The Last Judgment (21 page)

“Newhouse. Nigel Newhouse. He's a barrister in London. He and I had met a couple of years ago at an international conference on religious freedom. We've exchanged e-mails a few times since then. He had a question once about International Criminal Court law. And then I asked him a couple things about some international treaties, an issue involving one of my cases. That sort of thing.”

“You've met him only once?”

“Yeah. At that conference. Although at the time I met him, I asked him if we had ever met before. He said no. I just thought there was something that seemed very familiar about him. About his name…but anyway…yeah, that was the only time I've ever met him in person. But we've kept in contact. And then he called me on Friday. First thing in the morning our time—end of the day London time.”

“What did he want?”

Will hesitated.

“Well…Newhouse is the lawyer for Gilead Amahn. At least, was for the last few months. Earlier this week he withdrew as his counsel. Remember, Gilead is still in jail over there in Ramallah. They're holding him until they file formal charges.”

Fiona was silent. But Will could read a thousand-word essay in her eyes.

“So…he called me about Gilead's case.”

Fiona remained silent. Then she tilted her head slightly to the side with an expression that showed she suspected more than she knew.

“And this barrister said he withdrew as Gilead's counsel?”

“Yes. It was all over the news this week.”

“I haven't been watching very much news lately. In case you haven't noticed.”

“I know that,” Will said gently.

“So Newhouse called you. Because he's withdrawn as Gilead's lawyer. And now Gilead is looking for a lawyer. And so the barrister was calling you to ask whether you would reconsider representing him. Do I have it about right?”

“Yes. I think that just about sums it up.”

“And you told this English lawyer…what?”

“He had met with Gilead in jail in Ramallah. And when he told him he had to withdraw, Gilead immediately asked him to pass a message on to me. That Gilead still wants me to be his defense counsel. I told Newhouse I'd declined originally. He had some idea why, but I didn't go into the details.”

“How did you leave it?”

“I told Newhouse I'd think it over. And I'd get word back to Gilead about my decision.”

Another dead silence.

“Did I ever thank you,” Fiona began, “for deciding not to take on that case in the first place? It all happened right around Da's death…and I've really needed you desperately. I've needed you to be with me…like never before. I appreciated your decision.”

“Thank you,” Will said quietly.

“And you want my take on all this?”

“Of course.”

“I really want to beg you,” Fiona's eyes began to fill with tears, “not to take this case. Gilead Amahn is not going to have any problem getting a lawyer. Every lawyer in the world wants to take that case. Make international headlines for himself—”

“There you're right,” Will said. “There are criminal defense attorneys from all over the world coming out of the woodwork…”

“I want you to pray about this,” Fiona said, pleading. “And then after you've prayed about it, and I've prayed about it, I want you to please, please—
please
—not take this case on.”

“I know Angus's death really blew a hole in your sail,” Will said. “You're going through some really tough times.”

“Well… I stopped my work on my new CD…I'm on the verge of breaching my contract. I've cancelled several concerts. It's hard
to get up in the morning. And I don't want to go to bed at night. I can't concentrate…I can't focus…I spend time on my knees, asking that the Lord would give me some peace about Da's death. But it doesn't come.”

After she had wiped her eyes, Fiona continued.

“I had a dream last night…”

“Oh?”

“Yes. About the babies. Both of them. And all I remember, through the whole dream, is trying to find out where the hospital had put my two babies. You know…I started feeling like I was getting over the first miscarriage. But when the second one came, and they told me I couldn't have any more babies…I don't know how to describe it…it was like a door just shut. And bolted. Part of my life was being closed up. A place where only dust, and bad memories, and broken dreams would collect. I can't explain it. It makes no sense. Because I thank God every day for Andrew. He's so precious. And he is so wonderful. And now I'm dreaming about those two babies. And Da being dead…and it all seems to be mixed in together…and I simply can't figure it out…”

Will gathered Fiona into his arms and just held her while she sobbed.

He knew that, though there were many questions, he had no answers. He only knew, in that one moment, he had to provide shelter and security for his wife.

32

I
T WAS SIX-THIRTY AM
. Bill Collingwood had driven the short distance in the rolling Virginia countryside from his house to the office and main stables of Roland and June Dupree.

Climbing out of his car, Collingwood was surprised to see Dakkar, the horse trainer, already there at the stables.

“You're early,” he noted.

“I've been trying to get to work quite early,” Dakkar replied with a big smile on his face. “Do good work for the Duprees. Keep on schedule…but I also wanted to meet you this morning to thank you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Collingwood,” the young man replied happily. “Yesterday Mr. Dupree had a talk with me. He'd had worries about me. But he told me you'd vouched for me. You'd given him the word I was a good man and he should give me another chance—so I think he's going to keep me.”

Collingwood smiled and told Dakkar how pleased he was.

“I owe you so much. Please, Mr. Collingwood…if there's anything I can do for you. You name the thing—anything to pay you back for your kindness…”

“Just do the kind of job I know you can for Mr. Dupree, and that will be enough.”

Dakkar thanked him again and left to groom some of the horses.

In the stable office, Collingwood started up the small coffeepot, then sat down to review his paperwork and the statement
he prepared for Roland Dupree each month. Then he drove to the back acreage to fix a broken gate. By the time he returned to his office, it was eight-thirty. He wanted to call Will Chambers and figured the lawyer was in his office by then.

