Bullet in the Night by Judith Rolfs Page B

Kirk pointed to his head. “Here.” He stabbed at his heart.
    “I want to believe you.”
    That was as much as I could honestly say. Kirk had an engaging intensity in his outgoing personality. He might have made a great living selling cars. How much of what I hoped was Kirk’s innocence came from a smooth professional con act? Did he take me for Miss Sweetie-Pie-Believe-Anything?
    No silent sulking on his part, for which I was grateful. It appeared, at least, he’d opened up. I urged him to continue.
    He recounted details of his prison Bible study. As I listened I kept seeing the image of my colleague working with him. I respected Lenora’s efforts to create a positive change and had no doubt she was an excellent counselor. Her incredible, altruistic bent led to her foundation. But no counselor was infallible. Good counseling enlisted the force of a person’s will to motivate change.
    One more force helped—the Holy Spirit’s supernatural power to achieve more than mere human will. Lenora had experienced the difference genuine Christian conversion makes. How many times had I told my clients, “You can change. You’ve got to want it as bad as your next breath, work like you’re the only one who can make it happen, and pray daily for God’s grace to help you succeed.”
    I studied Kirk as he shifted restlessly on the hard-backed chair. “So I connect with Christ and now this. I’m back in jail and if Lenora dies, I could be in prison the rest of my life. Is this how He treats people who trust Him?”
    “Let’s keep the blame where it belongs and try to figure out what happened. I get it, Kirk. It’d be stupid to shoot Lenora when she was helping you. In your Bible reading, have you come across Job complaining because of God’s apparent abandonment? In the end, Job kept his trust in God, and the things he lost in life were restored. Check out his life.”
    “Lenora told me to read the Gospels, especially John.” He brushed his hand across his eyes.
    “Good place to start.”
    “Now how can I convince the police of my innocence?”
    “Convince me first.”
    “Once and for all, it wasn’t me.” He raised his voice, and the guard in the corner hurried over.
    I jerked my head toward the officer. “Calm down, Kirk.”
    “Problem, ma’am?” The officer was leaning over me, his badge bright and close.
    “No, everything’s fine.” I stammered.
    The guard glared at Kirk. “Keep it down.”
    To my relief he didn’t take Kirk away. No way did I want to end this interview yet.
    As the guard backed away, I prayed again for discernment. Lord, can I believe what Kirk is saying? I don’t like to trust my feelings because I know how flighty they can be, but I sense he underwent a genuine reform. You have plans for this man; what are they?
    I stared directly into his eyes. “When I walked in here, I didn’t know what to think. I do believe when Christ gets hold of a life, good things happen, not bad. When He’s at work, good can come out of even horrible events. If your commitment is sincere, it will be evident, and we’ll beat this.”
    Kirk stared at me. Had his mind registered that he heard me say “we?”
    Finally he spoke. “It’s nice to have somebody in my camp,” he stammered and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead.
    “If you weren’t the shooter, we have to figure out who fired that nearly fatal shot at Lenora.”
    “How can I help stuck in here?”
    I lowered my voice. “Were there any other ex-convicts—either ones Lenora worked with or for some reason turned down helping—who might have been angry with her or the foundation?”
    “None I can think of off the top of my head.”
    “When the police finish their investigation, they won’t have enough evidence to hold you.” Let’s hope.
    Kirk slumped forward. “Thank God.” He started to cry.
    This didn’t appear to be the harsh, self-serving thief whose file I’d studied the other night. I often saw clients’ tears