Word of Honor

by Terri Blackstock

The admission caught Jill off guard. She had expected her to wax poetic about his virtues, not share his criminal record.

  “He did mention he’d been in prison,” Jill said, bringing her eyes back up to Debbie.

  “That’s right,” Debbie said. “He’s an ex-con. He served five years for armed robbery. But he considers it the biggest blessing of his life.”

  “Prison?” Dan asked. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “No,” she said. She came back to her chair and sank down, intent on making them understand. “There was a prison ministry that came in three times a week and they told him about Jesus.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know if you’re believers, but Jerry is now. He became a Christian while he was in prison. And when he got out, that sweet spirit that he once had was back. He had been changed forever. I met him after that.”

  Jill’s brows furrowed together. She had seen lots of prison conversions, but she had trouble trusting them.

  Dan wasn’t sold either. “And that was before he took up terrorism?”

  Debbie didn’t appreciate the comment. She ignored it and addressed Jill instead. “The first five years after he got out of prison he went to therapy. He’d had some terrible experiences in Vietnam, was badly wounded, and he still had nightmares. But he started to get better. Eventually, he was helping the other people in his group. Leading them to Christ and discipling them.”

  Dan shot Jill a skeptical look, but she kept quiet. It didn’t sound like a bill of goods. It sounded real.

  “Jill, my husband is innocent. Someone else blew up that post office, and he doesn’t even know why.”

  “So what happened?” Jill asked. “Why was his pickup on the scene? Why was he in the motel? Why did he shoot his way into my room?”

  “I’ve asked myself those questions a dozen times,” she said. “I wish I could explain all of that to you, but there are things that I don’t know. Things he won’t tell me.”

  “You better believe there’s something he won’t tell you,” Dan said. “By the way, honey, I have this little hobby…”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said, cutting him off. “That morning, the day the post office bombing happened, Jerry got a phone call. He seemed a little shaken up by it. When he got off the phone, he told me he had to go to meet a friend from his unit in Vietnam. I didn’t really like the idea, because now and then he still has nightmares, and I didn’t want all those memories dragged up again. Stuff that he couldn’t even talk about with me. But he insisted. He said this was a really close friend. Somebody that he cared a lot about, and hadn’t seen in years. He wanted to make sure that he was all right, because the man sounded like he was in a little trouble.”

  “Who was the friend?”

  “He wouldn’t say. He just told me to trust him.”

  “He didn’t say what kind of trouble the guy was in?” Dan asked.

  “No, he sure didn’t. I don’t think he knew what kind of trouble.”

  “Didn’t you wonder why he couldn’t invite the man here? Let you meet him, if they were such great friends?”

  “I asked that,” Debbie said. “He told me the man was kind of rough around the edges, and might scare the kids. He said it was best if he met him alone. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day. The next thing I know, the FBI are at my house asking about Jerry…I honestly didn’t have a clue. Then I realized…they thought he did it. Then I saw the reports about the hostage situation, and Jill…”

  “You’re sure you don’t know who this friend was?” Dan demanded again.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “he wouldn’t tell me his name. He still won’t tell me. I don’t know why he would cover for him after he committed such an awful crime and got Jerry thrown in jail. But I think he is covering for him. You’ve got to believe me!”

  “It’s hard to believe,” Jill said, “you have to admit.”

  “Of course it is. I’m aware of that. But my husband is not a killer! He’s a wonderful father and a wonderful husband. He’s active in our church. He’s active in prison ministry. He goes to Angola twice a month and does Bible studies there. I think something must have happened that day, something he couldn’t control. He got backed into a corner and he didn’t know what to do but to come out shooting. But he didn’t shoot anybody, Jill. Nobody got hurt.”

  “Except three people are dead at the post office.”

  “I would bet my life on his innocence!” she yelled.

  Silence fell like a curtain around them. Finally, Jill spoke again. “What do you want from me?”

  Debbie covered her face and tried to calm herself. “I want you to talk to him again.”

  “I did talk to him. Late last night. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Debbie looked at her over her fingertips. “No. I haven’t been able to talk to him today. Did he tell you anything?”

  “Not really, but I told him a few things. I was sure he was involved in what had just happened to us.”

  “Think about it,” Debbie said. “This guy, whoever he is. He’s still out there. He’s the one who wants you dead. I don’t know why. I can’t imagine, but you’ve got to consider that Jerry doesn’t have anything at all to do with it.”

  “If he was innocent, why wouldn’t he be the first to tell who really did it?” Dan asked. “He has you and the kids. Why would he sit in jail like that, and not say a word?”

  “I don’t know,” Debbie said, “but that’s how Jerry is! He takes his friendships very seriously. And all that happened in Vietnam was so serious that he hasn’t even been able to share it with me! But it’s like a big scar right through the middle of his heart. I think maybe he thought he could turn this person around or something. Somehow he got sucked into this, and he doesn’t know how to get out of it.”

  “Mommy? Are you crying?”

  Jill was startled as the little boy came out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. His brown hair was tousled, and he had wrinkle prints on his face.

