Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"I just be stopping by for a while to get some sleep. I don't hurt no one or nothing."

"Counsel, will you agree your client's statement is the equivalent of an affirmative answer?" the judge asked me.

"Yes sir."

"Mr. Jones, do you realize that I do not have to accept your lawyer's suggestion about releasing you from jail and could sentence you to twenty-four one-year sentences to run consecutively, said sentences to be served in the Georgia State Penitentiary?"

Moses stared at the judge without a hint of understanding in his eyes.

"Your Honor," I began. "I explained-"

"I wish I had more time for you to practice being a lawyer, Ms. Taylor, but I don't. I'm not going to accept your recommendation for sentence. Mr. Jones has demonstrated a repeated and callous disregard for the property of others, and I have no confidence he will modify his conduct in the future. If he wants to plead guilty, I will refer him for a presentence investigation, then sentence him in a way I deem appropriate. If that is acceptable we'll proceed. Otherwise, you may withdraw your offer of a guilty plea."

I turned to Zach in panic and whispered, "What do I do?"

Zach spoke. "Your Honor, we withdraw the plea."

"Very well. Have him enter his not-guilty plea on the accusation."

Ms. Smith pushed a piece of paper in front of me and pointed to a place beneath the words "Not Guilty." Moses scrawled his name in the space provided. It was the same signature I'd seen at the bottom of the confession. The deputy led Moses back to the group of prisoners. When I turned away, Vince, a look of genuine sympathy on his face, caught my eye.

"State v. Brown," Ms. Smith called out.

Vince and Russell stood. Zach and I passed them as we walked down the aisle. Mr. Fussleman joined us. The three of us returned to the hallway.

"Was that a surprise?" Fussleman asked.

"Yes," Zach answered. "There is no guaranteed result in front of a judge, but they often look to the prosecutor for recommendations on sentencing. Otherwise, the system totally bogs down."

"We're bogged down," I said. "What do we do next?"

"Get ready to try the case," Zach said, his jaw firm.

MOSES WATCHED THE TALL GIRL who wasn't a real lawyer and the young lawyer helping her leave the courtroom. The man sitting next to him nudged his arm.

"They gave you a couple of practice lawyers?" the man asked in a low voice.

Moses grunted.

"Judge Cannon," the man continued. "They named him right. He'll blow you up into a million pieces. I saw what he did to you. One of my cousins pleaded guilty to writing a few bad checks and got sent to a work camp for a year and a half."

"I couldn't handle no work camp," Moses said.

"Oh, they wouldn't do that to you," the man reassured him. "At your age you've got nothing to worry about. They have a special prison over in Telfair County that's like a nursing home. They bring three meals a day on a tray to your room and change your bedsheets three times a week."

Moses glanced sideways at the man to see if he was telling the truth. A faint smile at the corners of the man's mouth betrayed the lie. Another prisoner was called forward. Moses watched and listened. The man was charged with destroying the front of a convenience store by ramming it with his truck when the clerk inside wouldn't sell him any beer. The man's lawyer wore a fancy suit and smiled when he spoke to the judge. The prisoner received probation and was ordered to pay for the damage. He returned to the group with a grin on his face. Moses heard him speak to the deputy.

"General, once I get my civilian clothes, you won't be seeing me anymore."

"You'll be back as soon as you get your hands on a fifth," the deputy replied impassively. "We'll save a spot for you."

Moses rubbed his head. He hadn't put a scratch on anyone's dock. Why couldn't he be set free? The next defendant was represented by a different lawyer. He also received probation. The man sitting next to Moses was called forward. He had a long history of drunk driving. The lawyer with the fancy suit represented him too. Moses expected the judge to give the man probation, but instead he sentenced him to three years in prison. When the man returned to the other prisoners, the smile at the corners of his mouth was gone.

As the afternoon dragged on, a deep ache was churned in Moses' gut. He would be returning to the jail and didn't know how long he'd be there. Locked behind the thick walls with the high, narrow windows was little better than living in a casket. He closed his eyes and found himself in the dark on the river. The pain in his stomach was joined by a black sadness in his mind. Hope hadn't been in the vocabulary of his heart for many years, but at least he'd been a survivor. Now, he wasn't sure he wanted to live. The ache in the darkness increased. He saw the little girl's face. Her golden hair, like wispy cords of death, reached out for him.

NEITHER ZACH NOR I SPOKE INTO THE HELMET MICROPHONES during the return trip to the office. I was sorry that he would have to find time in his busy schedule to help me, and I felt bad that I would have to defend a man who was guilty of trespassing-and probably much worse. Zach parked the motorcycle. I climbed out, handed him the helmet, and tucked my folder under my arm.

"The case will have to be placed on a trial calendar this summer," Zach said as we walked up the sidewalk. "Otherwise, you'll be in school."

"How soon?"

"That's up to the DAs office. I don't know much about the criminal court schedule. Call the court administrator and find out possible dates, then let me know so I can enter them on my calendar. You'll need to get ready."

Zach held the door open for me. Usually, the cool interior of the office refreshed me. This afternoon, I didn't notice. We stood in the reception area at the base of the staircase. I faced Zach.

"How do I prepare to try a case for a man who signed a confession and whose only defense is based on an argument that God, who created the rivers and oceans, is the only one who can complain about trespassing on waterways in the state of Georgia?"

"You said the confession doesn't sound like Jones."

"I know, but would that be grounds to suppress it?"

"No, but it can be argued to a jury." Zach stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Look, I'm not a criminal law expert. I'm doing the best I can."

"I'm not criticizing you," I responded quickly. "It was a great idea to ask Mr. Fussleman to come to the hearing. I wouldn't have had the courage to ask him for help."

"You saw how that worked out."

"Yes, but I owe you an apology. You took care of me when I wasn't looking out for myself or the client. I'm learning as fast as I can."

Zach put his hand on the stair railing. "And you're about to learn a lot more."

JULIE WAS IN THE LIBRARY when I opened the door. I placed the Moses Jones folder on the worktable and sighed. Julie put down her pen.

"You look upset, but I'm not going to say anything stupid about Zach or Vinny," she said. "Mr. Carpenter assured me that you didn't try to get me in trouble, which I really, really appreciate. He told me to apologize, put the incident behind me, and be more professional."

I waited.

"What?" she asked.

"Is that your idea of an apology?"

"Oh, I'm sorry."

It was such a lame effort that I had to smile.

"Hey, great," she said. "I heard you and Vinny got rid of your criminal cases today."

"Vince's case may be over, but mine is getting more serious."

"What happened?"

In telling Julie, the magnitude of the disaster grew.