Connor followed her to the booking area. There was a clock on the wall. It had been less than three hours since he’d arrived at the jail. The thought of spending hour after hour, day after day confined in a jail cell was overwhelming. Connor was allowed to use the same interview room. Fortunately, he’d memorized Reg’s phone number.

  “Hello,” the businessman said in a tentative voice.

  “It’s Connor. Have you heard what happened?”

  “Yes, the news is all over town.”

  Connor knew that had to be true, but hearing it was devastating. “Liz Acosta and Harold Pollard aren’t going to represent me, so I’m going to need to hire another lawyer. There’s a chance a judge will set bail. If that happens—”

  “We’ll get you out,” Reg answered before Connor could continue. “If I can’t do it alone, I’ll put together a group of supporters who will.”

  “You believe I have supporters?”

  “Absolutely. Anyone who knows you realizes this is a huge mistake. I’ve been in touch with the sheriff and expressed my concern about how this is being handled. He claims the GBI is behind the arrest warrant. Has anyone tried to question you?”

  “Not after I told Detective Norman that I wanted to speak to a lawyer.”

  “Whether we can get you out or not, we’re going to help you find the best lawyer available.”

  “Who else is on my side?”

  Reg mentioned Jim Morgan and three other men, one of whom didn’t attend the church.

  “Why is Nate Atwood willing to help?”

  “Because he’s my friend and knows how much I respect you.”

  Listening to Reg and realizing he wasn’t totally abandoned caused a well of emotion to rise in Connor. He cleared his throat.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” he managed. “Please let the others know too.”

  “I will.”

  “Could you come see me? I’m not sure when visitors are allowed.”

  “Yes.”

  Connor slowly lowered the receiver.

  * * *

  Restless, Liz had to get away from the office. Instead of calling Elena, she decided to talk to her in person. She called the client from the car and asked if she could come by and see her.

  “Now?” Elena asked.

  “Yes. It’s important.”

  “Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “In person is my preference,” Liz replied.

  “If you insist. Make it thirty minutes. I’m wrapping something up.”

  It only took ten minutes to drive from the law office to Elena’s house. Instead of taking a detour or stopping someplace to wait, Liz parked near the driveway entrance at the base of the hill and rehearsed what she wanted to say to Elena. The clock on Liz’s phone had never been more resistant to the passage of time.

  A large car with heavily tinted windows exited the driveway and turned quickly in the opposite direction from where Liz waited. The vehicle had a Georgia license plate with a sticker for Fulton County, which contained the downtown area of the city of Atlanta. A few moments later, Liz drove up to the house and got out. Elena opened the door before Liz reached it.

  “I already know,” Elena said. “The police have arrested Connor and charged him with murder. Come in. We can talk in the office.”

  Liz followed Elena. Stacks of papers covered the desk in Matt’s former home office. Liz sat in a leather side chair. Elena was surprisingly composed.

  “What else did you hear?” Liz asked.

  “Nothing, but I don’t think a jury will convict him.”

  “I hope not,” Liz replied. “But I’ve not thought that far ahead. I came over to apologize to you. After we talked yesterday about Tyson Nash, I let it slip to Connor that Nash may have been the person in the video Connor took on the day of Matt’s death. As your attorney, I should have honored your request to keep that confidential. And now that Connor’s been charged with Matt’s murder, our law firm isn’t going to represent him.”

  “That makes sense,” Elena said calmly. “Don’t worry about what you said to Connor about Tyson. I’m sure it will come out that he was on the property too. Have you talked to Connor since he was arrested?”

  “Yes, he called me from the jail, and I told him we couldn’t help him.”

  “I want to see him,” Elena replied. “Can you arrange a visit? The sooner the better. I don’t want to waste a trip.”

  Liz stared incredulously at Elena. “Why do you want to see him?”

  “To reassure him that I don’t believe he killed Matt. I’m sure he’s wondering what I think. Matt died in a hunting accident or by suicide. All this stuff with the police is nonsense.”

