Water's Edge (33 page)

“Yes. If your friend can do what you say, that will be sufficient.”

“He’s not a friend; he’s a former business associate. I’ll give him a call shortly. He should be at the office.”

“Thanks for your—”

Harrelson ended the call in the middle of Tom’s thank-you. Tom slowly lowered the cell phone from his ear and laid it on the desk.

Shortly after he passed the bar exam, Tom observed the trial of a former client of Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther who was charged with embezzlement. The prosecution’s case included a recorded phone conversation in which the defendant talked to a coconspirator who was secretly cooperating with the authorities. Tom never imagined he could find himself in a similar situation. Someday he might have to sit on a witness stand, face Harrelson across a courtroom, and confirm the date and time they talked.

Tom waited. His next phone call should be from someone with the US Attorney’s Office in New York or Washington. There was a knock on the door. He jumped.

“Come in,” he said.

“What are you doing all closed up in here?” Bernice asked. “You’ve been spending so much time with the door shut you’ve hurt my feelings.”

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Tom replied, “but I’ve kept you in the dark more to protect you from a hassle than to deny you information. I promise that as soon as possible, I’ll fill you in on as many details as I can.”

Bernice pressed her lips together. Tom could tell she wasn’t satisfied. His cell phone beeped. It was an unavailable number again.

“Uh, I’ve got to take this in private, Bernice,” he said. “Please shut the door.”

Bernice turned around and slammed the door. Tom raised the phone to his ear. “Hello.”

It wasn’t anyone with the US Attorney’s Office. It was Owen Harrelson.

“I’m going to conference you in,” Harrelson said. “You’re going to be talking to George Nettles.”

Tom’s heart started beating faster. “Okay,” Tom said.

“Are you there, George?” Harrelson asked.

“I’m here,” a man with a deep voice replied.

“We’re on the line with Tom Crane. As you know, the money Addington misappropriated ended up in his father’s trust account.”

“Is he the man whose father died in the boating accident with Addington?” Nettles asked.

“Yes,” Harrelson answered.

“Right,” Nettles responded. “Sorry to hear about that, although it caused this unfortunate financial situation to come to light.”

Tom chafed at such a callous reference to his father.

“I sent you copies of what I furnished Tom last week,” Harrelson continued. “But he has other questions. Have you pulled up information about the account Addington set up with the bank?”

“Yes, it’s in front of me.”

“Tom, go ahead and ask your questions,” Harrelson said.

Tom suddenly felt tongue-tied. He quickly referred to his notes. “Uh, what is the account number and when was it opened?”

Nettles rattled off a series of numbers and dates.

“And who were authorized signatories on the account?” Tom asked.

“Harold Addington, but it wasn’t a personal account. The name listed was Bellevue, Ltd.”

“Is that a British company?”

“Yes, the documents furnished by Addington indicated that he registered it himself in the UK.”

“Why isn’t the Bellevue name listed on the check transferring the money to the bank in Barbados?”

“We issue a few checks to a customer when an account is opened. The printed checks are sent by post at a later time. That never happened with this account. Apparently he didn’t anticipate much activity.”

“Okay. What are the dates and amounts of deposits Addington made to the account?”

As Nettles spoke, Tom wrote down the information, all of which matched the amounts entrusted to Addington by investors who thought they were buying CDs in the Pelham bank in Barbados.

“Do you have anything with Addington’s signature on it completed when he opened the account?” Tom asked, backtracking for a moment.

“Yes.”

“Can you furnish it to me?”

“I’m not supposed to release that information, but given the circumstances I can send you copies of disclosure forms he signed. What is your fax number?”

“I don’t have a fax machine at this office. Can you scan and send to me?”

“No, that would create a record of the transfer of information here at the bank. If you want this information, I’m going to have to furnish it outside normal channels.”

Tom’s mind raced. He glanced down at the desk and saw a letter from Lamar Sponcler’s office.

“Send the documents to this number,” he said, giving Nettles the fax number on Sponcler’s letterhead. “It’s a law firm around the corner from me.”

“I can’t do that unless you’ll be there to receive it.”

“I’ll go as soon as we hang up.”

