Missing Witness (49 page)

“Motion denied,” Judge Gadwell said with a sigh.

“Your Honor, I want a time and date set for motions after verdict so I can ask that this court overrule this perverse verdict.” MacPherson said, pressing on. “I feel there was an entire lack of evidence supporting Isaac Joppa's innocence. Mr. Chambers failed utterly in presenting a case from which any reasonable jury could credibly have concluded that Isaac Joppa was innocent.”

“Virgil, you can file any motions you want, but this court has a busy docket. Why don't you argue your motion right now? While the case is still fresh in your mind…”

“Well, Your Honor, you heard my arguments in closing. You heard my arguments during the trial. The evidence was overwhelmingly in favor of a finding of guilt against Isaac Joppa. And with all due respect, I believe that the court made an evidentiary error in permitting Dr. Rosetti to display that manacle in full view of the jury while he was testifying.”

“Yes, and the court considered all that, Virgil. And you made some really good points. You made a truly fine argument to the jury. And I have
to say that I just might have, if I had been sitting on that jury, voted a different way than they did. But that's not the point here, is it? The point is, could a reasonable jury have arrived at this verdict based on the evidence presented? I believe a reasonable jury could have decided the way they did, even if I may have personal opinions otherwise.”

MacPherson was going to argue the point, but Judge Gadwell cut him off as he glanced at his watch.

“Virgil, you can make your case to the court of appeals if you want, but your motion for judgment notwithstanding the verdict is denied. Your motion for a new trial is denied. The extra comments of the jury—those about publicizing Isaac Joppa's innocence—well, I'll let them stand, for what they are worth. So I think that's it. We're closing up shop here. Court adjourned.”

As Jonathan and Boggs Beckford exchanged congratulations, Will was suddenly aware of his cell phone vibrating in his pocket.

He snatched it out and put it to his ear. He could recognize Aunt Georgia's voice at the other end but was having a hard time hearing her through the noise and jubilation in the courtroom. He excused himself and walked quickly out to the hallway.

“I'm sorry, Aunt Georgia, I couldn't hear you…say that again?”

“Willy boy, it's about Fiona. There's a problem…”

“What kind of a problem?” Will asked anxiously.

“I'm afraid all of a sudden…she started gushing blood. We called 9-1-1. They're over here right now. Carrying her out. You'll have to meet us at the hospital immediately.”

Will strained to hear what was going on in the background. He heard other voices…male voices, and Fiona's as well.

“Is she all right?”

“Fiona's a trooper,” Georgia replied. “We just have to pray that she's going to be fine.”

“How's the baby? Are they checking on the baby? Is anybody using a monitor to make sure the baby is okay?”

“We're doing everything we can here,” she replied, trying to calm him down. “But you must get to the hospital as soon as you can. We'll meet you there.”

Jonathan came out of the courtroom and saw the anxiousness on Will's face immediately.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My wife…Fiona…she's being rushed to the hospital. It's the baby…there are some serious problems.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Just…just pray for us…”

Then Will turned and sprinted to his car and gunned it out onto the road toward the hospital. Darting in and out of traffic and passing every other vehicle on the road, unknowingly he was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white.

“Please…please…” he muttered out loud as he wheeled his car into the hospital parking lot.

69

T
HE OBSTETRICS NURSE MET
W
ILL
as he was heading down the hospital hallway at a dead run.

“How is she?” he blurted out.

“Stable now—Dr. Yager will have to fill you in on the rest.”

She led him up to the scrub room next to the delivery room and gave him a seat in the hallway. He was told that Dr. Yager was scrubbing and gowning and would be with him immediately.

Less than a minute later, the door swung open. Dr. Yager came directly over. Will reached out his hand, but Yager stopped him, reminding him she had already scrubbed.

“I'm not going to beat around the bush. Fiona has lost a lot of blood…We had to stabilize her before we could do anything…A baby is always in jeopardy during that crucial time…”

“What…what...” Will began.

“Where we are is this,” she continued. “We slowed the blood loss—but you know, Will, she really was losing a lot of blood…experienced LOC…lost consciousness, but only momentarily. I don't think that was a problem for the baby, but we have to get ready for an emergency transfusion. We've had the baby under constant monitoring, and I'm not too concerned about the baby's status. So we are going in now. This is going to be a caesarean…you'll recall that the amnio showed good lung development, so I think baby is going to be okay if we can do this immediately. So, any questions?”

“I want to be in there—with her during the procedure…”

“You lawyers, always so demanding,” Dr. Yager said with a smile. But then her face took on a serious expression. “Will, I think you had better stay in the waiting room. I'm sorry.”

“I've got to see my wife…” he said forcefully.

“Go ahead,” Dr. Yager said warmly, “there she is.”

Will turned and saw two nurses quickly rolling a surgical bed through the hall. Fiona was lying on it.

She had a blue surgical cap on her head, and underneath the sheet that had been tightly tucked around the circumference of her belly. As he ran up he noticed immediately that her face was pale, her lips were colorless and dry.

She was in mid-prayer.

“ ‘For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted my petition which I asked of Him'…” She noticed her husband by her side.

“Oh, Will, I feel weak…so glad you're here…please, God, help my baby…my baby…oh, please…‘for this child I prayed and the Lord has granted me my petition which I…' ”

And as Will strode alongside his wife all he could say was, “I love you…I love you…”

And then her voice faded as she was pushed into the delivery room and the swinging doors closed. A staff nurse walked Will down the hallway, around the corner, and into the waiting room.