  “I’ll inquire,” Liz replied slowly. “But I doubt Connor is going to want to see or communicate with me.”

  “Do your best.” Elena held up one hand, seeming to inspect her latest manicure. “And I’m glad your firm is choosing me over Connor. No offense, but he needs a real criminal defense lawyer. This is way over your head.”

  Elena stood, signaling the end of the meeting. They walked to the door, stopping in the foyer.

  “Do you think this is going to slow payment of the life insurance money?” Elena asked.

  “Harold has said all along that insurance companies will use any excuse to delay payment.”

  Elena frowned. “I’m expecting you to force them to act. Sometimes you come across as too nice. Use any of your legal tricks to make them pay up.”

  Almost every encounter with Elena left Liz feeling like she’d met with a different person. She tried to process the conversation during her return trip to the office. When she entered the reception area, she could tell that Becky had been crying.

  “Are you upset about Connor?” Liz asked as Becky wiped one of her eyes with a tissue.

  “Yes,” Becky said between sniffles. “It’s so horrible.”

  Liz continued to Harold’s office and told him about her meeting with Elena. The senior partner listened without comment until she mentioned Elena’s request to visit Connor at the jail.

  “I didn’t see that coming,” he said.

  “Neither did I, but I guess it makes sense. If she genuinely cares about him, she’d want Connor to know her opinion about the charges against him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And Elena says Connor needs a better criminal defense lawyer than this firm can provide.”

  Harold grunted, then scowled.

  * * *

  Connor returned to solitary confinement in the four-person cell. He passed the time by pacing, sitting on the edge of a bunk, and lying down. And worrying. Uncertainty about what might happen had ended. The worst possible scenario had come true. He was in jail. His reputation in the community was destroyed. Regardless of the outcome, his life would now be divided between the time before his arrest and the time after. Despair closed in tighter than the walls surrounding him.

  A male deputy delivered supper, which consisted of a bologna sandwich, potato chips, applesauce, and a small chocolate chip cookie. The sandwich bread was stale. There was mustard smeared on half the sandwich. But Connor was hungry enough that he ate every crumb. Eating also gave him something to do. Wishing he had a toothbrush, he swished water around in his mouth. The door opened again. It was the same deputy. Connor grabbed the empty food tray from the cot and gave it to him. The deputy handed Connor an orange jumpsuit and white flip-flops.

  “You have a visitor,” the deputy said.

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to see them?”

  “Yes,” Connor quickly replied. “Do I have to change clothes first?”

  “No. Follow me.”

  Connor tried to steady himself as he followed the deputy toward the booking area. He didn’t want to break down and sob when he saw Reg but suspected that he might. They entered a medium-size room with six plastic tables surrounded by four chairs each. It could have been the fellowship room for a small church. The space was empty except for a man and a woman at one of the tables. It was Lyle and Sarah Hamilton. One of the plastic chairs had been removed so Lyle could park his wheelchair. Tears suddenly streamed down Connor’s cheeks. He didn’t break down, he simply cried. Lyle rubbed his right eye with his hand. Sarah, a serious look on her face, showed no emotion.

  Connor sat across from Lyle. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “How did you get permission to see me?”

  “An old fishing buddy with connections in the sheriff’s department cleared it,” Lyle said. “He’s a praying guy and knew why we wanted to come.”

  Connor faced Sarah. “What do you think?” he asked her.

  “That you’re in a spiritual battle and need all the reinforcements heaven has available.”

  “I’m not sure how to make that happen.”

  “We’re here to help,” Sarah replied. “And don’t feel like you have to explain anything to us. Lyle and I know you’re innocent. The Lord clearly showed me before we received the news that you’d been arrested.”

  “How did—”

  “Not now,” Sarah said. “They only gave us fifteen minutes, and we want to use it wisely.”

  “Okay.”

