Custody of the State (36 page)

“Look, look!”

His friends ran over to where he was standing.

And then they saw what he was looking at.

“I saw it first,” the little boy in the white trunks yelled out. He pointed wildly with his index finger. “That's what I told you.”

The other children huddled together, growing quiet in amazement.

Then they could only yell and whoop at what they saw.

The Stearman biplane, engine whining, was flying so low that it was nearly skimming the water—limping, with its wings unstable and rocking slightly back and forth.

Then it buzzed directly over their heads in its brilliant colors of red, white, and blue. Tex was waving to the children as they flew over.

Will, in the back cockpit, gave an exhausted salute.

The children on the beach cheered.

The plane made its way over the trees and the small, brightly colored cement houses until Tex spotted the small airstrip at the end of the island.

As the Stearman set down on the cracked concrete landing strip, a flock of chickens scurried out of the way. When the plane had finally taxied up to the airport building, a handful of locals, smiling and wondering, came to the edge of the strip to look at the antique plane that was painted in the colors of the American flag and had just come in.

Will, his hands shaking a little, unhooked the tether line. Then he picked up the metal case and climbed out.

The attorney had often seen pictures of people kissing the ground after returning home from a war, or finishing a perilous journey. He had wondered at that gesture—and had always thought it was a little foolish.

As Tex was climbing out, he turned around—and then laughed out loud as he saw Will Chambers kneeling on the airstrip, kissing the ground.

The two shook hands, looking each other in the eye for a few seconds, but saying nothing at first. Then they walked into the
tiny airport. After going through customs under the amused gaze of officers dressed smartly in white British uniforms, they passed through to a lobby that was filled with local families, a few tourists, and a boy leading a goat by a rope.

A thin, distinguished-looking man in a white island shirt and khaki pants quickly came up to them. He had white, thinning hair and a large, gentle face.

“I'm Dr. Forrester,” he said in a crisp British accent. “You made it through that tropical blow we just had? Amazing. It just came and went. Out of nowhere. They get those here. Oh good, you've brought the box with the blood sample. I told customs to be on the lookout for someone bringing in a medical sample.”

Tex introduced himself and then said, “Counselor, I think I'll see if I can rustle us up a couple clean rooms. And then I'm going to have me a sit-down in a nice quiet cabaña. Doctor, good to meet you.”

The Englishman handed a card to Tex as he left.

“I've written down the number and address of the office where I'm working here. You can get hold of us there.”

Dr. Forrester took the box and led Will to a waiting taxi, a converted minivan with the sliding door replaced by a piece of fishing net that was latched over the opening with a hook.

“We had a tough flight,” Will said. “This box got tossed around pretty violently, and I'm worried that the vial is all smashed up inside.”

Dr. Forrester smiled but didn't respond. Finally he said, “With the airline strike, I suppose that old biplane is the best you could do. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. I can't believe you're here.”

“Neither can I,” Will quipped.

In less than thirty minutes they were in downtown Freeport. Going past the international bazaar that was thronged with shoppers, the taxi stopped at the opening of a narrow alley. After the doctor had paid the cab driver, he and Will began walking down the tiled sidewalk between two rows of small businesses
and shops, some painted green, some white, others yellow, each with a wooden sign hanging out in front.

They ducked into one with a medical logo. Dr. Forrester warmly introduced Will to the local staff and took him into a back room that was filled with lab equipment.

He opened the top of the silver box carefully. Will looked in and saw that it was filled with a thick gel-like material—that looked like petroleum jelly, but with much more density.

“This stuff is marvelous,” the doctor remarked. “You can put an egg inside of a box, surround it with this, drop it off Big Ben to the sidewalk, and it wouldn't crack.”

He reached in and pulled out a smaller metal tube, which he opened.

“Give me an hour,” he said, taking the vial containing Joshua's blood.

“That quick?”

“I already have an impression of what we are dealing with, based on the symptoms Dr. Kendoll described and on his evaluation of the blood. By the way, do you have a copy of Joshua's medical chart?”

Will fished the file out of his briefcase. A nurse came in with a note and handed it to the doctor, who passed it on to Will.

“Your pilot found some rooms at the Driftwood Hotel. Here's the address.”

After thanking Dr. Forrester again, Will caught a cab over to the hotel.

When he arrived, he found Tex sitting at the curved bamboo bar by the pool.

“Pull up a chair, counselor. I'm drinking an island screwdriver—what's your poison?”

“Ginger ale with a slice of lime,” Will said to the bartender.

“Oh,” Tex commented, “you're ridin' the wagon?”

“Your drink there used to be my drink once,” Will replied. “During the daytime, at least. Then nighttimes it was Jack Daniels. All through the night.”

“Yeah, it can be a problem. My last two wives said that to me. It was more than that, though—a whole lot more. Anyway,” and with that Tex lifted his glass, “to us who land softly—and to those who don't.”

He swung around on his stool and looked out to the azure ribbon of ocean on the horizon.

“I did you a favor.”

“What? You mean in addition to not killing me on that flight?” Will exclaimed, laughing.

“Yeah, that was a mean old Brahma bull we were ridin',” Tex said. “No—I mean something else.”

“Oh?”

“When's your doctor going to do his thing?”

“He's looking at the blood right now. I'm expecting a call any minute.”

“Then it should work out.”

“What?”

“Did you think about how you're going to get back to the mainland?”

“How's your plane?” Will asked.