Bill Collingwood was pretty good at compartmentalizing his life. And he had managed, with some measure of success, not to become obsessed with the dire situation of his son, Gilead.

But now, as he sat at his old wooden desk with his hand poised over the phone, the sense of dread became overwhelming. His hand was shaking, so he spent a moment praying, but felt no relief. He buried his face in his hands for a moment and wept.

Then after wiping his eyes, he took a deep breath, picked up the receiver, and punched in the number. His purpose in calling would be simple. He wanted to plead for Will to help Gilead. In light of the fact that his adopted son was accused of being responsible for a mass murder, where else could he turn?

When the call came in, Will had just breezed into his office.

Hilda, his secretary, let him know that it was Bill Collingwood on the line. Will knew exactly what the call would be about.

He closed his office door, took a deep breath, then picked up the phone.

Collingwood got right to the point.

“Mr. Chambers, I know you considered Gilead's request to have you represent him. I know you had good reasons for deciding not to a few months ago. But I'm sure you've heard about the English lawyer having to withdraw…”

“Yes,” Will replied, “I have.”

“My son is not a mass murderer. And yet the whole world thinks that he instigated this massacre on the Temple Mount. It's awful…it's beyond my ability to describe to you how I feel as his father.”

“I'd like to say I know how you feel,” Will said quietly, “but I really can't. Your burden must be horrendous right now.”

“A couple of weeks ago I flew over and visited him in that Palestinian jail. He's really in pretty bad shape, Mr. Chambers. But
I'm coming to you on my hands and knees, Mr. Chambers…you must do this thing for me. You must represent Gilead in this case. He said he wouldn't take anyone else. We've got to show his innocence. I'm begging you as Gilead's father to please reconsider. Please defend him in this case…”

Bill Collingwood's voice started to quiver. Will knew he was struggling to hold back the floodtide of emotion and sorrow that was threatening to breach the walls of a father's heart.

Will hesitated slightly.

“I'm struggling with this decision. I'm being as honest as I can. I'm going to need a little more time…I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

After he hung up, Will stood up, stretched, and walked slowly over to the window that faced the main street in Monroeville. Through it he saw the tall steeple of St. Andrew's, the eighteenth-century church that had sounded its chimes when the news of Washington's victory at Trenton, New Jersey, had spread throughout the American colonies during the Revolutionary War.

Will knew of the places in Monroeville marked by little historical plaques. The places where the wives and mothers of Founding Fathers and Revolutionary War generals had spent the long war years on their knees, praying for the future of the country and the safety of their loved ones.

Somehow, the ghosts of those sacrifices and the echo of those church bells seemed almost palpable to the trial lawyer.

In every battle
, Will thought to himself,
there is a moment of decision
. To attack or to retreat. To throw yourself, as a potential sacrifice, into the conflict…or to preserve, protect, and to wait.

Burdening Will's mind more than anything was his love for and sense of duty to his wife. A woman of great strength, Fiona had been dealt a disabling blow by the death of her father. That loss seemed to have uprooted her like a tree in a tornado. And Will knew that to defend Gilead Amahn now would be not only his own personal sacrifice of time and energy—it would also mean
placing his wife, in her current emotional turmoil, on the altar of sacrifice as well.

And yet, with equal certainty, Will Chambers believed that at the darkest and most obscure core of Gilead's case, he might find an opportunity to wreak justice upon Warren Mullburn…whose past criminal attacks against Will and his family were, at least to Will, matters of dead certainty.

Perhaps Jack Hornby was right, he thought, that like it or not, Will Chambers was in the dead center of the circle on that piece of paper. And if that were so, then perhaps that was the way it had to be. Somehow, he would have to reconcile that with his loyalty to Fiona.

But for Will, it would also mean something else. That he might have to climb into the cage with a creature who—though he wore a suit and spoke in the erudite abstractions of a genius—would still prove to be a man-eating brute.

33

W
ILL
C
HAMBERS WAS SITTING
in his favorite brown leather chair in the great room of his house. He had come home early from the office that afternoon and was now sitting down just in time to see the sun dying in bright fantastic splashes of crimson, pink, and orange, outlining the gray contours of the mountains.

He heard a door slam and a car drive off. It was Andrew's car pool. In a moment, Andrew, lugging his backpack, charged through the front door.

He greeted his dad and walked over to the chair. He studied his father's face for a minute.

“Dad, you look all stressed out. What's going on?”

“How could you tell?”

“Because whenever you start working on something in your mind and start worrying about something, your eyebrows get all…like…scrunched up.”

Will laughed.

“Andy, that's one of the things I love about you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You call it the way you see it.”

“Where's Mom?”

“She left a message on the kitchen table that she was running some errands. Said she was bringing home dinner. So I suppose she'll be home before too long.”

Andrew gave his father a high-five, grabbed a snack from the kitchen, and made his way up to his bedroom.

Will didn't notice. His eyes were on the waning sunset. There was still a thin red line of light rimming two of the mountain peaks in the distance when he noticed Fiona's Saab making its way up the long driveway.

Will greeted her on the porch, grabbed the groceries she was carrying, and gave her a kiss. As he put the groceries away and Fiona started making dinner, they exchanged the news about their day. But Will made a conscious choice not to tell his wife about the conversation with Bill Collingwood…at least not then.