“I can’t claim victory there, Reverend. If you saw the second piece you’ll know he’s in jail facing real time. Some of those cats they’ve got him tied to have several offenses. From what I understand, a lot of drugs, guns, and money were confiscated from them collectively. He’ll be in there as long as they will because he never got a trial or took a plea bargain for a misdemeanor rather than a felony when he had a chance.”
“Do you believe in Roy’s ability to change lives?” Reverend Kennedy questioned.
“You never know with Roy. He’s got real issues that need to be addressed. I just don’t know if it will happen in jail.” Willie gave up on gesturing half-way through his statement and let his hands drop to the desktop.
“I thought he was half-crazy, but do you believe in him?” Pastor Kennedy persisted, leaning forward on the hook of his cane.
“Yes.” Willie wiped his face with the flat of his hand. “It’s funny; he was able to call here, and he told me he was starting a Bible study inside and asked if I could get them some Bibles.”
“Will you? Wait a minute, sure you will, ’cause you, my friend, are a true servant and have a heart for God’s people.”
It took a moment for Willie to digest what was being said and accepted the compliment. “Spoken from the consummate missionary, I guess it takes one to know one. A wise man once said it goes back to your personal definition of ministry.”
The flashing light on the phone once again signaled that the main line was ringing up the hall. Willie put a finger up to Reverend Kennedy to halt their conversation while he stepped to the door of his office. He called out to whichever assistant was on duty at the time. He knew both Keisha and Luella could be in the study clearing out anything Vanessa might need to begin her project. He got a reply from his sister-in-law who reported she was still learning their telephone’s operating system. She called out like a mother calling a kid in for dinner from a third floor window that if or when the attorney who called earlier should call back, she would give him Willie’s cell phone number instead of trying to transfer him again.
Willie came back into the office amused and a little embarrassed. He hoped Keisha was a quick study, because they couldn’t continue hollering down the hall every time he got a call.
“Speaking of Roy, my lovely assistant just informed me an attorney would be calling me. I hope you don’t mind me taking the call when it comes through.”
“No, not at all. I don’t need a babysitter, I am here to observe. You can even put me to work.”
“Well in that case . . .” Willie said, putting his chair in reverse to retrieve a file.
They talked extensively about foreign missions. They were able to exchange ideas that led to a few connections for the Young Missionaries program he wanted to spearhead at Pleasant Harvest. The conversation soon turned to issues facing their local community like the war on drugs and the church’s answer to such societal ills.
“The church needs to do more. Set up community and drug treatment centers, set up businesses, and food co-ops. I have to be honest, I’d love to spend a couple days a week out in the field, canvassing the needs of the people, but my members got me tied to my desk.”
“I thought you like being a cave dweller.” The reverend’s sense of humor was sarcastic, but endearing nonetheless.
“The cave serves its purpose, but the question is are we?”
“Brilliant. Are you normally this poetic?”
“Will the people perish if I’m not here sometimes? I think not, but you can’t tell Vanessa that.” Willie ascended his soapbox. “Don’t get me wrong, I adore my wife, but it’s all about authority, order, and efficiency with her. I think you should get to the point where the church runs itself, the members grow up and help out so you can be about the business of helping other people.”
Keisha circumvented his next thought by barging in the door with his cell phone extended in her left hand. “You apparently left your phone up front when you helped Luella with that box earlier. Here, I can’t be walking this hallway back and forth. It’s that attorney again.”
Willie snatched the phone from her and turned his back, not to be rude, but because he didn’t know how long she had the man waiting. To Willie’s surprise, the young sounding lawyer didn’t represent Roy at all, but rather was appointed to defend Charley Thompson. He explained that Charley had a highly irregular case, and despite his despondency, he managed to speak one name—his.
