The Sacrifice (21 page)

“Will you answer a few basic questions?” he repeated. “I'm not trying to trick you.”

“Where do you work?”

“Humphrey, Balcomb and Jackson.”

“You work with Leland Humphrey?” The minister's tone changed.

“Yes. He's my boss.”

“Why didn't you say so? Why don't you come about noon, and we'll eat together?”

Scott had set aside the whole morning to work on Lester's case, but he hadn't planned on spending it exclusively with Bishop Alfred Moore.

“Uh, sure.”

“Leland can tell you how to get to the church.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I'll see you then.”

Scott went downstairs to Mr. Humphrey's office. The older lawyer's door was open, and he was talking on the speakerphone to a lawyer in Raleigh and another in Goldsboro. He motioned for Scott to take a seat and held up his right index finger to signify that the call would be over in one minute. Ten minutes later, he hung up the phone.

“What's the latest on our case?”

Scott looked down at his legal pad. “I just talked with Bishop Alfred Moore, the pastor of the church where the shots were fired. He was a little hostile until I mentioned your name.”

Leland laughed. “The bishop! Did he invite you for lunch?”

“Yes. I'm going to meet him at the church at noon. What can you tell me about him?”

Leland smiled. “Nothing right now. I'll go with you.”

“Do I need to let Reverend Moore know you're coming?”

“No,” Leland said. “That won't be necessary. We're practically brothers.”

Scott opened his mouth, but Mr. Humphrey cut him off. “No questions.”

Scott spent the rest of the morning trying to interview other witnesses. Everyone was unavailable, and he left message after message. Finally, one of the deputies who arrested Lester returned his call.

“I'm in the middle of a training seminar,” Deputy Ayers said. “We're on a break, and I only have a few minutes.”

“Thanks for calling,” Scott said. “May I tape-record our conversation?”

“No, you can't.”

“All right,” Scott replied slowly. “I'm just trying to collect information.”

“Then ask me a question. I never let a defense lawyer record a conversation.”

Scott had written down an outline of questions on his legal pad. “How did you become involved in the arrest?”

“It's all in my report. Do you have a copy?”

“Not yet. The D.A. hasn't answered our discovery requests.”

“Okay. I was on patrol with Deputy Bradley. We received a radio dispatch that shots had been fired in the vicinity of the church on Hall's Chapel Road. We responded with blue lights and siren. Bradley saw Garrison in the woods along the creek, and I slowed down. When he saw us, Garrison threw something into the creek and started running. I radioed a unit that was coming from the other direction and advised them to be on the lookout for a slender white male wearing a camouflage T-shirt and blue jeans.”

“Who was in the other car?”

“Deputies Hinshaw and Dortch.”

“Who apprehended Garrison?”

“We did. He saw the other car and stopped. Bradley got out of the car and grabbed him.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Some profanity that was directed at Deputy Bradley.”

“Why Bradley?”

“Bradley is very black. Garrison is very white. Do you want to know what your client said? I remember it word for word.”

Scott looked up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

He took verbatim notes. He'd been around Lester enough that the deputy's recollection of the conversation didn't surprise him. It would be hard to put a positive spin on it for the jury unless they were all wearing white hoods.

“Bradley brought him over to the car, and I asked him what he'd thrown in the creek. He said it was a rock, but I wasn't convinced. I read him his rights and told him to get in the back of the patrol car. He refused and tried to kick Bradley, so I handcuffed him. I asked him if he'd been near the church, and he said, ‘What church?'”

“Did he ask for a lawyer?”

“No, counselor. If he had, I wouldn't have asked any more questions.”

“Were the other officers on the scene?”

“Yes. They heard me read the suspect his rights.”

“Did Garrison say anything else?”

“On the way to the station, he calmed down and asked us what he could do to get out of trouble. I told him the best course would be to tell the truth. Then he started talking about being persecuted and accused Bradley of prejudice.”

“Do you think Garrison had been drinking or on drugs?”