  Sarah bowed her head and began to pray. Within seconds Connor felt the skin on his back and arms begin to tingle. He had no idea what that meant, but he accepted it as good. If prayer is a weapon, Sarah’s words weren’t bullets, they were artillery shells. When she paused, Lyle started praying. After being with the couple several times, Connor realized that Lyle was praying more powerfully and at a deeper level. His legs might be paralyzed, but his spirit was getting stronger. The confidence in their words started calming the storm inside Connor. Lyle stopped. There was silence for several moments. Then, taking a deep breath, Connor prayed. He started by asking for God’s help. Snippets of verses from Psalms surfaced in his mind. King David had walked the path Connor found himself on. He repeated some of the phrases he’d heard Sarah and Lyle use. He stopped and opened his eyes.

  “You already prayed that,” Connor said.

  “Do it,” Sarah responded. “You need to own it too.”

  Connor closed his eyes and continued. When he stopped, Sarah prayed again. Followed by Lyle. A door opened.

  “Time’s up,” a deputy announced.

  “Amen,” Lyle said.

  “We’re not going to stop until we see the victory,” Sarah said earnestly. “No matter how long it takes.”

  “I hope it’s not too long,” Connor replied, then remembered how Sarah had been praying many months for Lyle. “But that’s not up to me.”

  Lyle reached out and grabbed both of Connor’s hands. The former electrician still had a powerful grip. “Remember, we’re with you,” he said.

  On his way back to his cell, Connor no longer felt like crying. A woman at the booking center stopped Connor and the guard who was escorting him.

  “Do you want to designate the visitors who can see you?” she asked. “We’ve been getting a lot of calls.”

  “No,” Connor replied. “Surprise me.”

  Chapter 37

  Not able to concentrate on her work, Liz left the office early. She was sitting in her living room when her phone vibrated. It was Elena.

  “Where are you?” Elena asked. “I came to your office, and the receptionist won’t tell me where you’ve gone.”

  “I left early. Why did you go to the office?”

  “You know I don’t trust cell phones. That’s why I’m here. I’ll wait for you.”

  “I’m not coming back today,” Liz replied.

  “I tried to call Tyson Nash, but I wasn’t able to reach him.”

  “Did you leave him a message?”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything else until we’re face-to-face.”

  Liz didn’t want to return to the office for Elena. But if there was something that might help Connor, even though she no longer represented him, she had to find out.

  “I’m on my way,” she said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Liz sat across from Elena in the main conference room. The client was trembling with rage.

  “Where’s your cell phone?” Elena demanded.

  “In my office.”

  Elena placed both hands on the table. “I promised to call Tyson. When he didn’t answer either of his numbers, I decided to check with the corporate office in DC. They always know where he is and can page him. The woman I spoke with said he was no longer employed with the company and wouldn’t give me a forwarding number or email address. When I asked why, she hung up on me. I called back and asked to speak to his supervisor, a man named Michael Claxton. He told me Tyson was terminated for cause when an auditor in the billing department discovered he was charging both me and Daughbert Technology for the same services on the same day. My bills indicated surveillance work targeting Daughbert; the bill to Daughbert was for surveillance work targeting me. Claxton apologized and told me they’d notified their professional liability insurance company of what happened.” Elena paused. “I would never imagine that Tyson was secretly working for Matt’s company! When I first met him, he promised me that no one would know about our relationship.”

  “‘Relationship’?”

  “Professional, of course. Tyson’s company had performed work for Daughbert, but I contacted Tyson directly through the Fletchall website.”

  “Regardless, you have a claim against the Fletchall Group for breach of the duty owed to you as a client,” Liz said. “The question would be damages beyond invasion of privacy.”

  “I told Claxton I’d decide later about suing them and demanded to know what was in Tyson’s file about me. He refused.”

  “His lawyers would tell him to say that.”

  “How can they do that?” Elena’s voice grew louder. “I have a right to know! Matt must have found out what I was doing and turned Tyson against me by offering him more money.”

  “How can you be sure it was Matt?” Liz asked in surprise.