Willie explained to Reverend Kennedy and Keisha, when he got off the phone, that it was a shot in the dark, but his new attorney put credence in his only utterance and really thought that Willie could get Charley to open up. He had not seen Charley since arbitration and tried not to let that be the reason he refused to help. First it was Alexis and her news reports and now this. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to get further involved.
“What would you typically do?” Reverend Kennedy asked to help solve his dilemma.
“I would,” Willie paused to think, “probably anger my wife by dropping everything I’m doing here to see how I’m needed there.”
He looked to his sister-in-law for her opinion and she just shooed him on. Reverend Kennedy agreed to help Keisha familiarize herself with the phone system, and she agreed to play hostess and take him to lunch in the hopes that Willie would be able to join them later.
Once again, Willie donned his superhero costume to try and save the day. Willie was a mix of emotions by the time he reached the correctional facility. He had clearance through Charley’s third string defense attorney, Curtis Gibson. The newspaper article said at least two others had dropped the case because Charley refused to talk. Willie wondered if this one was hungry for justice or desperate for a case. The young man and his assistant thanked him for coming as they waited for Charley to be brought in the small conference room from holding.
Charley looked like any other inmate who had been stripped of his identity and made to wear the brand of the state. He made brief eye contact with Willie, but mainly kept his head down. He was un-cuffed and sat at the table with them without prompting.
“All right, Mr. Thompson, as you know your trial is set to begin next Monday. We haven’t covered much ground, but I ask you now, like I’ve done each time in the past, what is your pleasure regarding your plea you want me to submit on your behalf?”
Willie had his own suspense music playing in his head, because other than that, it was silent. He wondered if Charley had heard the question, because even his face didn’t register anything.
“Where is his wife?” Willie whispered as if he didn’t know if he could speak directly to Charley or think he could be heard in this deafening silence.
Mr. Gibson put a finger up to halt his inquiries. “A motion of discovery was filed to have access to the evidence the state plans to use against Mr. Thompson. Sarah Rowe will be working on my team. I just got this today.” He threw a file toward Ms. Rowe who he deemed his forensics evidence expert. Ms. Rowe, a plain-Jane woman with long stringy hair in an extra plain grey suit shuffled through the mostly printed file.
“What do we have?” Gibson asked, apparently inept from interpreting the evidence himself.
“Not your best detective work, I can tell you. By in large it looked like they were grabbing at straws and came up with coffee stirrers. We have inconclusive phone records from a new pay-as-you go phone used to report the fire; don’t have to worry about that. A metal lock box; I’m not sure what that is all about,” the aide said dismissively. “We got melted remnants from what they are calling a Molotov cocktail, red bottle top with an indistinguishable serial number they claim is the source of the incendiary ingredient. Sneaky dirt bags listed the active ingredients instead of the name to hide the identity of the mystery substance from us. Di-methyl-ketone, I believe it’s another name for acetone. I’ll look it up.” The aide showed the picture of the partially-dissolved small cap resting in a clear plastic bag.
“So I take it it’s not soda,” Gibson in
ferred.
“Something household related, oh yikes!” She wiped her face, leaving them all in suspense. “Someone played a dangerous game trying to rig their own timing device with a soaked carpet, a cracked window and candles sticking out of the drink like a straw.”
“Nothing like a good cocktail,” Mr. Gibson said snidely.
“Apparently they were strategically placed between couch cushions and by the drapes. This puppy was lit hours before it ignited. Church had to be going on at the time.”
That little tidbit made Willie’s blood run cold. They all glanced at Charley, which wasn’t a good sign to Willie.
“If I were working for the prosecution, I’d push for increased charges just for the disregard of human life. A whole congregation could have succumbed,” Sarah Rowe said.
“This would be a good time to help us out, Mr. Thompson,” Mr. Gibson said with a hint of disgust.
This was like a bad episode of Perry Mason, Law and Order and CSI all wrapped up together, Willie thought. He felt as if he would be sick to his stomach.
“Alibi, alibi,” Curtis chanted. “Anything else, anything that will stick?”
