Another Saturday. Another gathering to help those paralyzed by grief. Only, grief seemed to be the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. I could lead an entire conference myself on dealing with guilt. But grief? Still I presented and still the audience applauded generously as I concluded my talk. Many were wiping their eyes when I asked for questions.
The first came from a red-eyed woman on the front row. “How long did it take you before you got over your son’s death?”
“Of course, you never really get over losing a child. I will remember and miss and love Nick until the day I die. However, with God’s help, I’ve been able to smile again, to get on with my life, and to live each day because it is worthwhile.” It was what they wanted to hear, what they needed to hear, but lately anything to do with God had gotten harder and harder for me to say. And some tiny part of me nearly shattered when I realized how long it had been since I’d last really thought about Nick.
I pointed toward a hand in the back. “In the last row.”
“Do you believe that every life has equal value, or do you think that some people are more deserving of life—and even justice?”
Fury seized me. How dare Detective Thompson show his face at another of these events? I focused on keeping a neutral expression, an upbeat tone, but my whole body shook with anger. “I believe that Jesus died for everyone, I believe that He forgives those who come to Him and ask Him to do so, I believe none of us deserve His love and grace. So in one way, I’d say we’re all unworthy.” I heard a few mumbled amens in the crowd. This would be a good way to end it and get out of here before Detective Thompson had a chance to ask anymore questions. “I’ve enjoyed being with you all and sharing my story tonight. I pray that the God of all comfort will give you peace.”
I walked from the podium and straight toward the back. I saw him slipping from his seat and heading toward the door, but this time I followed him. When we got outside, I said, “Do you mind telling me exactly what that was about? Why are you still following me around? You’ve already arrested the guilty man.”
He came to a stop and looked at me. “Just a hunch. Gary Singer is crying about his innocence all over the station, and call me sentimental, but something about it rings true to me. While, on the other hand, something about your son’s story still smells a little bit like last week’s trout.”
“Does it bother you so much to see someone no longer under your control that you have to try to make him guilty, just so you’ll still have something meaningful to do?”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty to do, and part of that is making certain I’m not sending an innocent man to prison. You just said that you believe every life has equal value. So you would agree with me, then, that it is just as important that Gary Singer not go to jail if he’s innocent as it is for your son. That’s right, isn’t it?”
No, I really didn’t think so. I’d seen the paper. Gary Singer’s life had nowhere near the value my son’s did. Especially now. Still, I wasn’t going to admit that to Detective Thompson. It would only add to his suspicions. “Sure it is. But since my son is innocent, your point is, well … pointless.”
“See, that’s where we disagree. My gut keeps telling me there’s more to Kurt’s story than I’m hearing. It’s also telling me that you know more than you’re telling.”
“Well, your gut has a large imagination. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go inside and talk to anyone who needs my help.”
“Have a nice evening.” He nodded at me and walked away.