Chapter Five: To The Multitudes
patience n. 1. calm endurance of hardship, provocation, pain, delay, etc. 2. tolerant perserverance or forbearance. 3. the capacity for calm self-possessed waiting. Example: "If Cassie had more patience while waiting for a section of the story she hasn't read yet, she wouldn't provide her brother with so much amusement." But perhaps this will help. This next chapter is about Gabrielle who Cassie portrayed in the stage version of this story. Of course, Cassie has already read this chapter . . . but I'm sure she won't mind reading it again . . .
***
"I had a hard time deciding what scene to pick out," Gabrielle said. "All the other women seem to be going through a crisis of some kind, but things have been going very well for me. I felt almost guilty that I didn’t have something equally serious to share." There was small chuckling throughout the room. "However," Gabrielle continued, "you did manage to pinpoint my biggest weakness as a preacher. I don’t really like talking about it, but since it’s become an issue now . . . I preach to the multitudes. I can stand in front of thousands upon thousands of people and give a sermon, and I will not be the least bit nervous or uncomfortable. But I’ve never been very good with personal counsel. I just can’t work one-on-one with someone very well.
"So I choose a conversation I had a week ago with my assistant, Brian. He helps in the office, and one of things he does for me is go through the mail, something I don’t especially enjoy and tend to put off, especially giving how much my mail has increased in recent years."
"All right," Daniel said. Gabrielle handed her story to Matt, and he began to read.
***
Gabrielle’s office, Blue Springs, Georgia, June 24, 1980, 1:56 PM.
Gabrielle hated the mailbag and everything it stood for. So when Brian, her unimposing and somewhat clumsy assistant, stumbled his way into her office, dragging what was obviously a very heavy mailbag behind him, and set it down before her, her heart understandably plummeted.
"It’s time for your favorite task again," Brian said unnecessarily, making a big show of wiping his brow and trying to catch his breath. Gabrielle sighed.
"No, no, no . . . didn’t we do this already?"
"Yeah, last week."
"I still have nightmares . . ."
"Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad."
"Said the man who’s not getting ten million letters every day," Gabrielle said. Brian just shrugged.
"The longer you put it off, the bigger the pile is going to be," he said matter-of-factly. Gabrielle sighed again.
"That’s just a week’s worth of mail?" Now, Brian smiled.
"Actually we’ve done most of the work already," he said. "Most of the letters fall into basic categories, and we have a standard reply for them. But there is the occasional oddity that needs your attention." He reached into the bag and pulled out a small handful of letters.
"That’s it?" Gabrielle asked. Brian nodded. "Well, that’s a little better. What did you bring that bag in here for then?"
"Oh, I just wanted you to know how hard we all work for you," Brian said, barely repressing a smirk.
"Yeah, thanks," Gabrielle said dryly. "You just brought that in to scare me."
"That too. Shall we begin?" Gabrielle gave one more sigh just for good measure, but the task did not seem quite as daunting as before. Brian was good at putting Gabrielle in a decent mood before she had to do something awful.
"Fire away," she said.
"Well, this first one is from your mother, who wants to know why you haven’t written her and if you’re still alive."
"Give me that!" Gabrielle said, snatching the letter out of his hand. Brian chuckled. Gabrielle gave him a look, and read the letter.
"Wow," she said, "I guess it has been a while. I’ll sit down tonight and write her the longest, newsiest letter she ever saw. She’ll be in heaven." She set the letter aside. "What’s next?"
"While we’re on family matters, do you have a cousin in Decatur named George Pendleton?"
"Which Decatur? Georgia, Alabama, or Mississippi?"
Brian glanced at the address. "Illinois."
"Ah. Well, I have no relatives in Illinois that I’m aware of, and that name doesn’t ring a bell. What does he want?"
"The usual thing that people want from famous relatives. We get about ten or fifteen of these things a week. This looks like a thinly disguised request for a handout, but he seemed to know more about you than the others, so I thought I should run it by you."
"What sort of reply do you usually send to other requests like that?"
"We send a heartfelt letter of thanks for their interest and a copy of your pamphlet, ‘Gospels for the Eighties.’"
Gabrielle winced. "Ouch. That doesn’t sound very charitable, does it?"
"I know, but if we started giving handouts to anyone who asked for them, we’d go under."
"I know, I know. We do what we can. What’s next?"
