Missing Witness, page 2
Fiona took her sunglasses off and kissed Will passionately, then drew her face back slightly to study him.
“It’s going to be wonderful.”
Then Fiona thought about something that Will said.
“That case against the Sudan—were you surprised that they settled with you after the first day of trial?”
“Not really,” Will said. “After jury selection and opening statements I think they saw the handwriting on the wall. They knew the evidence we had tying the government to the murder of those missionaries. And it did my heart good to know that the huge damages that we collected are going right back into the Missionary Alliance work to spread the gospel down there in the Sudan.”
“Say,” Fiona asked, “what did you think of your Uncle Bull when we saw him up in the convalescent home?”
“Yeah, that was sad,” Will remarked. “I always saw him as this sturdy, almost indestructible force. After the stroke he just hasn’t been the same. Anyway, I’m glad that Aunt Georgia is letting us stay in the beach cabin next to her house. I think it will be good to give her some company whenever she’s not with him at the hospital.”
Fiona remembered something else about Aunt Georgia and a remark she had made to Will and Fiona on the first day of their arrival down at the Outer Banks.
“What was it that Georgia said to you when we were bringing our bags in—something about a legal issue with a pastor down here?”
“I’m not sure. Some legal question she wanted me to answer for somebody she knows…Reverend Joppa, I think his name was.”
“What was it about?”
“I think it was a question about an inheritance. Or a lawsuit about an estate issue. Real estate, I think. Something about a small private island. Actually, I wasn’t really clear about it.”
“Well, she said she would be home by dinner time, and I thought the three of us could eat together over at her place. Maybe you could get the details then.”
Will nodded. But he was in no mood to talk about the law. He decided to change the subject.
“Isn’t it great that our cabin has a piano in it? You said you were going to do some composing—now that you finally have the time to work on some new gospel songs for your next recording session. I’m looking forward to hearing them.”
Fiona smiled and nodded, but her mind was still on Aunt Georgia and the legal case.
“So, are you going to talk to her tonight?”
Will laughed loudly and shook his head in partial disbelief.
“You’re incredible! I want to talk about anything except the law, and you keep bringing me back to Aunt Georgia’s legal issue!”
Laughing, they turned to watch a few of the seagulls hanging in the air in perfect formation, drifting stiffly in the wind just a few feet away from them. Then Fiona looked back at Will.
“So, my darling husband, you will talk to Aunt Georgia about that legal issue, and help her friend out—this Reverend Joppa?”
Will convulsed with laughter and nodded his head vigorously.
“Yes—I will—anything—I’ll sign the papers—I confess—I’ll do it!”
The two of them snuggled next to each other at the railing.
“Besides,” Will added nonchalantly, “whatever this legal issue is, I’m sure it will be fairly simple.”
3
AFTER TAKING THE FERRY AROUND THE ISLANDS, Will and Fiona had done some grocery shopping. Now they were putting the finishing touches on a full meal of salmon steaks, crab legs, boiled potatoes, and fresh vegetables.
Aunt Georgia pulled into her seaside house just as Will and Fiona were setting the table.
Georgia Chambers was a diminutive woman in her seventies, but with a wit that flashed like an ignited sparkplug. Her hair was black with streaks of gray and silver, cut short. She was dressed—as she always was—in a sweatshirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. A pair of bifocals was perched on her nose.
“Now, Fiona, you just sit at the end of the table and let me take over from here.” She wrapped her arms around Fiona, kissed her, and then led her over to the chair—not satisfied until she had her seated comfortably at the table. “Now you two let me serve you—oh, for land’s sake!” Georgia said as she surveyed the food that had been prepared. “Just look at this—king crab legs and salmon steaks—my favorite!”
The dining room table was situated in the corner of the front room, surrounded by a great number of small windows which, when cranked open, would let in the sound of the crashing ocean surf.
