“Breakfast,” the man announced, handing the tray to Connor.

  “What time is it?”

  “Five forty-five in the morning,” the man replied. “We start early.”

  “Will I be allowed out of my cell today? Is there an exercise area?”

  “Maybe, although it looks like you’re getting plenty of exercise already.”

  Connor hadn’t considered that he was subject to twenty-four-hour surveillance. He quickly glanced around the cell but didn’t see a camera. The man closed the door.

  Sitting on a different bunk than the one where he’d slept, Connor methodically ate every bite of scrambled eggs, two pieces of white toast streaked with margarine, two sausage links, and two pieces of orange cut in quarters. He nibbled on the orange slices until every bit of fruit was pried from the peel. The black liquid in an insulated paper cup barely qualified as coffee, but he drank it anyway.

  “Lord, thank you for breakfast,” he said when he placed the tray beside him on the cot. “What’s next?”

  Not expecting an answer, Connor was surprised when he had the strong impression that he should lie down again. He was wide awake and doubted he’d be able to go back to sleep. Obeying, he stretched out on his sleeping bunk and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  After a fitful night during which she worried about Connor and how he was being treated at the jail, Liz arrived early at the office. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Checking, she saw that the light in Harold’s office was on.

  “What brings you in so early?” Harold asked.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Understandable. I know you’re worried about Connor. I spent some time last night thinking about him too.”

  “What were your thoughts?”

  “Trying to sort out why they arrested him.” Harold paused. “And what I’d be doing if we were representing him.”

  “You want to help him, don’t you?”

  “Maybe, but I’m not going to put my answer on the record.”

  “I talked with Neil Peterson,” she said.

  “I thought he cut ties with you.”

  Liz told her boss about the conversation related to the Fletchall Group and Tyson Nash.

  “It’s likely Nash was the man in the video Connor took on his phone,” Harold said. “Did you tell Elena what Peterson said?”

  “Not yet. Would that qualify as information that doesn’t have to be disclosed immediately to a client? She might react imprudently and yell at Winston Boone for usurping her private investigator.”

  “It sounds like the Fletchall Group had a relationship with Daughbert Technology that predated anything Elena set up. I think it’s okay to hold off for a short while. Are you going to try to visit Connor at the jail today?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll pull a couple of strings to make it happen even if you’re not on his approved list. That way you can plead your case of caring about what happens to him in person.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Go,” Harold said, shooing her out of his office.

  A couple of hours later, Becky buzzed Liz. “Reg Bullock is here. He doesn’t have an appointment but says it has to do with Connor Grantham. Mr. Bullock goes to the church—”

  “I’ll see him.”

  As soon as he entered the reception area, Liz recognized the man’s face. He extended his right hand. In his left hand was a laptop.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” Reg said. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  Liz led him to the conference room and closed the door. “Before you say anything else, I need to advise you that this law firm no longer represents Connor,” she said. “Mr. Pollard and I had to withdraw due to a conflict of interest with another client.”

  “Connor told me. Are you still interested in seeing what I have?”

  Liz hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

  Reg placed the laptop on the table and turned it on. “This is a surveillance video showing the area near the lodge kitchen at Burnt Pine Tree,” he said. “It’s outside at the meat smokers.”

  “Connor showed Harold and me a video he’d received from Andy McNamara yesterday morning. Is this the same one? He told us that he wasn’t near the smokers on the day of Matt’s death and at any rate wasn’t wearing the clothes he’s pictured in on that day. He mentioned that you were going to check some stored footage.”

  Reg pulled up a video file and opened it. “Yes, this is the same video. I was unsuccessful in finding the original we wanted to compare because the files had been damaged. But if you’ll bear with me, I’d like you to see it again. I won’t comment until after you’ve watched it.”

  Liz sat down in front of the laptop. The scene was exactly as she remembered. The date corresponded to the day of Matt’s death, and there was no doubt that Connor appeared in the frame toward the end of the recording.

  “Now we’ll back it up a little and I’m going to stop it toward the end.”

  As Liz watched, the back corner of the lodge appeared along with the smokers.

  “That’s Raul,” Reg said when the cook appeared.

  “Right.”

  Raul loaded wood into the smoker and then left. There was a long section of nothing except the smoker. Connor moved into the picture. Reg stopped the video.

  “Do you see the bush that’s beside Connor’s leg?” Reg asked, pointing at the phone.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a winged euonymus or burning bush. We planted several of them around the lodge. That’s a small one put in the ground last year. Do you see how red the leaves are?”

  The bush was about a foot tall and covered in tiny bright red leaves.

  “Yes.”

  “Those leaves turned red at least a month before the day Matt Thompson died. Because we had a hot summer, the burning bushes turned color earlier than normal. I remember because I talked about it with the head maintenance guy. Once the leaves turn, they don’t stay on long.”