“Don't really know. I thought I'd mosey over there later and take a closer look. Anyway, you said you've got the court case coming up.”

“Right.”

“So I checked around. There's an Air Mexico flight sitting here on Grand Bahama island. Late this afternoon it'll be taking off for Miami and then going on to Atlanta. They're holding a seat for you. They're not affected by the strike, of course.”

Will thanked Tex warmly.

“Now it's not at the little airstrip
we
landed on,” Tex explained. “It's over at the international airport, just down from Freeport. That's the one that actually
looks
like an airport—sort of.”

Tex put down his drink and rubbed his hands together.

“So let me ask you something,” Tex said quietly. He paused and then continued. “What you were saying—spouting off up there…”

“What do you mean?”

“When we were up there, and coming down in the middle of all of that. We were in a free fall. I was figuring we were going to buy the farm right there. I did every stick and rudder trick I knew. But it just wasn't happening. We were going down.”

Will was listening intently.

“So the thing is this,” Tex went on. “The thing is—what were you reciting up there? Was it something from the Bible, or what?”

“Psalm ninety-one.”

Tex was studying Will.

Then Will recited the passage:

He will cover you with His pinions,

And under His wings you may seek refuge;

His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.

“Pinions?” Tex asked.

“Those are the feathers of the wing. The feathers that create flight.”

After a few moments of silence Tex said, “So, you're a religious man?”

“I didn't used to be,” Will explained. “Not really. I just didn't think about it. Then my life started taking a nosedive…”

Tex grinned a bit.

“And then one day this particular lawsuit came into my office. Well, it was much more than just the legal case. Anyway, things came in on me. I was cornered. It was like I was chased into this corner by someone who was trying to catch my attention. I was there in the box and I had to look—really look—at all the evidence there was about the life of Jesus. What He said. How He died. And the stories in all four Gospels about the resurrection. I really had never thought about it before. You might say I was forced to render a verdict. On who Jesus really was.”

“I had an uncle like that,” Tex said. “My dad left us when I was young, and my mom got killed in a car accident. I was raised, from about twelve on, by my uncle. Now he was a cussing, fighting, drinking kind of a guy. He worked in the oil fields. They called those guys ‘roughnecks.' And they sure were.”

“What happened?”

“One day he goes to this revival. He comes back and says he just got saved. Says he's invited Jesus into his heart as savior. Sins forgiven. You probably know the line. I didn't think much of it. But he sure caught on. Suddenly, he is this churchgoing, amening, Bible-reading, going-to-heaven fellow. ‘You have to come to Jesus, Gerald
,
' he used to say to me all the time.”

“Gerald?”
Will remarked with a smile.

“You don't think I was born with the name ‘Tex,' do you?”

“So, after your uncle became a Christian, where did that leave you?”

“He dragged me to church until I was too old to be dragged—and I finally left the house. Went out on my own.”

After a pause, Tex added, “My uncle—his name was Warren. He was a good man, though.”

A hotel clerk approached Will.

“Are you Mr. Chambers?”

The attorney nodded.

“A call for you. You can take it at the phone here,” he said, and he pointed to a telephone on the bar.

Will picked up the phone and greeted the caller.

“Mr. Chambers, Dr. Forrester here. I've looked at the sample. And the records. It confirms my suspicions. What you've got here is methylmalonic acidemia.”

“What?”

Dr. Forrester repeated the name of the condition and then continued. “It's one of a group of metabolic diseases that cause the accumulation of methylmalonic acid in the body. It can cause severe episodes of acidosis and ketosis—and it can be fatal.”

“You say this is a
disease?”

“Yes. I find no evidence of poisoning. Though it is possible for a physician to mistakenly assume that a child with this disease has been given a poisonous substance.”

“Is there treatment for this?”

“Oh yes, several regimes. But it is a nasty medical condition. A low-protein diet helps. Avoiding general infection is also good. There are shots—hydroxycobalamin if there is a cobalamin defect—and other things that can be done.”

“You need to get your diagnosis to Dr. Kendoll—”

“Already done,” Dr. Forrester said. “He will get it to the treating physicians.”

“Doctor, I need your testimony. The trial starts tomorrow in Mary Sue Fellows case.”

“I wish I could. But my mission down here is too important. I simply can't leave.”

Will thought for a moment.

“It may be possible to present your testimony by satellite teleconferencing. Let me figure this out…”

“I do know they have those facilities over in Nassau. Last year I participated in a video medical forum from there. I would be willing to go down to Nassau on the day you need me for the trial.”

Will thanked the doctor and immediately called his office. He instructed Hilda to arrange for a video satellite hookup from the courthouse in Delphi to Nassau, Bahamas. He suggested she try the video companies in Atlanta first.

“Then have Jacki file a motion for me,” Will continued, “naming Dr. Forrester as our expert witness and asking permission to present his testimony via live satellite feed. By the way, where are we on our demand to have a local expert evaluate the blood sample that Dr. Parker used at the Delphi hospital?”

“Bad news,” Hilda said. “District Attorney Putnam says that they will not be able to allow that—for reasons they will reveal on the first day of trial. Jacki did line up a hematologist in Decatur to look at the sample—he was very reluctant—we really
had to twist his arm. He knew Dr. Parker and did not want to get involved. But now it looks like there is nothing for him to evaluate anyway. That's probably for the best—it didn't sound like he was very happy with our case.”