Completely clueless, Ray said, “I’m sorry. I know you’re upset.”
Joan zipped open her backpack and took out a gray laptop computer. Flipping it open, she turned it on. While they waited for it to boot up, she said, “I know you’ll want copies. Maybe Dr. Plant has an extra floppy disk in her office.”
“We’ll check in a minute,” Ray said. “Let me read the letters first.”
“There may be more, but Angela only wrote two on my computer. We were talking about the situation at the library, and she was so mad. She asked if she could use my machine to write her dad’s younger brother. Of course, I said yes.”
The main menu screen popped into view. Joan went into the word processing program and in a moment pushed the machine across the table to Ray. “Here’s the letter she wrote to her uncle.”
1 April
SPENCER,
DO NOT CALL OR WRITE AGAIN!! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU OR TALK TO YOU. IF I HEAR ONE MORE WORD FROM YOU, I WILL TELL MY PARENTS. I MEAN IT. GET SOME HELP!
ANGELA
A very awake Ray pushed the computer back to Joan. “Okay. I guess I do need that on a disk. You said there was another letter, one to her parents?”
“Yes. I thought about erasing both of them, you know, because it was Angela’s personal business, not mine. I didn’t know what to do. Who to call or anything. Did I do the wrong thing, keeping it?”
“No, you did the right thing. Can you bring up the other letter?”
“Oh yeah.”
In a couple of seconds, Ray was reading again.
1 April
Dear Mom and Dad,
I don’t know how to tell you this except to just come out and say it. Spencer has been bothering me. Last fall at the steeplechase in Dunwoody, he followed me around all day, stood too close to me, and said some things he shouldn’t have said.
Then he started writing me letters telling me how much he cared for me and saying he wanted to come see me here at school. I called and told him to stop, and he left me alone until I was home for Christmas. Then he started back, only worse. One night, he made a pass at me in the downstairs hallway and I slapped him—hard. He got mad, and I hoped that was the end of it.
Now I have started getting more letters, and he has left three phone messages for me in the past week! This has got to stop. Can’t his psychiatrist do something for him? Do his doctors know what he’s doing?
I’m mad, frustrated, and scared. I don’t want him showing up on campus and embarrassing me in front of my friends. Dad, please take care of this. I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault, and I want it to stop.
Love,
Angela
When he finished reading, Ray asked, “Do you know if she sent these letters?”
“I know she sent the one to her uncle because I mailed it for her. I don’t know about the one to her parents.”
“Do you know if Spencer ever threatened her physically? Did she have a reason to be scared?”
“I don’t know. Angela never told me exactly what happened over Christmas break. It was just kind of creepy.”
“After this letter was sent to Spencer, did he call or send her any more letters?”
“Yeah, I think she did get a couple more. I know she threw one away without opening it. We got out of school the third week of May, so it wasn’t that long until summer vacation.”
“Did he ever show up on campus?”
“No. I would have known if he had done that.”
“Did Angela tell any of the other girls about this?”
“I doubt it. She made me promise not to mention it. You know, like she said, it was kind of embarrassing.”
“Anything else?”
“No,” Joan sighed. “I sure am glad to get this off my chest.”
“I bet you are. Go ahead and ask Dr. Plant for a disk. I would like copies of these letters, and you should keep them on your machine, too.”
While Joan was across the hall, Ray sat back in the leather chair, looked at Dr. Morrison’s portrait, and thought about Joan’s revelation.
No. Angela never sent the letter to her parents. If she had, she might still be alive.
15
Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow.
LAMENTATIONS 1:12 (KJV)
I’ll file the motions at the courthouse myself,” Mac told Judy. “I need to get out of the office for a few minutes and stretch my legs.”
It was almost noon on Tuesday morning when Mac walked out the door for the short jaunt to the courthouse. It was getting cooler. Even at midday, the air held a hint of morning crispness. Without the haze of summer, the mountains to the east stood out so clearly that it was almost possible to pick out specific trees.
Crossing the street in front of the courthouse, he noticed a white car that looked vaguely familiar. It had a Tennessee license plate, but he couldn’t connect the owner and vehicle until he had walked several feet past it along the sidewalk. He stopped. It was Dr. Anna Wilkes’s car. He wondered if the psychologist was meeting privately with the D.A.’s office.
Mac’s face grew grim and he set his jaw. There wasn’t any prohibition against communication between Anna Wilkes and the prosecution. But Mac had viewed Dr. Wilkes as an ally, not a potential adversary. Expert witnesses always made Mac nervous. By definition they possessed specialized knowledge and with that knowledge came the power to affect the direction of a legal proceeding. Mac didn’t want anyone helping to steer State v. Thomason toward the electric chair. He filed his paperwork in the clerk’s office, but instead of returning to the office, he decided to find and confront Dr. Wilkes. He didn’t have a long search.
Coming down the steps from the upstairs courtroom, Dr. Anna Wilkes was smiling and talking with D.A. Bert Langley. She saw Mac and nodded in his direction. Mac didn’t respond but positioned himself at the bottom of the stairs and waited.