  Liz stared at the image. Based on the camera angle pointing downward toward the smokers, there weren’t any complete trees in the picture, only a few trunks.

  “And look at the ground,” Reg continued. “Only a few leaves have fallen from the trees. This is the very beginning of fall. It’s not from the Daughbert Technology weekend. Somebody doctored the date of the video, and the police need to know about it.”

  “I want to believe your interpretation,” Liz said slowly. “But how can you be so precise about the dates?”

  “I spend a lot of time in the woods, especially the Burnt Pine Tree property. I believe what I’m telling you is true.”

  “Could I have a copy of this to show Raul?”

  “Absolutely. I think this could clear Connor.”

  “We don’t know what other evidence the police have,” Liz said. “But we could hire someone to forensically evaluate the video to determine if there’s been tampering.”

  “Do it. I’ll pay for it. I’m a client of the firm. Harold has performed work for me in the past.”

  After Reg left, Liz watched the video again and decided to contact the company in San Diego. She also researched the burning bush plant. An argument could certainly be made that the environmental evidence in the images conflicted with the date on the recording. But it would take an expert witness to explain it in a persuasive way. A lay opinion from Reg Bullock, who was one of Connor’s supporters, wouldn’t cut it. And there was still one more opinion she needed to obtain. Leaving the office, she drove to Manuel’s Taqueria.

  Chapter 38

  Connor remained on the cot as the weight of God’s presence, of heavenly glory, settled upon him. This time, he didn’t wonder if he was on the verge of a heart attack. Rather, he positioned his heart to receive encouragement and strength. He was in a jail cell, not the sanctuary of Rock Community Church, but if God was with him, the difference in location became unimportant. All that mattered was the awareness of the Lord’s divine covering.

  He’d closed his eyes when the experience began. Comfort, power, and peace washed over him. A long period passed; Connor considered opening his eyes but hesitated out of concern the Lord might leave. He did so anyway. Nothing changed. Connor smiled. God’s reality transcended the function of his eyelids. Thankfulness rose from deep inside him. He spoke it out. The glory didn’t lift. He continued to express his appreciation to the Lord. The passage of time was irrelevant. Connor had no place to go and couldn’t leave the cell if he’d wanted to. Illogical as it might seem, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  The door to the cell opened. The male guard who’d brought his breakfast entered. He had another food tray in his hand. Instead of a sandwich, there were three chicken tenders, a scoop of mashed potatoes, a piece of corn bread, and some kind of cobbler for dessert.

  “Here’s your lunch,” the man said. “And we received word from the courthouse that your bond has been set at one million dollars.”

  “Thanks,” Connor replied.

  The man left. Connor took a deep breath. The strong sense of God’s presence in the cell was gone, but the impact on Connor remained. He felt an extraordinary peace. The verse about a peace that passes understanding from Paul’s writings came to his mind.

  Connor nodded to himself and said out loud, “That’s what he meant.”

  Before he ate his meal, Connor offered up a simple prayer asking the Lord to do what needed to be done next, whatever that might be.

  * * *

  Manuel wasn’t perched on a stool in his usual spot near the cash register.

  “Where’s Manuel?” Liz asked the young woman who served as waitress and cashier.

  “Fishing,” she replied.

  “Is Raul here?” she asked.

  “He’ll be the one who prepares your tamales.”

  “I’d like to talk to him before he does that.”

  The woman disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later Raul, who was wearing a white apron, came out.

  Liz greeted him. “Do you remember when I asked you about the preacher who’d come to Burnt Pine Tree with Mr. Bullock?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to show you a video and ask if it’s the same one the police questioned you about.”

  Liz pulled up the video on her phone and played it. Raul nodded.

  “That’s me putting wood in the smoker,” the chef said. “And there’s the preacher.”

  “It doesn’t look like you were outside when he showed up. Is that right?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I could have been on the other side of a smoker splitting wood. We liked to use smaller pieces.”

  “How long ago was this taken? Is the date running on the top of the video correct or could it possibly have been earlier in the fall?”

  Raul furrowed his brow for a moment and pointed at the screen. “That’s a big pile of wood beside the smoker. We only did that toward the end of summer so we could be ready for the fall and winter hunting seasons. I don’t believe there was that much wood left on the stack at the time the video was taken.”

  “How sure are you about that?”

  “Positive,” Raul replied. “Taking care of the wood pile for the smokers was part of my regular job.”

  “What about the red bush and the absence of leaves on the ground? Does that help date the video?”

  “I don’t know about bushes. And we always raked leaves and twigs away from the smokers to cut down the chance of a fire in the woods. They were never allowed to pile up in that area.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Liz said. “Did you tell any of this to the police?”

  “About taking care of the wood for the smoker? Yes.”

  “No, about how the stack of wood is larger or smaller depending on the time of the year.”

