Custody of the State (29 page)

Joe paused and looked down at the table. Then he added, “Rich boy makes All-State. I admit to you, Will, I've had some feelings about the guy—dating Mary Sue and everything.”

“But she picked
you,
” Will said. “That's the most important fact here.”

Joe smiled at that.

As Will was about to leave, Joe asked him one more question.

“Do you think God corrects injustice?”

“Why don't you ask him?” Will responded.

“I have. You know, in the past, Mary Sue was always the real spiritual one. I was busy trying to make the farm survive. Keep food on the table. Trying to build a future for us. Now I'm sitting here in this hole…my hands tied…not knowing where she and Joshua are, or exactly how they are doing. And she tells me, when she called here to the jail the other day, that Joshua is doing real bad. Been hospitalized.”

“Recently?”

“Yeah, about the same time they threw you in here.”

“How is he doing now?”

“I haven't heard. So I cry out to God. Every day. I ask him for protection for my wife and child. And for justice. For these lying charges against us to be dropped. You know, Will, I feel pretty helpless. I want to save my wife from this—to do something for her. But all I can do is sit here in this miserable jail.”

Will embraced Joe, surprising him with a quick hug. There were no more words he could give him. The other man was going down a road of shadows—and he would have to go down it himself.

Meanwhile, Will was scrambling down his own dark alley in trying to prove Mary Sue's innocence. Time was running out. And with each new turn that appeared at first to be promising, the light seemed to be fading even more quickly.

43

W
ILL WAS HOLDING ON THE LINE
, trying to be patient. This was the second day in a row that he had tried to contact Dr. Parker, the Delphi hospital pathologist, in an effort to gain an interview with him before the trial.

After several long minutes, the receptionist came back on the telephone. Dr. Parker's schedule would not permit an in-person interview. But he did have just a few minutes, right now, to talk.

When the doctor came on the line, Will introduced himself. The other man indicated he was expecting the call.

Will first asked him about the blood test on Joshua. The doctor gave a measured, confident, account about the test results showing the presence of ethylene glycol, an ingredient found in hydraulic brake fluid, among other industrial and machine uses.

“Why did you take two weeks to write up that lab report?”

“Mr. Chambers, this is a busy hospital. As I recall, we had a number of rush evaluations we needed to do. I was short-staffed.”

“Is that why you did the blood test report yourself—rather than one of your lab assistants?”

Dr. Parker paused, then said, “That was probably the reason.”

“Who did you talk to about this?”

“I notified our chief of staff when I saw that the blood test indicated possible poisoning. I called our social services director here in the hospital. She contacted the Department of Social Services for the county, and the sheriff's department.”

“Why didn't you entertain the possibility of accidental poisoning—as opposed to intentional poisoning?”

“We did, of course,” the doctor replied quickly. “But after consultation with the authorities—and I believe they brought the family physician, Dr. Wilson, in on it—coupled with a phone call they received from someone reporting child abuse—all that tipped the scales.”

“Do you know the name of the caller?”

“No, they never give me a name.”

After Will paused to jot down a few notes, he decided to return to a prior question.

“Anyone else you talked to about this case?”

“Mr. Putnam, and that guardian lawyer for the child—”

“Harriet Bender?”

“Yes, that was her.”

“Did Putnam and Bender come to you together?”

“That's right.”

“Anyone else you talked to?”

“Maybe some of the staff here.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“No, not really. Just mentioning the case in passing.”

“Anyone else?”

Dr. Parker cleared his throat. “I do have some matters to attend to here at the hospital, Mr. Chambers.”

“Certainly. I'm almost done. Who else did you talk to?”

After pausing, Dr. Parker continued.

“Possibly a concerned friend or two of the Fellows family, and a few news reporters.”

“And that would be who?”

“One reporter from Atlanta, one television news-magazine host—a woman—and some reporters from Delphi and the papers in the county and surrounding areas.”

“Actually, doctor,” Will said, “I meant the family friends. Who were they?”

“I recall one, Jason Purdy. There were some others that may have tried to call me. I didn't return their calls.”

“Jason Bell Purdy?”

“Yes. I think he said he was a longtime friend of Mary Sue Fellows—during his college years, I think. He called because he wanted to help her out, see if there was something he could do. He was sure there had been a mistake.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that, regrettably, there had been no mistake. It was in the hands of the authorities. There was nothing I could do—or he, for that matter—to stop Mary Sue from being prosecuted.”

“So Mr. Purdy was calling as a friend?”

“Yes.”

“On the telephone?”

After a few seconds, Dr. Parker corrected himself.

“I think he actually stopped by, if I remember correctly.”

“Did the two of you discuss anything else?”

“No. We didn't. Now if you will excuse me—”

The attorney threw out one last question, “Doctor, I made a written request for Harry Putnam to have you produce the remaining portion of Joshua's blood sample to me, so I can have my own expert test it. Has he mentioned that?”

“You'll have to talk to Putnam about that,” Dr. Parker snapped.

Will thanked the doctor for taking the time to talk. Unfortunately, he had not had the chance to question the doctor about his investment in Eden Lake, but that seemed to be of only marginal interest in any event.

After hanging up, he checked his e-mail. There was a short note from Tiny.

