Custody of the State (26 page)

He unlocked the houseboat and threw open the windows to get fresh air. Suddenly feeling exhausted and a little dizzy, he
thought he would lie down for a minute. Although his skull wasn't fractured, as the doctors had originally feared, he had had a serious concussion and a broken nose. He stretched on the couch in the small living room that overlooked the lake.

He was just dozing off when the phone rang next to him.

“Is this Will Chambers?” a young female voice said on the other end.

“Yes, it is. What can I do for you?”

“You can't do anything for me, but I might be able to do something for you.”

“Like what?”

“You represent a woman by the name of Mary Sue Fellows?” the young woman on the phone asked.

Will sat up quickly—so quickly that his head gave him an immediate reminder of his injuries.

“Yes—do you know her?”

“Never met her in my life.”

“Alright—do you have some information on her case?” Will asked.

“I am the anonymous caller.”

“Okay—can you explain that?”

“I'm the one who called the Department of Social Services. I told them about Mary Sue Fellows poisoning her little boy.”

“I am sorry, I didn't catch your name…” Will prompted.

“You're not going to get my name. I want no part of this case. And I don't want any trouble.”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Because someone did me wrong. I had a perfectly good job, and now I've been fired. He's mistreated me and taken advantage of me—I've been harassed and treated like dirt. I don't appreciate that. So I took the information about how to contact you with me.”

“Wait a minute,” Will said, trying to put the pieces together. “Who did you wrong?”

There was silence at the other end. Will decided to probe a little further.

“You said that you made the phone call. But you've never met Mary Sue Fellows. Why did you accuse her of poisoning her child?”

“I was told to. He told me that I could make the phone call—no one would have to know who I was—and the law protected me as an anonymous caller reporting a child-abuse incident.”

“When you made the phone call, you knew that those allegations were basically untrue?”

“Look, like I said—I know nothing about Mary Sue Fellows. I don't know anything about her poisoning her kid. I was told to say those things and that's it.”

“Why would you have made a false allegation against someone you didn't know?”

“Very simple—money. And there were other issues. Anyway, I'm sorry I did it and I wanted you to know. I'm hoping this could be helpful.”

“It isn't going to be very helpful,” Will replied, “unless you give me a name and give me some way to contact you so I can interview you. I need to find out who put you up to this and why. And then I need to convince you how important it is to be a witness in this case.”

“Oh no,” the young woman said, “there's no way I'm going to get involved in this case. I'm not going to give you my name and I can't afford to testify. You're just going to have to run with the information I've given you.”

“I don't think that's enough,” Will said gently but firmly. “An innocent woman may lose custody of her child. And there's still a criminal case pending against her—she may even go to prison when this is all over. Can you live with that?”

There was a tense pause at the other end. Will continued to push.

“Can you tell me who put you up to this?”

“I…I don't think I can tell you that. I really don't want my life destroyed. He can really mess up your life.”

“Isn't there anything else you can tell me?” Will asked, passion rising in his voice.

He heard noise in the background as the woman remained silent. It might have been as long as a minute. It sounded like she was calling from a telephone booth or a store, or perhaps a restaurant.

Finally she spoke. “Do you ever give confession? Are you Catholic?”

“No, I've never given confession to a priest, if that's what you're wondering.”

“Well, ask a guy named Henry Pencup. He gave a confession. I can guarantee you that.”

“And what does that have to do with Mary Sue Fellows?”

“That's what you'll have to figure out,” the young woman said. Then she hung up.

Will quickly jotted down the name she'd given him on a magazine, spelling it several different ways—Pencupp—Pencup—Penkupp—Penkup.

Then Will noticed the telephone number on the caller ID and called it immediately.

After a number of rings, a man answered the phone.

“Delphi Café.”

“I think a young woman just called from your phone. Is she still there?”

“Haven't got a clue. If she is, I don't know what she looks like. We've been real busy here.”

“Do you think you could find her in there in the restaurant?” Will asked.

“Locate who—what's her name?”

“That's just the problem—I don't know her name. She just called me from your telephone,” Will said.

“Look—we're real busy here. Sorry I can't help you.” The man hung up.

Will quickly plugged in his laptop and went on-line. After searching a few news sources under various spellings, he came up with a small article in an Atlanta newspaper. It was an obituary.

Henry Pencup had been the president of the Delphi National Bank. The obituary indicated that he was memorialized in a service at St. Stephen Catholic Church in Delphi.

Following the obituary, Will also located a number of articles mentioning an ongoing investigation into several million dollars missing from the Delphi bank. Auditors had so far failed to uncover the reason for the missing funds. The death of Henry Pencup, who had suffered a massive heart attack, had become a major obstacle in the investigation.

That was when Will remembered the sign outside the St. Stephen the Martyr Catholic Church.

Confession is good for the soul,
the attorney thought to himself.

He decided he needed to visit the church.

It was time to find out
whose
confession.

And—whose soul.