  Raul shook his head. “No. They didn’t ask me.”

  Later, while Liz ate her tamales, she considered Raul’s opinion and decided it made sense. And no one could argue that he had a bias toward anything except the truth. Upon her return to the office, she went into Harold’s office and told him about the meetings with Reg and Raul.

  “I want to make it clear that Mr. Bullock came to see me,” Liz said. “I didn’t contact him.”

  “I picked up on that. And you only went to the Mexican restaurant because you were hungry and need to maintain a good working relationship with the folks who work there.”

  Harold stopped. Liz waited.

  “And you want my help in getting this information to the sheriff’s department for them to consider and pass along to the GBI,” Harold continued.

  “It’s in Elena’s best interest that suspicion about the circumstances of Matt’s death end so the insurance company will have to pay. And like you said this morning, a part of you wants to help Connor if possible.”

  “Liz, you are getting more persuasive by the hour.” Harold grinned. “I’ll call the sheriff and suggest someone from his office contact Reg Bullock and the former cook at Burnt Pine Tree.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And when you meet with Connor you can let him know.”

  “What’s a good time to go to the jail?”

  “Before the end of the day. They informed me at the jail that he’s not placed any restrictions on visitors.”

  * * *

  After lunch, Connor returned to his cot. The season of kavod was over, though. He spent the next few hours praying, but not for himself, and doing push-ups. Praying for others in the midst of a time of intense personal need was liberating and kept him from self-focus. He’d just logged his three hundredth push-up when the cell door opened. Expecting supper, he stood up. Instead of handing him a tray of food, the guard handed him the bag containing the clothes Connor was wearing when he was arrested.

  “Your bond has been posted,” the guard said. “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  The door shut. Connor stared for a second at the bag before slipping off the orange jumpsuit and putting on his regular clothes. He washed his face in the sink and sat on the edge of his cot. He looked forward to a hot shower and the chance to brush his teeth. But no place on earth had so profoundly impacted him over a twenty-four-hour period as the jail cell. Then he realized it wasn’t the place but the God who inhabited the place that made the difference. He’d learned so much in such a brief time. From Lyle and Sarah. And from God himself.

  The guard returned and led him to an area where Connor was given paperwork notifying him when he would have to appear in court to enter a plea to the charges against him. The practical problems that had faded in the cell returned. The guard opened a door to a waiting area where Reg Bullock waited. Reg stepped forward and hugged him.

  “I’m a bit stale,” Connor said.

  “I don’t care,” Reg replied.

  “I can’t thank you and the others enough,” Connor started.

  “Hey, we were ready to pledge a lot more.”

  Stepping outside, Connor blinked in the bright sunlight. “I’ll never think about jail the same way,” he said as they walked to Reg’s truck.

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Reg glanced at him with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Do I still have a job at the church?”

  “You’ve been suspended, not terminated. That’s the best I could do given the circumstances.”

  “Okay.”

  They got in the vehicle. “I was going to wait until I took you home, but I’m going to tell you this now,” Reg said without starting the engine. “I’ve already shared it with Liz Acosta.”

  “Liz isn’t helping me.”

  “She’s working for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s not the important part.”

  Reg explained what he’d figured out about the video. “Liz is going to have the images analyzed to see how it was altered.”

  “And someone should talk to the cook who smoked the meats,” Connor replied. “He might remember that day.”

  “Yes, Raul is a solid guy. I heard he bought into a restaurant on the east side of town.”

  When they pulled onto the street where Connor lived there were several unfamiliar cars parked in front of his house.

  “What’s going on?” Connor asked.

  Reg parked behind a sedan with deeply tinted windows. Before they got out, two men came out the front door. One of them was carrying a hunting rifle. Connor exited the car and walked rapidly over to them.

  “Who are you and what are you doing inside my house?” he demanded.

  “The agent in charge is inside,” one of the men replied.

  Connor entered the house. There was someone in the kitchen and two men in the living room. The more muscular of the men stepped toward him.

  “Hold it right there,” he said.

  “I’m Connor Grantham, and this is my house.”

  The other man handed Connor a sheet of paper. “I’m Agent Flannery with the GBI. This is a search warrant for your residence.”

  “Why are you confiscating my rifle?”

  “Potential evidence. Wait outside until we’re finished.”

  Connor wanted to argue but knew it was pointless. He left and stood next to Reg in the yard.

  “What are they looking for?” Reg asked.

  Connor glanced down at the search warrant. It identified “evidence related to the death of Matt Thompson, including, but not limited to, drugs, documents, and firearms.” He showed the paper to Reg.

  “What’s the caliber of your rifle?” Reg asked.

  “It’s a Browning X-Bolt 308.”

  “Matt’s group was using Winchester 308 ammo on the day of the hunt,” he said.