Kane waited as his final questions settled in the hearts and minds of his hearers. “We’re going to pray. But I don’t want you to bow your head and close your eyes. I want everybody’s eyes open so you can look around the room and see who’s got the guts to respond to God’s invitation. If there is anyone who wants to repent of his sins and give control of his life to Jesus Christ, stand up in full view of every other man here and ask Jesus Christ to be your Savior and Lord.”
Two men immediately stood and a third followed more slowly.
“God bless you,” Kane said. “Let’s pray together . . .”
When the preacher said, “Amen,” three of the volunteers went to those who were standing and led them to the side of the room. Several others came up with questions or to ask someone to pray for them. Leaning against the wall, Pete stayed toward the back of the group. Simple as it was, the preacher’s message had stirred his emotions. The thought of Jesus taking personal interest in him was something new. Mr. Gallegly made a beeline straight toward him.
“I’m Charles Gallegly. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“Pete Thomason.”
He extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Pete.”
Charles Gallegly’s dark brown eyes were pools of love, and when Pete looked into the older man’s face, he couldn’t restrain his own emotion. Several tears forced their way into his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
Mr. Gallegly didn’t speak but reached out and put his arm around Pete’s broad shoulders. In a few seconds, Pete slid down to the floor and put his head between his knees to hide his face from the other prisoners. Mr. Gallegly sat next to him: one man desperately trying to release pent-up frustration and hurt, another silently asking God to work in the secret place of the heart where no one but Jesus can go.
Pete lifted his head and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jumpsuit. “I’m in a big mess.”
Mr. Gallegly didn’t respond. Wisdom and experience kept him quiet.
Pete continued, “I’ve heard this message before, but I’ve never really believed it. What do you think I should do?”
Without probing for facts or details, Mr. Gallegly said, “Ask Jesus to reveal himself to you. The Bible says that Jesus will never leave you nor forsake you. Even if everyone gives up on you; even if you give up on yourself. Jesus is still there. This is true in the cellblock or wherever you go.”
“I’ve had some black nights when no one was there.”
“The Bible describes Jesus as the light of the world.”
Pete shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s so vague.”
“It’s understood in here.” Mr. Gallegly tapped Pete on the chest. “Not up here.” He pointed to his own forehead.
Pete nodded.
“Do you have a Bible?”
“Yes. There are several in my cell.”
“Read the Book of Romans. I believe it will speak to your heart.”
“Okay.”
“Could I pray for you?”
Pete nodded and Mr. Gallegly bowed his head.
In a few minutes, a loud buzzer sounded and ended the volunteers’ time with the prisoners.
Leroy walked with Pete down the hall and up the stairs to the cellblock. “I asked Jesus to save me three weeks ago when Preacher Kane was here,” Leroy said.
“Was it the first time?” Pete asked.
Leroy looked puzzled. “Can you get saved more than once?”
“I don’t know. I meant was it the first time you asked Jesus to save you?”
“I’ve prayed before when I was in trouble, but it was the first time I knew God was calling me person to person. It was like the preacher said—I heard the voice of God and right then and there knew it was my time to jump in.”
“How has it been since then?”
“It’s been weird.”
“Weird?”
“I mean, I know it sounds crazy. I’m looking at three to five years as a habitual violator for DUI, but I know I can make it. I’m going to use the time in jail to get stronger in the Lord.”
Two hours later, David met Mac, and they prepared to go inside the jail.
“How are you going to handle this?” David asked.
“Carefully,” the older lawyer responded.
Mac asked a guard to stay close to the interview room door. He didn’t totally discount Dr. Newburn’s opinion that Pete might react violently to an authority figure, including his own lawyer telling him something he didn’t want to hear.
Pete read the report but didn’t blow up or bang his fist on the table. He handed the sheets back to Mac and said simply, “That’s garbage.”
“Tell me your side of the interview.”
“Just a bunch of questions.”
“How did he treat you?”
“Okay.”
“It wasn’t like the polygraph exam with the GBI?” David asked.
“No, he was a bald-headed, wimpy little guy. He didn’t get on my case at all. I’m surprised at the report.”
“Did you take any tests like the ones Dr. Wilkes administered?” Mac asked.
“No. We just talked. No big deal. He even got me a Coke.”
“Did you tell him you thought about hurting people or had problems with authority figures?”
“He asked about my family. I told him how rough it was when my father left us and that my mother and I got along okay. She did her best, but she couldn’t be both a dad and a mom.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. I think he made up all that other stuff.”
“I sent a copy of the report to Dr. Wilkes for her comments.”
“She spent a lot more time with me than he did. I wouldn’t mind talking to her again.”
“That can’t happen. It was a one-time evaluation.” Mac straightened the sheets of the report by tapping them against the table. “Also, when the judge gets this report, he may tell the sheriff ’s office to move you out of the general cellblock into isolation.”
“Why?”
Mac paused. “In order to protect the other prisoners.”
21
On that day they will fast.