"We have a request for some assistance from you. There’s a letter from a man who lives right here in Blue Springs, actually. He seems to be very much down on his luck . . . here, I’ll read you a portion of his letter. ‘Dear Angel Gabriel, I have been attending your services regularly for over a year and I need your help. I was laid off from my job almost two years ago, and unemployment has run out. I haven’t been able to find work, although I have tried. My wife packed up and left about six months ago and then our only son was convicted on cocaine possession and sent to jail. I’m alone in my house, which I may lose if I can’t keep up mortgage payments, and recently the doctor told me that I have some kind of stress induced heart problem. I’ve heard you talk about that guy Job in some of your sermons, who had all those bad things happen to him and he still believed in a good God. How did he manage that? I don’t have huge boils all over my body yet, but it seems to be just a matter of time. I’m beginning to think that you are my only hope. Would it possible for me to make an appointment to come and talk to you?’"
Gabrielle was silent for a moment after Brian stopped reading. "Is this man on the level, or is this just a sob story?"
"I did a little digging. Most of what he said checks out. He was laid off and his wife did leave him. And his son is in federal prison on drug possession charges. What he doesn’t mention in the letter is that they haven’t spoken for nearly five years. His son lived in California, and this man found out about the drug conviction about the same time his wife left." He paused. "He also doesn’t mention that he had a daughter who was killed in an accident a few years ago."
Gabrielle shook her head. "That’s not what I wanted you tell me, Brian. I wanted you to tell me that this was some hoax and that we could send him packing. I don’t know how to help him, except by giving him a handout, and we just discussed why we can’t do that."
"I don’t think it’s a question of money. I just think he needs counsel."
"That’s exactly the problem. You know I don’t do well talking with individuals. Put me in room with one person, and I’m suddenly tongue-tied and helpless. I just don’t have the gift for the kind of help he needs. Maybe we can refer him to another counselor, someone else who’s trained for this sort of thing. And . . . maybe we could break the handout rule just this once. He does need it, after all. I doubt my mysterious relative in Decatur does."
"I’ll look into it," Brian said. "Don’t let it worry you. Shall we continue?"
"Not now," Gabrielle said absently. "Let’s finish it later."
"All right. But by then, the pile of letters will be larger."
"Well, if I’m going to keep receiving letters whether I answer them or not, then I lose nothing postponing this a couple of hours, right?"
"Whatever you say," Brian said, and he left the room, leaving Gabrielle alone. She had done all she was able to do . . . and yet she felt like there was something more she should have done.
***
"Did Brian ever tell you who the letter was from?" Daniel asked.
"No," Gabrielle said. "I assumed he didn’t want his name spoken. He may not have even signed it; I never actually saw the letter myself."
"He did sign it. But he was apparently aware that you didn’t read your mail, so he requested that his name not be given, and signed it so someone could verify his information."
"Then, this letter is from the Giovanni gentleman you mentioned?"
"Yes," Daniel said. "You were the most difficult and interesting of the four women. Like you said, your disappearance is different than the others. The others have unresolved issues to resolve. But you were a strong pastor with no real clouds in your future. I knew that there must be some void left behind by your disappearance, but I couldn’t figure out what it was . . . until I found this letter in your file. Roger Giovanni turned out to be the key, and you didn’t even know his name until you arrived here." The man started sorting through the papers on his desk.
"So, what it so extraordinary about this man?" Gabrielle asked. "What help could I offer that a qualified counselor couldn’t provide better?"
"For one thing, you’re there. Blue Springs doesn’t have any such person, and the nearest man Brian could find who would talk to him for a reasonable price was in Atlanta."
"What about local churches? Another pastor?"
"Brian looked, but nothing panned out. Giovanni had put his hopes in you, and probably would have resisted going anywhere else anyway. I think he was looking for a friend as much as a counselor. But as bad as his situation was, your disappearance made it much worse."
"How so?"
"Just a few hours before you disappeared, Mr. Giovanni was seen waiting outside your house. I think he was trying to catch you as you were leaving and talk to you. But a neighbor saw him threatened to call the police. He hurried away but, as the neighbor claimed later, he looked angry and desperate. Your disappearance was noticed almost immediately, because you failed to return to your office from lunch. Before the day was over, your disappearance was national news, and by the next day, Mr. Giovanni was in custody under suspicion of abduction and possible murder. Your office hired prosecutor who was able to put together a very convincing case of circumstantial evidence against him, enough that when your body was never recovered and Mr. Giovanni couldn’t provide an adequate alibi, they brought him up on charges of murder and kidnaping. The trial was covered on all the major news networks, and Roger Giovanni became the most hated man in the country."