The deputy spoke to someone away from the receiver. “Maybe. The kid could have been high because of the nonsense he was talking.”

“Was a blood test performed before you took him to the youth detention center?”

“No more questions. I've got to get back to the seminar.”

“When can I call—”

The phone clicked off. Scott glared at the receiver before placing it into the cradle. He fumed for several seconds then looked at the clock. It was time to leave for their rendezvous with Bishop Moore. Mr. Humphrey was putting on his sport coat when Scott looked in his open door.

“Ready? We'll take my car,” the older lawyer said.

Mr. Humphrey could have owned a silver Mercedes, but he drove an older model Buick that was top of the line when it was new ten years before. His car was a miniature reflection of his office. There were papers in boxes in the backseat, and he had to move an extra briefcase from the passenger seat so Scott could sit down. With so much flammable material in the vicinity, it was a good thing Leland Humphrey didn't smoke.

They pulled out of the parking lot behind the office building. Scott said, “You were going to tell me about Bishop Moore.”

“Oh, yes. Do you remember my birthday?” Leland asked.

The office had celebrated Leland Humphrey's birthday the Friday before the Fourth of July. There was a huge cake decorated with symbols of the legal profession.

“It's in July.”

“Correct, July 3. That's important when I tell you about Bishop Moore.”

“Why?”

“Alfred and I were born on the same day, same year. He was born at home early in the morning; I arrived at the hospital later that evening. The same doctor saw us enter the world. His family lived on one side of the railroad tracks and mine lived on the other, but if you go to the courthouse, you'll find that only two babies were born on July 3 that year in Blanchard County—Alfred Moore and me.”

“How did you find out about it?” Scott asked.

“My father was part owner of a lumberyard on Forsyth Street, and I worked there during the summers from the time I was twelve until I graduated from high school. It was hard work, but my father thought I should learn to sweat for a paycheck instead of sorting invoices in the office. Alfred worked there, too. We spent months together every summer stacking wood and loading trucks.”

Mr. Humphrey accelerated as they left the center of town. “Of course, he went to a different school, Autumn Hill. It was a pitiful place. I never went inside, but you could tell it was run down from the outside. There was grass growing in the sidewalk, broken windows, and the playing fields were more dirt and weeds than anything else. I'm sure the teachers did the best they could, but there was probably a shortage of everything from textbooks to chalk. Separate but equal was never a reality.”

“Where was the school?”

“On Central Avenue.”

Mr. Humphrey slowed down for the turn onto Hall's Chapel Road. “When we were growing up, Alfred and I were color blind at the lumberyard, but there were limits we didn't think about crossing when we were out in the community. Years later we worked together on a citizen's committee during integration of the schools.”

They crossed the creek on a narrow bridge that warned “No trucks over 5 tons allowed.”

“Alfred's mother made the best corn bread,” Leland continued. “It would fall apart in your hand and melt in your mouth. He'd bring an extra slab for me, and I'd eat it for lunch while we sat on a stack of boards.”

Hall's Chapel Road was a winding country road that crossed Montgomery Creek once, then followed the twists and turns of the stream from a safe distance. Sometimes the stream could be glimpsed through the trees that grew to the water's edge. Most of the houses in the area were small with large vegetable gardens. Corn was popular, and at this time of year dead cornstalks stood crookedly in rows or were stacked tepee fashion in the center of the fields.

“Even when he was a teenager, Alfred knew a lot about the Bible. There was a foreman at the lumberyard we called ‘Pharaoh.' He was a hard taskmaster, and Alfred would quote verses from Exodus behind his back.”

“Do you know what employees at the firm call you behind your back?” Scott asked.

Mr. Humphrey looked across the seat and raised his right eyebrow. “No, tell me.”

“Bushy.”

Leland smiled. “The eyebrow thing. At least it's better than Pharaoh.”

The road turned toward the left and they could see the water of the stream through the breaks in the trees.

