“Uh, he’s not finished his report and wants to have access to the original checks before doing so.”
“I’d like to know if there are any irregularities.”
Mike didn’t answer. “Call me as soon as you have the checks.”
Mike phoned Muriel Miller, who told him Sam never used a signature stamp or owned a typewriter. Sam’s invoices, like the dreams and visions recorded in his notebooks, were all handwritten.
FRIDAY MORNING, MIKE TOOK PEG TO THE HOSPITAL FOR another ultrasound. Dr. Crawford came in shortly after the technician left.
“Everything looks good,” the doctor said. “Have you had any problems?”
“The sudden shift to a sedentary lifestyle has been a shock to my system, but no bleeding or cramping pain since I came to the ER.”
“What are you doing during the day?”
Peg described her routine. “And Mike’s been with me all this week. The church gave him a three-month sabbatical to look after me.”
“Really?” The doctor raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know churches offered family-leave time for husbands.”
“It’s not a FMLA request,” Mike replied. “It was a decision by the church leadership.”
“And I commend them for it,” the doctor replied. “What’s the name of your church?”
“Little Creek.”
“Sounds like a good place to be.” Dr. Crawford turned to Peg. “Increase the amount of walking around the house and the yard so you won’t lose too much muscle tone. We want to strike a balance between avoiding stress on the baby and maintaining your own health. Your weight is good. The baby is growing fine, and the heart rate is within normal limits. Things look stable.”
“Can you determine gender?” Mike asked.
“Too early for that. We may be able to tell at the next examination.”
Peg patted her stomach. “Keep growing.”
“How are you doing emotionally?” the doctor asked Peg. “Any depression or unusual mood swings?”
“Not too bad. Having Mike around has helped a lot.”
“Bring more variety into your activities, but stop physical activity at the first sign of trouble and let me know.”
“I have a case on the trial calendar in about ten days,” Mike said. “Should I request a continuance to stay with Peg?”
“You’re still working as a lawyer?”
“It’s a pro bono case.”
“How long will the trial last?”
“Could be several days depending on jury deliberation.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem so long as Peg has someone available on call. I’m sure you have friends who could fill in, or you could use a sitting service. Contact my office if you need a recommendation for outside help.”
As they drove home from the doctor’s office, Mike spoke to Peg. “I guess I can’t use Dr. Crawford’s recommendation as an excuse for a continuance in Sam’s case.”
“Do you need one?”
“There are still a lot of loose ends. Every time I pull out one string another takes its place.”
They arrived home. Peg got out of the car, but Mike stayed in the driver’s seat.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked, leaning back into the car.
“I want to go to the church,” he replied.
“Go,” she said. “I’ve been impressed you haven’t called or gone over there before now.”
“You’ll be okay?”
“Yes. I’m going to walk Judge around the yard a few times to celebrate my release from house arrest.”
Twenty-five
MIKE PARKED BUT DIDN’T GO DIRECTLY TO THE CHURCH OFFICE. Leaning against his car, he let his eyes roam across the property. Every season in the hills of North Carolina offered unique beauty, but spring and fall were his favorites. Once started, spring came quickly to the mountains. The ancient trees beside the old sanctuary were in full foliage; the barren spots in the grass filled in. He listened. The explosion of birdcalls that had surrounded him a few weeks earlier during mating season had settled down to the lessardent conversations of routine life. The creek now ambled rather than rushed, but Mike knew fresh water still bubbled to the surface of the spring.
Mike realized how much he’d tightly wound his expectations for the future around his work at the church. To end it would be painful. He’d seen the stress etched across the faces of other ministers and secretly looked down on their weakness, thinking his background as a trial lawyer inoculated him against the pressures of the pastoral ministry. The past few weeks had blown apart his confidence. He’d privately vacillated between unleashing Delores as the opening salvo of an all-out war to save his ministry and immediately resigning to avoid prolonging the pain.
He walked into the administration wing. Delores glanced up as he approached her desk.
“It’s about time!” she exclaimed. “You’ve already cost me a steak dinner bet with Nathan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told him you would call on Monday. When that didn’t happen, we did a double-or-nothing bet that you would come to the office by Wednesday. You totally let me down, so I have to buy him a gift certificate for two to the Mountain View.”
“I pretended to be on vacation,” Mike replied.
“And how often did you call in the last time you went on vacation?”
“Every day. You could have picked up the phone and called me.”
“That would have nixed the bet.” Delores paused. “And I wanted you to have a break if you really wanted one.”
“Thanks. How are you holding up?”
Delores touched a pack of cigarettes in plain view on her desk. “I’ve upped my nicotine intake. And don’t be too hard on me,” she added hurriedly. “I haven’t cussed out Milton, and I’ve kept my mouth shut about how bad the elders treated you.”
“How about Dr. Mixon?”
“He’s a nice man but not near the preacher you are.”
Mike stifled secret pleasure at her words. Delores continued, “But I saved you a CD of the sermon. Do you want to hear it?”
