IT WAS ALMOST 3:00 A.M. WHEN MIKE CLIMBED WEARILY INTO bed. The smell of the burned building lingered in his nostrils. The responses of the church members who came to the scene and saw him beside the ruins of the old sanctuary had been heart-wrenching.
Delores Killian wept when she saw the church building of her childhood wiped off the earth. Mike put his arm around her shoulders and held her as she sobbed. He spoke to a firefighter, who retrieved a piece of the altar rail and gave it to her. Both ends of the carefully polished wood were charred black. Nathan Goode stayed by Mike’s side for more than an hour. They didn’t discuss Melissa Hall or Sam Miller. Most people stared at the devastation for several minutes, spoke briefly with Mike, then left. Around midnight, Bobby came over to him.
“Milton called from California. The neighbor who feeds his cat phoned him with the news. He was upset, not as seriously as Delores, but the old sanctuary was linked closely to his family.”
“Did you mention the e-mail?”
“No. I told you I wouldn’t bring it up.”
Mike nudged the ground with the end of his shoe. “And thanks for meeting me in the deed room.”
“Let’s not mention that either.”
“Okay.”
The men stood beside each other in silence. Mike ached for the return of the lighthearted banter they had enjoyed for so many years. He turned toward Bobby.
“Will there ever be a Friday afternoon when we can play eighteen holes of golf without worrying about anything except avoiding the fairway bunkers?”
“I don’t know when.”
The next time Mike looked, Bobby’s car wasn’t there.
Mike stayed until the last firefighter left. He shook hands with every one of them and thanked them for their efforts. He drove home, sad about the destruction of the beautiful old building, apprehensive about questions he feared would come.
THE DOORBELL RANG THE FOLLOWING MORNING AT 6:30. MIKE, wearing his pajamas, stumbled downstairs. Through the sidelight of the door, he saw a couple of men he didn’t recognize. He opened the door.
“Michael Andrews?” the younger of the two men asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Hank Perkins, a detective with the sheriff ’s department. This is Richard Shactner, a fire scene investigator who works with Barlow and four other counties. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The officers’ sober faces confirmed the seriousness of the visit. Mike’s mind raced through his options. He could refuse to talk without the presence of an attorney, which was the advice he would have given any client who called him when faced with investigative interrogation. He could show them the e-mail and fully disclose every detail of his actions the previous evening. Or he could find out as much as he could while revealing as little as possible. Even the last approach held substantial risk.
Judge bounded out of the kitchen barking. Mike grabbed him by the collar. “I’ll put him in the backyard. Come in and have a seat.”
He held Judge’s collar as the officers followed into the great room. Peg called from the top of the stairs.
“Who’s here?”
“Two men who want to talk about the fire at the church. No need for you to come down.”
Mike opened the back door for Judge. He motioned for Perkins and Shactner to sit on the couch.
“What can you tell me about the fire?” Mike asked. “I spoke briefly with Captain Logan, but he didn’t have much information.”
Shactner spoke. “I was at the scene first thing this morning. During my initial walk-through, I could identify an accelerant pattern that ran from the front door partway down the main aisle. The burn patterns were very distinct.”
Perkins added, “And we found an empty gas can in the bushes behind the new sanctuary. Did a commercial company cut the grass at the church property?”
“Yes.”
“Was it Miller Lawn Care?”
Mike’s mouth went dry. “No. Did the gas can belong to Sam Miller?”
“It had his company name on it.”
Mike licked his lips and unsuccessfully ordered his heart to stop pounding. “Mr. Miller cut the grass for us several weeks ago so he could submit a bid.
We’d been using another service but thought he might be cheaper. He must have left the gas can when he was there.”
“I know Mr. Miller was with you at the courthouse yesterday morning,” Perkins continued. “Do you know what he did after he left?”
“Went to work. I believe at the Blevins residence.”
“And after that?”
Mike stood up.
“Thank you for coming, but this conversation is over.”
The two men remained seated. Perkins spoke. “Reverend Andrews, do you realize there will be consequences from your failure to cooperate with us?”
