Custody of the State (32 page)

“Like I said,” Fiona continued, “perhaps you haven't finished getting closure over Audra—or maybe it's something else. Is there anything about this woman you need to tell me?”

“No—it's nothing like that. I just think she was purposely trying to impersonate Audra when we were together…”

“Will, this whole thing sounds a little strange. And, honestly, more than a little hurtful. One minute you tell me you want to spend the rest of your life with me, and the next minute—this. I guess I'm having a hard time understanding you. When we talked at the hospital, everything seemed so clear. Now—I don't know.”

After an awkward silence and a few unsuccessful attempts to repair things, Will said his goodbyes and hung up. And then he started wondering.

He asked himself how he could be so skilled at legal communication—but so lousy at interpersonal connection.

46

I
T WAS EVENING
, and Will was at the small kitchen table in the houseboat, struggling to prepare for trial.

But he was also faced with a whirlpool of conflicting feelings.

If he was so in love with Fiona and she with him—why did things always seem so hard? Their schedules were impossible, their communication ended in disaster half the time, and emotionally, they never seemed to be at the same place at the same time. Would their relationship ever get on track?

And then there was Mary Sue's case. Will's client was hiding information from him—the unforgivable sin in litigation. He kept asking himself, over and over again,
What was it that was going on between Mary Sue and Jason Bell Purdy? And why wouldn't she answer questions about her access to the brake fluid?

His concussion headaches had persisted, and he rose, walked into the little kitchenette, and downed several aspirins with a glass of water.

He walked to the front window and looked out at the lake. The moon was out, and there was a shimmering, sparkling trail of golden light that played on the surface of the water.

Turning away, he sat down at the table again. He also had another decision. When Andrew White Arrow arrived from South Dakota with the blood sample, what was he going to do with it? He had toyed with the idea of trying to locate an expert in the Delphi or even Atlanta area to examine the sample, but there were two problems with that.

First, according to the curriculum vitae that Will had obtained, Dr. Parker, the chief pathologist of Delphi hospital,
had numerous connections with hospitals and clinics throughout the greater Atlanta area. Will was afraid that this would taint the willingness of other doctors to get involved.

Second, he had done a check on pediatric hematologists in the area, and none came close to Dr. Forrester in their credentials. Did he really want to risk a second wrong opinion?

Will was convinced that the only way out for Mary Sue was to get a definitive diagnosis from the best available expert. If that meant going to the Bahamas to track down Dr. Forrester, then that would be his task. But there was one seemingly insurmountable problem—how on earth would he get there in the middle of the airline strike?

As Will sat concentrating at the table he thought he heard a sound outside. He listened intently, but everything was silent except for a few loons out on the lake, the occasional groan of the houseboat straining against its moorings, and the lapping of the waves.

A hundred feet away from Will's houseboat, Howley Jubb and Linus Eggers sat in the black Hummer. The engine was turned off, and the two were talking in hushed tones.

“Remember, don't close the door when you get out. I don't want
any noise
that he could hear,” Howley said.

“And tell me again,” Linus asked, his hand shaking as he raised a cigarette to his mouth to take a draw, “why am
I
sticking my neck out on this deal?”

“Just keep thinking about your momma sitting in that stinking, rat-infested, flies-on-the-food nursing home you've got her in right now,” Howley continued. “When you go into the sweet hereafter, don't you want to know that she's been transferred to a nice, clean nursing home that will take care of her—don't you want to know that you've been a good son?”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Linus said, beginning to choke up and covering his mouth.

“Hey, keep it quiet, Linus. How do you know? Because I've already showed you the contract and one of the Purdy retirement homes. It's all set and ready to go. When I verify that this deal is wrapped up, your mother gets transferred.”

“And how about me? You're my brother-in-law—are you going to make sure that I get taken care of when things start going bad?”

“When things
start
going bad? Linus, have you taken a look in the mirror? You're not listening to what your doctors are telling you. You've had full-blown AIDS for how long now? They've been telling you to get your act together, wrap up the loose ends of your life. You gotta wake up, Linus. I'm one of the few people who's going to make sure you get the care you need when you start really falling apart.”

Linus took one final drag on his cigarette and then crushed it out in the ashtray.

“Okay then—I guess that's it. I guess I'm ready. Let's do this thing.”

“Just remember—the first thing we do is find out where Mary Sue Fellows is, and then we find out what she told Chambers. After that we take care of the rest. You got it?”

Linus nodded his head. Howley passed a black ski mask over to him and pulled out his own. He then gave the other man a .38 revolver. Linus stuffed it into his belt buckle and covered it with his shirt. The two slipped quietly out of the truck and padded down the path to the dock, ski masks in hand.

Howley bent over and whispered, “You make a noise at the back of the houseboat. Meanwhile I'll come around to the front door and bust my way through. Then you get in as fast as you can run.”

As they reached the beginning of the dock, Howley heard something and froze in his tracks. He grabbed his partner by the arm so hard that he almost cried out.

Linus had already put his mask on halfway but was able to see. Howley put his finger to his lips and started to turn slowly
toward the noise. By now both of them could hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the gravel driveway.

When they had fully turned around, they were confronted by a looming human figure, standing only a few feet away in the shadows.

It seemed enormous. In its right hand appeared to be some kind of an ax. In its left hand, it looked as if it was carrying a bucket.

The figure spoke in the deep voice of a man.