“Uh, sure.” Mike took the CD. “Thanks. Any mail or phone calls I need to take care of?”
“There is a huge stack of stuff on your desk, but Bobby told me to leave it alone. The elders are meeting Saturday morning to sort through everything. I think it would be better for them to deal with it and realize how much you do.”
“Any emergencies?”
“I’m taking names and numbers for people who need counseling. I think the session is going to authorize payment by the church if an individual or couple wants to go to a private counselor.”
“That could cost a lot of money!”
Delores lowered her voice. “Milton put a big check in the offering plate to make everything look good.”
The church treasurer and one of the deacons were the only people who knew who and how much was contributed each week. Mike purposely kept himself ignorant of the information.
“Delores, you know better than to snoop—”
“It was on top of the stack of checks, and I couldn’t help seeing it. I didn’t look at anything else.”
“I ought to suspend you without pay for a week.”
“Then I couldn’t pay for Nathan’s dinner. I think he’s going to take Melissa Hall. She was with him again at church on Sunday.”
“I’ll be seeing quite a bit of her myself. The Miller case is on the trial calendar for a week from Monday. She’ll be handling the prosecution.”
“Good!” Delores exclaimed. “Once that’s over, maybe we can get back to normal around here.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I know what normal looks like.” Mike turned to leave. “Oh, one other thing. Don’t you have a friend who works at the Bank of Barlow County?”
“Gloria Stinson. She’s been a secretary there for years.”
“Which department?”
“Different ones. She used to have her own little office, but now she’s part
of a clerical pool. Only the big shots have their own secretary. If she weren’t so close to retirement, she’d probably quit.”
“Could you ask her if the bank has any old IBM Selectric typewriters?”
“Do you want to buy one?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, if it’s the right one. Don’t mention my name when you call. Because of the Miller case, I’m not the most popular person at the bank.”
“Gloria can tell me. She keeps up with everything.”
DELORES PHONED MIKE ON HIS CELL BEFORE HE WAS HALFWAY home.
“I talked to Gloria. She tells me they still use a couple of IBM typewriters to fill out forms that don’t have templates in the computers.”
“Any for sale?”
“She didn’t think so, even though they rarely use them. She has one near her desk, and a lady who works in her area has the other one. She said you could find a used one at an office supply company a lot easier than trying to purchase one from the bank.”
Mike slowed the car as he came to a bridge across the creek.
“Could you ask her to type a few words on each one and give it to you? I want to make sure about the font before I decide what to do.”
“Sure.”
Mike took a slip of paper from his pocket and slowly read a sentence provided by Darius York. “Tell her to type ‘More liberty is needed in the USA for all those who love the truth.’”
“Why that?”
“Did you write down the sentence?” Mike asked without answering.
“Yes.”
“And ask her to do it as soon as possible and let me know. Thanks.”
Mike hung up the phone before Delores could launch another question. If Gloria properly capitalized the sentence, Mike would have the letters Darius York needed to evaluate the type on the checks.
THAT NIGHT AFTER SUPPER, MIKE AND PEG SAT IN THE GREAT room and listened to the CD of the church service at Little Creek.
“What did you think?” Mike asked after the closing hymn.
“Do you want me to compare his style to yours and tell you how much better you are in the pulpit?”
“It sounds petty when you put it that way.”
Peg reached over and patted him on the hand. “You’re my favorite speaker, even if you reject my sermon suggestions, but I’d like to meet Dr.
Mixon and hear more stories about Africa. I think he can inspire the congregation to be less provincial and self-focused. And his prayer for us seemed sincere.”
“Yeah. He came across that way when I talked to him.”
“Look at it this way. We prayed with Sam and Muriel that God would bless the service at Little Creek, and He did.”
“I don’t want to be narrow-minded myself. I need to see Mixon more as an ally than a threat to my little kingdom.”
“That sounds more mature.”
Mike chuckled. “I want to be a big boy, but the little boy is still running around inside me wanting attention.”
“Sometimes he’s cute.”
“Other times he’s a selfish brat.”
Peg smiled. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Many times, your little boy has been a lot less selfish than my little girl.”
DELORES CAME BY THE HOUSE MONDAY MORNING AND HANDED Mike two sheets of paper. Gloria had done her job well.
“Perfect,” he said. “There’s nothing like the crispness of an IBM Selectric with a standard ball in place.”
“What’s this about?” Delores responded as she stood in the middle of the kitchen. “You’re not in the market for a typewriter.”
Mike looked up. “Yes, I am, but not for personal use. It has to do with the Miller case, and I can’t tell you the details.”
“You tricked me.”
“I didn’t tell you everything because I can’t. I’d love to buy the typewriter if it’s connected to the case. You and your friend have helped an innocent man.”
“Will Gloria get into trouble?”
“Her name won’t come up unless you mention it. No one will know how I got this information.”
“But you might make her come to court. I know how you are when you get your mind set on something. You forget the effect it may have on other people.”