Bert spoke first. “Mac, how are you?”
“Not bad,” Mac answered. “Who’s your friend?”
“Dr. Anna Wilkes, a psychologist from Chattanooga. Dr. Wilkes, this is Mac McClain, a local lawyer.”
Anna was dressed professionally—blue skirt, matching jacket, and white blouse. She gave Mac a strange look.
“Bert!” a voice called from the top of the stairs. “The judge has something else to ask you.”
“Excuse me,” Langley said as he turned and walked back up the stairs.
When they were alone, Anna asked, “What was that about?”
“It’s fairly obvious. I’d hoped you wouldn’t be playing both sides of the case so aggressively.”
Anna looked confused for a second then laughed. “You’ve eaten a bad plate of chicken livers, Mr. McClain. I wasn’t fraternizing with your enemies. I’ve been testifying in a juvenile court case involving a young girl I’ve seen in my practice. This hearing was scheduled weeks ago, long before you asked me to evaluate Pete Thomason.”
“You didn’t talk to Bert Langley?”
“Not about Pete. He didn’t see me until I took my seat in the witness chair. And the report I faxed you wasn’t mailed until yesterday. I doubt he’s received his copy.” Anna smiled. “You should have seen your face. You looked like you were going to bite my head off. Is that the way you always glare when you’re about to cross-examine someone?”
Mac relaxed. “Sorry. I mean there’s nothing that prevents you from talking to the State. It’s just that I—”
“Want to know that I’m not going to waffle in my evaluation. I won’t.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ve been doublecrossed by expert witnesses in the past.”
“I understand.”
Mac put his hand on the stair railing. “Are you finished with your testimony for today?”
“I’m not sure. The judge wanted to take a break and told me to come back at one-thirty.”
“Could I buy your lunch? I mean, unless you were going with Bert.”
“No, Mr. Langley didn’t offer to buy my lunch,
either. I’d be glad to accept your offer as long as you promise me one thing.”
“No chicken livers?”
“That, too. Promise you won’t give me that look if you ever question me in court.”
Mac held up his hand. “I promise.”
They walked out of the courthouse together.
“Do we walk or drive?” Anna asked.
“Drive. The place I have in mind is a few miles out of town.”
They got in Anna’s car and Mac gave her directions to Josie’s Restaurant. On the way, he told her the results of Pete’s drug test.
“Hm,” she said. “I’ll give it some more thought.”
“It looks like a dead end, but I appreciate the suggestion.”
The parking lot was full, and the restaurant was bustling with its eclectic noonday crowd.
They went through the buffet line. Mac selected the usual—fried chicken, green beans, creamed corn, and okra. Anna opted for vegetables, in smaller portions than Mac. After they found a table and sat down, she said, “This is like eating at my grandmother’s house when I was a girl.”
“You must have had a lot of relatives.”
“A large family, but not this many.” Before Mac started eating, Anna bowed her head and prayed, “Father, thank you. You are a good God who takes care of his children. Bless this food. Amen.” The psychologist was professional and articulate in regular conversation, but when she prayed she became almost childlike.
“Where is home?” Mac asked, as he cut a bite of chicken.
“Southwestern Virginia. A little place in the mountains called Lebanon. It used to be coal country.”
“You don’t look like a coal miner’s daughter.”
“I’m not. Baptist minister.”
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes while Mac absorbed Anna’s comment about her background and wondered how a Baptist minister’s daughter became a clinical psychologist. He decided not to explore the topic and settled on something safer. “How is the food?” he asked.
“Good. Just like my granny’s house.”
“Did you call her Granny?”
“Yes. It fit her. She was a little woman who wore her hair in a bun and lived in a small white farmhouse with big trees in the front yard. Every summer I spent a week with her. It was only a few miles away from our home, but it was like a big vacation to me. In the afternoons we’d walk hand in hand to a nearby country store and buy something cold to drink. She’d cook my favorite foods for supper and let me stay up late at night reading in bed.”
“Keep going.”
“About what?”
“Your life story.”
Anna raised her dark eyebrows. “My life story? Do you want to cross-examine me, or should I give it in narrative form?”
“Remember, I promised no cross-examination. Pretend you are writing a psychological report on yourself. Begin with your background and bring it up to the present.”
“That’s pretty personal.”
“I’m a lawyer. Everything you tell me is confidential.”
Anna took a sip of tea. “I’ll be selective. You’ve read about my educational and professional training. I’m the eldest of five girls. My father served the same church for thirty years and is one of the greatest men I’ve ever met. I have an eleven-year-old son named Hunter. My parents still live in Virginia, and my siblings are scattered across the eastern part of the country from Connecticut to Georgia.”
“What about your grandmother?”
“She died about fifteen years ago.”
Anna nibbled on a piece of cornbread. “What about your life story?”
Mac put down his fork. “Well, I’m from Dennison Springs. Lived here all my life except for the time I was in school at the University of Georgia. How did you get to this area?”
