'Wait here until someone brings the prisoner from lockup,' she said. 'Jones is a trusty so they may have to track him down.'
I didn't know what 'trusty' meant, but it made me feel better about meeting a man who lived behind bars. A door behind the woman opened and a male deputy appeared.
'Tami Taylor?' he asked.
'Yes sir,' I answered before realizing it probably wasn't necessary to be so formal.
The deputy grinned. 'Follow me.'
The door clicked shut with a thud behind me. We walked down a short hallway to another door that opened when the deputy pushed a series of buttons. I could see surveillance cameras mounted on the wall. If the twins had been with me they would probably have waved to the cameras.
We entered another room with several numbered doors around an open space. None of the doors had windows in them. A deputy sat behind a desk at one end of the room.
'He's in room 5,' the deputy said.
'Do I go in alone?' I asked.
'I don't think Jones is a security risk,' the deputy answered. 'If you have a concern, you can leave the door open. Deputy Jenkins and I will be on the other side of the room.'
'All right.' I nodded grimly.
I approached the door and pushed it open. It contained a small table and four plastic chairs. Standing by the table was an old black man with graying hair.
'I'm Tami Taylor,' I said. 'Are you Mr. Jones?'
'Yes, missy. But you can call me Moses.'
The man extended his hand. It felt like old leather. His fingernails were cracked and yellowed with age. I let the door close. The deputy was right. Moses didn't look like a serious threat to my personal safety.
'You be my lawyer?'
'Sort of,' I said, then quickly added, 'I'm a law student working for a law firm in Savannah this summer. One of the firm's lawyers will be supervising what I do for you.'
I put a blank legal pad on the table. We both sat down. I clicked open my pen. I wanted to be professional and efficient.
'First, I need some background information. Your full name, Social Security number, and date of birth.'
Moses turned his head to the side and made a sucking noise as he drew air into his mouth. I couldn't see more than a couple of teeth.
'Moses Jones is all I go by. My mama, she give me another name, Tobias, but I don't never use it. I lost my Social Security card. The boss man, he pays me cash under the table. What else you want to know?'
'Date of birth.'
'I was born on June 5.'
'What year?'
'I'm seventy-one years old,' he said, 'if that helps you figure it.'
I wrote down the date and other information on the legal pad.
'And your address?'
'I ain't got none.'
'You're homeless?'
'No!' he said with more force than I expected. 'I got me a place down on the river, but it ain't on no road or nothing.'
'Are you married?'
'No, missy. I ain't had a woman in my life for a long time.'
'Any children?'
'I had one, a boy, but he be dead.'
'I'm sorry.'
Moses leaned forward and his eyes became more animated. 'I never seen his face in the water. If'n I did, I don't think I could stand it.'
'What water?' I asked.
'The black water. In the night. That's when the faces come up to look around. They don't say nothing, but I can read their thoughts. They know that I know. They be calling out to me.'
I wrote down his words. When I saw them on the legal pad, it made me feel creepy. I looked up. The old man was staring past my shoulder. I quickly turned around. All I saw was the blank concrete wall.
'Do you see something in this room?' I asked hesitantly.
'No, missy. But the faces ain't never far from me. You from Savannah?'
'No.'
Moses Jones was obviously delusional and had mental problems much more serious than twenty-four counts of misdemeanor trespassing in his boat. He needed professional help. No one in our church ever admitted going to a psychologist or psychiatrist, but it made sense to me, at least until God came in to straighten out a person's life.
'Well, you may need to talk to someone about that later,' I said.
'I told the detective all about it. He asked me a lot more questions than you.'
'Which detective?'
'I don't know his name. He be young and black.'
'Did he question you about tying your boat up to docks where you didn't have permission?'
Moses nodded his head. 'Yeah, but I told him the river, it belong to God who made it. How can anyone own a river? It always be moving and changing. You can't hold on to water like you can a piece of dirty ground.'
I was startled by his logic. In a way, it made sense.
'But when a person builds a dock on the river, that's private property,' I answered. 'That's why you were arrested, because you tied up your boat where you didn't have permission.'
'Who'm I going to ask? Will a man be happy and hug my neck if'n I come up on his house in the dark, beat on his door, and say, `I want to tie up for the rest of the night. I won't hurt a thing. My rope, it don't leave a mark. And I'll be slipping away at dawn light?''
'The law says you have to get permission.'
'You be the lawyer. Make the law right so I can leave this jailhouse with my boat.'
'Where is your boat?'
'In amongst the cars behind that tall fence. I can see it, but I can't touch it. I don't know if it be leaky or not.'
'It's here at the jail?'
Moses nodded.
'I'll check into that for you. Have they set your bond?'
'I reckon, but I ain't got money for no bondsman. My boat ain't worth nothing to nobody but me.'
'Have you had a court hearing of any kind?'
'I ain't been before no judge, if'n that's what you mean.'
'So they'll leave you in here indefinitely for trespassing?' I asked, expressing my private thoughts.
'That be your job, missy. Most of the time, the lawyer be the one to get a man out of this jail.'
'Okay.'
I opened the folder and looked again at the twenty-four counts. The scenario seemed clear. I spoke slowly.
'You would fish at night and tie up at a private dock for a few hours of sleep until the sun came up.'
'Yes, missy. That part be true. I never took nothing that weren't mine.' He looked away. 'Except for some other stuff.'
'What other stuff?'
'At the taverns where I cleaned up. I'd grab cooked food, a knife, a fork. Not every week, only when I was extra hungry or needed it.'
All theft is wrong, but these newly admitted offenses weren't part of the case I had to resolve, and I wasn't a prosecutor. I sat back in my chair.
