Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series (30 page)

Where was all that grace he claimed to believe in? Maybe that was why there was no mother in the story of the prodigal son. Shannon’s actions didn’t seem to matter to Bobbi. She unconditionally loved and accepted Shannon. Did he?

He always thought he was a good father. But he thought he was a good husband until Phil Shannon told him he didn’t love Bobbi. Phil challenged him to learn how to love sacrificially. Now Bobbi blasted him for seeing only Shannon’s actions.

God, what do I need to do? How do I change this?

He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes for a moment, and he could visualize the page in his Bible with Psalm 37. “Do not fret because of evildoers . . . for they shall soon be cut down like grass.”

Easier said than done.

He rolled his chair over and grabbed his Bible from the table by the love seat, and quickly found the well-worn page for Psalm 37. Without his glasses, focusing took more effort and he caught himself skimming the familiar passage. ‘Rest,’ ‘wait patiently,’ ‘He shall bring it to pass.’

After what that . . . after what he did to Shannon, You want me to just let it go?

He got his glasses out of his shirt pocket to reread the chapter. “Their sword shall enter their own heart.”

You wanna spell it out a little plainer maybe?
He huffed and laid the Bible aside.
God, this goes against everything inside me.
But that was the point. Doing things his way heaped the disasters one upon the other.

“
All right, God, Dylan Snider . . . You can have him. Now, You have to help me live that way, because I know when I wake up tomorrow, it’s gonna be right there again.” He sighed and pulled the Bible closer. “Now what about Shannon?”

He read through the psalm, quietly mumbling the words to himself. “‘The steps of a good man are ordered by the L
ord
, and He delights in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the L
ord
upholds him with His hand.’” He shook his head. “The story of my life.”

Though he fall . . . Not just the story of his life. Shannon’s. Shannon fell just like he did, but God was going to uphold her, support her and defend her. Like a father.

And that was exactly what he would do, too.

Chapter 19

Commencement

Tuesday, November 11

A little after nine, Chuck strode into the lobby of Benton, Davis & Molinsky with renewed purpose, ready to slay dragons on Shannon’s behalf. Before he spoke to Christine, he glanced across to his office and stopped dead in his tracks. “Christine, why is there a homeless man in my office?” He never took his eyes off the man.

“
He’s not homeless,” she said, “and he wants very much to talk to you.”

“
You couldn’t have warned me?”

“
I called. I got your voice mail.”

He frowned and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Dead battery,” he grumbled. “Of course. Who else is in the building? Is Chad here?”

Christine smiled broadly. “Mr. Molinsky, are you afraid to go talk to that man?” she teased.

“
Of course not,” Chuck said, although he wasn’t sure he meant it. “I was just mentally taking roll.”

“
You’ll be glad you talked to him. I promise.”

“
Who is he?”

“
Go,” she said. “He’s an answer to prayers.”

What could this old guy possibly know about Shannon? When he pushed his office door open, the old man in the chair stood, smoothed his baggy pants and held out a callused hand.

“
She told me to wait in here, Mr. Molinsky. I hope that’s all right.”

His voice was raspy and soft, and what hair he had lay in gray wisps across his head. Several days’ worth of stubble grew on his narrow face. His clothes, while ill-fitting and wrinkled, were clean, and he smelled of cheap aftershave.

Chuck set his briefcase down and shook hands with the man. “What can I do for you, Mr. . . ?”

“
Reynolds. Edward Henry Reynolds. I understand you knew my daughter.”

Chuck knew his jaw dropped, and he wouldn’t make a gracious recovery from this one. Edward Henry Reynolds, Tracy’s father . . . here, in his office. Jack
had
seen his grandfather the night Brad was killed.

“
Mr. Reynolds . . . this is . . . this is quite a surprise.” Chuck leaned against his desk, hoping it looked casual and not like his knees were ready to give out. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a little stunned.”

“
I apologize for that, but I was afraid you might not see me if I called ahead. You understand, I hope.” He was painfully polite, just like Tracy, and just like Jack. “But you see, I have something for you.”

“
Mr. Reynolds, you don’t have to . . .”

“
I saw who shot your boy, Mr. Molinsky. I know who it was, and I’m on my way to the police after I talk to you.”

“
I gotta sit down.” Chuck steadied himself against his desk as he pulled a chair close and eased into it. An eyewitness. For Brad. This would blow his case open. Before his excitement could build, guilt strangled it. He’d let Brad down. With Bobbi and Shannon consuming his attention and his energy, he hadn’t followed up with the detectives in weeks. But God . . . God answered a prayer he’d forgotten to pray. “You saw it?”

“
Yes sir. I’d just left that mission he ran and was on my way back to my room.” He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Those boys are two-bit hoods trying to impress somebody. Don’t have any idea how deep in they were.”

“
Which boys? The killers?”

“
Yes sir. They thought they could get in good with their boss if they could pull off something daring. Prove they were fearless.” He shook his head. “They better hope the law finds ’em before that gang boss does.”

“
I don’t understand.”

“
Murder’s bad for business. Brings the cops out, makes the neighborhood jumpy.”

“
You mean drug trafficking.”

“
At least. Depending on how energetic they are, they probably keep hookers or run numbers or what have you.”

Dear God, please . . . Shannon can’t be mixed up in anything like that.
“So, Mr. Reynolds—”

“
Just Ed. Don’t deserve that kind of respect, especially from someone like yourself.”

Someone like . . . Was that sarcasm? “Mr. Reynolds, I mean Ed, why didn’t you come forward before now? The police canvassed the neighborhood.”

“
With my . . . history, I don’t make a very credible witness. It took me awhile to get a name to go with the face.”

