Custody of the State (20 page)

“Sure,” Jubb said, with his hand on the French-door handle. “Look, Jason, he's my brother-in-law. I picked him because I could trust him.”

“Sure,” Purdy replied.

Jubb closed the door and walked down the lighted Italian-stone path that led to the lower parking area of the mansion. There, he walked over to a black luxury Hummer with a silver skull-and-crossbones bumper sticker. A thin man—almost emaciated—with a prominent Adam's apple and deep sunken eyes was smoking a cigarette and lounging against the back of the truck.

“How'd it go?” he asked, flicking his cigarette into the air.

“You don't ask me those kinds of questions, Linus,” Jubb replied. “Jason Bell Purdy is none of your business.”

Jubb got behind the steering wheel and closed the door. As he fired up the engine, Linus quickly scampered to the passenger door and hopped in.

Inside the mansion, Purdy was calling the unlisted number of district attorney Harry Putnam. His wife answered cautiously but agreed to get him on the line.

“Jason, it's been a while. How are you?” Putnam asked.

“Fine, just fine,” Purdy answered. “Hey, I wanted to personally invite you to the golf tournament that's coming up in a few weeks. It's going to be a great time. Some bigwigs, famous folks, well-connected—they're all going to be there. You are a local VIP there in Delphi. I thought you might enjoy hitting some
balls around. It's over at my little project, the Eden Lake golf course.”

“Jason, you know I don't golf. I've got those knee problems, remember?”

“Well, then ride in a golf cart and fake it. I don't think you'll want to miss this one.”

Putnam laughed a little and said that he would think about it.

Then Purdy quickly changed the subject.

“Something else—I know you are prosecuting Mary Sue Fellows. How's it going?”

“Jason, she's married. I know you dated her for a while a long time ago, but the woman is married. Besides—I intend to convict her and put her in prison. So I wouldn't show any sentimental attachment to this lady.”

“No, that's all over. That was a long time ago. I'm just concerned that the right thing gets done. I want to make sure that you're considering all of the facts here, Harry. I'd hate to see the wrong thing happen.”

“Well—for what it's worth—Mary Sue Fellows' attorney just got stuck in the Juda County jail for refusing to tell the judge where his client was. You can make out of that anything you want.”

“Well Harry, just remember. I think you've got a great future. You don't need to be a district attorney the rest of your life. I talk to people. I've always wondered whether you ever thought about being a judge. Just thought I would mention that to you.”

“Well, maybe we could talk about it sometime.” Putnam said goodnight and hung up the phone.

Purdy flipped open his Palm Pilot again and tapped in the words “lawyer/jailer?” After that, he tapped in “background on lawyer—Suzanne?” Closing it, he turned off his television and padded across the plush carpeting in his stocking feet, out of the study and into the sprawling marble foyer, just as the housekeeper and maids were leaving for the night.

Each, in turn, said, “Good night, Mr. Purdy.” Purdy said good night to them with a smile, enjoying the canopy of respect that covered him. He knew he was special—and he knew he had a beautiful future ahead of him. As he walked up the spiral staircase, he also knew that tonight he would have an excellent night's rest.

26

Y
OU
'
RE SURE THAT
W
ILL
has not called into the office?”

“Fiona, I'm positive,” Hilda said, trying to be reassuring. “He hasn't called in for the past two days.”

“I really don't want to be a worrywart,” Fiona continued, with an effort to be nonchalant. “It's just that we had only a short conversation at the studio. I thought he would call me back. But I haven't heard from him. It's just this feeling I have…”

“Look, honey. I promise to contact you as soon as he calls into the office,” Hilda said in a positive tone. “I'm sure he is fine.”

“Oh, I'm sure you're right, Hilda. I don't know why I get myself worked up like this over the man.”

“Oh, well—I think I probably know,” Hilda said warmly. “You are like me. You worry about your man—and then when things turn out alright, you don't know whether to hug him and burst into tears because he is okay—or get angry and go hunting for a rolling pin.”

The younger woman laughed. “You know what the hardest thing is about men?”

“Sure,” Hilda replied. “They are so
not
like us.”

Fiona appreciated the secretary's good-natured humor. She had always figured that Hilda would bring a little levity to Will's high-octane approach to the practice of law.

Unfortunately, after Fiona hung up, she didn't feel much better than before. It was unlike Will not to check in with his office every day. She struggled with whether to call her father, Angus MacCameron, and ask him to pray. She couldn't shake
the cloud of oppression she felt for Will, wherever he was and whatever he was doing.

On the other hand, she was worried about her father's health. Although it had been more than a year since his life-threatening heart attack and stroke, she still was very cautious about his health. He was a passionate and even volatile man on issues he felt strongly about. And he had developed a strong attachment to Will through the court case that had brought them all together. In a way, it seemed that Angus looked at Will as a long-lost son. For all of those reasons, Fiona hesitated to contact her father and tell him about her concern.

There was a knock at the office door, and it swung open. Fiona's producer was smiling somewhat tensely, and he tapped his watch with his index finger.

“I hate to bug you,” he said, “but the band is off break, and we're ready to get back to work. Are you going to be ready soon?”

“Ted, give me just another minute. I have one more phone call to make,” Fiona replied.

As the door closed, the singer picked up the phone and dialed her father's telephone number. She needed to hear the reassuring strength in her father's voice. And she needed to pray with him. Probably this vague sense of dread she felt about Will was nothing. But maybe it was something very real.

