He pointed to his name tag. “My name is Eddie Anderson.”
“Eddie, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
He left. I took a few deep breaths and made sure the door to the tiny room locked behind him. However, I suspected the custodian of the records probably had a master key for the whole facility. I offered up a prayer for protection. The thought of looking through old files that might hold clues to Lisa Prescott’s disappearance was creepy enough without adding the young man to the mix.
I checked the index for files with Carpenter in the heading and wrote down the locations. Before I had a chance to pull any of the cassettes, a knock at the door made me jump. I didn’t want to open it, but couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. I stood and planted my right foot firmly in place to prevent him from easily forcing his way into the room. I cracked open the door.
“Yes?” I asked tensely.
“Someone from your office called when he couldn’t get you on your cell.”
I quickly decided not to inform him that I didn’t own a cell phone.
“Is there a message?”
“Call Vince Colbert.”
“Do you have a phone I can use?”
“Sorry, but it’s not allowed. And you took my request a few minutes ago the wrong way. It wasn’t a lame pickup line. I’m trying to find out information about law schools from people who actually go there. I took a tour through the admissions office at Georgia, but I’m sure part of it was propaganda—”
“I’m not the best person to give you a broad view,” I interrupted. “I live off campus and keep to myself, but I’ll take a minute to talk before I leave. Where is the nearest phone?”
Eddie glanced past me.
“In your purse?” he asked, gesturing toward the place where I’d put it on the table beside the reader.
“No.”
“Then you can use my cell. It’s at the sign-in desk.”
“Thanks.”
As we returned to the entrance area, I felt slightly ashamed at my harsh reaction. Eddie reached under the desk and handed me a phone.
“Reception is best in that part of the room,” he said, pointing to a place near a window.
“Thanks.”
I went to the window, called the office, and asked for Vince. While I waited on hold, I tried to imagine why he’d made the effort to track me down at the storage facility. He picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to solve the mystery of Lisa Prescott’s disappearance. Is there a problem?”
“Interest in what you’re doing has gone up the ladder at the firm. I went into Mr. Braddock’s office to get a file for a meeting and saw a memo on his desk from Mr. Carpenter. The subject line included your name.”
“What did it say?”
“Both Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Braddock are very familiar with the Prescott case. Mr. Carpenter attached copies of your memos about Moses Jones and mentioned that it was time ‘for us to find a way to finish what our fathers started.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, and I don’t know how or why, but Mr. Braddock is also involved. Both of them are very interested in Moses.”
“Why?”
“Think about it. For some reason, Moses is a threat that could damage the reputation of their families in Savannah. Can you imagine the impact on the law firm and its business? A lot of money flows through this office. If they think the threat is real, their goal may be to silence him. You could be hurt too.”
My stomach turned over. “I can’t believe that.”
“I don’t think they would physically harm you, but there are ways to destroy your future or credibility. I hope I’m wrong, but there’s no need to take any chances. Maybe you should put a halt to this.”
“How? I don’t have enough information to go to Maggie Smith at the DA’s office and implicate Floyd Carpenter and Mr. Braddock’s father in an unsolved murder.”
“That’s not what I meant. Maybe you should ask to be taken off the case. You could claim your religious beliefs prohibit representation of someone who is factually guilty.”
It was a plausible argument—one that my mother would agree with. But at that moment, a different kind of religious conviction rose up within me. My faith was a foundation, not a crutch. I’d spent my whole life fighting pressure to compromise my convictions, and in every serious situation I’d passed the test. This was a different type of challenge, but I felt the same resolve and didn’t want to yield to what my conscience told me was evil pressure.
“I don’t know,” I answered slowly. “That’s not necessarily true. I’ll have to think about it.” I paused. “And hear what God says.”