“What business do you have here?”

Linus remained silent, and Howley was about to speak but changed his mind. After another few seconds of silence, the man in the shadows spoke again.

“I feel in my spirit that you are up to no good. I think you have come to do harm to a prophet of truth. You are not the first one to try that. Listen to the words of the Lord:

So he sent and had John beheaded in prison. And his head was brought on a platter and given to the girl, and she brought it to her mother. Then his disciples came and took away the body and buried it, and went and told Jesus.

Howley began reaching toward his pocket for his revolver but then thought better of it. He motioned to Linus that the two of them should leave.

“No harm done, my friend,” Howley said. “We were looking for a surprise party, but I guess we came to the wrong place.”

The two men walked around the figure in the shadows, giving him a wide berth.

As they reached the Hummer, Linus began whispering excitedly.

“Did you see that guy with the ax? Man, he must be some kind of nut case. Walking around with an ax, talking about chopping some guy's head off named John. Hey, come to think of it—didn't your mom used to call you John?”

Howley stopped for a second and threw an angry glance at his partner.

“That's my middle name. That's what she used to call me. Now shut up and get in the truck.”

When the black Hummer had left the premises, Andrew White Arrow stepped out of the shadows and started walking toward Will's houseboat. In his right hand was a long-handled ceremonial tomahawk, and in his left he was carrying the small refrigeration unit.

By that point Will had heard the voices and had walked out of the houseboat with an inquisitive look on his face.

Andrew strode over to him and explained who he was.

“Do you mind if I give you a big, brotherly hug?” Andrew asked, embracing the attorney.

As the two of them entered the houseboat, Andrew explained that the tomahawk was a gift from Tommy. Then he showed Will the portable refrigeration unit with the blood sample.

“You need to keep this thing shut. You can plug it in here and recharge it. If you charge it overnight, it will be good for another twenty-four hours at least,” Andrew explained.

As the two settled down to talk, Will asked him about the visitors he had encountered.

“There were two of them. Very strange,” Andrew added. “I felt in my spirit they had some real evil in mind.”

“Do you have any idea who they were?”

“Not at all. Two men. They apparently drove up in a big black Hummer. There was a silver skull-and-crossbones on the bumper. One of the guys was actually wearing a ski mask.”

“How did you get rid of them?” Will asked.

“That's also sort of funny. On the way here from South Dakota, I was listening to my Bible CDs. I was up to Matthew 14 when I pulled up here—you know, the part with John the Baptist in prison. The beheading.”

“And?”

“Well, I just told them I thought they were up to no good. Then I felt led to recite a couple verses from Matthew fourteen. That must have done the trick because they left rather quickly.”

Andrew gave Will a big smile, and the two had a cautious chuckle together over the incident. But there was little question in Will's mind who was behind the two ominous visitors.

He invited Andrew to spend the night before he left for New Mexico. Andrew gladly agreed, saying he would sleep in the living room.

“That way I can be close to the front door, just in case there is any more trouble.”

Double-checking the lock on the front door and the windows, Will crawled into bed. He tossed and turned for several hours, but finally, somewhere around two or three in the morning, he fell into a deep sleep.

But right at 6
A.M
., Will sat up in bed with a start, his eyes wide open. The words of a sign had just flashed in front of him while he was sleeping.

He jumped out of bed, grabbing his head after propelling himself a little too quickly for his injuries.

“It's an idea. It's a chance. I've got to check it out,” he muttered to himself loudly.

Throwing on his clothes, Will grabbed his shaving kit and put a few things in. Then he snatched the part of the case file that contained his trial-preparation materials, including the medical records Andrew had brought down from South Dakota, and threw it into his briefcase.

His visitor was up by now, and was standing in the middle of the living room with a quizzical look on his face.

“I take it you are going somewhere, my friend. Am I right?” Andrew asked.

“Andrew, I'm sorry to run. But I had a thought. Actually some kind of a dream—or maybe I was awake, I don't know. Anyway, I've got to chase down this possibility. If it doesn't work out, I'll be right back, and you and I can have breakfast together. Otherwise, there's food in the refrigerator. I'm sorry I may not be able to have a chance to chat with you about Mary Sue and everything.”

As Will reached out to shake hands before leaving, Andrew put both of his big hands on Will's shoulders.

“I pray a blessing on you, Will Chambers,” he said with a smile.

Will quickly loaded his belongings into his Corvette. Then, running back to the houseboat, he collected the most important item of all—the little metal refrigeration unit with the vial of Joshua's blood.

“Just close the door behind you when you leave,” he shouted back to Andrew. “It'll lock on its own. Remember, the authorities are still looking for
you,
as well as Mary Sue. Keep that in mind.”

Will gunned his engine and sped off down the road that led from the lake to the county highway.

47

A
FTER DRIVING FOR A FEW MINUTES
on the county highway, Will spotted what he was looking for. He turned off onto a side road marked by a red windsock that was billowing in the breeze. Right next to the windsock was the sign he'd remembered in his sleep.

He sped down the narrow road, kicking up gravel, until a large red arrow pointed to a turnoff on the left.

Driving into an open field, he saw several outbuildings and a large, wooden barn that had been converted into an airplane hangar. The barn had a large American flag painted on its side. Along a makeshift landing strip were two rows of bleachers—enough seating for maybe a hundred onlookers. On the landing strip there was a vintage biplane that was painted in red, white, and blue.