“
Mr. Reynolds, would you excuse me just a second?” Chuck stood and walked to his office door. “Can I bring you back a cup of coffee?”

“
No sir, thank you.”

Ed had a name, the name of Brad’s killer. Chuck quickly crossed the lobby to Christine’s desk. “You know who he is?”

“
Yes, he told me when he got here. Jack is holding on line two.”

“
How’d you know to call Jack?”

“
Years of practice.” Christine handed Chuck the receiver.

“
Dad, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Chuck wished he could see Jack’s face and ease his panicked confusion. “Your grandfather, Jack. He’s sitting in my office.”

“
I’ll be there in two hours,” he said, and the line went dead.

“
Jack, wait—” It was too late. Calling back would be useless. Chuck handed the phone back to Christine. “That man in my office served almost thirty years in prison for beating his wife to death. Tracy was mortally terrified of him. Why weren’t you?”

She tilted her head to look toward Chuck’s office. “Does he look like he’s here to hurt anybody?”

“
Looks can deceive.”

“
They can, but I think he’s looking for peace, maybe even forgiveness from Tracy, through Jack.”

“
Maybe.” The prosecutor, John Dailey, never believed Reynolds, though. What if it was a setup? What if he was lying, luring Jack here? Chuck’s brain refused to chase that rabbit. Just as well. “Call Bobbi for me and tell her what’s going on. I’ll call her as soon as I can, but he says he knows who shot Brad. He’s going to the police. We may get a break.”

Christine’s eyes brimmed with tears. “That’s exactly what I’ve been praying for, Mr. Molinsky. Exactly.”

“
Don’t stop. You may be the one turning this all around.”

“
Oh, I doubt that.”

“
I don’t.” Chuck walked back to his office, trying to impose some coherent order on the thousands of questions forming in his mind, chief among them, why, exactly, was the old man here? What did he want?

“
Thank you for your patience, Mr. Reynolds.” He took his seat again. “There’s a reward for information leading to the arrest of my son’s killer. Are you aware of that?”

“
I don’t want money. Nah, your boy deserves justice.”

“
You knew Brad?”

“
I heard him once. He was a good man.” He shifted in the chair and rubbed his hands on his pants. “That, uh, that boy that worked for him that night . . . He said his name was Jack.”

“
Jack? That’s my son.”

He nodded slowly and pressed his lips together. “I see. I was hoping . . . well, I knew, uh, I knew Teresa worked for you, and I thought, I thought maybe you might know what happened to her Jack.”

“
What do you want with him? Redemption?”

He smiled but seemed embarrassed by it, as if someone had told him he had no right or reason to smile. “That’s the sweetest word in the world, Mr. Molinsky. You ever look it up in the dictionary? Taking something corrupt, worthless and giving it value . . . I been redeemed. Jesus Christ did that.”

“
You were saved in prison?”

“
Yes sir. Hardly anyone believed me, though.” He looked away in shame. “I’d lied about it three or four times to try and get paroled. You can only cry ‘wolf’ so many times, you know.”

A fake conversion or two would explain John Dailey’s misgivings.

“
You see, sir, I’ve spent near thirteen years, trying to track Teresa down. I suppose you knew all that, how she changed her name, moved around all the time.”

“
I have some idea.”

“
By the time I found out she’d come here, and got here myself . . . well, I missed her. She was already gone.” His eyes glistened, and he shifted so he could get his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out a worn slip of paper and handed it to Chuck. It was a photocopy of Tracy’s obituary. “See, that boy at the mission, he was about the right age and all . . . I hoped . . .”

Chuck handed the paper back to him and caught Christine smiling at him. She was right. Again. “Mr. Reynolds, I mean, Ed, Jack
is
her son. We . . . she and I . . . Jack’s our son.”

He leaned back in the chair and stroked his chin. “So he
was
Teresa’s . . .” The old man scanned the obituary held tightly in his hand. “But she . . . it doesn’t say she ever married.” He rolled his eyes back to Chuck.

“
No, she didn’t.”

The old man nodded slowly and let it go. “I spoke with the boy. He didn’t seem to know who he was. Talked about his mother like she was still living.”

“
My wife and I raised Jack after Tracy’s, I mean, Teresa’s death. He calls my wife ‘mom,’ too, but it’s out of regard for my wife. He’s the last person who would be disrespectful to his mother. He absolutely adored her.”

“
She was a good mother, then?”

“
Jack was the center of her universe.”

“
She died the day after I was released,” Ed said. “Did she know?”

“
Did she know you’d been released?” Chuck stalled. Would it serve any purpose to give the details of Tracy’s last days other than to grieve him more? What if it caused the old man to change his mind about going to the police? He couldn’t risk that.

“
Your silence speaks volumes,” Ed said softly. “They said I threatened her.”

“
Did you?”

“
I’m sure I did, but I don’t remember. Don’t remember any of it, exactly. Sometimes I think it’s the grace of God that keeps me from remembering.” His voice trailed off, then he stood slowly and held out a hand. “Mr. Molinsky, thank you for your time. I’d best be going.”

“
Oh no,” Chuck said, motioning for him to sit again. “Jack’s on his way. You can’t leave.”

“
I can’t tell him anything.” Ed remained standing, his eyes darting to the firm’s front entrance as if he were afraid Jack might walk in any minute.

“
You’ve tracked him halfway across the country. He’s the whole reason you went into the mission that night. Why wouldn’t you want to talk to him?”

“
Don’t know if I can explain it.” Ed eased back into the chair. “Sometimes, forgiveness is a person, you know? If that person doesn’t want anything to do with you . . . well then . . .”