“An identical cap was found crushed outside the back entrance of the church. Bad thing is, so were faded tire tracks that matched Mr. Thompson’s car with depressed treads that they will try to say smashed the said cap. That and the metal lock box are supposed to mark him at the scene of the crime. But so was the entire congregation. Just two witnesses, of course the top of the witness list is the fire marshal,” She threw the stack aside as if her part was done.
“Let’s start on his cross examination when we get back to the office,” Attorney Gibson said, packing up the Discovery file as if he were preparing to leave. “This is going to be sticky.”
“Why do you say that?” Willie spoke up. “He’s only going to present what you’ve seen today, right?”
“Because, Mr. Green, an average person can only offer in court what he saw or heard, but a marshal is seen as an expert in the field of fire investigations. That means he can offer his opinion as well. It’s hard to anticipate that.”
Willie knew full well the opinion of Chief Rich, which was to wrap up the case sooner rather than later. So what was he there for?
“It’s our job to make the fire marshal look incompetent.” This time it was no mistaking their intentions to leave. Ms. Rowe rose, smoothed her skirt, and grabbed her handbag.
“Is that it? When do you talk to him?” Willie went off. He pushed back in his rolling chair and stood to his feet as if he were going to charge the two of them.
“That’s what we’ve been doing for the last half an hour. We only get forty-five minutes. That is a short time to get a plea. We’ve shared with him the newest development in his case. He, on the other hand, hasn’t seen fit to share anything with us. We only have five days until this trial. We have major work to do.”
“Where do I come in?” Willie asked.
Mr. Gibson sighed heavily, “I thought seeing you would make a difference, but . . .” The impatient attorney said, swinging his arm in Charley’s direction after slinging his messenger bag on his shoulder.
Willie pushed past the young attorney as he headed toward the door and did what he came to do. He took the seat nearest Charley and rolled it close to his former deacon. Only then did Willie become aware of the guard outside the door. The sudden movement alerted the burly man to stick his head inside and give them a countdown of ten minutes.
“Charley, help me understand this now. You can’t hide from the truth. Why . . . I mean, what happened on Easter? What do you know?” Willie stared desperately into Charley’s cold eyes for acknowledgement, then at his lips that did not move. He looked at Mr. Gibson and Ms. Rowe, who were not in as much of a hurry as they originally proclaimed.
“We tested the theory that maybe Mr. Thompson was unfit to stand trial because of his short term memory loss,” Mr. Gibson said.
“Memory loss?” The prosecution wasn’t the only one holding on to coffee stirrers, Willie thought.
“According to his wife, he has short term memory loss,” Mr. Gibson said, in a questioning tone that could be interpreted as, ‘you didn’t know.’ “We asked him to name his church and he wrote down Harvest Baptist. Then we asked him who his pastor was. He said you. He spoke your name, then nothing.”
“Isn’t his wife the second witness for the prosecution?” Ms. Rowe asked.
“Yeah,” Mr. Gibson confirmed.
“His wife?” Willie said, craning his upper body to address the pair of lawyers responsible for Charley’s fate. “Can they make her testify against her own husband?”
“No one is making her. She waived marital privilege, which could have protected her against having to tell on or testify against Mr. Thompson,” Ms. Rowe said.
“What?” Willie asked the duo. Then he turned back to Charley. He demanded to know the truth, not just for himself, but for all his former members Charley persuaded against the move to Mt. Pleasant whose lives could have easily been taken out in an intentionally set blaze. “Did you do it? And if it wasn’t you, then why did you flee? Tell these people, Charley ’cause right now the prosecution might have enough to put you behind bars for a long time. You hear me? My goodness, Charley, you of all people know what’s done in the dark will come to light. God is a forgiving God. He’ll forgive you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Green,” Mr. Gibson said, apologizing like Willie was his client about to face jail time for arson charges. When the guard came to escort Charley back to his cell he continued, “Obviously you haven’t been told the full story.”
