If God were arrested for murder, would people ask for the death penalty?
The sheriff left Ambrose and Kate after the funeral and drove straight to the Mission Street Woods. The answer to David was in here. He was sure of it. He parked his cruiser and walked past the bulldozers of the Collins Construction Company. The judge (aka Mr. Collins’ golfing buddy of the last thirty years) had given the Collins Construction Company “temporary” permission to begin working again so long as they didn’t disturb the crime scene. The “temporary” permission lasted just long enough to put the Collins team back on schedule. Lucky them. The security guard told the sheriff that since the blizzard ended, they had cleared off a huge section of trees. Most of the trees would be gone by Christmas.
If David Olson was buried alive, then who buried him?
Because it wasn’t the trees.
The security guard explained that all of the bulldozing had torn up a lot of fresh earth. And the crew kept finding strange things buried out there. They found an old hacksaw, the kind the Amish still used. They found old hammers and rusty nails. A bunch of broken shovels, one of them with the shaft burnt. Tools going back to the 17th century, when England gave the entire state of Pennsylvania to William Penn to settle a debt.
At least a hundred years before men ever thought to mine coal.
The sheriff looked at the collection of old tools. Saws, hammers, and shovels. And that’s when he started to have an idea. He could feel it. An itch forming in his mind. As good as a back scratch.
What were these tools for?
The sheriff moved the questions around his brain. There was an answer here.
Were the tools for building?
The sheriff walked down the narrow path.
Or were the tools for burying?
The sheriff reached the clearing.
Or were the tools for murdering?
The clearing was still. Almost as if the wind was holding its breath. The sheriff looked up. And there it was. The tree house. Resting on the old tree.
If David Olson was buried alive, then who buried him?
Because it wasn’t the trees.
The sheriff approached the tree. He looked up. The sunlight poured through the clouds above, making the frost on the branches glow with golden light. Instantly the thought came to him. As clear as the sun.
If God were arrested for murder, the people would ask for the death penalty.
The sheriff stared up at the tree house. The wind returned, moving through his hair like a whisper.
But the people could never kill God, so they killed His Son Jesus instead.
Some deer started to walk toward the sheriff.
Did Jesus die for our sins?
Or did He die for His Father’s?
He held this thought like a smoker cradling his last match.
The people didn’t put Jesus to death as a martyr.
They put Him to death as an accomplice.
He could feel the answer on the tip of his tongue.
Jesus forgave us for killing Him.
His Father never did.
The sheriff stopped. He knew that in one second, he would see how it was all connected. David Olson. The old tools. The Mission Street Woods. The clearing. The clouds. All wrapped together like the tree roots around David Olson’s skeleton. One more second and he would know how David Olson really died.
And that’s when he heard the sound of a baby crying.
Coming from inside the tree house.
Chapter 52
Hello?” the sheriff shouted. “This is the Mill Grove Sheriff’s Department.”
The sheriff waited to hear if anyone in the tree house would acknowledge him. There was no answer. Only the sound of the baby crying.
The sheriff drew his gun and walked toward the tree house. He called into his radio for backup, but he got nothing but static. Maybe he was too far in the middle of the woods. Maybe it was the thick clouds.
Or maybe it was something else.
The sheriff reached the tree. He looked down and saw footprints that belonged to a child. They were fresh prints. It looked like someone was just here. The sheriff touched the tree. It didn’t feel like bark. It felt like…like a baby’s soft skin.
The baby was inside the tree house. Crying.
“Who’s up there?!” he demanded.
There was no response. Just wind. Like hissing. The crying reached a fever pitch. Did someone abandon their baby out here? He’d seen worse. The sheriff looked up at the ladder of the tree house. Little 2x4s nailed into the tree. The sheriff holstered his gun and put his hands