“Without the originals, I’m not sure I can help you.”
“Why not?”
“Technology. It’s not hard to electronically collect a signature and imprint it on a check so that it looks genuine. A copy of the original check masks the transfer process. If the signature appears legit on the copy and that’s all I have to work with, I’ll have to testify it’s a match. I can offer an explanation of the process for lifting a signature and transferring it onto the checks, but you’ll have to decide if that type of information helps you or hurts you.”
Mike stared at the checks. His theory about Jesse Lavare as the instigator of the charges against Sam was evaporating. “What would the originals show?” he asked.
“I could examine the signatures under a microscope and identify the transfer process, if any.”
“And if I can’t get the originals?”
“I could still microscopically examine the signatures. If they are identical at the microscopic level, it would give you an argument that the checks are forged, because no one can exactly duplicate a signature. They would be too perfect. I’ve testified that way in other cases.”
“Successfully or unsuccessfully?”
“Both. Juries don’t always trust expert witnesses, even former FBI agents.”
“You’re not trying very hard to market your services.”
“I do what I do because I enjoy it. The government sends me three checks every month whether I go outside the door or not.”
“Will you examine my copies while I try to locate the originals?”
“Yes. Did the lawyer who referred you have a copy of my fee schedule?”
“No.”
“And I can give you the open dates on my calendar.”
Mike made notes on a sheet of paper. York was expensive but available.
“Agreed,” he said when York finished. “I’ll overnight everything to you today.”
Mike hung up and wrote down the amount of money he’d need from Sam Miller. With his own job in jeopardy, Mike couldn’t finance the case. That check would need Sam’s original signature. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in!”
Delores stuck her head inside. “Bobby Lambert called twice while you were on the phone, and you received a fax from your old law firm.”
“Did Bobby leave a message?”
“No, I asked if it was an emergency, and he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Let me see the fax.”
Delores handed him several sheets of paper. The cover sheet was from Maxwell Forrest’s office. Delores remained standing in front of his desk.
“Anything else?” Mike asked.
“I’m not sure what to say,” the secretary said. “I had no idea.”
The knowledge absent from her eyes when Mike arrived at the church was now present.
“Libby called you?”
“I got so mad at her that I almost hung up the phone. You’ve been out of the office a lot, but you do more in half a day than the last two pastors did in half a week. I know what’s going on at the church better than any member of the session!”
“Did she tell you about the sabbatical?”
“Yes, and nobody is going to buy that story.” Delores’s eyes flashed. “I’m going to war on this. In two hours, I can get a phone campaign started that will make the elders wish they’d—”
Mike held up his hand. “Don’t. Please. Not yet. Maybe never.”
“You can’t leave us,” Delores shot back. “This church has a chance to be something more than a place where people are married and buried.”
Mike couldn’t hide his shock at her perspective.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she continued. “I’ve seen the good you’re doing.”
She quickly listed five individuals and three families significantly helped by Mike’s ministry.
“There’s no way to avoid a big church split if you leave now. The feuding and fussing will be ten times worse than the fight over whether or not to build the new sanctuary.”
“Which is why I’m asking you to take it easy. What happens now is more important than my—”
“Don’t even start with that stuff,” Delores interrupted with a snort.
“Giving up and leaving would be the worst thing that you could do for this church. There are plenty of weak preachers who would run at the first sign of trouble, but you’ve got the backbone to fight. Milton Chesterfield and his family have tried to run this place forever. I thought those days were over, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Did Libby tell you they’ve already contacted an interim pastor who would serve if I’m kicked out on sabbatical?”
“No. Who is it?”
“I’m not sure. Someone from Shelby.”
“I’ll call Libby and find out more information. I was too mad to listen before.” “Leave her alone. I don’t want either one of us to react in a wrong way.”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
“Yes, you can. Do you remember Sam Miller and me talking about the church being on fire?”
“Yes. I don’t think he should be hanging around here. The man is dangerous and is a threat to—”
“Don’t take his words literally. The fire he saw in a dream represented conflict. I didn’t see it coming, but now that it’s here, I don’t want either one of us to pour gas on it. That’s not the way this is going to be worked out.”
“What do you mean? I’ve never believed you were a quitter.”
“I’m not. Peg and I will pray until we get direction.”
Delores sniffed and shook her head. “Prayer is fine, but I’m going outside to smoke a cigarette.”
Delores left the office. Mike stood at the window and watched her walk resolutely to the edge of the old cemetery. In a few seconds, she blew out a billow of smoke that showed the vigor she brought to her habit.
Mike returned to his desk and picked up the fax from Mr. Forrest. The cover sheet stated that the attached records constituted the complete Bank of Barlow County investigation into the misappropriation of funds from the Craig Valley Gospel Tabernacle construction account. The papers contained no new information, and Mike knew without a doubt the records were incomplete—the memo from Brian Dressler to Jack Hatcher wasn’t included.
He glanced at the two slips indicating the times of Bobby’s calls. Still mad at Bobby, Mike dialed the number for Braxton Hodges.