Mike’s face flushed. “I’m not refusing to cooperate; however, you are aware that I represented Mr. Miller in a recent embezzlement case”—he paused and spoke with emphasis—“in which all charges were voluntarily dismissed by the district attorney’s office. As his attorney, it would be improper for me to speculate about his activities, especially if he is the subject of a criminal investigation.”
“This is part of an ongoing investigation that may or may not become criminal,” Shactner said. “You’re the pastor of the church, and we hoped you would assist us.”
“Which I will, except to the extent that it violates the attorney-client relationship.”
“Has Mr. Miller already retained you to represent him in this matter?” Perkins asked.
“The ongoing nature of the attorney-client relationship is privileged.”
Perkins smiled crookedly. “Reverend Andrews. We’re not just interested in Mr. Miller’s activities yesterday. We also want to talk with you. Where did you go and what did you do after leaving the courthouse?”
Mike put his hands together. “That’s all, gentlemen. It’s time for you to leave.”
Shactner stood and Perkins joined him. Mike started walking toward the door, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were following him. As the two men left the house, Perkins turned around on the landing and handed Mike his card.
“If you decide it’s in your best interests to cooperate, please call me anytime. My cell number is on the back of the card.”
Mike closed the front door and leaned against it. He looked up and saw Peg, her hair disheveled, at the top of the stairs.
“What is it?” she asked.
Mike crossed the foyer and quickly climbed to where she waited.
“The beginning of an inquisition that could make the previous charge against Sam seem like a traffic ticket. I may be implicated as well.”
“What did they say?”
“Not much, except that they found one of Sam’s gas cans in the bushes near the fire scene. I suggested he might have left it when he cut our grass, but I have doubts. The fake e-mail from Milton that lured us to the church; a gas can conveniently left in the bushes. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t produce an alleged witness who claims we ran from the building right before smoke started—”
Peg collapsed in Mike’s arms and sobbed. He held her head close to his chest and gently rubbed her upper back while she shook in his arms. It was all he could do. Anticipating the next step of the people who wanted to destroy Sam, and now him, seemed impossible. After her body began to relax, he took a step back but still kept his hands on her upper arms.
“Will you lie down?”
Sniffling, she kept her gaze toward the floor. “I can’t sleep.”
“Just be still. Do you think we should contact Dr. Crawford and ask for a prescription that will help calm you down?”
“I’m not going back to bed, and there isn’t a pill that can take away what I’m feeling!”
“Then come downstairs and lie on the couch. I need to phone Sam and warn him.”
Mike let Judge into the house. The dog went straight to Peg and rested his head close to her hand so she could pet him without moving from the couch. Mike brought the cordless phone from the kitchen into the great room and dialed Sam’s number. Muriel answered.
“I need to speak to Sam.”
“It’s too late. They already came and got him,” Muriel said, her voice quivering. “He’s been gone about ten minutes.”
“Who came?”
“A deputy we didn’t know took him to the jail.”
“Did he ask Sam any questions?”
“No, he just told him to get in the police car.”
“I’m on my way to the jail. I should be there in less than ten minutes.”
Mike hung up the phone. Peg shook her head sadly.
“Is there a risk you’ll be arrested, too?”
“Yes,” Mike admitted.
Peg buried her face in her hands.
“I’m going to the jail to keep Sam from talking to any of the detectives. The last time he was arrested, he gave a statement that could have been interpreted as an admission of wrongdoing. I can’t let that happen to him, or me.”
Peg turned on her side so that she faced the back of the couch.
“Go,” she said. “Leave the phone with me.”
Mike touched her shoulder, which was stiff with tension. “I’ll be back.”
“When?”
“In a couple of hours.”
Peg didn’t respond. Mike stared at her back and searched for a reassuring word. None came. He turned and left.
THE EARLY MORNING TRAFFIC FLOWING INTO SHELTON SEEMED out of place. People shouldn’t be getting up, drinking a cup of coffee, and slipping into the usual Tuesday morning routine. Mike parked in front of the jail. The familiar female deputy was on duty.