As they ate, they talked a little about Bull’s recovery and slow rehabilitation. He was a tough, determined man, and he had kept his spirits up even though he had lost the use of his right arm and his speech had been affected. Georgia said that Bull would be in no shape to do anything for quite a while, and suggested that Will take out his big fishing boat, Georgia Mine, anytime he wanted.
They lingered over the dinner and talked until the sun was setting, casting a shimmering scarlet tinge on the surface of the ocean for a few minutes.
Will and Georgia reminisced together about the summers he had spent as a boy with Bull and Georgia.
The three were still talking when darkness fell. Will lit the candles on the table, and in the flickering light they talked on—about Will’s long spiritual journey, the death of his first wife, and later, how a remarkable legal case involving Fiona’s father had brought the couple together for the first time.
“Speaking of lawsuits,” Fiona said with an impish smile, “Aunt Georgia, why don’t you tell Will about this legal issue your friend needs help with.”
“Well, I hate to impose on you while you’re down here for the summer—I know it was a nice change for you to get away from the office and your law practice,” Georgia said reluctantly.
“No, go ahead,” Will said. “I’d love to help if I can. What’s involved?”
“It has to do with someone I know—Jonathan Joppa. He’s the pastor of the Safe Harbor Community Church.”
“That’s not your church, is it?”
“No, Bull and I always attended the Baptist church. But I got to know him because I worked with a number of the local churches when I ran the children’s Vacation Bible Camp.”
“So he’s the one with the legal problem?”
“Yes. I was actually surprised when he called me and asked for my advice. Now, apart from knowing him through my youth ministry, I also taught his son in my high school biology class back in my school teaching days. Now there was a wild one for you!”
“So why does Reverend Joppa need Will’s help?” Fiona asked.
“What is this, a land dispute?” Will added.
“Not exactly,” Georgia replied. “Oh, it does involve some land. A little private island that’s been in his family for nearly three hundred years. It’s on the sound side of the island—on the way to Pamlico Inlet.”
Will thought back to his fishing days with Bull, when they would cruise around all of the islands in the inlet, live-bait fishing for stripers and Spanish mackerel.
“Which island did you say it was?”
“It’s that small one—Stony Island.”
“I think I remember it. Looked like it was about forty acres. A lot of rocks around the shore. Just one house on it, I think—right?”
“Exactly. Actually, there’s the main house—and I think there’s a little cabin at the other end of the island, and maybe another little outbuilding.”
“So, the case is about the island?” Fiona asked.
Georgia nodded her head but then paused.
“Well, about Stony Island, yes. But it’s much more than that.”
“What do you mean?” Will asked.
“First of all, I can’t see into the man’s heart, of course. But for as long as I’ve known Jonathan Joppa, there’s been a real sadness there. His wife died back when he was the assistant pastor at that large church in Charlotte…oh, what was the name…oh, yes. First Evangelical Church of Charlotte. She had had health problems. Then, shortly after that, he left and accepted the pastorate of that small church in Manteo…Safe Harbor Community Church. Here in the Outer Banks. He never remarried.”
“So, how is the island involved?” Fiona asked.
“Well, part of this is what Jonathan Joppa told me—and the rest is what I read in the newspaper some time ago in some articles when it talked about the case. In fact, I think Bull, before his stroke, had also shared something with me. You know, Hatteras Island is a small place. News travels fast.”
“What news?” Will asked.
“Well—I told you that the island has remained in the Joppa family for—oh—just shy of three hundred years. And Randolph Willowby, one of the descendants of the man who originally owned the island, way back when in the 1700s—recently died. And there was a provision in his will that said Jonathan Joppa could take the island if he could clear the tarnished reputation of a distant Joppa relative.”
“What do you mean by tarnished?” Fiona asked, riveted on the conversation and leaning her face into both hands.
“Three hundred years ago, a distant ancestor of Jonathan Joppa’s was charged with a criminal offense—”
“What kind?” Will broke in.
