Page 23 of The List
DAY FIVE
B RENT WAITED UNTIL THE WEEKEND TO MAKE THE FORTY-MINUTE drive west to Statesboro.
He’d wanted to go sooner, but work had commanded his undivided attention all week.
What had Joan Bates said? The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it.
He’d done a little more research and learned that the biblical passage was generally thought to mean that clever or sensible people could see trouble coming and avoid it.
But the gullible? Or the childish? They just went ahead and suffered the consequences.
He wasn’t sure which category he supposedly fell into.
Or how those words of wisdom even applied to him.
He hadn’t mentioned anything about Joan Bates’ visit to anyone, especially his mother or Hank.
The woman had sought him out specifically, gone to a lot of trouble actually, so he’d decided to fully investigate before sharing any information.
That caution came from being a prosecutor.
He’d learned in Atlanta that things worked best when kept close.
Statesboro sat in neighboring Bulloch County.
For a long time the town wasn’t much. As the story went, during the Civil War a Union officer asked someone for directions to Statesboro.
Reportedly, the answer he received was, “ You’re standing in the middle of town.
” After the war the whole area grew, becoming a major center for cotton and tobacco sales.
Today thirty-five thousand people lived and worked there at various manufacturing and distribution centers.
But its biggest employer, and main claim to fame, was Georgia Southern University.
His alma mater. Twenty thousand students.
Home to the Soarin’ Eagles. Six-time national football champions.
He’d loved going to those games, which he’d continued to attend long after graduation.
A sea of middle-class neighborhoods ringed busy central downtown with a mix of single- and multifamily homes, many of the dwellings rentals catering to students.
During his four years at college he hadn’t availed himself of the local housing, as he’d lived at home and commuted back and forth.
The address he’d obtained from the company records was for one of the newer subdivisions east of town, just off the highway from Concord.
The Bates residence was a single-story ranch-style home that filled a wooded lot.
He parked on the street and walked toward the front door, passing the same Tahoe that had sat parked in the driveway on Tuesday night. Sprinklers irrigated the front yard.
He pushed the doorbell.
A few moments later the door was opened by the woman who’d confronted him. She was dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans, one hand holding a dish towel. Her manner remained stoic, except for a momentary glimmer of recognition and a brief smile of welcome.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bates,” he said to her. “I thought it best you and I talk further.”
She stared at him with eyes that almost seemed born to worry.
He’d seen that look before in the eyes of victims, along with a severe consternation that flowed across her every feature that signaled only one thing.
Pain. She motioned for him to come inside and they sat in an oversized living room with exposed wood beams and a brick fireplace.
“My children are out,” she said. “So we have privacy.”
He wondered how much this woman had cried during the past four months.
She made no attempt to hide her solemnness.
None at all. He gave her a moment to compose herself and took in the room, noticing the large crucifix on the wall and an array of family photos framed on a side table. Many with her husband.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he felt compelled to say.
She nodded an acknowledgment.
“Why didn’t you just introduce yourself the other night?”
“I thought it best not to.”
“Why did you find me ?”
“I was told you would be replacing Peter at the mill.”
“That’s the how. I asked why.”
“You sound angry.”
“I’m confused. Help me understand.”
“My husband gave that company many years of his life. He worked hard. He took care of me and our children. He did what a good husband and father was supposed to do.”
Again, not an answer. But it seemed there was a lot inside her that needed to bubble out. And he could relate. Plenty of bubbles were percolating inside him too.
“Did you read Proverbs 22:3?” she asked.
“I did.”
“A good husband will repair his house while the weather is fair, and not put it off till winter,” she said.
“A careful pilot will take advantage of wind and tide, and put out to sea before a storm arises.” She spoke in a cold monotone.
Like someone on some serious medication.
“We must make every day the day of our repentance. To make good use of our time, so that when we come to die we may have nothing to do but to die.”
She was speaking as if to someone far off. He stayed quiet and let her talk.
