Dazed, knowing that he was looking on the work of the Lord, Delroy followed the woman into the church.
The walls all sported a new coat of paint. The floors had been shined. They still showed several scars and rough places, but all the litter and dirt were gone. A pulpit stood at the front of the church. A scarred piano stood to the left of the pulpit.
And in the center of what had appeared as a cavernous empty room only yesterday, pews covered the floor. Bibles and hymnals filled the slots. They didn’t match and they weren’t new, but they were there.
Overcome, Delroy knelt and clasped his hands. There were some things that had to be said that way. “Thank You, God, for this place and these people. Work Your best through me that I might give them what they need and what You want them to have. You know their needs, Lord. You know their needs are strong. Let them lean on You for a little while, so that others may lean on them and bring them to know more of You. In Jesus’ sweet name, I pray.”
When he opened his eyes, he was astounded to see that all of the people—inside the church as well as outside—had knelt to pray with him.
He stood, and the church stood with him.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1047 Hours
“State your name for the record,” Major Augustus Trimble said from the opposing counsel’s table.
Seated in the witness chair, Megan Gander looked out at the faces gathered in the military courtroom. A knot of congealed, greasy fear rolled in her stomach. Out of all those faces, most of them in army uniforms, she was surprised at how few of them she knew. Working in Joint Services, she’d met a number of people here on the base, but almost none of them were in the courtroom today.
She did have her few supporters. Jenny McGrath sat in the back in the audience seats. Lieutenant Doug Benbow sat at the defense table with his notes and portfolio in front of him.
Boyd and Tonya Fletcher sat just behind the opposing counsel’s table. Boyd looked stern and angry, like some prophet from the Old Testament come down from the mountain to deliver a message of God’s wrath about to be visited upon someone. In this case, Megan knew who Boyd Fletcher’s wrath would be visited on if he had his way.
A well-dressed man wearing an impatient look sat beside the Fletchers. From time to time, he spoke on a cell phone, always in a whisper that never reached Colonel Henry Erickson’s ears where he sat as judge. However, the constant calls had drawn the colonel’s attention all the same. Megan supposed the man was Arthur Flynn, Boyd Fletcher’s civil attorney.
She swallowed hard and leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “My name is Megan Gander.” Her voice boomed over the court, followed by feedback from the equipment, embarrassing her.
“Mrs. Gander,” Trimble said, covering one ear with one hand, “you don’t have to lean into the microphone like that. The audio pickup is quite good enough to do the job.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan whispered.
“Now, Mrs. Gander, you will have to speak up louder than that. That is not spy equipment.” Trimble paced in front of his table.
Lieutenant Benbow stood. “Colonel, Major Trimble is badgering the witness.”
Erickson held up a hand. He was a grimly efficient man approaching fifty. He was dark haired but with silver at the temples. “Lieutenant, I’ll be the judge of whether or not someone is being badgered in this courtroom.”
“Yes, sir,” Benbow said. He sat back down.
“Major Trimble,” Erickson said, “you’ll please refrain from continuing your comments about the court equipment.”
“Yes, sir.” Trimble appeared untouched by the judge’s caution. He came forward and stood in front of Megan, his hands clasped behind his back. “Now, Mrs. Gander, you’ve heard testimony from several other people in the courtroom this morning about how you treated Gerry Fletcher. That testimony proves that you failed to notify either of his parents of his whereabouts.”
Megan didn’t respond. He wasn’t asking a question.
“Mrs. Gander, you did hear that testimony, didn’t you?” Trimble asked.
Benbow stood again. “Colonel, I don’t believe the major’s attempt to test Mrs. Gander’s memory or her hearing is what we’re here for.”
Trimble spoke quickly and smoothly. “I beg to differ, Lieutenant. It seems to me that Mrs. Gander’s memory of the time in question is very important.”
“Colonel,” Benbow pleaded.
“Lieutenant,” Erickson said. “Sit down.”
Benbow sat.
Megan felt naked and vulnerable in the witness chair. So far this morning, she’d sat at the defense table and listened to her behavior being pummeled by witness after witness. Trimble had had officers reading from the codebook regarding dereliction of duty, emphasizing that civilians fell under the military court system during times of martial law, just as it had been declared at the fort since the disappearances. He’d had nurses who had been on duty that night, who’d checked Gerry Fletcher into the ER. He’d built up an ironclad case that she’d not called the Fletchers to let them know where Gerry was.
The case had started out against her from the beginning, and Trimble had taken little time in getting to her and boxing her in.
“Major,” Erickson said, “get to the questions you have relevant to the proceedings.”
“Yes, sir.” Trimble stared at Megan as if he could break her.
Megan remembered how angry he had gotten when she’d been in his office, how vindictive and petty, and how … afraid. Now that she thought back, she could clearly remember his fear that she was right. She took a deep breath.
“Mrs. Gander,” Trimble said, “do you have any history of psychological impairment?”
“If I did,” Megan said as plainly