“Piracy,” Georgia replied.
“Piracy!” Fiona blurted out. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely, but all of that was a long time ago—you know all the stories about the pirate Blackbeard, Willie, right?”
Will nodded and chuckled, thinking back to the tour guide.
“So, as I understand it,” Georgia continued, “if this Pastor Joppa is able to disprove the criminal charges brought against this distant relative of his—then the island goes to him. I’m afraid that’s as much as I know.”
The three were quiet for a moment, as they listened to the surf roll and crash down below the house. The candles were flickering low. Will offered to do the dishes and, as he rose from the table, he asked one other question.
“It sounds like an unusual condition to put in a will—to clear the reputation of the family name. But I have a bigger question. Doesn’t this guy already have a lawyer?”
“He did,” Georgia said. “Boggs Beckford. But he was injured in a car accident. Almost died. So Reverend Joppa is looking for a new lawyer. I’ve recommended you.”
“How valuable is the island?” Will asked nonchalantly as he was collecting the plates from the table.
“Well, I heard at the beauty shop that there is a real estate development company that’s appraised it at two million dollars. They would like to develop some condominiums on it and would buy the island from Reverend Joppa if he wins.”
“How long ago was all this?” Will called out from the kitchen.
“How long ago was what?” Georgia responded.
“This piracy charge.”
“Well—you know your pirate history—it would have been the early 1700s, I think, right?”
“When you’re talking about charges of piracy—what are you talking about?”
“Why—being part of Blackbeard’s pirate crew,” Georgia replied.
Fiona’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, my goodness! The Blackbeard?” she exclaimed. “I was just learning about him today. That’s incredible! Oh, but that’s terrible! He was one of the pirates?”
“Oh, yes. The story of Isaac Joppa’s dark past is well known down here on the Banks.”
Will thought for a moment and then called out a question to Fiona and Georgia, who were cleaning off the dinner table in the next room.
“This case sounds like a tall order. Exactly how do you clear a name that’s been defamed for nearly three hundred years?”
Georgia didn’t answer, but Fiona was thoughtful. Then she spoke up. “Well, my dear,” she noted with confidence, “you do it just like all your other cases. By pursuing the truth—and then proving it in court through your God-given legal brilliance.”
Will returned her beaming smile with only a half smirk. He was now thinking about the long, languid summer days he wanted to spend on the beach alone with his beautiful wife. Maybe taking Bull’s big fishing rig out and doing a little deep-sea fishing—all a welcome respite from the rigors of his law office and a legal career that had its share of courtroom mysteries…even brutal conflict. Most of his cases were David-and-Goliath contests—the other side being Goliath.
And that summer, Will Chambers was not in the mood for legal intrigue.
Yet, as he listened to the incessant, rolling roar of the ocean through the open windows, he was starting to get the suspicion he was being drawn into another convoluted legal case. Will just hoped that this one wouldn’t be like the riptides that swirled around the Carolinas coast—the kind that draw swimmers out to sea and then pull them under.
4
IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT of North Carolina, Judge Turner glanced at his watch, then looked at the court clock on the wall. His patience had run out.
“Mr. MacPherson,” the judge said, addressing the attorney standing at counsel table before him, “when we say nine o’clock A.M. here in federal court, we don’t mean nine-oh-two. And we certainly don’t mean nine-oh-seven. This maritime salvage case is not the only thing on the court’s docket. So where is your client?”
MacPherson, a middle-aged man with horn-rimmed glasses, a loud, flowered tie, and an expensive pinstriped suit, was maintaining his poise. With a polite smile on his face, he nodded considerately and then addressed the court.
“Your Honor, I do give the court my heartfelt apologies. Mr. Morgan, my client, was supposed to be here half an hour ago. His testimony is, of course, crucial to our position.”
At the opposing counsel table an attorney sat patiently next to his client, Dr. Steve Rosetti, an expert in ocean archaeology. Rosetti was in his thirties, with curly black hair and a well-trimmed beard.