  “Who else could it be? Matt was sneaky. It would be just like him to come along behind me and switch things around. The fact that Anne called Tyson makes me suspect she was in on it with Matt.”

  “Do you want me to get in touch with the Fletchall Group as your attorney?”

  “Not yet,” Elena replied. “There’s so much going on. I don’t want to get sidetracked. But I had to tell you about this.”

  “I understand why you’re upset.”

  Liz escorted Elena to the reception area. Unfortunately, nothing she’d learned from Elena helped Connor. But she didn’t want to leave the new information alone. Picking up her cell phone, she called Neil Peterson.

  “This is Liz Acosta,” she said when he answered. “I know you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, but there’s something new I have to ask you about.”

  “No,” Peterson started, but Liz continued anyway.

  “It has to do with someone you talked to the morning Matt Thompson died. A man with a South African accent called you that morning. What can you tell me about him?”

  There was a brief silence. Liz checked to make sure Peterson hadn’t hung up on her.

  “How do you know about this?” Peterson asked.

  Liz took a deep breath and told him about Connor and the boy finding the cell phone in the woods and unlocking it.

  “I’ve wondered about that several times since the day it happened,” Peterson said. “The man who called wanted to know if I was in the office and whether he could come by for a meeting. He said he worked for a vendor hired by Winston who suggested he contact me directly. When I told him I was available, he hung up without scheduling an appointment.”

  “Did he tell you his name or the name of his company?”

  “Not that I recall, but he called me ‘mate’ during the conversation. And I remember the accent.”

  “Have you heard of the Fletchall Group Limited?”

  “It’s a private investigation company. Is that who he worked for?”

  “Maybe. Why are you familiar with them?”

  “They were hired from time to time to provide services for us. Nothing I can tell you about.”

  “I understand.”

  “What was the name of the man who had the cell phone?” Peterson asked.

  Liz quickly decided the possible benefit of revealing information outweighed refusing to do so. “Does the name Tyson Nash sound familiar?”

  “No. I only met one of their employees. It wasn’t him.”

  “Would interacting with the Fletchall Group have been the responsibility of Matt Thompson or Winston Boone?”

  “Definitely Winston.”

  * * *

  No one else came to visit Connor. He changed into the orange jumpsuit. One of the male deputies took his civilian clothes and stuffed them into a clear plastic bag. The jumpsuit was too small. The bottom of the legs barely reached Connor’s ankles, and the arms stopped above his wrists. The shoes were much like the slides he wore when he went to the beach. Connor was allowed to keep his socks. He passed the time by pacing and doing push-ups.

  When in college, Connor and some of his buddies had participated in a challenge to perform ten thousand push-ups in a single month. That worked out to over three hundred push-ups per day. At the time, Connor was too busy and only lasted a couple of days. Meeting the goal now would be easy, at least from an available-time standpoint. Before lying down for the night, Connor did five sets of fifty push-ups each. The last set was especially tough, but he pressed through. Suddenly, most of the lights turned off. Hoping the physical exercise would help him relax enough to sleep, Connor lay on one of the bottom bunks and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  When he awoke, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The lights were still dimmed. He’d slept soundly without dreaming. He waited for the arrival of whatever emotions or thoughts might appear. Not surprisingly, the realization of where he was and why he was there demanded first place in line. Connor prayed for the grace he needed for the day and hoped it wouldn’t be solely spent in the jail cell. Rolling out of the cot, he washed his hands and face in the tiny sink. Dropping down, he performed his first set of fifty push-ups. Connor’s arms were sore from the exertion of the previous night, but his muscles loosened as he continued. He was hungry. There were no sounds in the hallway, and he realized that he’d not heard anything except his own breathing and movements since arriving in the cell. He must be in a part of the jail significantly separated from the other prisoners. A crazy thought shot through his mind that he wasn’t really in the jail. He was in a fake location like a movie set. He dropped down and performed another fifty push-ups. The door opened, and a deputy he’d not seen yet entered with a plastic tray of food.