pedestrian or the people in other vehicles were staring at me. Zach turned into the courthouse parking lot and stopped next to a green motorcycle.
'That's a nice bike, made in Italy,' he said as we took off the helmets.
I pushed myself up with my hands and got out of the sidecar. 'I'm not wearing motorcycle clothes. Did your father take your mother to church in a motorcycle sidecar?'
'Sometimes. But you have to remember, my parents were living near L.A.'
Zach locked up the helmets.
'Which courtroom?' he asked as we climbed the steps.
'I'm not sure.'
'Follow me.'
I held back for a second, but it looked silly for me to walk two steps behind him. We entered the building together.
'What about the homeowner?' I asked.
'After I told Mr. Fussleman about Moses' life on the river, he said it reminded him of Huck and Jim. He's willing to ask the judge for a lenient sentence.'
'What about the other dock owners?'
'I hope they won't be here. Moses used Mr. Fussleman's dock more than any of the others, so you can argue he's the party who suffered the most damage.' Zach glanced sideways at me as we waited for an elevator. 'Have you written out your argument for the judge?'
'No.'
'You'll have a few minutes after we talk to Mr. Fussleman, and maybe our case won't be the first one called.'
'Vince has a case-' I stopped. I could have ridden with Vince and avoided the sidecar.
We got off the elevator and turned left down a broad hallway. A cluster of people were milling around.
'I hope all these people aren't on our calendar,' Zach said.
He opened the door to the courtroom. It was a large room with bench seating. At least a hundred people were already present. The thought of making my unprepared argument to Judge Cannon in front of a big crowd made my hands sweat. Zach walked to the front of the courtroom. I followed. He turned around and spoke in a loud voice.
'Is Mr. Fussleman here?'
All the conversations ceased, and everyone looked around to see if Mr. Fussleman identified himself. No one raised his hand or came forward. There was a row of chairs in front of a railing that separated the crowd from the area in front of the bench and the jury box on the right-hand side of the room. Zach sat down and motioned for me to join him.
'What is Mr. Fussleman going to say?' I asked.
'Fussleman grew up here and knows men like Moses who roam up and down the river. I want him to meet Moses before the calendar call. Once Fussleman sees how harmless he is, he may ask the judge to let Moses go free without any more jailtime and even allow Moses to use his dock as long as he doesn't do anything except tie up for the night. That would take care of two problems at once.'
It was a much better plan of action than the nonexistent one I'd come up with.
'That's great,' I said.
Zach glanced sideways at me. 'I promised to help.'
I felt ashamed. I'd been petty and prideful. I pressed my lips together and silently asked God to forgive me. Zach stood up again. An apology to him would have to wait.
'Is Mr. Fussleman here?' he called out again.
An older man with gray hair and wearing a business suit raised his hand in the air.
'Come on,' Zach said to me.
We walked to the rear of the courtroom. Zach extended his hand and introduced himself. 'Thanks so much for coming,' he said. 'I know it's inconvenient.'
Zach introduced me to Mr. Fussleman, who smiled.
'Mr. Mays told me this was your first case,' he said. 'One of my daughters is a young lawyer in Washington, D.C. When I thought about her, I had to see what I could do to help you sort this out.'
'Thank you,' I said gratefully.
'Let's step into the hallway,' Zach suggested.
More people were entering the courtroom. We found a quiet spot. Mr. Fussleman looked at me expectantly. I knew my job-to tell him Moses Jones was a harmless old man who wouldn't hurt anything except the fish he caught for supper. I did my best, but I kept thinking about the newspaper photograph of Lisa Prescott and her face that continued to accuse Moses from a watery grave. Mr. Fussleman listened thoughtfully. The few times I glanced at Zach, I couldn't decipher his expression. Vince walked past us and into the courtroom.
'What do you want me to do?' Mr. Fussleman asked when I finished.
'Tell Judge Cannon that as one of the dock owners, you support releasing Mr. Jones for time already served in jail, and in the future would allow him to tie up for the night at your dock so long as he didn't interfere with your use of the facilities or cause any damage to your property.'
'I want to meet Mr. Jones before I agree to anything, but I don't think I have any objection to releasing him from jail.' He hesitated a moment before continuing, 'But I can't agree to let him use my dock.'
My face fell.
'Unless he checks with me first,' he finished.
'It may be late at night,' I replied.
'I'm usually up past eleven. If it's later than that, he will have to pole his boat back down the river.'
His proposal was more than fair.
'Can we meet with Moses?' I asked Zach.
'Let's try.'
We returned to the courtroom.
'There's Maggie Smith,' Zach said.
There were three female members of the district attorney's staff stacking up files at one of the tables used by the lawyers.
'Which one?'
'The shorter one with brown hair.'
Zach ushered Mr. Fussleman to a seat directly behind the railing. We approached Ms. Smith. Zach extended his hand.
'We met at a young lawyers section meeting last year,' he said. 'You may not remember me-'
'It's hard not to notice a male lawyer in Savannah with long hair who rides a motorcycle.'
I glanced down. Ms. Smith wasn't wearing a wedding ring.
'One of the dock owners, a Mr. Fussleman, is here,' Zach said. 'He'd like to meet our client.'
'Why?'
Zach turned to me, and I explained our purpose. Smith shrugged.
'Okay. If none of the other dock owners show up, I won't oppose a guilty plea for time served as long as there is a period of probation. I don't want Jones claiming ownership of a dock by adverse possession.'
'Will you support the plea?' Zach asked.
Smith looked at Zach and smiled. 'No, but I'll be very clear that I don't oppose it.'
'Thanks,' he said.
We returned to the area where the lawyers were sitting. Vince and Russell Hopkins, his supervising attorney, were at the opposite end of our row. A side door opened, and a long line of prisoners wearing jail uniforms entered. Toward the end of the line I saw Moses. None of the men in his group were shackled. A smaller group in leg irons and handcuffs followed.
'Why are some of them wearing handcuffs?' I asked Zach.
'Probably felony cases. Moses and the others are the misdemeanor, nonviolent cases.'
Moses saw me and smiled. It made me feel creepy.
'Let's talk to the deputy,' Zach said.