The judge continued. “Well, having reviewed the pleadings, I would have to tell you, Mr. MacPherson, that your client, Mr. Morgan, is going to have to present some very powerful testimony to convince me that my original ruling was incorrect.”
“Your Honor,” MacPherson continued smoothly, “to reiterate our position here—as an intervenor, Mr. Morgan simply wanted to present this court with an alternative. This court, in its wisdom, originally granted salvor-in-possession status to the North Carolina Maritime Museum—with Dr. Steve Rosetti, its curator, as the principal in charge of the salvage attempt for the ship Bold Venture. However, with all due respect, we believe Mr. Morgan’s practical experience in salvaging ancient ships warrants this Court’s consideration.”
“All right, while we’re waiting for the errant Mr. Morgan to arrive,” the judge said, “perhaps somebody could fill me in a little. At the last court hearing we went into the background of this ship, Bold Venture—isn’t this the one you believe may well have been scuttled by the pirate, Blackbeard?”
At the other counsel table, Dr. Rosetti’s attorney rose to address the court.
“Your Honor, if the court please, I would ask that Dr. Rosetti explain to the court the background of this case.”
Rosetti stood to his feet, taking the lofty stance of a college professor who was about to address his class.
“Yes, well—as we pointed out at the last hearing—most of the historical information had indicated nothing—at least originally—about the Bold Venture. But, recent scholarship has revealed that, in fact, Edward Teach had commandeered the Bold Venture, a Jamaican sloop. We believe now that, when the battle became imminent, Blackbeard may have given command to one of the pirate crew to scuttle and sink the Bold Venture. We’re not sure why that order was given—but nevertheless, there’s good historical data now that that is what happened. When we picked up the outline of the ship on our sonar, we made an initial investigative dive. Most of the ship is buried under the silt and sand. The court gave our institute the permission to continue in official status as salvor-in-possession so that the artifacts—whatever they might be—can be preserved and properly displayed in a museum setting, for the benefit of further scholarship and, most importantly, the enlightenment of the public.”
“Yes, and all of that is fine,” attorney MacPherson said in response, “but the fact is that my client, Mr. Morgan—not the marine institute—is the one that first discovered the coordinates of this vessel. And furthermore, in the ensuing months no work has even been commenced. There has not been one dive by Dr. Rosetti’s group down to the site to begin the salvage process. With each day, the chances of successful recovery are diminishing.”
“Look,” Judge Turner replied with an edge of irritation in his voice, “I am not retrying this case. Let’s remember what my role is here. The court is to give official permission to one qualified party to conduct an ocean archaeological expedition. You know, these laws were passed in order to avoid a bunch of maverick divers and modern-day pirates from looting these archaeological sites.”
The judge was about to continue when something at the back of the courtroom distracted him.
A tall, athletically built man with bleach-blond hair down to his shoulders was holding open one of the two doors to the courtroom. An instant later, a second man, this one short and skinny, with thick glasses, opened the second door.
With both doors opened wide, a man in his late thirties, walking with a cane, appeared in the opened doorway and began to slowly enter the courtroom.
The man had long, jet-black hair, which was tied in a ponytail behind his head. He sported a black, drooping Fu Manchu mustache. He wore black boots with tall heels, white linen pants, a black silk shirt, and a shimmering red tie. His shirt was short-sleeved, and it revealed a large tattoo on his right forearm, consisting of a human skull with dollar signs in the eye sockets. Under the skull were written the words IN GOLD WE TRUST.
The man was walking slowly, limping slightly and leaning on his cane. His right leg was stiff and somewhat immobile.
The man used the cane in his right hand to steady himself and dragged his right foot behind him as he walked. The courtroom was hushed. The only sound was the echo of the tap of his cane, each time he placed it down hard on the marble floor, followed by the sliding of his right foot as he pulled it behind him.
