Eric finished and looked up. Frank’s heart was beating a bit faster than normal.
“Given the generous nature of God,” Eric said, “does anyone here have a reason not to ask the Lord to send him or her into the world to use the gifts God has given them for the time they have left?”
During the closing prayer, Frank prayed earnestly that God might use him, even at this late juncture of his life. No internal visions provided help or insight. The service ended, and they stood up.
“What did you think about the message?” Layla asked in German, patting him on the arm.
“Parker calls me Opa,” Frank replied in the same language, “but when it comes to Christianity, I feel like a little child.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Layla answered. “But that’s how we all have to be if we want to enter the kingdom of God.”
Monday morning Parker holed up in his office working on Ferguson v. Callaway Club. He’d received a detailed memo in his in-box from Thomas Blocker with twelve action steps. Parker was impressed. Greg would have launched into the case with legal guns blazing. Blocker took a different approach. The level of organization and attention to detail a premier trial lawyer utilized in setting up and investigating a potential lawsuit made the process used at Branham and Camp look like a preschool coloring book. Parker wanted to absorb Blocker’s methodology through every legal pore in his body. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
It was Dexter. “How are you doing?” the partner asked.
“Fine,” Parker replied, pushing away some of the paperwork spread out on his desk. “Did Greg tell you we’ve associated Thomas Blocker in the dramshop case?”
“Yeah, he’s pumped up about it. He believes we’re going to hit a grand slam.” Dexter held up a sheet of paper in his hand. “Uh, Donna McAlpine filed a complaint against you with the state bar. She says you failed to inform her that you’d never handled a DUI case before, and if she’d known about your lack of experience, she wouldn’t have let you represent her.”
Parker gritted his teeth for a moment before responding. “Did she also mention that I represented her pro bono and was able to get the assistant DA to agree to a plea deal that was five times better than what she deserved?”
“No, and there’s no ethical requirement for you to reveal your level of experience to a client. You passed the bar, and you’re licensed to practice law in North Carolina. Look, I’m the one who asked you to help her, and I feel lousy that she’s done this.”
“What do I do about it?”
Dexter took a step back and glanced down the hallway for a moment. “I’ve never had a complaint filed against me,” he said. “But it’s happened several times to Greg. You might want to look at one of his responses. Basically, I think you tell the bar what took place from your perspective and wait for it to go away.”
“Does Greg know about this?”
“No, because I didn’t want to get in an argument with him about asking you to represent her pro bono.”
“And Donna got a great result.” Parker shook his head. “She has nothing better to do than sit in her jail cell and think about blaming someone else for her problems. I’ll ask Vicki to pull a couple of the grievances against Greg and look them over.”
Dexter laid the sheet of paper on the front of Parker’s desk and left. Parker read the complaint and resisted the urge to wad it up and throw it across the room. Instead, he slipped it into the top drawer of his desk. Pushing the bar grievance out of his mind, he went back to work on the Ferguson case. An hour later he took a break and walked down the hallway. Greg’s door was open, and the lawyer had his feet propped up on his desk while he talked on the phone. He motioned for Parker to enter.
“We have a deal based on your last e-mail,” Greg said to the caller on the other end of the line. “Send me a draft settlement agreement, and I’ll go over it with my client.”
He hung up the phone. “I’ve resolved the Bontemps case.”
“How?” Parker asked in surprise.
“Both companies want to continue to do business together because they can make more money jointly than they can separately. They just needed help getting over the hurdle in front of them.”
From what he’d seen in the file, it was hard for Parker to imagine the owners being civil at a cocktail party, much less cooperating in a complicated business venture.
“The desire to make money can create strange bedfellows,” Greg continued. “What have you done productive today?”
Parker handed him the memo from Blocker. “I thought you might be interested in looking this over. He raises a bunch of good points about things we should do.”
Parker watched as Greg quickly read it.
“Yeah, if this is the only case on your docket. The practice of law is art as well as science. Blocker is suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. Next time you talk to him, ask if he has to wash his hands three times every time he goes to the bathroom.”
“I just thought—”
“I’m kidding,” Greg said, cutting him off. “Thomas Blocker is the man. Is this my copy of the memo?”
“Yes.”
“And remember that I told you to keep me in the center of the circle, regardless of what he said about dealing primarily with you.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Good.”
Frank picked up the Bible that lay on a small table beside his recliner. He’d been reading through the New Testament after drinking his morning coffee, and it was the day to begin the Gospel of John. He immediately recognized a difference in the way the apostle John presented the words and mission of Jesus compared with Matthew, Mark, and Luke. There was a somber majesty to the proclamation of the Word becoming flesh, but the passage that captured Frank’s attention began later in the first chapter:
The next day Jesus decided to leave for Galilee. Finding Philip, he said to him, “Follow me.”
Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”
“Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked.
“Come and see,” said Philip.
When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”
“How do you know me?” Nathanael asked.
Jesus answered, “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you.”
Then Nathanael declared, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel.”
Jesus said, “You believe because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You will see greater things than that.”
Stunned, Frank left the book open in his lap. He might not be able to understand everything that happened in the Bible, but Jesus seeing Nathanael under a fig tree before they actually met made perfect sense to him. And Frank knew at least one talent he could try to use for God before his time in the vineyard came to an end.
An hour later he and Lenny stood in the open doorway of the shed where Frank kept his fishing tackle.
“Do you want to head down toward Oriental and try to catch some speckled trout?” Frank asked. “I had good luck the other day on one of the creeks with Parker and a friend of his, a young woman photographer.”
“Photographer?”
“Yeah, she served on the jury for a case handled by Parker’s firm. And then I met her when I went to church. Her German is way better than your Vietnamese.”
Lenny took a light-action rod suitable for trout fishing from its place on the wall of the shed. “You wouldn’t know if I was speaking Vietnamese or faking it. Are she and Parker dating?”
“I’m not sure, but I’d like it if they did.”
“Did you say that to Parker?”
“Of course not.”
“You sh
ould,” Lenny said. “Remember telling us that Chris should meet Sally Henderson?”
Frank paused. After reading about Jesus’ encounter with Nathanael in John chapter 1, he saw the conversation in a new light.
“Yeah,” he said.
“We invited her parents over to the house for hamburgers on Saturday afternoon, and Sally came with them. She and Chris ended up going for a long ride in that dune buggy he built last year. He drives like a maniac in that thing, and I’m not crazy enough to get in it with him, but she seemed to enjoy it. They’re going to see each other again.”
“Well, every once in a while I have a good idea,” Frank replied with a smile. “Are you sure you want to catch some specs?”
“Yeah, it’s been awhile since I ate any fresh trout.”
While they organized the tackle, Frank told Lenny about the fishing trip with Parker and Layla turning into catch and release instead of catch and eat.
“And an old commercial fisherman like you kept his mouth shut?” Lenny chuckled. “I can’t believe that.”
“Lenny, when I looked in that fish’s eyes, I had an incredible urge to let it slip back into the water.”
Lenny laughed again. “Liar, but it makes a heck of a fish story.”
CHAPTER 24
By midweek, Parker was beginning to wonder if Thomas Blocker was serious about coming alongside as cocounsel in the Ferguson case. After the initial surge of activity generated by his memo, the trial lawyer had canceled two appointments to meet with Chet Ferguson and didn’t even call to apologize. Instead, he had one of his legal assistants do so for him. After they received news of the second no-show, Greg sat with his head down for a few seconds.
“One more chance,” he said, looking up. “Then I’m going to be one of the few lawyers in the state who’ve fired Thomas Blocker.”
“Even though there’s a lot he can teach us, it may be for the best,” Parker replied.
“Yeah, I’ve picked up that vibe from you since the first phone call we had with him about the case, but I think you’re off base. Blocker intimidates you. He doesn’t intimidate me. After you’ve been practicing as long as I have, maybe you’ll realize that whenever you enter a room it’s your chance to fill up the space.”
“Do you want me to try to reschedule a third meeting?” Parker asked.
“It’s up to him to call us. Let’s put a five-day deadline on him.”
The following day Greg was out of town for an oral argument at the court of appeals in Raleigh. Parker was in his office trying to unravel a complicated easement dispute between two neighbors who had been friends but were now enemies.
“I know you told me to hold your calls for an hour or so, but do you want to talk to Thomas Blocker?” Vicki asked.
“I’d be glad to talk to anyone.”
He picked up the phone as the call came through.
“I’ve had some time open up today and can scoot up to New Bern and meet with Mr. Ferguson,” Blocker began. “Any chance we can set it up on short notice?”
“Greg is in Raleigh for oral argument at the court of appeals.”
“In Sayers v. Burleson?”
“Yes,” Parker replied in amazement. “How did you know?”
“It’s not the sort of initial meeting that requires Greg’s presence,” Blocker answered, ignoring Parker’s question. “And you’ll be there on behalf of the firm.”
Parker was unsure what to do. If he turned Blocker down, Greg might chew him out for not closing the deal. If he said yes, Greg could blow up because he wasn’t invited to the party.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll give Chet Ferguson a call.”
“Do it soon. My assistant says he has a teacher conference at his son’s school around four o’clock.”
Parker shook his head in disbelief. “Mr. Blocker, what did I have for breakfast this morning?” he asked.
“I have no idea. What did I have?”
“Granola cereal topped with banana and black coffee.”
“You’re right, except I had strawberries instead of banana. Let me know about the appointment ASAP.”