“Owen, this is highly irregular,” Nettles said.

“I know,” Harrelson said. “I promise this is the last you’ll hear from me about this.”

“Mr. Crane, may I have your word that you will shred the documents as soon as you review them?” Nettles asked.

“Yes,” Tom answered.

Tom knew the documents were meaningless. Establishing the connection between Harrelson and Nettles was the important thing.

“I’ll load the information into the machine within the next five minutes,” Nettles said. “Good day to you both.”

“Thanks, George,” Harrelson said. “That’s all.”

Nettles clicked off.

“And I don’t want to hear any other objections from you,” Harrelson added to Tom. “I’ll see you next week in Bethel. Make sure there won’t be any holdups.” Tom chuckled at Harrelson’s choice of words. The call ended, and he slipped his phone into his pocket.

“I’m going to Lamar Sponcler’s office to pick up a fax,” he said to Bernice as he left the office.

Tom walked around the corner and down two blocks to a building with a large sign on the front that read “Lamar Sponcler, Trial Lawyer.” Tom pushed open the door. Betty Sosebee, Sponcler’s longtime secretary, was talking on the phone. The gray-haired woman saw Tom and motioned for him to sit down. Behind Betty’s desk Tom saw a fax machine. As he watched, it began to slowly spit out a sheet of paper. Betty hung up the phone.

“Hey, Tom,” she said. “Lamar is at a hearing in Catoosa County, but I expect him back soon. Do you want me to have him give you a buzz?”

“No thanks. I came over to pick up a fax. My father didn’t have a machine so I gave someone your number. I hope it was okay.”

Betty spun around in her chair. “This may be it right now.”

As she picked up the top sheet of paper, Tom quickly walked over to the machine and took it from her hand. “This is it,” he said.

“Top secret?” Betty smiled.

“Sorry, but in a way it is.”

The cover page was followed by three forms, all with Harold Addington’s signature on the bottom. Tom folded them in two.

“Thanks, Betty,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. When Lamar gets focused on something he can be a pain to deal with. Let me know if I can help in the future.”

Outside on the sidewalk, Tom looked at Addington’s signature and decided to add a step of his own to verifying Harrelson’s scheme. He walked down the street to the courthouse and into the probate court office. A young female clerk was on duty. Tom introduced himself.

“Where’s Sara Jo?” Tom asked, referring to the usual clerk on duty.

“Out of town with her daughter who’s having a baby. May I help you?”

“I’d like to see the file for Harold Addington’s estate.”

“Sure.” The clerk got up from her desk and walked over to a filing cabinet.

The clerk pulled a folder from the cabinet and handed it to Tom. “Do you want to take it from the office?”

“No. I can check it here.”

There was a shelf built into the wall opposite the clerk’s desk. Tom placed the file on the shelf and turned to Addington’s will. Flipping to the last page, he compared the dead man’s signature on the will to the signatures on the forms sent by Nettles. There was no doubt. The signatures were identical. Most likely Harrelson and Nettles transferred the signature by obtaining it in an electronic format from another source and inserting it onto the bank forms. Whatever their method, the result was impeccable. If he’d not talked to Arthur, Tom’s suspicions of Harold Addington would have resurfaced. He handed the file to the clerk.

“Thanks,” he said. “That’s all I needed.”

“You’re welcome. Come back anytime. I’ll be filling in for two more weeks, then it’s back to the county commissioner’s office. I like it a lot better over here. It’s so quiet and peaceful. Over there all I ever hear is complaints about sewer problems.”

“That stinks.”

The woman laughed. Tom smiled crookedly at his unintended pun.

There wasn’t a shredder at his father’s office, so Tom went down the hall to the clerk of court, who let him run the sheets through her machine. With a sense of finality, Tom returned to the office. The rest of Tom’s day was as quiet as the probate court office. Late in the afternoon he thought about Rose Addington and called her.

“Is everything okay?” she asked quickly.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve just been agitated all day.”

“Maybe it would do you good to get out of the house for a while. Could I come by and take you for a drive?”

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere you like.”