  Instantly, Debbie’s expression changed from pleading to pleasant. “No honey, I’m fine. Come here.” The five-year-old padded barefoot across the carpet. Debbie pulled him into her lap.

  “Seth, I want you to meet Ms. Clark and Mr…”

  “Nichols,” Dan said.

  “Nichols,” Debbie repeated. “They’re our friends.”

  “Hey,” the child said.

  Dan got up and shook the little boy’s hand with a flourish of respect. “How you doing, buddy?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  Jill’s heart melted. She wouldn’t have expected a killer to have polite children.

  “Did you have a good nap?” Debbie asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” They heard a child crying from the other room, and she put the little boy down. “Just a minute. Let me go check on your sister.” She looked up at Jill and Dan as she got to her feet. “My three-year-old. Excuse me.”

  She left the room and the little boy sat in her chair, staring across at Jill and Dan, like a grown-up at a meeting.

  And Jill felt a sudden sense of dread that this child would soon face the stigma of having a father who was known as a terrorist.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Frank Harper saw the rental car parked out in front of Jerry Ingalls’s house, and decided now was not the time to go in. Instead, he parked in the driveway of an apparently vacant house a few doors down and watched for the visitors to come out.

  He angled his rearview mirror so he could watch without wrenching his neck, but time rolled on and on. Whoever was there was staying an awfully long time. He wondered who it was, what she was telling them. Did she know about him? Was she telling them everything Jerry knew?

  Someone knocked on the glass, and he jumped. An old woman stood at the window, smiling congenially and waving in at him.

  Dread overcame him, but slowly, he rolled the window down.

  “Hello,” the woman said. “I’m Dora Higgins, next door. I couldn’t help noticing you waiting over here. Are
you waiting for your realtor to show you this house?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I certainly will be glad to have a neighbor. It’s a little creepy having it vacant, if you know what I mean. Would you like a piece of pie while you wait? I just took a fresh apple pie out of the oven. My grandchildren are coming this afternoon, and I like to have something sweet for them.”

  He shook his head. “Uh…no, ma’am. Thank you.”

  She looked disappointed. “Well, I reckon you can’t go takin’ apple pie from ever’body body who offers you some. Not with the kind of things goes on around here. Guess you heard about our neighbor over there, Jerry Ingalls. Blew up the post office a couple days ago. Such a nice man, too, and those children…oh my, they don’t deserve what they’ve gotten. But I can assure you that the rest of us on this street are decent people. Are you interested in this house for rental property, or will you be living here?”

  He glanced back in the rearview mirror. No one had come out of the Ingallses’ house just yet. “Uh…I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, all it needs is a little yard work and a few repairs on the inside. The lady who lived here was one of my dearest friends. She lived here for years before she died. It fell into a little bit of disrepair at the end because she was ill and couldn’t do much, but oh, in her day, she was able to keep this garden blooming all the time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some pie? It looks like your realtor is late. You could call them from my house.”

  He shook his head hard. “No, ma’am. I’ll just wait a little longer.”

  “All right, then. So nice to meet you.”

  He watched her as she headed back to her home, and thought how her whole house probably smelled of baked apples. A memory assaulted him, a memory of his paternal grandmother when he was only four or five, pulling an apple pie out of the oven and letting him cut his own piece, as big as he wanted. She had died when he was six, and there hadn’t been anyone in his life like her.

  He missed her. For a moment, he eyed the vacant house, wondering what it would be like to have her as a neighbor. He fantasized about flowers in the garden, a pie cooling on the windowsill, a perfect lawn. Those were dreams that weren’t available to him, he thought with contempt. They hadn’t been since the communist threat peeled the blinders from his eyes. Instead, he’d had to give the best of himself for his country, and he was still giving. But it was for people like Dora Higgins that he fought. So she would have the freedom to bake apple pies for her grandchildren.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror and hoped that he didn’t have much longer to wait. He had too much to do, and he needed to get on with it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Do you know my daddy?” Seth Ingalls asked them as his mother went to get his sister.

  Jill gave Dan a sad look. “We’ve met.”

  “Do you know when he’s coming home?”

  “No, I don’t, honey. I’m sorry.”

  “Mommy cries at night,” he said. “She misses Daddy.”

  “What about you?” Dan asked. “Don’t you miss your daddy?”

  Jill supposed the question was designed to expose Jerry’s evil. Maybe Dan expected the child to scream out that he’d been abused by his father for years, and hoped he would never come back. Instead, the corners of his mouth began to droop and his eyes filled with tears. He began to rub them as he nodded his head. “He read to me at night.”

  Jill’s own eyes filled, and she met Dan’s eyes. He looked stricken, as if he knew he’d made the wrong call. She turned back to the child. “What would he read?” she asked.

  “Charlotte’s Web,” he said. “Last time, Winnie the Pooh. My sister loves Tigger. He’s her favorite. She cries, too.”

  “Have you been able to talk to your daddy?” Jill asked softly.

  “I can’t,” he said. “He’s on vacation.” He rubbed his eyes again. “He shoulda took us.”