"My office prosecuted this man?" Gabrielle asked, shocked. She couldn’t imagine her own friends from work doing this.
"They were as mystified by your disappearance everyone else. They needed someone to blame."
"Well, then I’ll have to go back and prevent that from happening. Tell me how to return." Her previous reluctance had been completely turned around at the thought of her office prosecuting an innocent man. Maybe she couldn’t help him, but at least she could return and keep him from being arrested.
"There is more you need to know. It doesn’t matter how long you stay here; you will return at the exact moment you left. But I want you to get to know Mr. Giovanni. This is a conversation between he and his attorney, just before he was convicted. Matt?" Matt took the papers Daniel had found, and began to read.
***
Georgia State Courthouse, February 12, 1984, 3:03 PM.
The room was bland, like everything else in the building. But Roger saw it in a worse light. It was horrible, nasty place that could drive a man insane. He hated it. It was less than he deserved. The whole situation was less than he deserved.
"You have five minutes," the guard said to his attorney. "I’ll be outside if you need anything." If she needed anything. As if Roger really was a murderous lunatic who would try to kill the only person in the world who was interested in saving him.
Margaret had been a friend for many years. She didn’t believe for a moment that Roger had kidnaped or murdered anybody. No one with half a brain would believe that either. Unfortunately, as Roger had recently noticed, much of the country had considerably less than half a brain.
They stood for a moment in silence, she looking at him, he trying not to look at her. Finally, he threw up his hands and sighed.
"What did I do?" he asked, to no one in particular. "What did I ever do to them? What have I ever done, except be a loving and supportive father and husband?"
"The prosecutor has done a very effective job of stirring up strong feelings against you . . ."
"Feelings? Is that the criteria for court cases now? How someone feels about me?"
" . . . and of making circumstantial evidence look a lot more sinister than it is."
"Circumstantial evidence has at least some basis in fact, doesn’t it? So, how does this . . . despicable excuse of a human being justify accusing me of killing my own daughter? There has never been an indication that her death was any more than an accident, I was out of the state when it happened, and I was out of my mind with grief! You were there!"
"Yes, and I strongly objected and he withdrew the comment. But the damage was done. He very effectively told people that their was another death in your life. If I had known he was going to do that, I would have tried to cut him off."
"It was bad enough having to deal with Patty’s death the first time. And Tony’s prison sentence, and my wife leaving . . . but to drag all that through the trial and make me relive it again has got to be the most contemptible thing I’ve ever seen. How is it that a man like that wins, while the ones who tell the truth lose?"
"If it had been someone less famous or popular than Angel Gabriel, the whole case would have been thrown out for lack of evidence. There’s no body, no weapon, no crime scene, no clear motive."
"And no alibi, don’t forget. No one saw me black out in City Park. I was unconscious until the police found me that afternoon, so naturally I must have killed her. Sounds logical, doesn’t it?"
"The public was outraged at her disappearance, and needed a scapegoat," Margaret explained, as if understanding the horrible situation would make it better. "You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Which is why I ask . . . what did I ever do? When did God decide, ‘Hey, that Giovanni guy doesn’t have enough challenges in his life already, let’s get him laid off from his job. And since he can’t bring in an income, let’s have his wife up and leave him. And just for another plot twist, let’s kill off his daughter and get his son convicted of drug possession. Oh, and let’s give him a heart problem that he can’t see a doctor about, since he doesn’t have the money to pay the bill. Oh, and here’s the kicker! Let’s give him an opportunity to get help, have him seek out that opportunity, and have the whole thing backfire when she disappears and the country suddenly accuses him of kidnaping and murdering her. Let’s see how he deals with that situation!’"
"Stop it, Roger, honest to God!" Margaret said. She looked just as upset as he. "What’s happened to you? You used to be able to deal with anything. I thought you of all people . . . I’ve never seen you like this."
"Well, I’ve never been in danger of being executed either, so . . ."
"I remember a Roger Giovanni who always took charge of a situation. Those years when you were president of the school board were some of the best years the school ever saw. And you single-handedly organized the workers at the auto plant and started demanding better working conditions."