“No. You trusted me, and she trusted you. I won’t violate that. There is a legal way to avoid identifying her. If this works out for the case, I’ll pay for both of you to go to the Mountain View.”
“Okay,” Delores replied in a way that didn’t imply confidence. “But if something bad happens to Gloria, I’ll never forgive you.”
Mike drove into town and sent the sample sheets to Darius York via next-day delivery. He stopped by the district attorney’s office to find out about the status of the original checks, but Melissa Hall wasn’t in.
Mike phoned Braxton Hodges at the paper.
“We need to talk,” the reporter said when he picked up the phone. “Are you available?”
“Yes.”
“Come to my office.”
Mike turned left at traffic light six and arrived at the newspaper building. Hodges took him into the same conference room where Mike had met with Brian Dressler.
“Investigative reporting is what makes my juices flow,” the reporter said, leaning across the table. “Butch Niles recently went to Atlantic City where he dropped a lot of money in a weekend.”
“How did you confirm it?”
“From one of the women who cleans his house. She heard Butch’s wife complaining about it and mentioned it to the lady who cleans my duplex once a month. She passed the info on to me.”
“That’s triple hearsay,” Mike replied.
“But it fits the corrupt politician model.” Hodges paused. “And I have written proof.”
The reporter reached into his pocket and pulled out several crumpled slips of paper.
Mike could see faint numbers printed on them.
“Receipts for chips at two different casinos,” Hodges said. “The cleaning lady took them out of the trash. The total is close to $300,000.”
Mike didn’t touch the papers.
“Why did she take them?”
“Butch and his wife don’t pay very well. I’m supplementing her income to be on the lookout for interesting information.”
“You’d better be careful—”
“Don’t worry,” Hodges interrupted. “She knows not to take anything that hasn’t been discarded.”
“But still no relevance to my case.”
“Maybe in a court of law, but not in the court of public opinion.”
When he returned home, Mike had a voice mail from Darius York.
“I’m eighty-five percent sure we have a match on the typewriter,” the former FBI agent said.
“Eighty-five percent?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure that’s high enough to help. Why can’t you be more certain?”
“I’d need to see both machines and check all the letters, numbers, symbols, etc. Because it’s an electric typewriter the pressure on the letters is uniform, so I have a good sample to compare with the letters on the checks. The sentence I gave you included those letters, but it takes more than a couple of significant similarities to increase the probability for a particular machine into the ninety-five-percentile range.”
“I’m not sure I can obtain access to the machines.”
“If you want a higher probability, that’s the only way to get it. What is the status of the original checks?”
“Still waiting on the DA’s office, but they have to furnish them this week. We’re on the trial calendar next Monday.”
“How much notice can you give me about the trial date?”
“The judge will hold a calendar call on Friday and set the preliminary schedule; however, that often changes because last-minute deals are struck over the weekend. Are there any days that don’t work for you next week?”
“I’m clear but need as much notice as possible. The balance of my fee will have to be paid before I come.”
Mike winced. “I’ll give it to you when you review the original checks.”
“Examining the checks will be helpful. It’s all cumulative, and I don’t want to speculate without the data to support my testimony.”
“Of course not.” Mike paused. “Sometimes, less is more. We may not introduce evidence about the typewriters if it lessens the impact of your opinion about the signature stamp.”
Mike’s confidence in the benefit he might achieve from Darius York was slipping. Jurors were skittish of experts, and if the members of the jury believed Mike was trying to hoodwink them with York’s testimony, it wouldn’t matter what the witness said. Mike, York, and Sam would all be considered guilty.
“That’s your call,” York said.
When he hung up the phone, Mike wished he could walk down the hall and ask Bobby Lambert or Maxwell Forrest what to do. One of the benefits of practicing with other lawyers was the availability of advice from peers, especially an attorney like Mr. Forrest, who had seen so much during the course of his career. Judge came into the study.
“You’re a judge,” Mike said as he scratched the dog’s wrinkled head behind his left ear. “What do you think?”
Judge moaned slightly in appreciation for the attention.
“My sentiments exactly,” Mike replied.
MIKE TURNED THE HOME OFFICE INTO A WAR ROOM. HE devoted two legal pads to each witness and jotted down ideas for direct and cross-examination. On another pad, he listed possible exhibits and the pros and cons of their use at trial. His evidence professor in law school preached one maxim that Mike totally believed—”Never do anything in a case that will hurt you more than it helps you.” Lawyers had a tendency to become myopic and view all evidence in the light most favorable to their client’s position. To combat this, Mike liked to mock-try cases with surrogate jurors brought in to hear the evidence and offer detailed feedback. Paying Darius York was already stressing Mike’s bank account. He couldn’t afford the expense of a mock trial.
Instead, he relied on Peg.
Once he finished a series of direct examination questions, he walked from the office to the art room and read them to Peg. She listened and told him what else she would like the witness to say. Toward the end of their third session, Peg yawned several times.
Mountain Top Page 29
