Deadlock (21 page)

“Ideals don’t win cases. Good lawyering does.”

“Since you are on the scene, sanity will prevail?”

“One never knows what a jury will do, but this jury looks pretty solid.”

Graebner reached for his espresso, fresh from the gilded machine on his credenza. “I’ve been doing some thinking about that, Beau. And I think it would be best if we took it out of the jury’s hands altogether.”

“Why?”

Noting a hint of wounded pride in Winsor —
I am a great trial lawyer, let me handle it!
— Graebner spoke with modulated patience. “Juries get publicity. It’s a media fascination. And then they get interviewed. They show up on network news or
O’Reilly
. Win or lose, it’s publicity.”

Winsor cleared his throat. “But how do we do it?”

“I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll e-mail you the details. You have a little work to do.”

“What are you e-mailing?”

“A little bombshell we’re going to hand your opponent.”

|
4

Charlene Moore looked out at the lights of the big city. From her room it almost looked like a theme park. Some magical kingdom. But this was no fantasy place. This was an impersonal world that didn’t care about what happened to a teenager in an abortion mill.

She wanted them to care. They had to care. If they didn’t, the world would continue to spin out of control, downward.

Lord, give me strength for the rest of the trial. I am your woman! Go before me in power!

She heard a soft knock on her door. It was Sarah Mae. Her eyes were red. Charlene brought her to a chair and sat her down.

“What is it?” Charlene asked.

“Sorry I messed it up,” Sarah Mae said.

“You didn’t mess anything up. You were fine.”

“No I warn’t. I seen your face. Did I make it bad for us?”

Charlene knelt and patted the girl’s knee. “God is in this with us. Do you believe that?”

Sarah Mae nodded. But it was a weak nod. “Mama says we should stop now and make that settle . . .”

“Settlement?”

“Yeah. Like we almost did.”

“I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I don’t know no more. What if we lose?”

Charlene felt like someone had kicked her. That was, of course, the big question in any trial. You could do everything right, the evidence could be on your side, and still a jury could do the opposite of what you expected.

“No,” Charlene said. “We’re not going to lose. Not with God on our side.”

Sarah Mae looked at her with eyes that wanted to believe it.

“Trust God with me,” Charlene said. “He has called us to this trial.” She could feel tears of passion coming to her eyes. For two years she had lived this case, day in and day out, losing sleep, putting up practically all the money she had in costs.

“You crying, Miss Moore?” Sarah Mae said.

“I’m all right.”

“You sayin’ God’ll do right by us?”

“He does right by those who trust in him.”

“What’s gonna happen tomorrow?” Sarah Mae said, heaving a deep breath.

“The defense will put on its case. Then we’ll have a chance to put on what’s called a rebuttal. I’ll call your mother to the stand for that.”

“Mama’s nervous. Think you should?”

“Yes.”

“I’m still scared.”

“You’re not alone in that, Sarah Mae. Trust me, will you?”

Charlene took Sarah Mae’s hand. It was soft, and so like a little girl’s.

|
5

It was nearly eight o’clock at night when Dr. Weinstein returned, motioning to Millie and Jack Holden, who sat in the waiting room. Millie moved faster than she had in weeks, ignoring the shooting pains, to get to the doctor.

Dr. Weinstein smiled and said to Millie, “Let’s go in here,” motioning toward the double doors leading to a hallway.

It was ominously quiet, like a morgue. “What is it?” Millie asked. “How is my mother? What’s happening?”

“Justice Hollander,” he said, “your mother is awake.”

Millie couldn’t find a response. Her hand went to her mouth.

“You can see her now,” Dr. Weinstein said.

Without thinking, Millie found herself turning to Jack Holden. He squeezed her arm and smiled. Then they turned and followed Dr. Weinstein to Ethel’s room.

Ethel was on a bed, a tired smile on her face. When she saw Millie she put up both arms. One had a tube taped to it. Ethel seemed completely unconcerned.

Millie wanted to fall into her mother’s arms. She contented herself with a kiss to her cheek. “Mom . . . ,” she whispered.

“Scare you?” Ethel said, her voice thready.

Millie drew back her head. “Yes,” she said. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“No, no,” Ethel said.

“I’m sick with worry.”

Ethel smiled a little then. “Let it roll off your back, like a duck,” she said slowly.

“Sure, Mom.”

“We still have time.”

The words hit Millie with an odd resonance. Where had she heard them before? And then it struck her. The homeless man, just before her accident.
You still have time.
Weird coincidence.

“Yes, Mom, we do,” Millie said.

Ethel motioned to her to lean over close, like she wanted to whisper something. Millie bent over, turning her ear toward her mother’s mouth.

“I’m proud you’re my daughter,” Ethel said.

Millie did not move, warmth from her mother’s cheek filling her, holding her there. To hide her tears, Millie buried her face in the side of Ethel’s pillow.

|
6

Millie finally allowed Holden to drive her home to Santa Lucia around midnight. Only the promise that he would bring her back in the morning got her out of the hospital.

“Tell me about near-death experiences,” she said, to break the silence. He had talked about them in his sermon, and she had wondered if she would ever let him know about her vision. Now, she thought, she just might.

Holden kept his eyes on the highway. “What do you want to know?”

“Isn’t it just a psychological response? Something the brain does in a certain state? Like a dream?”

“Some people believe that. Most, probably. Within the Christian community there is some skepticism, too.”

“Why?”