“I’d like to see Sam Miller,” Mike said.
The woman hit a few keys on her computer. “He’s in booking. I’ll let you know when he’ll be available.”
Mike sat in the waiting area. The initial adrenaline rush produced by his encounter with Perkins and Shactner had faded, and he felt drained. He forced himself to begin analyzing Sam’s plight, but so many possibilities rose to the surface that he couldn’t begin to develop a cohesive plan. Fifteen minutes passed. He tapped on the glass. The deputy glanced up.
“Oh, you can go back now.”
Mike stood in front of the metal door until he heard the click that signaled release of the lock. He pushed open the door and went to the second door where he waited again. When he passed through, he saw Sam dressed in regular clothes, sitting in a chair near the booking area. Detective Perkins approached Mike.
“I’m here to see Mr. Miller,” Mike said to Perkins.
“That’s fine. We just finished.”
“Did you question him?” Mike asked, his voice getting louder. “I told you at my house that I was representing him!”
“That’s not what he told us, and you didn’t instruct me not to talk to him.”
“Did he give you a statement?”
“After signing a Miranda waiver, he provided helpful details about both of your activities.”
“Give me a copy of the statement.”
“That will be handled by the district attorney’s office. I’m sure Mr. Miller can tell you what he told me.”
The detective turned and motioned for Sam to approach. Mike opened the door to the closest interview room and waited for Sam to enter.
“What did you tell him?” Mike asked as soon as the door clicked shut. “You know better than to talk to the police!”
“Nothing that they wouldn’t have found out anyway,” Sam replied. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Haven’t you learned anything?” Mike retorted in frustration. “Perception is as important as reality!”
Sam rubbed the top of his head. “I did plenty of sweating last night when I wrestled with the Enemy before I got the victory.”
“Victory over what?”
“Fear,” Sam answered simply. “It had me down, much worse than the sickness I felt when we went to the church last night. Right now, it’s draped all over you.”
Mike stopped. He couldn’t deny the anxiety that gripped him.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t be worried?”
“Ask the Master, not me.”
“Please, don’t lecture me.”
“I’m trying to help you. Do you remember your dream about me sitting in the chair in this room? I thought about it as soon as they brought me in this morning. I think the dream was about now, not before. It’s important for both of us that I stay at rest. It’s easier for me since I’ve been through this jail once. This is your first time. That’s always the hardest.”
“I’m not in jail yet.”
Sam looked directly in his eyes. “Do you believe they’re going to let you go when we finish?”
Mike licked his lips. “I hope so.”
“If they don’t, what are you going to do?”
“Hire a good lawyer.”
There was a knock on the interview room door. Mike opened it. Perkins stood there with a deputy beside him.
“Reverend Andrews, I’d like to see you before you leave.”
“All right.”
Mike shut the door. “It’s too early in the morning to call a lawyer.”
Sam bowed his head and began to pray. “Papa, You see inside this jail and into the hearts of all men. I don’t believe Mike and I are in this place without a plan. Please show it to us so that we can do Your will. We forgive in advance the wicked men who are causing us this trouble, and help us in our time of need.”
As the old man prayed, Mike began to calm down. When Sam said, “Amen,” he opened his eyes.
“That helped,” Mike admitted. “Except when I think about Peg. If I don’t go home in a couple of hours, I’m not sure she can handle it.”
Sam nodded. “Folks who are married and suffer for the Master endure four times the pain. The greatest fear I fought last night wore Muriel’s face. I knew it wasn’t her, but that didn’t make it any easier to rebuke it. You may have to trust Papa to be there for Peg more than you will for yourself.”
Mike slumped down in his chair. “How long do you think we should stay in here?”
“Until they break up our prayer meeting.”
Mike looked at his watch. “Or it’s time for me to call a lawyer. While we wait, tell me about your conversation with Detective Perkins.”
“He asked what I did yesterday after I left the courthouse. I told him I worked at the Blevins house all afternoon then went with you to the church to meet with the elders, who didn’t show up, so we left. Don’t you think he would have found out about that kind of thing anyway?”