“Any word from Dressler?” he asked.
“No. He’s still in Alabama with his family.”
“Do you know when he’ll get back?”
“No. What have you found out?”
Mike read from the sheets forwarded by Maxwell Forrest.
“At least he responded to you,” Hodges said. “He’s never returned my calls. I’ve had my finger on the Record button so long that it’s starting to cramp.”
“Ken West has his finger on the trigger of the Miller case. It’ll appear on the next term of criminal court.”
“Whew, you just got involved. Can they do that?”
“Probably. It would be hard for me to argue that my caseload is so heavy I can’t be ready for trial. Dressler needs to be questioned and available to testify if needed.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as he shows up. Any other leads?”
Mike debated whether to mention the encounter with Hatcher, Forrest, and the developers at Cohulla Creek.
“That’s a newspaper term,” Mike answered, dodging the question. “What have you found out?”
“Not much, unless you consider it important that one of the men mentioned in Dressler’s file has a criminal record.”
Mike sat up straighter in his seat. “Which one?”
“A guy named Troy Linden from New Jersey. He entered a no contest plea in state court in New Jersey about ten years ago. Got a slap on the wrist and paid a fine of a few thousand dollars.”
“What was the charge?” Mike asked, making notes on a legal pad.
�
�Improper lobbying.”
“Bribing a public official?”
“That’s what I would guess.”
“How did you find this?”
“We’re a tiny paper, but we’re part of one of the best proprietary databases in the country. It’s a great equalizer. When it comes to background information, I can find out as much as a reporter in New York or Los Angeles. Give me a name, and I can give you a history. I punched in everyone mentioned in the files. The info on Troy Linden was a one-paragraph blurb in a local rag that included a quote from his lawyer that his client didn’t admit any wrongdoing.”
“What did Linden do?”
“No details given.”
“Anything interesting on anyone else?”
“No.”
“Are you going to follow up on Linden?”
“As soon as I finish an article about the good health benefits of herbs and spices. Did you know a teaspoon of cinnamon a day is great for your heart?”
“I should be chewing a stick right now.”
“Me, too. It’s a lot better than the cigarettes I used to smoke. Amid all the crazy claims out there, at least no one still believes inhaling the burning residue produced by the leaves of a dried tobacco plant is good for you.”
“My secretary at the church might disagree with you.”
Mike hung up the phone and called his old law office. Waiting on hold, Mike’s anger at his former partner’s betrayal began to grow. Until the past twenty-four hours, their friendship had transcended every competing influence. When Bobby answered the phone, Mike spit out his opening comment.
“How did it feel stabbing me in the back last night? It hurt on my end.”
Bobby didn’t immediately answer.
“Did you hear me?” Mike repeated.
“Yes, but I’m not going to talk to you now.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Meet me in the deed room at the courthouse at one-thirty.”
“Why do you want to do that?” Mike asked, then listened to the silence of a dead phone.
Mike glared at the receiver for a few seconds before slamming it down. He checked his calendar. He had an appointment at 1:30 p.m. and couldn’t go to town in the early afternoon. He didn’t call Bobby back to let him know.
A few minutes later, Delores knocked on the doorjamb. Mike glanced up.
“Did you call Bobby Lambert?” she asked. “Libby claimed he was the one who came up with the idea for the sabbatical.”
“We talked briefly. He wants to meet me in town after lunch, but I have an appointment.”
“Not anymore. It’s rescheduled for tomorrow morning at ten.”
Mike grunted. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still not ready to talk to Bobby. I couldn’t keep from getting angry in a one-minute phone conversation.”
“Maybe that’s what he needs to hear from you. It might make him think.”
Mike shook his head. “He’s never listened to me, and I doubt he’s going to start now.”
MIKE WENT HOME TO CHECK ON PEG. THE CHURCH HAD ALWAYS been a place of peace for Mike. Now, his home felt more like a refuge. Peg was lying on the couch in the great room. Mike kissed her on the forehead.
“Can’t you do better than that?” Peg responded. “I’m not sick.”
Mike kissed her on the lips.
“Thanks,” Peg replied. “I didn’t have much to look forward to all morning.”
Mike sat on the couch beside her feet. “You’re one person I can please and be glad doing it,” he said. “Did Muriel come by to see you?”
“Yes, she brought supper. It’s in the refrigerator. All I have to do is put it in the oven about five o’clock.”
“Chitlins?”
“No, but you guessed the right animal. It’s a pork loin basted in a special sauce she came up with. There are also lima beans, creamed corn, homemade biscuits, and a pecan pie for dessert.”
“I hope Sam won’t go hungry.”
“And Muriel already knew about the DA’s offer to Sam. She brought it up and asked me what I thought about it.”
“What did you say?”
“That I don’t know the ins and outs of criminal law and never liked criminal cases because you became so focused on your clients that you forgot about me.”
“But you think Sam’s case is different?”
