Silent Witness by Richard North Patterson Page A

It’s outside – sort of a sunrise service.’
    Tony puffed his cheeks. ‘If I were you, Sam, I’d start praying right now. For rain.’
    Sam shrugged. ‘They’d just move the fucker inside. It’s you and me, Tony. Want to see what we can make up?’
    Tony sat back. With a certain irony, he noticed that on the radio Elvis had begun wailing ‘Crying in the Chapel.’ ‘Well,’ Tony said, ‘I guess it’s good you’re speaking to Protestants. As far as I can see, their idea of Hell is a year without golf. Church is where they go to sleep.’
    They went to the kitchen. Sam made coffee; Tony began scribbling in a spiral notebook. ‘If I were you,’ he murmured, ‘I’d say “spirit of the Lord” a lot. When those guys raise money on TV, it looks like that works for them.’
    As Tony made notes, Sam drank coffee and whiskey; the result in Sam combined slurred speech with a certain crazy energy. Sam laughed a lot; Tony outlined a sermon.
    â€˜You’re going with me, right?’ Sam asked. ‘It wouldn’t be fun without you.’
    â€˜I’ve had enough fun. Besides, I’m not supposed to set foot inside a Protestant church.’
    â€˜It’s outside, remember? Don’t you folks believe in the Good Samaritan?’
    Sam looked a little shaky, Tony decided. ‘I’d better drive home first,’ he said at last. ‘Put on my suit and running shoes.’
    An hour later, walking to Tony’s car, Sam looked pale. His hands were trembling as he stuffed the outline in the inside pocket of his suit. Tony guessed that he had drunk more whiskey.
    Sam lay back in the passenger seat. ‘I’m gonna do Richard Burton,’ he announced. ‘He was terrific as the minister in The Sandpiper .’ And then he promptly fell asleep.
    They reached the church as the first light broke over the tree-lined street. To one side of the church Tony saw the folding chairs – already beginning to fill with people – set on the lawn facing a wooden platform with a podium and a cross. Sam was still unconscious.
    Tony touched his shoulder. Sam blinked and then gazed at Tony with dazed incomprehension, like a child aroused from sleep. Tony could not restrain a bit of sadism. ‘Curtain time, Lazarus. Arise, and do the work of the Lord.’
    Sam burst out laughing. Tony found this so frightening that he got out and opened the car door for him.
    Together, they walked across the dewy grass. In the fresh light of morning, Sam was nearly white; Tony, who had seen this before, knew that Sam was moments from throwing up.
    The pastor – a slight, sandy-haired man with glasses – spotted Sam and started toward them with a ministerial smile, which did not show his teeth. ‘Take deep breaths,’ Tony murmured.
    Sam did so, swallowing. ‘Good morning, Samuel,’ the pastor said. ‘Are you ready to lead us?’
    Humbly, Sam bowed his head; missing the grin that this concealed, the pastor seemed to take Sam’s posture for awe. ‘The Lord will help you,’ he told Sam, and introduced himself to Tony. ‘And where is your church home?’
    â€˜Saint Raphael’s parish.’
    The pastor looked surprised, and then clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good, good. I hope you enjoy our service.’
    As the pastor led Sam away, Tony saw that Sam’s head was still bowed.
    Looking around him, he saw Sue next to her parents, a brisk and amiable couple who both taught at the junior high school. Sitting next to her, Tony said hello to them. Sue was watching Sam. Under her breath, she murmured, ‘Is he okay?’
    â€˜He thinks he is.’
    Sue faced the podium again, her back straight, lips half parted. The service began. Both the pastor’s prayer and his introduction of Sam were blurs to Tony. He knew only that the Sam Robb who the pastor implied stood before them