“Your new job will kill you,” she said.
And her sad eyes hardened even more.
He had to ask, “In what way?”
“Are you married?”
He shook his head. “I was. But she killed herself.”
He hoped that commonality might drop some of the barriers between them.
“Then you know exactly what I’m feeling.”
He nodded. “It was eleven years ago. And I still feel the pain.”
“Did you have any idea she might take her life?”
Not a question he’d ever been asked before, by anyone. Mainly because only a few knew the truth about Paula’s death. But he’d certainly asked himself that a thousand times. The truth? “I had no idea at all. But the tendency ran in her family.”
“Peter’s too. He was so strong in many ways, and so weak in others. But I never thought he’d leave me or his children.”
He decided to try again. “What did you mean by Proverbs 22:3? The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it. ”
“It’s not always smart to be headstrong. Sometimes the smarter course is to avoid a bad situation altogether.”
“Why does any of that apply to me?”
“My husband was a fragile man who refused to seek solace with Christ, and chose instead to rely on the perils of man.”
“So you learned my name and address and came to see me on my first day back in town to warn me that unless I seek the Lord, my job will kill me?”
“I prayed hard first. Then God told me I should do it.”
He could see she believed every word. “What else did God tell you?”
“To give yourself freely to heaven. To allow Christ to lead you. My husband could not do that. Can you?”
He didn’t answer her. Because his beliefs were none of her business.
“You don’t have the Lord in your life?” she asked.
Apparently, what he’d at first thought was a genuine warning about something unknown was nothing more than a grieving widow trying to find some semblance of peace wherever she could.
Be that with the Bible, God, or attaching herself to a total stranger.
He’d seen it before in the faces of clients looking for something or someone to blame.
This had been a waste of time.
He stood. “I should go.”
She reached out and gripped his arm. He froze and stared down at her, suddenly realizing that being alone here with this woman was not a good thing. This could take a bad bounce. So he told her, “I believe.”
“Then pray with me. For my husband. And for you.”
He felt for her. How could he not. And he understood the shock, anger, guilt, despair, confusion, and rejection.
All those emotions had been triggered inside him by Paula’s death.
He’d never sought any professional help.
Instead, he’d used time and the isolation of moving hundreds of miles away to get through the aftermath.
This woman had tried the same with her own move.
But what else could be done to help her?
Not much, probably.
So what would it hurt?
“I’d be honored to pray with you.”
12:15 P.M.
H ANK DRIED OFF.
He’d added the swimming pool a dozen summers ago, eliminating just enough of the pines and live oaks so the screened enclosure now swallowed the majority of his already compact backyard.
A luxury, and definitely out of character for the blue-collar image of a working stiff he went out of his way to perpetuate.
But given the length and intensity of the Georgia summers, what he called the twenty thousand gallons of chlorinated water held in place by a kidney-shaped concrete hole became an understandable necessity.
He tossed the towel aside and slipped on a terry-cloth robe.
He swam every evening after getting home from work and many times on the weekend.
Living alone came with the privilege of doing what he wanted, when he wanted.
Loretta had loved the pool and used it far more than he ever did.
But after she was gone he came to enjoy it too.
A day late and a dollar short. Which seemed the story of his life.
He sat and grabbed the clipboard off an adjacent table.
Attached to it were hard copies of the documents Marlene had been lucky enough to snag from the company records.
The memo from Hamilton Lee was downright shocking.
Southern Republic’s lack of interest in any five-year deal was totally unexpected.
He’d surely thought the company would again want those extra two years.
His plan all along had been to trade for things like a percentage increase on wages and more benefits, then force a five-year agreement onto his membership.
What was he going to do now? Take his people out on strike? Hardly.
In all the years of Southern Republic ownership no local had ever walked. That was bad for the company. Bad for the members. Bad for Concord.
He heard a car motor into the driveway. The screen door opened and Brent walked onto the pool deck. He was dressed in shorts and a Georgia Southern T-shirt. Tennis shoes protected his feet.