"Which is probably what got me laid off," Roger said, glumly.
"But you were a leader. People followed you respected you."
"You left out the part where I started losing everything and people deserted me. No one remembers that work I did for the school board anymore. Whenever anyone remembers that I was even on the school board, all they can think of is, ‘My God, we had a murderer running our schools?’ And as for the auto plant, the prosecutor used that against me, remember? He accused me of being quick to anger, militaristic, and desperate to get what I wanted by any means! I’m the most hated man in the country! No one remembers any of the good I did, except you, and I didn’t even see you until I was arrested!"
"I sorry, Roger," Margaret said, quietly. "I should’ve . . ." Roger was immediately sorry.
"No, I’m not blaming you for anything," he said. "I don’t expect people to drop everything and come help me when things get a little tough. But there it was. At the last, I had no one. So I went to the Angel Gabriel. Her sermons were so filled with optimism and hope, that I began to think that maybe there is some good in the world, and maybe things will get better. It was my only lifeline in this mess, so I wrote to her, asking . . . begging for help. But instead of helping, she disappeared, and brought this on. I keep hoping that . . . maybe she’ll just turn up, and say this is all a huge mistake."
"Well . . . that’s not likely to happen, I’m afraid."
"No . . . and for all your efforts, it will do no good. I’ll be convicted and hanged for all to see. I think that may be a release for me . . . maybe it’s for the best."
"We’ll get through this Roger," Margaret said, but the tears in her eyes gave the lie. "Don’t start talking like that." The guard re-entered.
"I’m sorry, your time is up. Closing arguments begin in an hour." He ushered Roger’s only friend out of the room, leaving Roger alone. It was the last conversation he ever had with her.
***
"Mr. Giovanni was, indeed, convicted. They put off executing him, hoping that he would reveal the whereabouts of your body. But when he didn’t, he was put to death." He paused. "He later received a Presidential pardon, due to so much circumstantial and faulty evidence against him in the trial. But the only one who cared was Margaret, his lawyer. Roger was long dead."
"I must help this man," Gabrielle said, decisively. "I can’t let this happen to him." Daniel smiled. It was the first definite answer he had gotten from any one of the four women.
"I have no doubt that you will, Angel Gabriel." Gabrielle smiled at him. "Now, I believe we have one more story to review."
***
End of chapter 5.
"What's next?"
***
"I had a hard time deciding what scene to pick out," Gabrielle said. "All the other women seem to be going through a crisis of some kind, but things have been going very well for me. I felt almost guilty that I didn’t have something equally serious to share." There was small chuckling throughout the room. "However," Gabrielle continued, "you did manage to pinpoint my biggest weakness as a preacher. I don’t really like talking about it, but since it’s become an issue now . . . I preach to the multitudes. I can stand in front of thousands upon thousands of people and give a sermon, and I will not be the least bit nervous or uncomfortable. But I’ve never been very good with personal counsel. I just can’t work one-on-one with someone very well.
"So I choose a conversation I had a week ago with my assistant, Brian. He helps in the office, and one of things he does for me is go through the mail, something I don’t especially enjoy and tend to put off, especially giving how much my mail has increased in recent years."
"All right," Daniel said. Gabrielle handed her story to Matt, and he began to read.
***
Gabrielle’s office, Blue Springs, Georgia, June 24, 1980, 1:56 PM.
Gabrielle hated the mailbag and everything it stood for. So when Brian, her unimposing and somewhat clumsy assistant, stumbled his way into her office, dragging what was obviously a very heavy mailbag behind him, and set it down before her, her heart understandably plummeted.
"It’s time for your favorite task again," Brian said unnecessarily, making a big show of wiping his brow and trying to catch his breath. Gabrielle sighed.
"No, no, no . . . didn’t we do this already?"
"Yeah, last week."
"I still have nightmares . . ."
"Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad."
"Said the man who’s not getting ten million letters every day," Gabrielle said. Brian just shrugged.
"The longer you put it off, the bigger the pile is going to be," he said matter-of-factly. Gabrielle sighed again.
"That’s just a week’s worth of mail?" Now, Brian smiled.
"Actually we’ve done most of the work already," he said. "Most of the letters fall into basic categories, and we have a standard reply for them. But there is the occasional oddity that needs your attention." He reached into the bag and pulled out a small handful of letters.
