The Resurrection File (36 page)

“Well, if we were married I wouldn't. But hey, the wedding is still more than a month away. So, I think I'm going to let him enjoy the illusion that he can call the shots. So, what do you say? When can I come down here and start helping you with this case? I mean, if you can guarantee my safety. I don't want somebody to start shooting at me because I'm helping you!”

“There is only one way to make sure,” Will replied, in a serious and steady voice. “You need to stay entirely in the background on this. That's the only way I will accept your help. No one can know you are helping me. In fact, I want you to do everything on this case out of your home. Don't come to my office again. I don't want to take any chances.” Will broke into a grin. “You know, you really are a peach, Jacki. And I think you're way too good for Howard. You tell him that, for me.”

“Oh yeah, keep it coming, keep it coming! Flattery always works on a woman.”

“No, I mean it,” Will said. “You are a wonderful friend. I don't think I ever told you how much I appreciated working with you all those years. And I think you put up with a lot with me. I was a tough guy to work with.”

Jacki looked at Will more closely.

“Something is going on with you, Will, I can see it,” she declared. “Despite all of this stuff coming down on your head. I think I see some humanity peeking through again. The old Will is coming back.”

“I'm not sure it's the old Will,” he replied. “I feel like I'm on some kind of strange journey to somewhere. I'm not really sure where I'm going. But one thing I will do. I'll let you know when I get there.”

42

A
FTER
J
ACKI
J
OHNSON LEFT
, W
ILL FELT
a renewed sense of optimism. Before she had volunteered her help, Will had been wondering how he could possibly defend against Sherman's Summary-Judgment motion, continue the rest of the work on the case, and still deal with the huge amount of work necessary to finish his property damage claim for the fire. And then there were the rather sinister undertones to the fire investigation.

Will had begun to see the focus of the arson investigation shift toward him. The investigators wanted to know why he had been in New York, and whether he had any proof that he had been there on the day of the fire. Will had indicated that he had had a “confidential meeting,” and that he was not at liberty to divulge it. He had no intention of breaching his promise to the public defender.

The investigators had then explained that they knew he had been terminated from his law partnership. Perhaps, because of financial stress, he might have had a motive to set the fire himself. Will was outraged by their suggestion. Did that also mean, he argued to them, that he shot his own dog with a gun equipped with a silencer? Did any of that make sense?

The arson investigators had demanded that Will provide them with some proof of having been up in New York that day. That part of his story, according to the arson squad, was not checking out. Unfortunately, Will had paid cash at all the restaurants—and for his train ticket. All the receipts had been in his raincoat. And that had been incinerated on the front porch of his house, where he'd dropped it when trying to rescue Clarence.

Yet Will was determined not to let the lurking threats of an arson charge slow down his preparation in the case.

Will's immediate task was to sketch an outline of each point that Sherman had made in his Summary-Judgment motion. He was working on that when Angus MacCameron called him on the telephone.

MacCameron said that he had heard about the fire destroying Will's house, and how terrible it was, and how sorry he felt about it. He asked if Will had managed to find a place to stay. Will told him that he was staying at a motel.

He initially questioned whether to tell his client that he was a suspect in the arson of his own house. But he decided to divulge it. Will explained that the investigators were demanding proof that he had been in New York earlier that day.

“I know you must think I'm chasing hobgoblins when I talk like this, but Will, I have to tell you something straight,” MacCameron responded somberly. “This is spiritual warfare. You are being opposed by evil forces from the province of hell. Forces you may not understand. The prince of darkness wants you out of my case because he knows that God himself, in his inscrutable wisdom, has hand-picked you to defend me. But don't give up. Finish the course! Run with zeal that race that is set before you, as the Bible says!”

Will didn't know whether it was just his increasing familiarity with MacCameron's bibliocentric style of conversation, or maybe something else—but regardless, Will was beginning to see the logic behind MacCameron's encouragement.

Then his client became very upbeat and said that he had some “great news” but wanted to tell Will in person. He invited Will up to Washington to have dinner in his apartment with him and his wife, Helen. He would tell Will the good news then. Will suggested they go out to eat at a restaurant to save the trouble, but MacCameron insisted he would prepare dinner for them in his apartment. That way, he said, Will could meet his wife.

Will recalled that Fiona had mentioned her mother briefly during their dinner at Luigi's—that she had health problems—but hadn't elaborated. Fiona had also said that she planned her tours so she could fly back to be with her parents almost every weekend. Will also remembered that Fiona was cutting her current tour short altogether to spend more time at home with her mother.

Touched by his client's offer, Will accepted. MacCameron suggested that they dine together that very night. Will said that would be fine.

Just as he was getting ready to leave for his dinner with the MacCamerons, Will received a call back from Dr. Giovanni. She said she had considered her involvement in the case. While she still had misgivings about Will's client, she would agree to evaluate the 7QA fragment and would testify about her findings.

Then Will hit her with the restrictions Sherman wanted to place on the analysis of the fragment. Giovanni did not like them. Will then explained how a long, drawn-out court battle over Sherman's conditions would delay their access to the ancient piece of papyrus, which would mean that they would be playing right into their opponents' hands.

Reluctantly, Giovanni agreed to the conditions listed in Sherman's motion. She had to admit that none of them would likely affect the validity or accuracy of her conclusions.

“When do I get a chance to look at it?” she asked.

“As soon as I tell the judge that I have no objection to the request, he should issue an order for them to produce it. Then we will be in business.”