Rose was silent for a moment. “This may sound strange, but I’d like to go to the pond where the accident happened. Before I leave Bethel I need to get some closure. Would you be willing to take me there?”

“Absolutely. What you’re saying makes perfect sense to me.”

______

The afternoon was cool, and Rose was wearing a sweater and jeans. During the drive to Austin’s Pond, Tom told her what happened when he went there with Elias.

“That’s powerful,” Rose said. “I need to get into the river of grief and follow the tributary God has for me.”

They turned onto the access road for the pond. “Do you want to walk to the pond or drive directly to it?”

“A walk would be good.”

Tom parked near the pasture gate. “We can take this old roadbed. It’s less than half a mile to the water.”

At one point they had to cross a narrow ditch. Tom held out his hand to help Rose over. Their fingers lingered together for a moment. When they reached the clearing for the pond, a breeze stirred Rose’s hair. She brushed it from her face.

“Tell me what you know,” she said.

Unlike his time with Elias, Tom wasn’t irritated by Rose’s questions. He pointed out the place where the overturned boat was found floating in the water. Rose bit her lower lip.

“Where were the bodies?”

“Between the boat and the shore.”

Rose shook her head. “It doesn’t seem that far to the land.”

“Was your father a good swimmer?”

“Decent enough. And yours?”

“Very good, but they were fully clothed, and once their clothes got wet they went down.”

Rose sighed. “My father had issues with his heart. He was on medication. It makes me wonder if he had a heart attack. Mum and I didn’t request a copy of the report by the medical examiner. Did you?”

Tom licked his lips. “Yes.”

Rose touched a partially buried rock with her toe. “I should do that too.”

“The important thing is they’re both in heaven,” Tom replied quickly.

“Yes.” Rose pointed to the opposite end of the pond. “Is that the bench where you had your cry?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to spend a bit of time there alone.”

Rose walked slowly around the pond to the concrete picnic table. Tom sat down on the grass and tossed a twig into the water. The wind pushed it away from the bank. Rose sat on the table and let her legs swing beneath her. Tom couldn’t see her face. The phone in Tom’s pocket beeped, and he took it out. It was Arthur Pelham.

“Hello,” he said.

“It’s Arthur. I have an update—”

Service was poor at the pond, and Arthur’s voice cut in and out. Tom kept talking as he quickly walked up the slight hill that led down to the pond.

“—according to the US Attorney’s Office in Washington,” Arthur said and stopped.

“I only heard that last part,” Tom said. “I’m at Austin’s Pond and service is lousy.”

“Why are you there?” Arthur asked.

“Rose Addington wanted to come. It has to do with saying good-bye to her father.”

“Can she hear you now?”

“No, she’s at the other end of the pond. I’m standing on top of a little hill nearby.”

“Did you understand anything I said?”

“Not really, you were cutting in and out.”

“I’ll start over. Nice work with Harrelson and Nettles. The US Attorney’s Office called and told me they were able to record everything. There’s no doubt the two of them have been working together this whole time.”

“Good. Who’s handling the investigation? You never sent me the name of the government lawyer you spoke to in New York.”

“She was taken off the case once it went to Washington. Anyway, your part is finished. The last step is to transfer the money from the trust account. I’m going to give you the wiring instructions for our bank in Barbados. Confirmation for receipt of the wire will be delivered to your e-mail address. Here’s the number.”

Before Tom could tell Arthur that he didn’t have anything to write on, the older man rattled off a long number.

“Send me an e-mail with the wiring instructions,” Tom said. “I don’t have anything to write on.”

“Do you have a pen?”

Tom felt in his pocket. “Yes.”

“Then write it on your hand if you have to. I’m in a limo on my way to the airport where I’m getting on a plane to Japan and won’t be back for six days. I want to know this is taken care of before I get in the air.”

“Okay, but please give it to me slowly.”

Tom carefully wrote the numbers on the palm of his left hand, then read them back to Arthur.

“That’s it,” Arthur said. “I had to use a different corresponding bank than normal because the money is in the local bank in Bethel. We stopped using Bethel Commercial Bank & Trust years ago. If you wire the money first thing in the morning, the deposit should be confirmed by the time I’m on the ground in Japan.”