“What is it?”
“Because all the money was recovered, I can offer six months probation on the lesser included misdemeanor of illegally lending the money of a charitable organization without its consent. No jail time. No fine.”
It was a good offer. If Sam had admitted committing the crime, Mike would have recommended it without reservation. Even so, an opportunity to spare Sam the dangers of prison was tempting.
“I’ll discuss it with him.”
“We’ll leave it open for ten days. After that, it’s withdrawn, and we go to trial.”
Mike studied the young DA’s face for a moment.
“What did you think of the judge’s revelation regarding his prior contact with Miller?”
“It was the appropriate thing to do, so we can decide whether to file a motion for recusal.”
“No, I mean the information my client has given the judge over the years. What do you think about that?”
“I have a personal opinion.”
“What is it? Do you believe that sort of thing is real?”
Hall hesitated. “My grandmother had dreams in which she saw things before they happened.”
“And you believed in her gift?”
“Yes.”
Hall turned in her chair, picked up a photograph on a small table behind her desk, and handed it to Mike. A large number of people that included little children, teenagers, and adults surrounded an old woman sitting in a chair. A small white church building, not unlike the old sanctuary at Little Creek, could be seen in the background.
“My grandmother is in the center of the picture, and I’m standing beside her,” Hall continued. “It was her ninetieth birthday. She lived two more years. Now, she’s in heaven.”
All the people in the photo were plainly dressed. Hall’s grandmother wore a print dress and old-fashioned black shoes. She had a bouquet of flowers in her hand and a sweet smile on her face. A younger, gangly version of Melissa Hall stood behind the old woman’s right shoulder. Mike returned the snapshot.
Hall stared at the picture that remained in her hand for a few seconds before looking up. “I’m no saint, either, but listening to your client talk about the Lord and call Him ‘Papa’ made me think about my grandmother. She didn’t use that term, but it was the same kind of familiarity. I asked Mr. West to let me offer you a favorable plea bargain.”
“And I appreciate it. Sam is odd, but all he wants to do is help other people. The more I’ve been around him, the less I believe he tried to steal money from the Craig Valley church.”
“I disagree. My grandmother said spiritual people don’t always have the character to match the gift.”
“But what if Miller isn’t guilty?”
Hall’s face hardened. “Then you’d better convince Ken and me within the next ten days. After that, it’s up to a judge or jury.”
Sixteen
MIKE LEFT THE COURTHOUSE AND CALLED THE MILLER HOME. Muriel answered.
“Where is Sam this afternoon?” he asked.
“At the Bowen house.”
“On Polk Street?”
“Yes. He’s worked for them since before Mr. Bowen died.”
Polk Street was a block from traffic light eleven. Mr. Bowen, an insurance broker, was a client of Forrest, Andrews, and Lambert for many years, and Mike had encountered him at the office several times. He didn’t know his widow.
The houses on Polk Street were built in the 1920s. Most had been remodeled and updated. Mrs. Bowen lived at the end of a street in a brick home with broad holly bushes and a small, neatly manicured front yard. Large shade trees stood along the edges of the lot. Mike pulled in behind Sam’s truck, which was parked beside Mrs. Bowen’s older-model Cadillac. Sam wasn’t in sight.
Mike walked up a driveway made of cobblestones covered by bits of moss. The backyard was enclosed in a fence. He could hear a small dog barking as he approached the white wooden gate. Mike looked into the yard, which was surprisingly large and sunny, with islands of flower beds in several places and two outdoor fountains. Near the house was an artificial pond surrounded by vines and exotic-looking plants. Mike could see why Sam would need to spend a lot of time in the yard. The yardman and a small, slender woman were standing at the rear of the lot.
“Sam!” Mike called out.
Sam and the woman turned around.
“Come in!” Sam yelled.
Mike unlatched the gate. The little brown dog nervously sniffed his ankles for a few seconds before running across the yard toward the woman. Mrs. Bowen faced him. Her gray hair was pulled back tightly in a bun, and she was wearing a dark skirt, blouse, and sweater. Sam stepped forward as Mike approached.