The Resurrection File by Craig Parshall Page A

own, and that you’re out of the firm, he’s going to smell blood—it’s going to be like a great white shark in a feeding frenzy. Not that you couldn’t handle it. But is it worth the hassle? Maybe you ought to cash in your 401(k) and just take some time off.”
    But Jacki could already see that Will was thinking about the case.
    â€œAnyway,” Jacki continued, “the way MacCameron describes it, this Reichstad is a media hound, and he’s clearly a public figure. So that means that your only real defense is to prove a lack of actual malice on MacCameron’s part. I mean, that’s basically what your defense would be, right?”
    Jacki’s question hung in the air as the leaves rustled around them in the treetops.
    â€œMaybe not.”
    â€œOh?” Jacki gave Will a strange little smile. “So what’s the defense? I mean, assuming you even want to get involved in this dogfight. What would the defense be?”
    â€œTruth,” Will said as he reached over for the car keys and pulled them out of the ignition.
    And then added as he climbed out of the car, “Truth is always a defense to a lawsuit for libel and defamation.”
    Down at the bottom of the long, winding driveway Betty pulled up with Jacki’s car.
    â€œYou going to be okay?” Jacki asked.
    â€œSure. Me and Clarence. A man and his dog.”
    Jacki then told him, with strained optimism, “I checked on our office space. The rent is paid up through the month. The firm gave notice they were vacating. I called the landlord. I hope that was okay. I told him that you would be personally renting the space from then on. He said you can keep working out of the same office, as long as you can come up with the rent.”
    â€œFine. Say hello to Howard for me,” Will said. “Tell him he is a very lucky man.”
    â€œLook, it will take me a couple days to clear out. So you’ll be seeing some more of me. I do think you will have to talk to Betty. She wants to know if you can afford to keep her on,” Jacki added.
    â€œTell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ll do that,” Jacki called out as she made her way down the driveway. “Oh, don’t forget, you’ve got this Reverend MacCameron coming back in again tomorrow. He wants to meet you personally.”
    Will Chambers waved goodbye and trudged in the front door. Clarence, his golden retriever, came loping across the living room, his big pink tongue flapping. Will gave his dog’s head a quick pat as he headed for the liquor cabinet.

7
    A FTER POURING HIMSELF A GLASSFUL of Jack Daniels, Will settled into the oversized chair in front of his big-screen television. He flipped through the channels and began downing the glass of whiskey in generous gulps. After losing interest in a made-for-TV movie, Will switched back to the news.
    But he found himself thinking back to the police chief in Hadleysburg. He couldn’t forget the day that he entered the house with some of the officers from the police department. He remembered the stench, and he recalled the bizarre and terrible sight of his client sitting, in full uniform, in his chair in front of the television set. There was a full glass still in his hand. His eyes were empty, fixed straight ahead. The chief’s skin was yellowish and artificial looking, with black discoloration around his lips and eyes and in the folds of his skin.
    Will got up and poured the glass out in the kitchen sink. He went to the refrigerator, found some orange juice, and poured it into another glass. And then he sat down at the table that overlooked the rolling green hills and the white-flowered mountain laurels that spotted the acres of what he used to think of as “our property.”
    No, he thought to himself, it is not “our property.” There was no “ours” anymore. It was only his. The whole world had been divided into that which was