Will: I checked the probate file on Henry Pencup. Found nothing that seemed to help. He had only modest hard assets. But his estate also listed a $750,000 life insurance policy. It was written by Bob Smiley, that local insurance guy. No other players in your little drama seem to be involved in the Pencup estate. Everything went to his widow. See ya.

Tiny

P.S.—Stay out of jail!

Up till then, Bob Smiley had successfully evaded a follow-up interview with either Tiny or Will. But Will decided to send a quick return e-mail to his detective, asking him to try to tie down the insurance agent one more time before trial.

Dr. Parker had aroused Will's curiosity about Jason Bell Purdy. Perhaps Purdy had never gotten over his romantic interest in Mary Sue. Or perhaps there was something else.

Picking up the phone, Will glanced at the telephone number that Tiny had obtained for him, and began dialing Purdy's corporate office in Atlanta.

After two layers of receptionists passed his call through, he was finally connected to Purdy's appointment secretary. He said he wanted a meeting with Mr. Purdy as soon as possible in regard to Mary Sue Fellows.

She said she would check on that and call him back.

Wanting to clear his mind so he could start focusing on the final push of trial preparation, Will strolled down the dock and skipped a few rocks in the lake, which had calmed considerably since the day before. Since he didn't expect a call back from Purdy's office any time soon, the question then became, what stones had he yet to turn over?

But before he could answer that, the phone in the houseboat rang.

He ran in and picked it up. It was the appointment secretary calling back.

To Will's surprise she indicated that he “was in great luck. Mr. Purdy is just finishing up a meeting at his home—and after that he has a small window open in his schedule. He will meet you there in two hours. Do you want directions to the Purdy mansion?”

After jotting down the directions, Will hung up and tried to call Fiona, but only connected to her voice mail. He then called his office to check in.

Hilda said she had last talked to Fiona right after Will had been released from jail.

“Yeah—I got a surprise visit from her in the hospital. Do you think she'll still love me, now that I'm not just another pretty face?” Will said with a laugh.

“Oh, Will—when Jacki got back here she said you looked like you had rented out your face for a punching bag. But I don't know why we are making a joke out of this,” she said, suddenly serious. “What happened to you was just plain ugly. And it could have been a tragedy.
”

“Yes,
Mother
.”

“Good thing I know how to handle you,” Hilda retorted. “Now here is something important. Mary Sue called here yesterday. She said she wanted to call you there at the houseboat today, and she is going to call me back today to confirm.”

“Tell her to call me in exactly five hours from now. I'm on my way to interview a guy by the name of Jason Bell Purdy. That should give me plenty of time to get back here.”

“Oh, isn't that the fellow who is going to fill out the rest of the term of that Georgia senator who died?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“INN news last night.”

“Huh—that will be good to know for the interview. I'm glad you mentioned it,” Will responded. “And if you hear from Fiona before I do, tell her I'm trying to connect with her.”

“She's en route back from the recording session today, flying into BWI airport. I think she made it just under the wire with the strike. If I hear from her, I'll tell her.”

After about an hour-and-a-half drive through the Georgia countryside in the direction of Atlanta, Will located a sign arching over a private drive that came off a county trunk highway.

The black metal sign, ornately detailed with delicate scrollwork, contained one word in gold letters—“PURDY.”

A half-mile down a long driveway that was lined with peach blossom trees, Will encountered a guardhouse.

The security guard checked his ID, then made a call to the mansion. After a few minutes he waved Will through.

Will drove another mile through the green, rolling landscape. Several chestnut-colored horses grazed peacefully beyond the cleanly maintained black horse fence. Off in the distance he caught glimpses of an equestrian course.

As the mansion came into view, a black stretch limo, followed by a smaller limo, blew past him on their way out.

The mammoth white antebellum edifice was perched on a hill. Two huge columns on each side of the front entrance helped support a full porch wrapping around the second floor, all crowned by a fantail window on the third floor.

The front of the mansion was graced by a semicircular, redbrick drive-through.

Will pulled his car to the side of the road for a minute to take in the full view of this spectacular house that was sending his mind back to the past.

It brought back his memories of Generals' Hill, the much smaller antebellum mansion that he and Audra, his artist wife, had purchased in Virginia. But theirs had been in disrepair. The couple had been halfway through the renovation when they'd separated. Against Will's desires, Audra had moved to Georgetown. Shortly after that, she'd been found murdered in her apartment.

Will had never recovered enough from that to complete the work on the house. Instead, he'd spent several years immersed in self-pity, living alone at Generals' Hill and drinking himself into an emotional abyss. He'd allowed his law practice to disintegrate and his personal life to hit bottom.

That was when Angus MacCameron had walked into his office. The unique issues in the preacher's case had forced Will to come to grips with spiritual realities that he had, up to then, successfully avoided. Ultimately, his life was transformed by a divine encounter. At first, even his friend and several-year associate,
Jacki Johnson, had doubted this. But the evidence for the complete spiritual renovation of his life had become undeniable.

And of course, that same lawsuit brought Fiona, Angus' daughter, into Will's life. That was a second kind of miracle.

But Generals' Hill had not survived. It was burned to the ground in an act of arson, which had been committed by powerful enemies the attorney had created during his handling of the MacCameron case. And instead of trying to recreate the burned-down structure, Will had settled on building a large, rambling log house on the same spot.