What Will did not explain was that Sherman might have other tricks up his sleeve to further frustrate and delay the production of the ancient fragment. With the trial date quickly approaching, Will knew that every day, and every hour, would be critical.

43

T
HE APARTMENT OF
A
NGUS
M
AC
C
AMERON WAS
a modest little place up in D.C. amid middle-income brownstones, and halfway between the lower-rent area and the upscale condos in Georgetown.

MacCameron greeted Will at the door with a hearty hello and a big smile. Will suddenly felt foolish that he hadn't brought a gift—or something to add to the dinner. That's the kind of thing Audra had always reminded him to do.

Inside, Will could see the evidence of a very simple existence. The furniture was old; much of it was worn. He noticed that in the living room a throw rug was placed over an area in the carpeting that was torn and frayed. In the corner was a small desk with a computer, with books piled on the floor around it. There were bookshelves in each room, all crammed with books, and with more books stacked in piles on top of each of them.

Will could smell dinner cooking. MacCameron urged Will to come in and meet his wife. As he approached the doorway of one room he turned to Will and lowered his voice.

“My dear Helen has a very rare form of cancer. The cancer cells take over the air sacs of the lungs. She never smoked a cigarette in her life, yet she still came down with it. They gave her a lung transplant a year ago. But the cancer turned up again in the new set of lungs. She has trouble breathing so she has to use an oxygen mask.

“I hope this doesn't bother you. But she is such a blessing to me, such a priceless woman. I wanted you to meet her before things get any worse for her. And, of course, she knows all about you and is eager to see you. Come in to her room, won't you?”

They stepped into a bedroom. Helen MacCameron was propped up in bed with a pink flowered bathrobe on. There was an oxygen mask over her
mouth, connected to a tank next to her bed. Her right arm had an IV tube running to a metal stand from which were hanging a clear-looking solution and a darker solution, both in plastic bags.

Her brownish-gray hair had been neatly combed. Someone had put makeup on her face, rather inexpertly applied.

Her arms were laid on top of the covers. They were thin, and the skin seemed to hang a little from her bones.

Helen lifted one arm with great effort and vaguely directed it toward Will. He took her soft, fragile hand. It was cold to the touch. As Will studied her face he saw the features of a woman who would have been a striking beauty in her day. But he noticed something else. The skin around her eyes was crinkling ever so slightly, and the muscles of her face were tightening. Helen MacCameron was smiling at him from behind her oxygen mask.

“Mrs. MacCameron, meeting you is a great honor,” Will said. “I know you've been a wonderful wife to Reverend MacCameron. And a great mother to Fiona.”

Angus MacCameron bent over and kissed Helen's forehead gently, and then stroked it with his hand.

“Are you hungry, love? Would you like to eat now?”

With an effort Helen shook her head “no.” Then she looked as if she wanted to say something. So MacCameron lifted her mask and she whispered something into his ear. Then he smiled and put his wife's mask back on, carefully adjusting it, and left the room with Will.

As soon as the two were in the kitchen together MacCameron told Will, “Helen told me you are very charming. That you are a good man.”

“Your wife seems like a very courageous woman.”

“I've been telling her all about you,” MacCameron said as he opened the stove to check the pot roast. “I've learned to be a moderately decent chef since she's taken a turn for the worse.”

“I am sorry she is not doing well.”

“The prognosis for my dear wife—the soul of my soul—well, it's not good. I take comfort in knowing that things really do work together for good for those who love the Lord and are called by him, and who have embraced Christ by faith. My wife loves the Lord. She may be doing cartwheels on the golden streets of glory much sooner than I would want.”

Then Angus MacCameron's chin trembled a bit, and his voice cracked as he said, “She is my very best friend as well as my soul mate. I fear that I may have a rough road trying to go on without her. I look to God alone for the strength to sustain me when that day comes.” And with that he opened
up his hands in front of him, as if to release his grip on some treasured but invisible possession.

“I lost my wife,” Will said as he helped set the plates on the dining-room table, “and my life fell apart.”

MacCameron was carrying in the pot roast on a large serving plate.

“The Bible says there is a kind of grieving everyone goes through, including those who belong to God. Even Jesus wept. There is the loss that God knows we must all experience. But then there is a kind of grieving for those who have no hope beyond the grave. That is the tragic, empty, lonely kind of grief. So, have you read that part yet, in the Gospels, where Jesus wept? You've been reading the Gospels like I suggested?”

“Straight through. All four of them. I even remembered their names. And your little rhyme helped.”

“So, you do listen when I talk!” MacCameron exclaimed. “Yes, my Sunday school teacher in Glasgow taught me that as a boy: ‘Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; saddle the horse and I'll get on,' he used to say. So, do you remember where it was that Jesus wept?”

“Yes. At the tomb of…” Will had to think for a moment. “Lazarus.”

“Well done. Well done.”

They both sat down to the meal, and Angus MacCameron prayed a blessing over the food.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” MacCameron said. “The good news I had for you. I received a letter from a church I had never even heard of before. The letter was a note of encouragement for me to continue the fight against Reichstad's 7QA heresy. And with the letter was a check made out to my magazine. A very large check from the outreach ministry committee of that church. Enough to pay what I owe you and plenty more left over. I'm transferring that whole check to you. You can take it with you when you leave tonight.”

The thought of leaving the Robert E. Lee Motel hit Will like an explosion of Independence Day fireworks. He couldn't help from beaming ear to ear.

“I told you my boy, the Lord provides; he really does,” MacCameron said.