Parker ended the call, not sure whether Blocker was lying or teasing about granola cereal and coffee.
Frank and Lenny were sitting on the screened-in porch drinking a second cup of coffee. A slight breeze slipped through the wire mesh.
“I was a deserter,” Frank continued. “I abandoned my unit in June 1944 and fled to Switzerland.”
“I’ve always wondered how the war ended for you,” Lenny said softly. “I’m just glad you made it through alive.”
“I doubt that would be the reaction of my comrades in Germany, even after all these years have passed.”
“Did that come up with the man who visited you last week?”
Frank shook his head. “No, he wanted to thank me for saving his life, which I guess means I did something good.”
“Why did you decide to desert? What caused it?”
Frank told him about the death of his family in Dresden.
“Were they killed as part of the firebombing the British did? I’ve seen pictures. It was terrible.”
“No, it was a random, solitary hit several months before that happened, probably a plane with an extra bomb that dropped it to lighten its load before heading home.”
Lenny shook his head. “There’s no pattern for those who live and those who die, whether soldiers or civilians.”
“That’s not the only reason I deserted,” Frank said. Then he told him about the impact General Krieger’s possible visit to southern Germany had on Frank’s decision to flee. Lenny’s eyes widened.
“You think this guy was going to drag you to Berlin? How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure. At that point there was nothing and no one left for me in Germany. I knew we were going to lose the war, and the desire to fight was gone. If I’d gone to Berlin, I would have died in a bunker or been executed by the Russians. So I stole a motorcycle and made it across the Rhine by bribing a ferryman at Basel. I spent the rest of the war working as a fisherman.”
“A fisherman?”
“I lived with an elderly man and his grandson.” Frank stopped and smiled. “The elderly man was probably about your age.”
Lenny laughed. “Ancient. And you came to New Bern after the war ended.”
“Yes. The visit the other day by my former comrade stirred up memories from the war years that I’d pushed down and buried so deep I thought they were gone for good. Even though I never fired my weapon in combat, many, many people died because of my actions.”
“I don’t understand.”
Frank stared out at the peaceful scene in his backyard for a moment before he answered. “I offered strategic advice to my commanding officers. Someone else fired the bullets.”
“That’s happened in every headquarters for any army over the past three thousand years. The ultimate goal of war is to defeat the enemy, which means people die.”
“Not the way I did it,” Frank replied, pointing to his head. “I knew things in here that didn’t come from field reconnaissance, intelligence information, or the study of military history. I witnessed things before they happened.”
“I’m not following you,” Lenny said, a puzzled look on his face.
“Do you remember when I suggested to you and Mattie that Chris might want to get to know Sally?”
“Of course.”
“The idea for that came from the same place inside me as the advice I gave General Berg during the war. I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long that I wasn’t sure I still had the ability to see into the future or pull back the curtain on things hidden in the past. Being around Conrad Mueller stirred up—”
“Frank, you’re freaking me out,” Lenny said, cutting him off. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had Alzheimer’s or something.”
Every reason that had kept Frank silent for decades rushed back into his mind. There was a limit to what he needed to reveal and confess
, even to his close friend.
“Maybe you’re right,” Frank said. “Not that I have Alzheimer’s, but it’s crazy to think that I could predict what was going to happen back then, or now.”
Lenny took a final drink of coffee. “You’re a smart guy,” he said, putting his empty cup on the wooden floor of the porch. “Everyone knows that. And if you have any ideas about how I can catch bigger fish, I’m listening. That’s the kind of inside information I’m interested in. But you need to put what happened during the war behind you. Some of my buddies who coped pretty well when they were younger now have trouble with flashbacks and panic attacks. I don’t want to see something like that happen to you. Whether we like it or not, age doesn’t make us stronger; it makes us weaker.”
While Lenny talked, Frank saw his friend wearing army fatigues with his face pressed tightly against the ground. Suddenly Lenny shut his eyes and fired several rapid bursts from an automatic rifle. An American soldier in front of Lenny and to his left fell forward as one of the bullets hit him squarely in the back, killing him instantly. Lenny didn’t see it because he kept his head close to the ground.
“Yes,” Frank said. “You’re right. It’s better to leave what happened during the war behind us and not bring it up.”
Parker furiously took notes as Thomas Blocker talked with Chet Ferguson and discovered additional facts about the case Greg hadn’t uncovered. Ferguson and Blocker clicked immediately. The trial lawyer knew how to catch and reel in a client’s trust as effectively as Opa did a flounder on a hook. Over a ninety-minute time frame, Ferguson revealed that Jessica’s father was an alcoholic who died from liver failure. His wife’s response was to volunteer once a month at a local alcohol treatment center.
The Witnesses Page 19
