Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"I'm not sure," I replied. "That conversation didn't sound like a good way to start the day or the week."

"Don't worry; we'll sort through it in a minute. Did you talk to your parents?"

"Uh, just my mother." I tried to put a hopeful look on my face. "I told her how nice you've been to me and that we had a lot in common. I mentioned your homeschool background and that you're well respected in the firm." I stopped. "It's very awkward repeating this to you."

"I'm not trying to embarrass you. I respect you."

"I told her that too." I sighed. "She's going to talk to my father, but she thinks we shouldn't take any steps toward a personal relationship until they have a chance to meet you."

"Did you make it sound more serious than I intended?"

I stared at Zach for a second, not sure whether to cry or run out of the room. My face must have revealed my feelings.

"No, that was wrong," he added. "Can you forget that last sentence and back up to the part about me respecting you?"

"I'll try."

"Thanks. Would it be okay for me to talk to them?"

"I wondered about that," I admitted. "But not until I hear from my father. I don't want to manipulate them."

"Of course, they taught you to appeal to authority, not rebel against it."

"Exactly," I replied in surprise.

"It's good training for becoming a lawyer. Including the case of State v. Moses Jones," Zach replied, tapping a folder on his desk. "That was Ms. Smith, the assistant DA. Her call was routed to me instead of you. The bottom line is that she wants to fast-track State v. Jones and bump it up the trial calendar. Several of the complaining homeowners are going to leave town for the summer and don't want to be held hostage as witnesses for a trial. I guess they have homes in the mountains so they can escape the malaria on the coast."

"Malaria? Are you serious?"

"A hundred years ago, it was a big problem."

"Whether a few people are here or not shouldn't matter," I said. "There are twenty-four counts. It would still be a minority."

Zach flipped open the folder on his desk. "How closely did you read the charges?"

"What did I miss?"

Zach ran his finger down the sheets of paper in front of him while I fidgeted.

"There are twenty-four counts but only five different physical locations," he said after a minute. "Think about it. Jones was looking for a convenient hookup for his boat, not a change in scenery. He wouldn't have sought out a different dock every night."

"I missed that."

"And I'm no criminal law expert, but the first rule of an admiralty case is to carefully read the documents. It's the same for any area of the law. Check out the paperwork."

"I'm sorry."

"Just learn the lesson."

"What did Ms. Smith say about a plea bargain?"

"I'm getting to that. A few of the rich folks on the river want Jones removed from polite society. Each count carries a sentence of up to twelve months plus a one-thousand-dollar fine. If you laid those end to end, Moses Jones could be in jail the rest of his life."

My jaw dropped.

"But no judge would lock him up and throw away the key," Zach added. "The DAs initial offer is six months in jail followed by three years on probation with no monetary fine."

I thought about Moses sitting in the interview room breathing through his few remaining teeth. In spite of my mother's fears, he didn't seem to be a huge threat to society.

"That sounds harsh. I mean, he didn't steal or damage anything."

"And that's her first offer. You can make a counterproposal."

"Me?"

"Remember, it's your case. I'll help, just like I promised. However, we need to meet with him as soon as possible. The case is set for Judge Cannon's arraignment calendar tomorrow afternoon. If we work out a deal, it could all be taken care of at that time."

I took a deep breath. "That sounds great."

Zach glanced at a clock on the corner of his desk. "We can run over to the jail, discuss options with the client, and grab a late lunch on the way back. All in the context of business."

"Could we go to the jail later today? I promised Vince that I'd have lunch with him. We tried to get together several times last week, and it kept getting pushed back. I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"Hurt his feelings? What kind of lunch is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you talk to your mother about Vince Colbert?" Zach asked.

I felt my face flush. "No. He didn't ask me to."

Zach looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds before lowering his eyes and meeting my gaze. "For a laid-back California guy, I'm not doing very well," he said. "Have a good lunch with Vince; then check with me. I'll carve out at least two hours for a trip to the jail to meet Mr. Jones."

In the hall outside Zach's office I ran into Gerry Patrick.

"Hope your first week wasn't too dull," she said cheerily. "We have some events planned that will liven things up."

"No ma'am. It's been very stimulating," I replied. "Much more than I'd guessed."

"Good. I'm here if you have any questions."

I returned downstairs to finish a memo for Bob Kettleson. In double-checking my research, I discovered that one of the cases I relied on had been seriously criticized in a recent appellate court opinion. After offering a quick prayer of thanks, I pointed out the potential pitfall in an extra two paragraphs of the memo before sending it to the senior associate. No one came into the library until Vince, the ubiquitous notebook computer in his hand, arrived at precisely 11:50 a.m.

"Are you still available?" he asked.

"Yes."

I noted my time on a log and closed the folders.

"Julie is in a big meeting with several of the partners and associates," Vince said as we checked out at the reception desk.

"I was there when Myra Dean asked her to come."

We walked outside into the hot sun. The slight coolness I enjoyed during my early morning runs didn't last past the point most people in the city were sipping their first cup of coffee.

"How does Savannah compare to Charleston?" I asked.

"Same and different."

We walked in silence. A lunch with Vince might be similar to my morning quiet time. He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for me. Before he reached the driver's side, the car's engine started and the air conditioner started blowing warm air.

"I've never been to Charleston," I said. "Does your family live near the Battery?"

Vince smiled. It was a nice smile without a hint of mockery.

"No. I have a great-aunt that lives south of Broad Street, but I grew up in a newer area. My father is a chemistry professor at the College of Charleston. He also holds several patents in the plastics industry."

I thought about my daddy working at the chicken plant in Powell Station. He was more into biology than chemistry.

"Would you like to go to a cafe I found before you and Julie arrived?" Vince asked.

"Sure."

Without Julie around to interrupt, I found Vince capable of holding up his end of a conversation. During the drive, I learned that he had two older sisters: the one who was married in Savannah and another who lived in Boston.

"Did you think about going to Harvard?" I asked, expecting him to say that he'd not been accepted for admission at the older institution.

"Yes, it was a tough choice," he replied. "Both Yale and Harvard are good schools."

I stifled a laugh. He glanced over at me.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, you know, the dilemma of having to pick between two of the finest law schools in the country. At least you didn't have to worry about Virginia, Michigan, and Stanford."

"Virginia and Michigan accepted me, but I didn't apply to Stanford. I didn't want to be on the West Coast."

I looked out the car window. Vince parked on the street.