the largest version of the photograph that ran in all the subsequent articles. I slid the sheet across the table and turned it so Moses could see it.

"Do you recognize this girl?" I asked.

He lowered his head closer to the table and tilted it to the side. "She be dead," he said in a soft voice after a few moments. "Where you get this?"

"It's a copy of an old newspaper article. Is this the girl whose face you see in the water?"

Still staring down, he nodded. I leaned forward. "Why do you see her face in the water?" I asked.

Moses let out a long sigh that slightly whistled as it passed through his teeth. "'Cause that's where she be," he said softly.

"How did she get there?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

"There weren't nothing else I could do."

I sat back in my chair. Moses looked at me and blinked his eyes. The old man was about to cry. I'd seen many confessions with tears at the altar of the church in Powell Station, but none that involved a murder.

"Do you want to tell me?"

He put his weathered hands on the table and closed his eyes. "I go fishing. Not in that boat chained to the pole out back, but in an old wooden thing that leaked termite-bad. I be minding my own self when I heated the sound on the bank. I thought it must be a hurt critter and rowed over to see for myself. It be getting dark, but I seen a piece of yellow scrap that caught my eye. I touched the bank and hopped onto the ground. I heard another sound. The bushes were thick, and I got cut bad getting to her."

He opened his eyes and pointed to a two-inch scar on his forehead. "I be bleeding bad my own self by the time I got to her. She was a-hurtin' and bleeding here and here."

The old man pointed to his mouth and ears. "Her eyes be open, but not seeing nothing."

He stopped and bowed his head. I could tell he was slipping completely into silent memory and pulled him back.

"Was she alive?" I asked.

He looked up. "She be breathing. I run up the bank to an old dirty road, but no one there 'cause it way out in the country. I yell and holler. No help be coming. I go back and pick up that girl. She not much heavier than an old blanket. I put her in my boat. We both bleeding together. I row down the river as fast as I could go. It be getting darker and darker. I get to the big water so I can get her to the bridge for the hardscape road to town. Cars be there for sure. I put down my ear to listen." He shook his head. "And she be gone."

"She fell into the water?"

"No, missy. She be dead."

"Did you take the body to town?"

Moses shook his head. "I be black; she be white. We both be bleeding. What happen to me if'n I carry her to town? That night I be hanging by my neck from a tree with nobody asking no more questions."

It made perfect sense.

"What did you do with the body?"

"I take her to the place on the river where I be staying. I don't know what to do. I stay up all night a-crying and walking round in circles. Before the sun comes arising, I tie a rope about her little feet and then onto a big rock. I push off into a deep spot, say a prayer, and that's it. She be there today."

"Did you ever tell anyone what happened?"

"My brother, he knew. And my auntie that helped raise me."

"Are they alive?"

"They be long dead."

"What about Mr. Floyd Carpenter? Did he know you found Lisa Prescott?"

"People talk, maybe my brother, and Mr. Tommy Lee bring me into his office and make me see Mr. Floyd."

"Who is Mr. Tommy Lee?"

"My boss man when I run bolita. Mr. Floyd, he be the big boss man."

"What is bolita?"

"The numbers."

I gave Moses a puzzled look. He held out his hand and rubbed it. "You tell me two numbers and give me a dime. If they be right, I give you five dollars the next day."

"Gambling?"

"Yes, missy. But I never did sell bootleg. I drink it way back then, but I don't haul it. That be my brother. Only ways I go to jail for half a year instead of him."

Moses' connection with the sale of untaxed alcohol wouldn't help me find out what I wanted to know.

"Why did Floyd Carpenter want to talk to you about Lisa Prescott?"

"I be thinking they call me a thief, but I turn in all my money. But all the talk is about the little girl, asking me what I saw, where I been. I be scared and say nothing. Mr. Tommy Lee, he holler at me and lift up his fist, but he don't mean it. Next day, I on the street running numbers, just like before."

"Did Floyd Carpenter suspect you found her on the riverbank?"

Moses shook his head. "I don't be knowing, only I see his face to this day."

"Where?"

"In the water. Why do you think that be so?"

It was an unanswerable question.

"Didn't you tell me Floyd Carpenter gave you a dollar that you threw in the river?"

"Later, he come all the way down on the river where I be staying. I was eating my breakfast when he walk out of the woods with a long rifle on his shoulder. 'Bout scared me half to death. But he talk soft. Give me a shiny silver dollar."

"Why did he give you the money?"

"He say if I be telling the truth, that dollar will make me a rich man. If I be lying, then I won't never have nothing. I be poor my whole life except I got my boat."

"Telling the truth about what?"

Moses pointed to the picture in the paper. "That girl with the yellow hair and blue eyes."

"Did you tell him then that you found her on the bank and tried to save her?"

"No, the voice in my head tells me something ain't right. I just shake my head and act dumb, but I be scared if'n he don't believe me. So I start sleeping more on the river, but he find me there."

"He came to see you in a boat?"

"No, missy. Ain't you listening? His face. It don't need no boat." He pointed again at the newspaper article. "He be like her."

I sat back in my chair and studied Moses Jones in a different way. The old man had lived most of his life haunted by people he'd never harmed.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," I said after a few moments passed. "All of it."

He looked at me and bowed his head slightly. I started to offer another consoling word, but the horrid, unjustified malice directed against Moses by Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Braddock hit me.

"Moses, did you know Mr. Floyd Carpenter had a son?"

"Yeah. He be a big-shot lawyer."

"He's my boss. And he wants to know everything you've been telling me."

Moses gave me a puzzled look. "Why he care about me after all these years done flowed by?"

"Because of Lisa Prescott. He and another lawyer named Samuel Braddock believe there is a connection between you and the little girl. They see you as a threat."

"What you mean?"

"You were scared of Mr. Floyd and his gun. They're scared of you and what you know."

"Why? I be sitting in this jail and can't hurt nobody."

"That's true. But they think you can harm them by changing the way people in Savannah think about them. The guilt of past generations is chasing them. And that guilt doesn't ever get tired." I paused. "Floyd Carpenter was the person responsible for Lisa Prescott's death."

Moses' face revealed his shock. "Why he do that? She not be more than a little thing."

I rubbed my hand as he had earlier. "For a lot more than a chance at five dollars."

MOSES SHOOK HIS HEAD AFTER I SPENT ALMOST AN HOUR explaining as best I could what I'd uncovered.

"That be too much old thoughts for my brain to hold."