  Jill couldn’t fight the tears welling up in her eyes. Dan squeezed her hand, as if to tell her that the child was no reflection of the father…that you could have a killer for a dad and still be a sweet kid.

  Debbie came back into the room carrying the little girl. She was a tiny replica of her and looked too shy to speak to them. She buried her face in her mother’s chest as the boy gave the chair back to his mother. “Sorry I took so long. Christy’s a little shy, and she didn’t want to come in here.” She glanced at the boy, saw that he’d been crying, and shot Jill and Dan an accusing look. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “He was just telling us he misses his daddy,” Jill said softly.

  Debbie kept one arm around the sleepy little girl, and slid the other around him. She hugged him tightly, and when she looked at them again, her eyes were full of tears. So were Jill’s.

  “This is a hard time for our family,” she whispered.

  Jill got up. “We should go now.” Dan stood up beside her.

  “Jill, I’m begging you,” Debbie said. “Won’t you please reconsider? Somehow we’ll pay you. We’ll come up with the money. He just needs a good lawyer.”

  “It’s not the money,” Jill said. “Why me? Why not someone who’s unbiased, objective?”

  “Because you know he didn’t hurt you. You were with him for several hours and you know what he’s like.”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind,” Jill said. “I met him for a few hours in some strange circumstances—”

  “That’s right!” Debbie cut in. “You’ve got to realize what kind of stress he was under or he would’ve never—” She caught herself and looked self-consciously down at her children. “Otherwise, he would never have done anything like that.” She brought her eyes back to Jill’s. “Jill, I truly believe you’re a woman we could trust. That you saw my husband’s character. In your heart, you know…”

  “You’d be a whole lot better off with someone else.”

  “Well, we don’t have someone else,” she said. “He wants you and I want you. There was something about you,” she said. “Something that made me think you were a woman of honor and integrity, even though you didn’t keep your word.”

  Jill rubbed her temples. She was beginning to get a headache. “I can’t promise to represent him, Debbie.”

  Debbie covered her mouth and sobbed. The little boy reached up and touched her face. “Mommy, don’t cry,” he whispered.

  When he couldn’t stop his mother’s tears, he turned his angry little face to Jill and Dan. “My daddy is good,” he said. “He wouldn’t do anything bad.”

  “Honey, that’s all right,” Debbie said. “They know.”

  Jill bent down to the child. “It’s sweet of you to defend your daddy that way.” She breathed in a deep breath and let it out quickly. Dan squeezed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Debbie,” she said finally, straightening again. “I believe that you believe in your husband. And I believe that you don’t know what’s going on. But I can’t do it.”

  Debbie squeezed her eyes shut, then finally nodded her head. “All right,” she said. “I guess there’s nothing more I can say.”

  “No.” Jill and Dan headed for the door before that little boy won her heart, before that little girl, so shy and sleepy, sitting in her mother’s lap, began to affect her…before Debbie Ingalls convinced her to change her mind.

  “Thank you,” Dan said as they drove home, “for deciding not to let her emotionally blackmail you.”

  “I hope I did the right thing.”

  “You did,” he said. “Just because a guy has a cute kid and a sweet wife, doesn’t mean he’s not a killer.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I’ve got to tell you, I wish he wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, it would be nice to find out that he was innocent. But things don’t always happen that way.”

  “I know they don’t.”

  “Besides that,” he said, “his wife could have been putting on an Oscar caliber ac
t.”

  Her gaze drifted out the window. “I guess.”

  “You just never know.”

  But Jill felt that deep in her heart she did know. Debbie Ingalls hadn’t been putting on an act.

  Frank Harper watched as Jill Clark and her boyfriend came out of Jerry Ingalls’s house, and suddenly overwhelming rage filled him. The sense of stark betrayal by Jerry’s wife, a woman he didn’t even know, was so fierce that he wanted to hurt her.

  But he had no time right now. He would have to wait until later. Meanwhile, he had to follow the man and woman until he could finish what he’d started last night.

  He wasn’t going to sit still for betrayal. Vengeance had to be paid, or the war would never be won.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Celia stayed with Pete Hampton while his grandmother and uncle made arrangements for his mother’s funeral. Celia had been praying since the explosion that he would wake up with no lasting brain damage, but now she caught herself praying that he would not come around while his family was away from the hospital. Her greatest fear right now was that she would be forced into telling him that his mother was dead.

  She couldn’t think of a more horrible task.

  But as the hours ticked by, he began to give indications that he was coming out of his coma. First, just an arm moved, then his head rolled, and he brought a hand up to scratch his face.

  She stood frozen in front of him, trying to decide whether to try to reach his grandmother at the funeral home. Before she could make the decision, his eyes fluttered open.

  Her heart jolted. “Pete? Can you hear me? Pete?”

  His eyes closed again, and he was out. Celia went around the bed to call the nurse, but his eyes opened again. She stopped at the side of the bed and leaned over, waiting. “Pete? Can you hear me, honey?”

  This time, his eyes focused on her. “Pete?” she said more loudly.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but the tube in his throat prevented him.

  “Don’t talk, honey,” Celia said. “There’s something in your throat helping you breathe. Just nod if you know who I am.”