One thing she did know. As she listened to her father's phone ring, she had never been more aware that beneath the visible and commonplace textures of life, there was a spiritual world that was engaged in eternal combat over unseen kings and kingdoms. And she couldn't shake the feeling that Will was now caught in the front lines of that battle.

27

W
ILL HAD FINALLY BEEN GRANTED
his demand for a telephone call. Guard Thompson escorted him out of his cell, down the corridor, through two locked steel doors, and into a day room, where there were a few linoleum-topped tables, some tipped-over plastic chairs, and a television in a ceiling corner. The TV was blaring, featuring a cooking show with a flamboyant chef who was effusively describing the delights of braised lamb with mint. In the far corner of the room, there was a wall phone. The guard punched a code into the phone and handed it to Will, then moved back a few steps and crossed his arms, observing.

“This is an attorney call—I need privacy,” Will said.

“I understand, but I've got my orders. I have to observe you at all times during the phone call to make sure there is no destruction of the phone equipment.”

Will gave a bewildered shake of the head, and he proceeded to punch in the telephone number of his law office.

Hilda answered and breathlessly asked where Will had been. Unfortunately, neither Jacki nor Todd Ferguson was in.

Taking a deep breath, Will attempted to calmly describe his circumstances and the legal assignments he wanted Hilda to deliver to Jacki so that his incarceration could be immediately appealed and challenged.

Hilda frantically wrote down his instructions but missed several key components, requiring Will to repeat each of the legal issues slowly. Before he could complete his second recitation of
the research projects he was trying to communicate, Thompson interrupted and told him his time was up.

As Will walked back to his cell accompanied by the guard, his paper slippers making a shuffling noise, he was able to summon only one consolation from the phone call. Hilda had relayed the fact that Fiona had called, but had no idea where he was—and she'd assured him that she would call her immediately and fill her in. As he was approaching the door, he began chuckling.

Some great consolation—now Fiona can be told that her boyfriend is locked up in jail
.
I'm sure that will put her mind at ease
.

Entering the cell, Will noticed Ivan perched on the side of his bed with an expectant look on his face. As soon as the guard left, Ivan said he wanted to show Will a few of his favorite card tricks.

Will smiled and obliged, stretching out on his bunk to watch. But Ivan was only into his second demonstration—something he called “the joker takes a wife”—when the two of them sensed a presence at the cell door. They glanced over and noticed guard Thompson standing there with his hands folded in front of him and a strange look on his face.

“Chambers, you gotta come with me. You got a transfer.”

Will stood up, wondering what a “transfer” meant. As he approached the cell door, Thompson barked out, “Ivan, sit down. This doesn't concern you.”

Will glanced over and saw that Ivan was standing a few feet behind him. He looked as if he wanted to say something or do something, but apparently was afraid of punishment if he did either.

Will's cellmate took a few steps backwards and slowly sat down on the edge of his bunk.

Thompson locked the cell door and began escorting Will down the corridor.

“What kind of a ‘transfer' am I getting?” Will asked.

Thompson was quiet and didn't respond at first. Finally, as they approached the elevator at the end of the corridor, he answered.

“I've got orders to take you to the auxiliary jail.”

“What's that?” Will asked.

“Look,” Thompson replied, looking around nervously and lowering his voice, “I'm sorry—I don't make the rules, I just follow orders.”

As the elevator door opened, Will heard Ivan's voice echoing down the corridor from his cell.

“You keep your eyes open, counselor! You watch yourself over there! You know what I'm talking about!” Ivan yelled.

Will looked Thompson in the eye.

“Tell me, guard Thompson, are you taking me to the overflow pen?”

“We aren't allowed to call it that.”

As the elevator doors closed, Thompson added, “But that's what all the inmates call it.”

When the doors opened two floors down, Thompson spoke again. “Like I said, I'm not the one that made this decision. I
am
sorry about this.”

28

D
R
. K
ENT
F
REDRICK
P
ARKER
, chief pathologist for the Delphi hospital, rushed into his office, his white lab coat unbuttoned and open, his top pocket crammed with pens. He swept a long, gray hair out of his face and then brushed his fingers over the coffee stain on his shirt.

Then he reached out a hand to greet Harry Putnam and Harriet Bender, who were already seated in his office.

Putnam led off by reminding him they were there to discuss the Mary Sue Fellows case. The last time they had met was at the beginning of the case, to quickly retain an affidavit, verifying his lab results on the blood sample taken from Joshua Fellows. As Parker situated himself behind his desk, he quickly acknowledged that, indeed, he did remember the case very well.

“Doctor, I sent you a copy of the affidavit that you signed for us previously. Did you get it?”

Parker nodded and retrieved it from a file that lay on the desk.

“We just want to go over your findings with you to make sure we've got it all nailed down. Your testimony at trial will basically follow the information we obtained from you on the affidavit,” Putnam said.

“And when is this trial coming up?”

“I believe the trial date was mentioned in Mr. Putnam's cover letter to you,” Harriet Bender chimed in. “Check your file, Doctor—I'm sure it's in the letter.”

Parker glanced again at his file, retrieved the letter, and nodded in agreement.

“With the trial date only ten days away, we wanted to go through the questions that we will be asking then,” Putnam continued. “So, the basics we want from you in your testimony are the identification that the blood sample came from Joshua during a hospitalization, the results of your lab test on the blood sample, the fact that the blood was determined to contain ethylene glycol, and the fact that ethylene glycol is one of the main ingredients in hydraulic brake fluid,” Putnam concluded.