Sally and Tom Stillwell valued their weekends together. That’s why the phone call from Russell Byars, an oddity in itself, was most unwelcome. A phone call at home from Russell would hardly signal a cause for celebration. On this particular Saturday morning, the expected snowstorm that had dumped on the Rockies had arrived in Oklahoma and the white stuff was coming down in earnest. The couple was sitting at the table in their breakfast nook enjoying a second cup of coffee while sharing the weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal. Tom was first to reach the ringing telephone and simply passed it over to Sally when he read the caller ID.
“Good morning, Russell,” Sally answered. “You must have already built your snowman, eh?”
“Ha. I wish,” he sounded serious. “I really hate to impose on you, Sally, but I’m afraid I need for you to meet me at the office.”
“Why? What’s up?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve just secured the release of General Jack Hastings from the Oklahoma City jail,” he said. “He was pulled over last night due to a faulty taillight. But that doesn’t begin to describe the problem. How fast can you get to the office? He’s going to meet us there.”
Sally held the phone trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “What? What happened, Russell? Did he resist the police?” she asked.
“No. I’ll explain it to you as soon as we get to the office,” he answered. “Can you come? Now?”
“Soon. I’ll be there in an hour. What’s the charge?” she asked. “Just tell me that.”
“It could be Murder One,” he answered. “I’ll see you soon.”
Sally slowly lowered the telephone and set it on the table. She stood there stunned, gazing at nothing in the distance.
“Sal?” Tom asked. “What is it?”
She turned and looked at him. “General Jack Hastings has been arrested. He’s accused of murder.”