“What brings you by?” he asked.
“Did you know Peter Bates?”
“I had a few dealings with him. Not all that much. He did little with the unions. The general counsel handled us.”
“Was there anything at all suspicious about his death?”
“That’s an odd question. Should there be?”
“I’m just asking.”
He shook his head. “He shot himself. The sheriff told me it was clear as a bell. Nothing about anything raised any questions. Why the interest?”
He listened as Brent told him about the visit from Joan Bates and his own visit, earlier, with her.
“Now, Joan I did know,” he told Brent. “She was a regular at church. A real Bible thumper. Peter? Not so much a churchgoer. But her? Everybody knew Joan was one of the faithful. If you didn’t, she’d remind you every chance she got.”
“As she did with me.”
“You prayed with her?”
“I knelt with her. She got intense. I think she was speaking in tongues for a little bit.”
He chuckled. “That’s Joan. She’s been known to do it with the pews full. I think it may be one of the reasons she moved away, after Peter died. Don’t let her get to you. She’s harmless.”
“The whole thing was a little weird,” Brent said. “But I had to check it out.”
He nodded. “I agree. And as long as you’re in an inquisitive mood, take a look at this.”
He handed over the clipboard, the pages peeled back to the odd list of numbers he and Marlene had retrieved Tuesday night.
034156901
456913276
343016692
295617833
178932515
236987521
492016755
516332578
“What do you think they are?” he asked.
Brent studied them for a moment. “Couldn’t be phone numbers, too many digits. Might be zip codes. The new ones are longer.” Brent counted. “There are enough numbers for a zip code. Where’d you get these?”
“Off the company computer.”
“They just dropped into your lap?”
“Actually, that’s exactly what happened. Fluke of nature.”
Brent smiled. “In another words, don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“Something like that.”
“In that case they could be company ID numbers, file numbers, computer access codes, even passwords. God knows they change them enough. I was told that happens once a week.” Brent looked at the list again.
“They also could be Social Security numbers? But no hyphens. Social Security numbers are always broken apart. So are the new zip codes.”
He came to the point. “Can you do me a favor and see what you can find on ’em?”
“Hank, you’re putting me in a bad place. I owe the company loyalty. And confidentiality. You know that.”
He held up his hands. “I know. I know. But you have access to personnel records, medical records, all sorts of things. It’s probably nothing. But could you take a look so I can be sure.” He paused. “For old times’ sake.”
He could see that Brent knew he was holding back. Just asking for this level of favor was enough of an indication that there was more involved.
“Tell me the truth,” Brent said. “How did you get these numbers?”
“Or else?” he asked.
“Or else.”
He had no choice. But there was no one he trusted more. “They were behind a firewall in an ultra-secure file. It was a fluke my person got in. They’d been trying for weeks, without success. So you can see why I’m so curious.”
“Marlene?”
He nodded. “It could cost her job, if she’s caught.”
“Then why put her in that position?”
“It’s her way. She loves the intrigue.”
“And she’s a little sweet on you too?”
“Has my daughter been tellin’ you things?”
“Her and others. You’re quite the topic of the local gossip.”
Always in the past they’d been a team, delivering a solid one-two punch. One leading, the other following, depending on the fight. But things had changed. Brent worked for the other side now. And no matter how much he hated that fact, he had to respect it.
To a point.
“Look, they could be nothing at all,” he said.
“Just some mumbo jumbo that’s irrelevant to anything I need to be concerned about.
But the level of security protecting them makes me curious.
Do this. Take a look. If what you find crosses any ethical line with your newfound position as a company lawyer, then don’t tell me a thing.
Keep it to yourself. But if it’s nothin’ at all—just some crap—you can tell me that, can’t you? To put my mind at ease.”
Hank could see that he’d gotten to his old buddy.
Logic is your friend. Use it.
“Sure,” Brent said. “I can do that.”