MARK 2:20 (NIV)
Celeste Jamison spent the last two hours before dawn in the sunroom. Concern for Mac McClain had been with her for several days like a gnawing hunger pang in her stomach that refused to go away. She’d eaten more, but the discomfort wasn’t satisfied by food.
“What should I do?” she prayed, leaning forward in her chair. “Please tell me.”
“Fast and pray.”
Celeste stayed bent over. The ache came again, severe enough that she groaned. But the remedy for hunger was to eat, not fast. This couldn’t be right.
“Fast and pray.” The words came more slowly and deliberately. She waited again.
Then, as the first rays of the sun streamed through the wall of windows on the east side of the room, she understood. The ways of the kingdom of God are contrary to the ways of this world. Fast instead of eating. Do the opposite of her natural, fleshly inclination.
“How long?” she asked.
“Until you have no hunger.”
Mindy buzzed Mac. “Dr. Wilkes on line one. She sounds like a nice person.”
Mac swiveled in his chair. “Don’t let her fool you, Mindy. I’ve heard Dr. Wilkes has a terrible temper if someone disagrees with her, so be careful not to make her mad.”
“Right,” Mindy said curtly.
Mac picked up the phone.
“Did you read the report?” he asked.
“Yes. None of my testing indicates anything close to a psychotic or sociopathic personality disorder. Dr. Newburn is expressing an opinion that he can’t back up with any objective data.”
“What if I told you that Pete was high on amphetamines Friday night and had to go to the hospital?”
The line was silent for a few seconds. “I’m surprised, but it doesn’t change the results of my testing.”
“Does it
support Newburn’s report?”
“Yes, but Pete’s performance on the psychological tests is not consistent with Dr. Newborn’s overall conclusions.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“To use ordinary language, Pete is not as ‘crazy’ as Dr. Newburn claims. Depressed, yes; angry, at times; psychotic, no. Mass murderers like Ted Bundy and David Berkowitz were unquestionably in another world of their own demented creation when they committed their crimes. And even for them change is possible. Bundy gave a convincing testimony of Christian conversion before he was executed, and Berkowitz has made a video about his relationship with Christ.”
“Let’s not talk about execution.”
“Sorry. I just mentioned it to show that I disagree with the psychiatrist’s conclusions.”
Mac was relieved. “I hope you’re right, but the more I’m around Pete the less in touch with the real world he seems to be.”
“When will the case be tried?”
“A couple of weeks. The judge asked me the other day if I was ready, and I told him we were still interviewing witnesses.”
“Anything good?”
“So far I have a few wisps of smoke, but it’s going to take more to give us a reasonable shot at an acquittal.”
“Does Pete know about the latest report?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
“He said it was garbage.”
“A nontechnical but accurate assessment.”
Spunky, Mac thought as he hung up the phone.
Sergeant Davidson rapped on the bars of Pete’s cell.
“Thomason. Grab your stuff. You’re moving.”
Pete rolled out of his bunk. “Where to?”
“Isolation.”
“Why?”
“Just get your stuff. I’ll explain it to you on the way.”
Pete put his meager possessions into a pillowcase and followed the officer down the stairs to the newer wing of the jail.
“Some shrink thinks you’re a danger to the other men,” Davidson said when they were alone.
“That’s not true.”
“They didn’t ask my opinion. I’m just following orders.”
They passed by the interview area and through a double set of steel doors. The isolation wing held three, single-man cells. As soon as the second set of doors clanged behind them, Pete heard screams.
“What in the world is going on in here?” he asked.
“That’s Crazy Cal Musgrave. He’s waiting for a padded cell to open up at the psychiatric unit in Milledgeville. Get used to it. You two are the only inmates here.”
“Fresh meat! Have you brought me fresh meat?” the deranged man yelled. “Come here, you fat pig! I want a piece of you!”
“Shut up, Cal,” Davidson said.
They passed by the cell, and its inhabitant spit through the bars, hitting Pete on the arm.
“A redhead! What you in for, boy? Murder? Armed robbery? Shoplifting?” He laughed in a high-pitched voice.
Davidson opened the door to Pete’s cell. “We can let you out for an hour of exercise, two times a day. Otherwise, you’re here”—he nodded toward the adjacent cell—“with him.”
Judge Danielson summoned Mac and Bert Langley to his chambers.
“Gentlemen, I have a traverse jury pool scheduled to report for service in two weeks, and I want to put Thomason on the trial calendar.”
“Unless Joe Whetstone has a conflict, the State is ready to proceed,” Bert said.
“Mr. McClain?”
Mac nodded. “We have some out-of-town subpoenas that need to be served and a few more witnesses to track down.”
“So you’ll be ready to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How is Moreland working out?”
“Fine.”
“Good. I’ve approved payment on all the fees and expenses submitted thus far.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Back in his office, Mac immediately phoned David and asked him to come over. When he arrived the two of them gathered in the library with Vicki. Mac, pacing back and forth, fired off orders to his paralegal.
“Copy the list of potential jurors at the courthouse so you and Judy can look it over and identify any familiar names. Make a note about each one and discuss it with me.”
“Do you want Mindy to have a copy?” Vicki asked.
