Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"That's what I've been told. I hope to see him in the courtroom while I'm here."

"Did he send you down here to represent Moses Jones?"

"In a way. He asked Judge Cannon to appoint summer clerks to work on misdemeanor cases so long as another lawyer in the firm supervised our work."

The detective didn't say anything. I shifted in my chair, not sure about the proper way to proceed.

"When I met with Mr. Jones, he mentioned that he had been interviewed by a detective," I said.

"That's right. I talked to him."

"Could you tell me what he told you?"

Branson tapped a folder on his desk. It was much thicker than mine.

"After waiving his Miranda rights, he talked freely about the charges."

"Did he sign a statement?"

"Yes, but I won't give it to you now. You can obtain a copy once you file the proper request with the court."

"I'm going to have to research how to do that." I bit my lower lip and tried to think of something else to ask. I decided to broach the ultimate issue. "If Mr. Jones wants to enter a plea, could I talk to you about that?"

"No, the district attorney's office will have the case assigned to a prosecutor. All plea negotiations are handled by the prosecutor."

"Who has the case?"

"I'm not sure. No one has contacted me."

I ran down my mental checklist. "Is there a bond set in Mr. Jones' case?"

"Yes, it's five thousand dollars."

"I don't think he has much money."

"That's why he's still in jail and represented by an appointed lawyer. "

"I'm sorry. That was a stupid question."

The detective smiled. "No need to apologize. There are a lot of lawyers in Savannah who ask stupid questions. They could use a dose of your honesty."

"Have you talked to any of the people who claim he tied up his boat at their dock?"

"One of my assistants and a deputy verified the information contained in every count listed in the accusation. The complainants are from the same homeowners association."

"Can you give me the name of the association?"

The detective opened the file and read a name.

"Was there any physical damage to the docks?" I asked.

"Is there any mention of criminal damage to property in the charges?"

"No."

"Then it's not part of the case at this time."

"Good. Do you think the complainants would oppose probation for Mr. Jones if he promised to stay away from their docks?"

"That wasn't discussed. Their primary goal is to put a stop to your client's trespassing. This area is only partially developed, and there is still a lot of marshy wilderness. It's disturbing when a stranger comes around a private residence. Break-ins have occurred."

"But nothing linked to Mr. Jones?"

"Not at this time."

I looked at a certificate on the wall of the detective's office. It had something to do with proficiency in the use of a weapon I'd never heard of.

"Is there anything else?" the detective asked.

"Yes, I think Mr. Jones may need treatment from a mental health professional."

"That's already started. He's meeting with a counselor who, I believe, placed him on medication."

"Thanks."

I got up to leave but then sat back down. "I appreciate your patience, but there is one other thing I don't understand. Did Mr. Jones talk to you about seeing faces in the water?"

"That's the reason for the referral to mental health."

"He said he talked to you about the faces in the water for a long time."

The detective didn't respond.

"Is that right?" I asked.

The detective closed his file. "Any conversation with Mr. Jones is difficult. Your client has a tendency to talk about what he wants to."

"Thanks for taking time to meet with me. I'm just learning what to do and really appreciate it."

"I'll walk you out. Give my regards to Mr. Carpenter."

When we reached the entrance area, I remembered the woman with the two children.

"Oh, a woman in handcuffs was brought in a few minutes ago," I said to the detective. "She had two little girls with her. Can you tell me what she did wrong?"

"Running a meth lab in her kitchen. One of the other detectives is talking to her now."

"What will happen to the children?"

"Probably stay with a family member if someone is suitable. Otherwise, they'll be placed in foster care."

"It's a sad situation."

"Would you like to represent her too?"

"No," I said quickly. "I don't think I'm going to be a criminal defense lawyer."

DURING THE RETURN TRIP to the office, my mind went back and forth between Moses Jones and the woman with the little girls. My first encounters with people in jail had left me thinking more about their tragic circumstances than the punishment they deserved.

Back at the office I returned the keys to the receptionist.

"Did you fill it up with gas?" she asked.

"I didn't think about it. Should I-"

"I'm kidding," she interrupted. "Did you have trouble finding the jail?"

"No ma'am."

I went to the library. It was empty, and everything looked the same as when I'd left for the jail. I worked alone on the Folsom case for over an hour before taking a break. It was quiet in the library, which helped me concentrate, but I had to admit that I missed Julie. The door opened, and I looked up, expecting to see her. Instead, it was Zach Mays. He'd changed clothes and shaved.

"Gerry told me you were working in here," he said. "Can I interrupt?"

"Sure."

He sat across the table from me. "I feel better after sleeping for a few hours. Do you ever stay up all night studying?"

"Never, I always plan ahead. Not that I'm saying you don't organize your time," I added quickly. "In law school there aren't negotiations with businessmen in Norway. All our classes are on eastern standard time."

Zach's long hair still looked slightly damp.

"I shouldn't have told you that I was too busy to help you," he said. "I was tired."

"That's okay. I understand."

"And I want to apologize."

My attitude toward the young lawyer rotated 180 degrees. Confession was one of the most trustworthy signs of genuine faith.

"Thank you," I said as sincerely as I could.

Zach smiled. "And to prove my repentance, I'll take you to the jail so we can talk to our mutual client. What's his name? Mr. James?"

"Moses Jones, and it's too late. I've already interviewed him, along with the detective who questioned him about the charges."

Zach sat up straighter in his chair. "What did you find out?"

I gave him a detailed account of my initial investigation. He listened without comment until I finished.

"I'll do a conflict of interest check on the homeowners association," he said. "We may represent it. Ned Danforth does a lot of that type of work for Mr. Braddock's clients."

"Would that disqualify us from the case?"

"No, but it might give us an advantage in talking to the homeowners. What about Jones' prior criminal record? If he's had multiple convictions, it would impact a plea agreement."

"I didn't ask."

"And the detective didn't mention it?"

"No."

"Search the state and county websites."

"Do you know the links?"

"No, you track them down. Also, contact the administrator at the district attorney's office and find out the prosecutor assigned to the case. We can meet with that person together." Zach pointed to my folder. "Make a copy of everything in the file for me."

"Okay."

"Jones sounds like an alcoholic who's pickled his brain and sees dead people floating around in the jar with him. Did you ask him if he recognized the faces in the water?"

"No, it was weird, something that should be explored by a mental health worker, not me."

Zach rubbed his chin. "You're probably right, but I'm curious. Next time, I'll ask him."

After Zach left, I went to the downstairs copy room, and after one false start, navigated my way through the codes and buttons to make the copies. I organized Zach's folder exactly the same as my own and took it to his office. He wasn't there so I left it on his desk. On the corner near the photograph of his parents was a light blue envelope with Zach's first name written in a woman's hand across the front.