“Obviously I haven’t. I could have saved myself the trip and told you over the phone I wasn’t a miracle worker or the Messiah. Apparently that is who Mr. Thompson would prefer to confide in on the day of judgment,” Willie said, looking down one last time before turning his back on Charley.
“I didn’t do it.” Charley whispered the words that would make all the difference, “I’m just cursed.”
Chapter 27
The Fate of the Fire
Willie’s head could not hold all the thoughts swarming through it. He mindlessly drove at a feverish pace to get away from the correctional facility where both Charley and the truth were being held. Mr. Gibson had explained that on top of possible arson charges, Charley would have to face additional charges for abducting his wife and forcibly keeping her against her will. Poor Elaine, Willie thought. She looked so peaceful and in good spirits the last time he saw her. She didn’t know her life was about to change so drastically.
Willie called Keisha to tell her that he wouldn’t be joining her and Reverend Kennedy. He explained a little of what went on to Reverend Kennedy while he drove. Reverend Kennedy understood that lunch was the last thing on Willie’s mind, and that there was only one place he could go to bury the rest of the burdens that were plaguing it.
Willie pulled up in front of his former church home. The brick façade was in place, but the top looked deflated from the street like a spoiled soufflé. The beams that formed a steeple had collapsed. Willie was thankful the place seemed deserted now, although huge dumpsters out front and Gatorade dispensers on the top of the landing let him know a crew had been working to gut the place out. He walked toward the back, running his hand along the side as he thought about the times he would catch Roy sleeping out by the footpath and other times when he and Charley did light maintenance outside the church on Wednesdays. The thoughts pierced his heart.
The wall gave way to a full tarp at the back where most of the damage was evident. He pulled back the draping to step inside. He could see the sanctuary. Each pew was turned upside down and he wondered what dump or salvage yard would be getting these remnants. He clamored over piles of wood and debris to get closer to the altar, but it was completely blocked, so he knelt where he was and began to pray.
“Lord, what am I supposed to get from this?” Willie asked aloud, looking up past the charred roof. “I have to q
uestion did I really know the people I ministered to. Did I do my job? I can’t save them, Lord. I couldn’t save Roy, I can’t save Charley. I’m leaving it all here this time. I got Vanessa and the baby. That’s all.”
Willie thought he heard something. The enthusiastic giggles and whispers of a couple coming from the front of the church were coming his way.
“Somebody’s in here,” a man said.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll be out of your way,” Willie said, wiping his eyes and preparing to leave.
The man approached without the woman, who lingered at the door as if he were a true intruder. Willie shielded his eyes as he stood to see just who it was.
“Pastor Green?”
“Just a minute, please.” Willie dusted off his pants at the knee.
At the mention of his name, the woman drew nearer. She stood slightly off the shoulder of his successor and present pastor of Harvest church.
“No, you’re fine.” Abe studied him. “We’re due to meet with the contractor and just trying to imagine how the place will look in twelve to eighteen months.”
“Well, it’s your church,” A mix of anger and something else would not let Willie look up and meet Abe’s glance.
“Hello, Willie,” the woman said, stepping out of the shadow.
Willie scrunched his eyes although there was no direct sunlight. “Blanche?” He looked back and forth between the two of them as if to size up the situation.
“Blanche is our, uhm, she’s my—” Abe stammered.
“We’re in love,” Blanche blurted out, clinging to Abe possessively.
Willie didn’t know if that was supposed to be for his benefit, but it seemed to catch Abe by complete surprise. Willie put up both hands to signal that he had no comment for her declaration. He came there on a whim of emotions and maybe it was a mistake. He thought it best to finally move on.
“What do you think?” Abe asked.
“About what?” Willie asked incredulously. He gathered his wits about him for a second and decided not to be rude. “I’m happy for you; now if you’ll excuse me.”
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