“Theological issues. The Bible says it is appointed for a man once to die, and then to face the judgment. Having this so-called near-death experience could be viewed as contradicting Scripture. I don’t see it that way.”

“But people do report seeing Jesus, don’t they? Or some white light?”

“True. But we have to be careful. There are those who claim to have received special revelation from Jesus, or God, and then want to spread that information around. That I do think is a contradiction of Scripture.”

“So do you or don’t you believe in these reports?”

“Oh, I do believe it happens. Have you heard of D. L. Moody?”

“Vaguely.”

“He was an evangelist in the 1800s. The Billy Graham of his day. A great man of God. He had two little grandchildren who died. One was a boy named Dwight, who died in infancy. The other was a little girl, Irene, who was three years old or so. Their father was Moody’s son, Will.”

Millie listened attentively, as if receiving the facts from a new case to be considered.

“When Moody was on his deathbed, his son, Will, heard him mutter, ‘Earth recedes, heaven opens before me.’ Then he looked at Will and said, ‘It is beautiful. God is calling me and I must go. Don’t call me back.’ ”

The hum of the car was smooth and calm, like they were riding on air. The stars were particularly bright in the desert sky.

“Moody’s wife was summoned,” Holden said. “Moody was able to tell her she had been a good, dear wife. And then he seemed to fall into unconsciousness again, but as he did he whispered, ‘No pain, no valley. It is bliss.’ ”

“Who recorded all this?” Millie could not help delving into issues such as witness accounts.

“Several family members,” Holden said, “most notably his wife. In fact, she set down the facts the same day they happened. Moody came out of sleep and saw the people around him. And then he looked at them and said: ‘What does it all mean? I must have had a trance. I went to the gate of heaven. It was so wonderful. I saw the children!’ ”

“Children?”

“Irene and Dwight. He told Will he saw them in heaven. Will began to cry. Moody comforted him. Will said he wished he could go to heaven to be with his children. And Moody told him, ‘No. Your work is before you.’ A short time later, D. L. Moody died.”

Millie looked at the headlights, illuminating just enough of the highway to see a short way ahead, but no more. “May I ask another question?” she said.

“Of course,” said Holden.

“What do you make of the experiences of the other sort?”

“You mean a vision of hell?”

“Are there many of those?”

“Oh, yes. Experiences of demons and fire and things like that.”

“So what do you think?”

“Same as with the white light. I believe that there is such a place as hell, though I don’t know the exact nature of it. I do believe it is separation from God, and some people who have almost died have been given the gift of seeing how horrible it will be.”

“Gift?”

“Sure. The gift of time. In most cases these people become believers in God. I think God is in control. The Bible makes it abundantly clear that God rules over everything, including death and hell.”

Millie tried to make sense of that, tried to allow for a new reality, but her mind simply did not allow it. It was too big a jump.

“Do you want to tell me about your death experience now?” Jack Holden asked.

Millie’s chest tightened. “Am I that transparent?”

“You don’t have to.”

Millie felt that if she did, she would be opening a door she would rather keep closed. But another part of her prodded her on. If she didn’t say something now, she might never have the courage to do it.

“I’m claiming clergy privilege now,” she said.

“I consider all of our conversations privileged,” Holden said.

She knew she could trust him. “I did have a vision,” she said. “It was like a very vivid nightmare. It was not the good kind of vision, but the bad kind.” She described in detail what she had seen.

When she finished, Holden was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I have no reason to doubt that what you experienced was real, and that when you called out to God to help you, it was a real prayer. A prayer that was answered.”

“But people in distress are bound to call on God. It’s a reaction.”

“God does not turn a deaf ear just because it’s a reaction.”

“There is one other thing,” Millie said, looking out into the desert darkness. “This vision, if that’s what it was, happened at exactly the time you and my mother were praying for me. Exactly the same time.”

Jack Holden’s face, even in the darkness, seemed to open up with intense curiosity. “How do you know?”

“The doctor told me the time at which I flatlined. Then Mom told me what time it was when you were praying. Accounting for the time difference, it was on target.”

“Well now.”

The car hummed along in silence for a while. Exactly what she needed then, silence. Millie had unloaded more of her inner life in the last few minutes than she had in the last ten years.

Then Holden said, “For a long time I’ve felt that God is weaving a pattern for something big.”

“What do you mean by weaving?”

“There’s a verse in the Bible,” Holden said. “Romans 8:28. I’ve memorized it in several translations, but my favorite is from a man named J. B. Phillips. His version goes like this: ‘We know that to those who love God, who are called according to his plan, everything that happens fits into a pattern for good.’ I always liked that. God weaving a pattern. We can’t see the final product from here. But God can.”

“All right,” Millie said. “I’ll bite. What’s this pattern?”

“I’ll be blunt here. I think our country has fallen into spiritual darkness over the last fifty years. A large part of that has to do with our courts, I’m sorry to say. Do you want me to continue?”

Bristling, Millie said, “Go ahead.”

“You know, of course, that it was Justice William O. Douglas who wrote, in a 1952 opinion, that we are a religious people whose institutions presuppose a Supreme Being.”

Millie knew that to be true.

“But the courts have systematically removed that central tenet from public life. It is the crux of the Declaration of Independence. This country was founded on the belief that our rights come from the Creator.”

This was a familiar argument, though Millie had not heard it for some time. “What Jefferson meant by that has long been debated.”

“Debated by those who don’t wish to acknowledge its truth,” Holden said. “And when people say, well, it’s just an appeal to reason in deistic terms, that betrays an ignorance of the rest of the document.”