“We're close,” Mr. Humphrey said.

They came around a corner and slowed down. The Hall's Chapel Church was nestled under a hill. The trees across the road had been cut down so that people standing in front of the church had a clear view of Montgomery Creek in either direction. The white sanctuary was typical of thousands across rural America—a wooden frame building with ten narrow windows down each side and a steeple on top. Eight broad steps painted a deep green led up to the front door. The parking area was paved with black asphalt that sparkled when hit by direct sunlight. An Oldsmobile similar to Mr. Humphrey's car was next to the church.

“New parking lot,” Mr. Humphrey noted. “Offerings must be up.”

They got out of the car and walked up the steps to the front of the church. The door was locked.

“He may be in the back,” Leland said.

There was a single story building connected to the back of the sanctuary. A side door was unlocked, and they went inside a narrow carpeted hallway. They walked past Sunday school rooms equipped for children with low tables and miniature chairs. It was quiet and everything was neat and tidy. At the end of the hall, there was a plain wooden door with the word
Office
on it in gold, stick-on letters. Leland quietly opened the door.

The bishop, a short, stocky man with gray hair, was on his knees with his back to them. He had his head in his hands and was leaning his elbows on a chair where a Bible rested open before him.

Scott stopped in his tracks, but Leland stepped into the room and called out in a booming voice.

“Bishop! It's Gabriel! I've come to take you home!”

Alfred Moore didn't turn around, but looked toward heaven and prayed, “Lord, I'm ready to go, but I have a final request. Please, send another angel to take me. I don't trust one that sounds like Leland Humphrey to get me there in one piece.”

Bishop Moore got slowly to his feet. The preacher was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie. He put on a pair of small, silver-rimmed glasses that he'd put on his Bible. He gave Leland a bear hug and shook Scott's hand.

Alfred Moore's eyes twinkled behind his thick glasses. “I'm glad you brought my old friend. Did he tell you we share a birthday?”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said. “And also about the lumberyard and your mother's corn bread. There's only one thing I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“His eyebrow habit. Has he always done that?”

The bishop chuckled. “His mother told me it started the first time he stuck his thumb in his mouth. By the time I met him, it was irreversible, and I couldn't help him.”

“You make it sound like a sin,” Leland protested.

“No, it's not sin. That's one thing in your life you can leave alone.”

The bishop walked over to his desk and turned on an answering machine. “Are you hungry? I thought we might have dinner on the grounds.”

“Sounds good,” Leland replied.

They went down the hall to the wing of the building on the opposite side of the church.

“How long have you been at this church?” Leland asked. “The last time we talked, you were at Welcome Hill.”

“About four months. The previous minister moved to Hickory, and I'm filling in until the church calls a new pastor. I've known most of the people here since they were kids.”

They came to the end of the hall. The last room on the left was three times the size of a typical Sunday school room. It was set up with long tables and metal chairs. Against one wall were a sink, a refrigerator, and two stoves.

“This is the fellowship hall,” Alfred said. “We had a covered-dish supper last night for the older members of the church, and the people brought more than enough. I put some leftovers in the oven about thirty minutes ago. There's plenty for the three of us, plus anyone else that wanders by.”

“Any corn bread?” Scott asked.

“There are several pieces wrapped up in aluminum foil. We can eat inside or under the shelter beside the creek.”

“I'd like to go outside,” Leland said. “It's a nice day.”

Bishop Moore got three plates from a cupboard over the sink. Opening the ovens, he took out containers of food and set them on top of the stove. “Let's see,” he said. “You have a choice between baked chicken, roast beef and gravy, and meat loaf. Don't shy away from the meat loaf, Scott,” he warned. “The woman who made it doesn't do it as an excuse for nothing else to fix. And for vegetables we have corn soufflé, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes with pecans, and brown rice. Here's the corn bread, and there is a pitcher of sweet tea in the refrigerator. I also have some desserts that I can't show you until you clean your plate.”