“My husband, Jack, was a Washington and Lee graduate. After we married, he worked ten years in a management position with a utility company in Virginia. I completed my education, and we tried to start a family. Jack was not happy in his job and placed his résumé with a headhunting firm that found a position for him with TVA. I finally got pregnant, and we moved to Chattanooga to start a new life. We hoped Jack would enjoy his new job, and I wanted to do some part-time psychological testing and raise a family. I guess there was enough of my mother and granny in me to want a house full of kids, friends, and pets.”
Mac again checked for a wedding ring, but Anna’s finger was bare. “Is your husband still with TVA?”
“No, I’m a widow. Jack committed suicide several weeks before Hunter’s birth. I’m a psychologist, but I was unable to help my own husband.”
At the mention of suicide, Mac had trouble swallowing. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry.”
“That’s okay. I’ve talked about it many times during the past ten years. I guess it lets people know that even though I’m a professional counselor my own life hasn’t been trouble-free. I know what pain feels like.”
Mac’s hands became clammy.
Anna continued, “Whatever was bothering Jack became worse after the move to Chattanooga. Eight months into my pregnancy, I came home after shopping for baby things and found him unconscious on the living room sofa. At first I thought he’d had a heart attack or stroke.”
“Did he, uh, use pills?” Mac asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes, he swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. They rushed him to Erlanger Hospital, but it was too late. He slipped into a coma and died two days later. No note, no explanation, no reason.”
“Do you wish it had been quicker?”
“His death?” Anna asked, puzzled.
“Uh, yeah.”
Anna studied Mac for a second. “I never thought about it like that. It was terrible during the two days he lingered in a coma, but it was a horrible shock no matter what.”
Mac shook his head to dispel the fog that had settled on his brain. “I’m really sorry. You don’t have to go into all this.”
“It’s been a long time ago; I’ve had to go on with my life.”
Mac tried to eat, but he had completely lost his appetite. “How has Hunter handled everything?”
“He has his ups and downs. He was born three weeks after I buried my husband. There was no money from life insurance policies because of the suicide, so I invited my Aunt Jean to move to Chattanooga from Virginia to help take care of Hunter. I found a job working as a staff psychologist with a large clinic for two years. About eight years ago, I opened my own office.”
Mac looked at his watch. “You need to get back to the courthouse.”
In the car, Mac was lost in his own thoughts, staring out the window at the passing countryside.
Anna broke the silence. “I’m sorry we didn’t have a lighthearted lunch. I probably should have talked about Hunter’s soccer team.”
“No, no. That’s okay. It’s just so, uh, so—” Mac paused.
“Sad. I know. But it’s not the end of the story. There’s more; it gets better. Sometime I’d like to tell you the good parts.”
“Okay.”
They pulled into a parking space in front of the courthouse. “I did all the talking,” Anna said. “You didn’t tell me about your family.”
“No,” Mac responded. “I didn’t.”
He opened the car door and got out before she could ask another question.
“I’m going back to the office,” he said. “I have a busy afternoon.”
“Thanks for lunch. I’ll call if I have any ideas about Pete.”
Mac turned away and crossed the street. Anna watched him for a few steps. He’d certainly closed down tight when she asked about his family. Maybe it was her imagination, but it almost looked as though he was stooped over, laboring under a heavy load.
Earlier in the day, the Mable Ray Circle gathered in the prayer room at the Poplar Avenue church. This week was different from the previous one. No overwhelming sense of the awesome presence of a holy God bowed them down in silent worship and i
ntercession. Today, there was a lightness, a sweetness in the air, more like spring than fall, and they prayed openly with hopeful expectation.
One topic on the agenda was the local school system—students, teachers, administrators. Another was the spiritual vitality of various churches in the community, not just their own church or denomination but others with different signs in front of their places of worship. After an hour, they directed their focus to the Thomason murder case. They prayed for the Hightower family, Peter Thomason, the prosecutors, Mac, Judge Danielson, and the jurors who would eventually decide the case.
Celeste prayed for Mac. “Father, strengthen every thread of your love and grace for Mac. Please Lord, send people across his path to speak the truth in love.”
After the prayer meeting ended, Celeste went home and ate a salad for lunch. She was scheduled to assist as a volunteer at the juvenile court in the afternoon, and she drove up at the same time Mac and Anna arrived back from lunch at Josie’s. Mac had a grim look on his face as he left the car, and Celeste saw Anna Wilkes stare after him for several seconds. She got out and caught up with Anna, who was walking slowly up the sidewalk.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Celeste Jamison.”
Anna stopped and faced her. “Anna Wilkes. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so. I saw you with Mac McClain.”
“He recently hired me to help with a case, and we had lunch together.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“No, a psychologist from Chattanooga. How do you know each other?”
“We go to the same church, and before her death, Mac’s wife was one of my best friends.”
Anna’s face grew serious. “Oh, I asked him about his family right before we got out of the car, and he left in a hurry. It puzzled me. I didn’t know I’d hit a nerve.”
“It’s not just his wife. He also lost both of his sons at the same time. The whole family was in a horrible wreck about nine years ago. Only Mac survived.”
The Trial Page 13
