There was a long silence on the phone.
“Mr. Forrest? Are you still there?”
“Yes. Any newspaper article should focus on the circumstances surrounding the criminal charges, not the bank.”
“Which it will. But are you aware that Mr. Miller writes letters to people he doesn’t know? I received a note from him myself a few years ago and still keep it in my desk.”
“Are you going to include your note in this article?”
“No.”
“Have you met Mr. Miller?” Forrest asked.
“No.”
“Does Mr. Miller contend that he wrote a letter to Mr. Hatcher?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions, Mr. Forrest. Could we go back a few steps? Would you check with Mr. Hatcher and find out if he received a letter from Sam Miller?”
“I’ll run it by him, but I still don’t see what it has to do with your article.”
“Embezzling money from a local church is a serious charge. That alone is newsworthy. When combined with Miller’s odd personality, I think I have a story a lot of people will be interested in reading. When should I expect to hear from you?”
“In due time. I’m late for an appointment. Good-bye.”
Mike heard a click.
“You know Maxwell Forrest,” Hodges said. “What did you think?”
“He’ll vigorously protect the bank’s reputation. It’s the firm’s biggest client.”
“Do you think a letter exists?”
“If it hasn’t ended up in the landfill with the ones Sam sent the newspaper.” “Did Forrest know more than he told me?”
“Maybe, but he’d be naturally cautious. When faced with an unexpected problem, he slows down and reconnoiters before moving forward.”
“I’m not going to write an article, but from what I’ve seen from Sam Miller over the years, trying to interpret one of his weird, Bible-verse-filled letters wouldn’t qualify as serious journalism.”
“It depends on what it says. Let me know if Mr. Forrest gets back in touch with you.”
“I’ll record every word.”
MIKE SPENT PART OF THE AFTERNOON TYPING STANDARD MOTIONS to file in the Miller case: a request for a list of potential witnesses, a copy of the statement given by Sam to interrogating officers, and the disclosure of any exculpatory evidence that might assist in establishing Sam’s innocence. Mike felt especially uneasy about the signed statement taken by Detective Perkins. Few items of evidence were more damaging to a defendant than a written confession the prosecutor could wave in front of a jury during closing arguments. Mike hoped Sam’s persistent obfuscation of reality flowed over into the statement.
There was a knock on the door. Nathan Goode entered.
“Good job on the anthem,” Mike said. “And thanks for cutting the final hymn short. I ran way over.”
“I check my watch as you come in for landing.”
“What about the youth group last night? Nobody called complaining, so I assume there weren’t any problems.”
“Not a hitch. The Gaston boy showed up with his buddy who plays guitar. The kids liked it. I enjoyed it, too.”
“What are you planning for this week’s Sunday morning service?”
Nathan outlined his idea. “The anthem has a soprano solo. I thought I’d invite a guest soloist.”
“A high school student would be fine. The girl on the flute did a beautiful job.”
“I’ve been spending time with someone recently who could be for the soprano section what Peg is to the altos.”
“What does spending time mean? Are you giving her voice lessons?”
“She’s way beyond me. She was a voice major in college then decided to go to law school.”
“Who is it?” Mike asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Melissa Hall. She works for the district attorney’s office. She grew up way back in the mountains just over the line in Tennessee. You’d never guess her interest in classical music by talking to her, but she can sight-read like a pro and hit the high notes without a problem.”
Mike visualized the young prosecutor with a microphone in her hand serenading a crowd. It was a radically different venue from the Barlow County Courthouse.
“Where did you meet her?”
“At the Shelton community theater tryouts. We’re going to perform Oklahoma! at the end of the summer. Nobody could touch Melissa’s voice for the female lead.”
“Hmm,” Mike responded. “Does she know I’m the pastor of the church?”
“No.”
“You should let her know. She’s prosecuting a man I’m representing pro bono in a criminal case, and she might feel uncomfortable at the church.”