"That’s it?" Gabrielle asked. Brian nodded. "Well, that’s a little better. What did you bring that bag in here for then?"
"Oh, I just wanted you to know how hard we all work for you," Brian said, barely repressing a smirk.
"Yeah, thanks," Gabrielle said dryly. "You just brought that in to scare me."
"That too. Shall we begin?" Gabrielle gave one more sigh just for good measure, but the task did not seem quite as daunting as before. Brian was good at putting Gabrielle in a decent mood before she had to do something awful.
"Fire away," she said.
"Well, this first one is from your mother, who wants to know why you haven’t written her and if you’re still alive."
"Give me that!" Gabrielle said, snatching the letter out of his hand. Brian chuckled. Gabrielle gave him a look, and read the letter.
"Wow," she said, "I guess it has been a while. I’ll sit down tonight and write her the longest, newsiest letter she ever saw. She’ll be in heaven." She set the letter aside. "What’s next?"
"While we’re on family matters, do you have a cousin in Decatur named George Pendleton?"
"Which Decatur? Georgia, Alabama, or Mississippi?"
Brian glanced at the address. "Illinois."
"Ah. Well, I have no relatives in Illinois that I’m aware of, and that name doesn’t ring a bell. What does he want?"
"The usual thing that people want from famous relatives. We get about ten or fifteen of these things a week. This looks like a thinly disguised request for a handout, but he seemed to know more about you than the others, so I thought I should run it by you."
"What sort of reply do you usually send to other requests like that?"
"We send a heartfelt letter of thanks for their interest and a copy of your pamphlet, ‘Gospels for the Eighties.’"
Gabrielle winced. "Ouch. That doesn’t sound very charitable, does it?"
"I know, but if we started giving handouts to anyone who asked for them, we’d go under."
"I know, I know. We do what we can. What’s next?"
"We have a request for some assistance from you. There’s a letter from a man who lives right here in Blue Springs, actually. He seems to be very much down on his luck . . . here, I’ll read you a portion of his letter. ‘Dear Angel Gabriel, I have been attending your services regularly for over a year and I need your help. I was laid off from my job almost two years ago, and unemployment has run out. I haven’t been able to find work, although I have tried. My wife packed up and left about six months ago and then our only son was convicted on cocaine possession and sent to jail. I’m alone in my house, which I may lose if I can’t keep up mortgage payments, and recently the doctor told me that I have some kind of stress induced heart problem. I’ve heard you talk about that guy Job in some of your sermons, who had all those bad things happen to him and he still believed in a good God. How did he manage that? I don’t have huge boils all over my body yet, but it seems to be just a matter of time. I’m beginning to think that you are my only hope. Would it possible for me to make an appointment to come and talk to you?’"
Gabrielle was silent for a moment after Brian stopped reading. "Is this man on the level, or is this just a sob story?"
"I did a little digging. Most of what he said checks out. He was laid off and his wife did leave him. And his son is in federal prison on drug possession charges. What he doesn’t mention in the letter is that they haven’t spoken for nearly five years. His son lived in California, and this man found out about the drug conviction about the same time his wife left." He paused. "He also doesn’t mention that he had a daughter who was killed in an accident a few years ago."
Gabrielle shook her head. "That’s not what I wanted you tell me, Brian. I wanted you to tell me that this was some hoax and that we could send him packing. I don’t know how to help him, except by giving him a handout, and we just discussed why we can’t do that."
"I don’t think it’s a question of money. I just think he needs counsel."
"That’s exactly the problem. You know I don’t do well talking with individuals. Put me in room with one person, and I’m suddenly tongue-tied and helpless. I just don’t have the gift for the kind of help he needs. Maybe we can refer him to another counselor, someone else who’s trained for this sort of thing. And . . . maybe we could break the handout rule just this once. He does need it, after all. I doubt my mysterious relative in Decatur does."
"I’ll look into it," Brian said. "Don’t let it worry you. Shall we continue?"
"Not now," Gabrielle said absently. "Let’s finish it later."
"All right. But by then, the pile of letters will be larger."
"Well, if I’m going to keep receiving letters whether I answer them or not, then I lose nothing postponing this a couple of hours, right?"
"Whatever you say," Brian said, and he left the room, leaving Gabrielle alone. She had done all she was able to do . . . and yet she felt like there was something more she should have done.