There was an older couple sitting in the corner. They smiled politely. After a few minutes, they left, and Will was alone.

He sat down on a couch. He glanced at the big wall clock. Then looked at his wrist watch. Then back at the clock on the wall again.

His cell phone rang. It was Aunt Georgia. She said she was wrapping up at the house and would be coming over immediately.

Will hung up and called Angus MacCameron, Fiona's ailing father, who was now living in a residential care center. Delicately avoiding any mention of the danger, he simply shared the good news that Fiona was now delivering their baby…a little earlier than they had planned…but welcome nevertheless. He promised to call the minute he had the particulars.

“And did you ever decide on a boy's name…if that is what the Lord blesses you with?” the old Scottish pastor asked in a voice weakened by age and ill health.

“I think it's going to be Andrew,” Will said. “We were thinking about that…”

There was a pause on the other end. Angus MacCameron could sense the strain in Will's voice.

“You know, Will, that the Good Shepherd knows His sheep and always looks after them,” MacCameron said. “And that also includes the wee little lambs, too.”

Will choked back the rush of emotions. There was little he could say to his spiritual mentor and father-in-law at that point. So Angus MacCameron ended the conversation himself by offering up a short prayer.

After one hour and fifteen minutes, Will's waiting ended.

Then Dr. Yager came in with a gentle look on her face. Her mask was still hanging around her neck.

There was blood on her gown.

“When we cut in…” she began, “well, there was more blood lost during the operation…than we would have anticipated.”

Time stopped.

Everything in Will—his powerful analytic ability, his ability to intellectually solve any problem, to understand and process any set of facts—all of it had ceased. None of it mattered now.

There was only the longing for his wife and for their child. The ache to know that he would be able to hold them both. He needed to know that—that they were all right.

Please tell me, right now…that they are both fine,
Will was saying somewhere in his head.

“So, let me just say,” Dr. Yager concluded, “that while we did have to do a transfusion, everything else was uneventful. And both mother and baby are doing fine.”

Then she added, “Congratulations, Mr. Chambers—you have a son.”

In a few minutes Will was allowed to see his wife, who was even paler than before. She smiled up at him. He gave her a long kiss, bending down and surrounding her with his arms.

A few minutes later a tiny wrapped-up baby was brought into the room…with closed eyes, wrinkled skin, and small little fingers aimlessly and awkwardly reaching for something near his face, but not quite able to find it.

Will held his son, and caressed the lamb-soft skin of his forehead, and blessed him with kisses.

Just then, Jonathan Joppa found Will in the hallway outside of Fiona's room. He grabbed Will's hand and warmly patted his shoulder.

Will Chambers, master trial lawyer and communicator extraordinaire, then expressed the age-old exultation of new fatherhood in the simplicity of the ages.

“It's a boy!”

He yelled it so loudly that a few dismayed nurses poked their heads out from the rooms that lined the long hospital hallway.

70

T
HE DAY AFTER VISITING
W
ILL AND
F
IONA
and their baby at the hospital, Jonathan Joppa sat at his desk in the pastor's study at Safe Harbor Community Church. On the right side of the desk were his notes for that Sunday's sermon, which would be delivered in just a few minutes. He looked out the window and saw the trees and bushes swaying, and the rain pelting down from the dark gray sky. The nor'easter that had buffeted the Outer Banks for a week, and then subsided, had returned again.

He had asked the organist to play “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” during the collection, while he remained in the study until the last minute. One of the deacons methodically reviewed the bulletin of the week's upcoming activities for the congregation.

Jonathan glanced over at the left side of the desk. There was a report from the soil engineer who had finished his testing on Stony Island for potential construction of septic systems and residential condominium units.

He turned his eyes back to his sermon notes, then back to the engineering report.

There was a strange correlation between the two. He could see that now.

He gathered up his notes and his Bible and entered the sanctuary.

Today, he announced, he would continue the series he had been preaching on the Old Testament book of Jonah.

As he flipped his Bible open, he gazed out at the congregation.

It was a jammed service, something unusual in the waning weeks of summer. Usually he would not get a “full house” until they were well into fall.

Then he looked at the third row from the front. Minnie and Wes Metalsmith were there. And next to them there were several of their sympathizers, as well as the full membership of the church board.

He realized why attendance was up.

There was to be a regularly scheduled meeting of the board immediately after the morning service. But any action taken against the pastor, according to the church bylaws, required a quorum of the members. Minnie and her cohorts had obviously been busy recruiting a sufficient number of like-minded members to show up.

They had come to pick a fight. And they were undoubtedly keeping their powder dry and their bayonets sharp.

For an imperceptible instant, Jonathan wavered. Did he really have to preach this message today? How about improvising—didn't the church body really need a healing message about reconciliation instead?

But just as quickly he dismissed that idea. To the point of shaking his head back and forth in the pulpit, amazed at his own willingness to indulge the whims of others.

So he began.

“Jonah, chapter 1, verse 3. If you have your Bibles today, go ahead and look it up. If you don't, then between now and the service tonight, maybe you should go up into the attic and pull out the family Bible…or look for that one that Aunt Tilly gave you years ago…or stop by the bookstore and buy one. Because as long as I am the pastor here—and from now on—God is going to do the talking. From His Word. I'm just here as the mailman. My job is to hand you the letter. To put His message into your hands. The mailman never writes the letters he gives you—he just makes sure they get to you—safe and sound—through wind, snow, and sleet.”