“You’re still one hundred percent focused on it. However, I think he deserves the attention. Did anything happen at the church?”
Mike told her about Delores’s strong negative reaction to the session’s actions and willingness to heed his advice.
“Can you trust her?” Peg asked when he finished.
“She seemed with me one hundred percent.”
“You’ve tiptoed around her feelings for three years. Why would she suddenly have a less-self-centered attitude?”
Mike thought for a moment. “She considers herself the mother hen of the church. By delivering an ultimatum to me, the elders invaded her turf without asking her permission. And you know that she and Milton have been in competition for years.”
“Just be careful. You can be too quick to trust someone who claims to be doing the right thing when in fact they have a secondary agenda.”
“What would be Delores’s agenda? She was ready to go on the warpath for me and burn her bridges.”
“I’m not sure. I’ve always thought she was the type of person who could be friendly one day and turn into an enemy the next.”
“I already have one of those.”
He told her about the call from Bobby Lambert. Peg sat up and listened, her eyes wide.
“Eat a snack for lunch and meet Bobby at the courthouse,” she said when he finished.
“What? And punch him in the nose?”
“He called you twice and tried to set up a meeting. Didn’t he try to pull you aside after the session meeting last night?”
“Yes.”
“He’s reaching out to you for a reason.”
“If he wants me to grant absolution and relieve his guilt, he’s looking to the wrong person.”
“Why? You’re the one he wronged.”
Mike stared at Peg. “Are you serious?”
Peg picked up her Bible from the low table beside the couch.
“Muriel and I talked about what we’re going through. She suggested I read a verse in Colossians.”
Mike’s jaw dropped open. Peg, turning the pages, didn’t notice.
“Here it is. ‘Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.’ Muriel and Sam have been attacked in a bunch of different churches, and she said the only way to survive is to forgive. I’ve been thinking about the last sentence of that verse ever since she left.”
Mike shook his head. “I hate it when a layperson like you gets spiritual.”
Peg grinned. “Don’t give me too much credit. I’m not ready to invite the Chesterfields and Harcourts over for supper, but give Bobby a chance. He’s been your friend almost as long as we’ve been married.”
“You have too much time to lie around and think,” Mike answered.
Peg handed her Bible to him. “It’s your decision. You know a lot more about the Bible than I do. And Muriel may have been wrong or taken the verse out of context.”
Mike went into the kitchen and fixed a large sandwich for himself and a smaller one for Peg. He left the Bible on the counter unopened. He didn’t have to read it. He knew what it said. He put the food on two plastic plates, cut up some fresh fruit, and returned to the great room where he arranged everything on a pair of TV trays.
“I’m going into town for a few minutes after lunch,” he said as he speared a piece of cantaloupe with his fork. “It’s been a while since I went by the deed room at the courthouse to make sure no one has tried to sell the house out from under us.”
“Wouldn’t selling it without our permission be hard to do?” Peg asked with a smile.
“Impossib
le. Just like forgiving people who’ve wronged me in the same way Jesus forgave me.”
Twenty-two
AT 1:45 P.M., MIKE WALKED UP THE SIDEWALK AND INTO THE courthouse. If Bobby Lambert wanted to show remorse, there was no harm in letting him stew in his guilt a few extra minutes. The deed room was in the windowless basement of the building. Mike had searched a few real estate titles in his career but pitied the lawyers and paralegals who spent the majority of their time, mole-like, on the lowest level of the courthouse.
Bound in large, leather-covered folios, some of the older deeds were beautifully handwritten documents dating back to the 1830s. More recent records were kept in computer files that could be accessed in seconds. Mike walked down a flight of stairs to an opaque glass door marked “Register of Deeds” and opened it. A few men and women glanced up in curiosity when he entered. Mike nodded to an elderly lawyer named Rex Bumgardner, who had spent his entire career in the deed room and achieved status as a living oracle of the history of land ownership in Barlow County. Written recitals of real estate transfers would survive his death, but his stories describing how and why the land changed hands would be buried in the ground with him.
There was no sign of Bobby. Perhaps he’d not bothered to wait when Mike didn’t show up on time. Mike approached Mr. Bumgardner.
“How are you, Mr. Bumgardner?” he asked in the soft voice that deed room etiquette required.
“Fine, except for my arthritis. Don’t get old, Mike. It’s no fun.”
“I don’t plan on it. Has Bobby Lambert been down here today?”
Mr. Bumgardner glanced over his shoulder. “He was here a few minutes ago.”
Mike walked past the shelves of deed books and looked down the aisles. He didn’t spot Bobby until he reached the far corner of the room. His former partner was standing with his back to him and held a leather deed book in his hand. He turned as Mike approached and closed the deed book.
“What do you want?” Mike asked.
“Did you ever read the old handwritten deeds?”
“Not unless I had to. What is this all—”
“Take a look in here,” Bobby said, handing the book to Mike. “There is something in it you might find helpful. Read it, then forget you saw me here.” Bobby stepped past Mike, who grabbed him by the arm.
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