“Maybe, but they should get information on our terms, not theirs. Did you mention the e-mail from Milton Chesterfield?”
“Nope, I didn’t remember his name.”
“Did he tell you they found a gas can with your company’s name on it near the scene of the fire?”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been missing a can for a few days now. I thought I’d left it at a job in town.”
“Are you sure you didn’t leave it at the church when you cut the grass?”
“Nope. I’ve had it since then. It’s only been gone since Friday or Saturday.”
“Don’t you see? Whoever set you up did so after realizing what I was going to bring out in your trial! That’s why the embezzlement charge disappeared and a new one appeared. It’s all the same.”
“Same what?”
“Attempt to discredit you, and now, me. A man who would steal money from a church or burn one down shouldn’t be believed if he tries to expose corruption by prominent men in the community. The only difference now is they’ll try to bring me down, too. I figured out what they were doing while investigating your other case, which makes me a greater threat than you and your dreams.”
There was another knock on the door immediately followed by someone opening it.
“Time’s up!” a surly deputy announced. “Vacate this room.”
“Is there a waiting list?” Mike asked.
Sam shook his head.
Mike followed Sam into the hallway and glanced apprehensively at the booking area.
Perkins came around the corner. “Mr. Miller, you are the subject of an ongoing investigation but may leave at this time.”
“I’m not arrested?”
“No; however, you should not leave Barlow County without notifying the sheriff ’s office of your travel plans.”
Normally, Mike would have objected to the notice requirement, but he was so glad Sam could leave that he kept his mouth shut.
The deputy grabbed Sam by the arm. “Come with me.”
Mike started to follow, but Perkins stopped him.
“Reverend Andrews, please step into the booking area.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not unless you want to confess to a crime.”
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Your comments at my house made me believe you were going to try to charge me whether you had any evidence or not.”
“That’s not how we conduct law enforcement in Barlow County.”
Mike followed the detective. The booking area contained two desks, several chairs, and a small side room for taking mug shot photos. Sitting beside one of the desks was Ken West.
“Have a seat, Mike,” West said. “You got me up early this morning. Detective Perkins tells me you’re reluctant to provide details of your activities after you left the courthouse yesterday.”
“Those who know the system are cautious,” Mike answered. “You’d be the same in my position.”
“Probably right.” West shifted in his chair. “However, it struck me as odd that Mr. Miller would walk away from an embezzlement charge and immediately burn down a church. Now, he tells Detective Perkins that he was with you during the relevant time period. Is that correct?”
“Yes, from approximately six-fifteen in the evening until we received a phone call at my house that the old sanctuary was on fire.”
“Did the two of you go to the church?”
Mike hesitated.
“You don’t have to tell me,” West continued. “However, we received a 911 call from a witness who reported seeing you and Miller at the church.”
“Who was the witness?”
“Didn’t leave a name. The call was made from a pay phone at a convenience store about two miles from the church.”
Mike leaned forward. “Ken, I’d rather not discuss what happened last night until I obtain legal counsel.”
“Are you sure you want to go that far to protect Mr. Miller?”
“And myself.”
West avoided Mike’s eyes. “I’ve already begun the process of obtaining a warrant for your arrest; however, as a fellow attorney I didn’t want to take that step before talking with you.” He looked at Mike. “Will you provide fingerprint samples without the necessity of formal charges?”
“Why? My fingerprints would be all over Little Creek Church!”
“But not necessarily on the gas can found on the premises.”
Mike couldn’t remember if he’d touched one of Sam’s gas cans, but he knew the sheriff ’s department could eventually obtain his fingerprints. If cooperation delayed an arrest and bought him a few more hours or days with Peg, it would be worth it.
“Okay,” he replied.
Perkins summoned a female deputy, who expertly rolled Mike’s fingerprints and pressed them on a card. While she did so, Mike glanced into the photo room and wondered how long it would be before the light flashed and his face appeared in the local paper with the caption “Local Pastor Charged with Burning Church.”