***
"Did Brian ever tell you who the letter was from?" Daniel asked.
"No," Gabrielle said. "I assumed he didn’t want his name spoken. He may not have even signed it; I never actually saw the letter myself."
"He did sign it. But he was apparently aware that you didn’t read your mail, so he requested that his name not be given, and signed it so someone could verify his information."
"Then, this letter is from the Giovanni gentleman you mentioned?"
"Yes," Daniel said. "You were the most difficult and interesting of the four women. Like you said, your disappearance is different than the others. The others have unresolved issues to resolve. But you were a strong pastor with no real clouds in your future. I knew that there must be some void left behind by your disappearance, but I couldn’t figure out what it was . . . until I found this letter in your file. Roger Giovanni turned out to be the key, and you didn’t even know his name until you arrived here." The man started sorting through the papers on his desk.
"So, what it so extraordinary about this man?" Gabrielle asked. "What help could I offer that a qualified counselor couldn’t provide better?"
"For one thing, you’re there. Blue Springs doesn’t have any such person, and the nearest man Brian could find who would talk to him for a reasonable price was in Atlanta."
"What about local churches? Another pastor?"
"Brian looked, but nothing panned out. Giovanni had put his hopes in you, and probably would have resisted going anywhere else anyway. I think he was looking for a friend as much as a counselor. But as bad as his situation was, your disappearance made it much worse."
"How so?"
"Just a few hours before you disappeared, Mr. Giovanni was seen waiting outside your house. I think he was trying to catch you as you were leaving and talk to you. But a neighbor saw him threatened to call the police. He hurried away but, as the neighbor claimed later, he looked angry and desperate. Your disappearance was noticed almost immediately, because you failed to return to your office from lunch. Before the day was over, your disappearance was national news, and by the next day, Mr. Giovanni was in custody under suspicion of abduction and possible murder. Your office hired prosecutor who was able to put together a very convincing case of circumstantial evidence against him, enough that when your body was never recovered and Mr. Giovanni couldn’t provide an adequate alibi, they brought him up on charges of murder and kidnaping. The trial was covered on all the major news networks, and Roger Giovanni became the most hated man in the country."
"My office prosecuted this man?" Gabrielle asked, shocked. She couldn’t imagine her own friends from work doing this.
"They were as mystified by your disappearance everyone else. They needed someone to blame."
"Well, then I’ll have to go back and prevent that from happening. Tell me how to return." Her previous reluctance had been completely turned around at the thought of her office prosecuting an innocent man. Maybe she couldn’t help him, but at least she could return and keep him from being arrested.
"There is more you need to know. It doesn’t matter how long you stay here; you will return at the exact moment you left. But I want you to get to know Mr. Giovanni. This is a conversation between he and his attorney, just before he was convicted. Matt?" Matt took the papers Daniel had found, and began to read.
***
Georgia State Courthouse, February 12, 1984, 3:03 PM.
The room was bland, like everything else in the building. But Roger saw it in a worse light. It was horrible, nasty place that could drive a man insane. He hated it. It was less than he deserved. The whole situation was less than he deserved.
"You have five minutes," the guard said to his attorney. "I’ll be outside if you need anything." If she needed anything. As if Roger really was a murderous lunatic who would try to kill the only person in the world who was interested in saving him.
Margaret had been a friend for many years. She didn’t believe for a moment that Roger had kidnaped or murdered anybody. No one with half a brain would believe that either. Unfortunately, as Roger had recently noticed, much of the country had considerably less than half a brain.
They stood for a moment in silence, she looking at him, he trying not to look at her. Finally, he threw up his hands and sighed.
"What did I do?" he asked, to no one in particular. "What did I ever do to them? What have I ever done, except be a loving and supportive father and husband?"
"The prosecutor has done a very effective job of stirring up strong feelings against you . . ."
"Feelings? Is that the criteria for court cases now? How someone feels about me?"
" . . . and of making circumstantial evidence look a lot more sinister than it is."
"Circumstantial evidence has at least some basis in fact, doesn’t it? So, how does this . . . despicable excuse of a human being justify accusing me of killing my own daughter? There has never been an indication that her death was any more than an accident, I was out of the state when it happened, and I was out of my mind with grief! You were there!"