“Yes, she may know someone on the printout. What about the Lincoln owners?”
Vicki handed Mac four sheets of paper. “Here is the list of the people in Atlanta and Chattanooga who bought midnight purple Lincolns.”
“How many are there?”
“Sixty-six.”
“Any names look familiar?”
“Not as in Hightower.”
“We don’t have time to locate sixty-six people and interrogate them about their activities on August second, but make a copy for Ray Morrison, and I’ll go over it with him.”
“Okay.”
“Have you contacted Joan Brinkley at Hollins about testifying at the trial?” Mac asked.
“Yes, she asked me to call her parents and explain everything to them. I told Joan we would fly her down the day before she testifies and to make sure she brings her computer.”
“Give me the number. I’ll call her parents,” Mac said. “It should come from me.”
Vicki continued, “I also have the name and phone number of a former GBI polygraph examiner who is willing to talk with you about the differences between the two tests. His background info and phone number are on my desk.” She left to retrieve the number.
Just then the phone in the library buzzed.
“Ray Morrison is here to see you,” Mindy said over the speakerphone. “Send him in.”
The detective peeked around the door. “This looks like a high-powered lawyer meeting. Is it safe for me to come in?”
“Probably not, unless you want to work. The judge says we’re going to trial in two weeks.”
Ray laid a manila envelope on the table. “I brought you some pictures.” Mac slid the photos out on the table.
“Here’s Spencer’s house. You can see the two cars. I ran the license plates, and he owns both of them. Doesn’t owe a dime to any finance company.”
“What’s this?” David asked.
“That’s the directory for the office tower where Spencer spent a bunch of time.”
David picked up the picture, which had been enlarged so that the names could be read. After a few seconds, he said, “Look at this.”
Mac put on his glasses and peered over David’s shoulder.
“Right here,” David pointed. “Can you read it?”
Mac moved the picture but couldn’t bring it into focus. “No, it’s too fuzzy.”
“It’s not too fuzzy to me,” David said. “It says, ‘Newburn Psychiatric Clinic, Suite 1210.’”
“What is Newburn Psychiatric Clinic?” Ray asked.
“The office for Dr. Louis Newburn, the psychiatrist who examined Pete and said he was America’s next mass murderer,” Mac said.
“That’s who Spencer was seeing,” David said. “Probably paying him off for his evaluation of Pete.”
Ray shook his head. “There are a lot of offices in the building.”
“But only one with a connection to this case,” Mac said. “Spencer was relaxing on the doctor’s couch while you waited outside.”
“Listening to the doctor dictate a report designed to fry Thomason for the family of his rich patient,” David concluded.
Pointing to David, Mac said, “We need the names and numbers of visits for Dr. Newburn’s patients during the past three years. That should tell us how often Spencer or some other member of the Hightower family has been to see him.” Mac grabbed the phone and buzzed Vicki. “Bring a copy of the list of Lincoln owners into the library. We have another name to check.”
Vicki brought Mac the list, and Ray and David looked over his shoulder while he quickly scanned the na
mes. “It’s not here.”
“Spencer borrows the doctor’s car to commit a crime?” David asked.
“Yeah, it was an idea.”
“You’re beginning to think like a real investigator, Mac,” Ray said, smiling. “It didn’t pan out, but you’re still in the running for that job as my sidekick and bodyguard.”
“Speaking of real investigators,” Mac said. “Can you locate the sixty-six people on this list and find out where they were on August second?”
“By next March?”
“In ten days.”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. The Lincoln owner we need may not even be on the list, and I have a better use of your time. A road trip.”
“Where?”
“To interview a man named Harry O’Ryan.”
“Who is he?” Ray asked.
“An acquaintance of Pete’s from Parris Island days.”
“A fellow Marine? Where is he now?”
“All I know is that he isn’t in the Marine Corps.”
“Great,” Ray sighed. “Is he on the list of Lincoln owners?”
22
And there wasted his substance with riotous living.
LUKE 15:13 (KJV)
Mac gave Ray all the information in the file about the incident involving the three Marines and the two young women from South Carolina and told him, “Go fetch.” But finding Harry O’Ryan was considerably more challenging than tracking down Rodney McFarland on his lonely hilltop near Morganton.
Working the phone, Ray found an address where O’Ryan landed a job as assistant chief of security for a small chain of banks in Corbin, Kentucky. O’Ryan lost his job for reasons Ray couldn’t discover and left Corbin for parts unknown.
Hoping to pick up the trail where it ended, Ray left Dennison Springs before the sun came up the next morning and drove through east Tennessee and southern Kentucky to Corbin, home of the original Colonel Sander’s Kentucky Fried Chicken Restaurant. He stopped by the main office of the Corbin Community Bank and Trust and asked to speak to the chief of bank security.
“Mr. Shepherd is at one of our branch offices this morning,” the receptionist said. “Could his assistant, Nicole Meadows, help you?”
“Possibly. Is she available?”
Ray waited a few minutes until an attractive, well-dressed blonde in her late twenties came to the waiting area and introduced herself. “Nicole Meadows. How may I help you?”
The Trial Page 18