39

F
ATHER
G
ODFREY WAS BEHIND
the rectory at St. Stephen's, working on his garden. He was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat that he took off occasionally to wipe off the perspiration trickling down his pale, withered face.

He was resting for a moment on a stool, hoe in hand, when Will rounded the corner of the rectory and called out to him.

“Are you Father Godfrey?”

“Yes, sir. You look familiar. Have we met?” the priest replied.

“I am Will Chambers, a lawyer from Virginia. I was a patient at the Delphi hospital. You visited my roommate yesterday. I'm here in Georgia working on a legal case, and I'm wondering whether I could take a few minutes of your time.”

“Your timing is good—I just decided to sit down for a few minutes and catch my breath.”

“Do you know a man by the name of Henry Pencup?”

“I did. I presided over his funeral. He was a member of my parish.”

“Do you happen to know if he gave a last confession at the Delphi hospital before he died?”

“That is a very strange question—why do you ask?”

“I represent a woman by the name of Mary Sue Fellows. She is a mother of a small boy named Joshua. Happily married. Her husband is a farmer by the name of Joseph Fellows. They live outside Delphi on the farm they own and operate.

“Mrs. Fellows has been charged with committing child abuse against her son. I don't believe those charges are true. I believe
she is innocent, but I have only a short period of time to prove that. If I don't, they are going to take her child away from her—possibly permanently—and she may end up going to prison.”

“That is a rather amazing situation you describe. What did you say your name was?”

“Chambers, Will Chambers. I am her attorney.”

“I think I may have read something about this in the local paper. The name doesn't ring a bell. But then—I don't think they publish the names of people involved in those juvenile cases, do they?”

“No—no they don't,” Will said.

“But I don't see how this concerns me,” Father Godfrey went on.

“I have reason to believe,” Will explained, “that a confession was given to you by Henry Pencup right before he died, and that it may have something to do with my client's case. It may help me prove her innocence.”

“I can tell you this—I did take the last confession of Henry Pencup. And it was at the Delphi hospital. I can tell you that much.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Will asked.

“Being a lawyer, you know better than I do that this involves a legal privilege of confidentiality. I can't share anything with you. And more than that, there is a sacred trust between his priest and his penitent. I am afraid I cannot be of much help to you.”

And with that Father Godfrey rose slowly from his stool, leaning on the hoe for support.

Will was about to leave, but then he thought of a question that he thought the priest might be able to answer.

“Was there anyone else in that hospital room with you when Henry Pencup gave you his last confession?”

Father Godfrey paused for a moment. He took his straw hat off and wiped the perspiration from the thin strands of his white hair.

“Now that you mention it—I believe there was.”

“Can you remember anything about that person?”

“She was a nurse, I believe.”

“Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”

“I think so. My memory isn't what it used to be. But I think I might be able to recognize her.”

Will felt around in the pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a snapshot of Mary Sue and handed it to the older man. After a prolonged silence, holding the photograph close to his eyes, the priest finally replied.

“This could be her. I am not positive. But I think this could be the same woman. Immediately after I gave Mr. Pencup his last rites, his heart stopped. And then—all the alarms and bells—you know, the medical equipment starting going off. She pulled open the curtain because she was right there in the room and started to perform CPR as she was calling for the rest of the staff. In a few seconds there were doctors and other nurses there, but they could not revive him.”

“Do you think she heard any of Henry Pencup's last words to you?”

“Oh, I doubt that,” the priest replied quickly. “Henry didn't have much energy. He was speaking very quietly—I had to strain to hear him.”

“Is there anything more—anything at all—that you recall about your last contact with Henry Pencup, or with that nurse, that you can tell me?” Will asked.

Father Godfrey searched his memory for a few seconds, but then shook his head.

Thanking the older man for his time Will turned to leave.

“Good luck on your garden here. It looks like you have a green thumb.”

“I may have a green thumb,” Father Godfrey replied, “but I also have something else.”

“What's that?”

“Well, I thought I had rabbits. My vegetables were being eaten at night. And I did see rabbits in the area. So I put up this little two-foot fence to keep them out. But I kept noticing that my vegetables were still being eaten at night.”

“Did you find out what was doing it?”

“Well, one morning I came out, and I noticed something bound out of the garden and over the fence in one easy leap. It was red, with a bushy tail.”

Will was fishing in his pocket for one of his business cards.

“Which just goes to show you…” Father Godfrey said—and then his voice trailed off.

“Goes to show you what?” Will prompted.

“Well,” said the older man, gathering his thoughts, “it shows you that you shouldn't be looking for rabbits when you have a fox.”

The attorney smiled and handed his business card to the priest.

“This is my card, but I have written my local number on the back because I'm staying here in the Delphi area at a houseboat on Eden Lake. If you think of anything more that you can tell me that might relate to Mary Sue Fellows or Henry Pencup, please do not hesitate to call.”

“Eden Lake? Did you say Eden Lake?” the priest asked, suddenly becoming animated, his voice rising.

“Yes—is that important somehow?”

Father Godfrey leaned on his hoe and studied Will for a few seconds.