"Yes, and I strongly objected and he withdrew the comment. But the damage was done. He very effectively told people that their was another death in your life. If I had known he was going to do that, I would have tried to cut him off."
"It was bad enough having to deal with Patty’s death the first time. And Tony’s prison sentence, and my wife leaving . . . but to drag all that through the trial and make me relive it again has got to be the most contemptible thing I’ve ever seen. How is it that a man like that wins, while the ones who tell the truth lose?"
"If it had been someone less famous or popular than Angel Gabriel, the whole case would have been thrown out for lack of evidence. There’s no body, no weapon, no crime scene, no clear motive."
"And no alibi, don’t forget. No one saw me black out in City Park. I was unconscious until the police found me that afternoon, so naturally I must have killed her. Sounds logical, doesn’t it?"
"The public was outraged at her disappearance, and needed a scapegoat," Margaret explained, as if understanding the horrible situation would make it better. "You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Which is why I ask . . . what did I ever do? When did God decide, ‘Hey, that Giovanni guy doesn’t have enough challenges in his life already, let’s get him laid off from his job. And since he can’t bring in an income, let’s have his wife up and leave him. And just for another plot twist, let’s kill off his daughter and get his son convicted of drug possession. Oh, and let’s give him a heart problem that he can’t see a doctor about, since he doesn’t have the money to pay the bill. Oh, and here’s the kicker! Let’s give him an opportunity to get help, have him seek out that opportunity, and have the whole thing backfire when she disappears and the country suddenly accuses him of kidnaping and murdering her. Let’s see how he deals with that situation!’"
"Stop it, Roger, honest to God!" Margaret said. She looked just as upset as he. "What’s happened to you? You used to be able to deal with anything. I thought you of all people . . . I’ve never seen you like this."
"Well, I’ve never been in danger of being executed either, so . . ."
"I remember a Roger Giovanni who always took charge of a situation. Those years when you were president of the school board were some of the best years the school ever saw. And you single-handedly organized the workers at the auto plant and started demanding better working conditions."
"Which is probably what got me laid off," Roger said, glumly.
"But you were a leader. People followed you respected you."
"You left out the part where I started losing everything and people deserted me. No one remembers that work I did for the school board anymore. Whenever anyone remembers that I was even on the school board, all they can think of is, ‘My God, we had a murderer running our schools?’ And as for the auto plant, the prosecutor used that against me, remember? He accused me of being quick to anger, militaristic, and desperate to get what I wanted by any means! I’m the most hated man in the country! No one remembers any of the good I did, except you, and I didn’t even see you until I was arrested!"
"I sorry, Roger," Margaret said, quietly. "I should’ve . . ." Roger was immediately sorry.
"No, I’m not blaming you for anything," he said. "I don’t expect people to drop everything and come help me when things get a little tough. But there it was. At the last, I had no one. So I went to the Angel Gabriel. Her sermons were so filled with optimism and hope, that I began to think that maybe there is some good in the world, and maybe things will get better. It was my only lifeline in this mess, so I wrote to her, asking . . . begging for help. But instead of helping, she disappeared, and brought this on. I keep hoping that . . . maybe she’ll just turn up, and say this is all a huge mistake."
"Well . . . that’s not likely to happen, I’m afraid."
"No . . . and for all your efforts, it will do no good. I’ll be convicted and hanged for all to see. I think that may be a release for me . . . maybe it’s for the best."
"We’ll get through this Roger," Margaret said, but the tears in her eyes gave the lie. "Don’t start talking like that." The guard re-entered.
"I’m sorry, your time is up. Closing arguments begin in an hour." He ushered Roger’s only friend out of the room, leaving Roger alone. It was the last conversation he ever had with her.
***
"Mr. Giovanni was, indeed, convicted. They put off executing him, hoping that he would reveal the whereabouts of your body. But when he didn’t, he was put to death." He paused. "He later received a Presidential pardon, due to so much circumstantial and faulty evidence against him in the trial. But the only one who cared was Margaret, his lawyer. Roger was long dead."
"I must help this man," Gabrielle said, decisively. "I can’t let this happen to him." Daniel smiled. It was the first definite answer he had gotten from any one of the four women.
"I have no doubt that you will, Angel Gabriel." Gabrielle smiled at him. "Now, I believe we have one more story to review."
***
End of chapter 5.
"What's next?"
posted by nonentity | 2:12 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home