The Guardians: The explosive new thriller from international bestseller John Grisham by John Grisham

ask. Mazy and her husband separated a few years back and attempted a divorce. It didn’t work, but living together is not working either. She knows I truly care and I’m not being nosy.
    “He comes and goes, spends some time with the kids.”
    “I pray for you guys.”
    “I know you do, Post. And we pray for you.”
     
    I don’t keep food in my penthouse because it tends to rot from neglect. Since I can’t squeeze a meal out of either of my colleagues, I work until after dark then go for a long walk through the old section of town. Christmas is two weeks away and the air is cool. I’ve been in Savannah for a dozen years but don’t really know the city. I’m away too much to enjoy its charm and history, and it’s difficult to foster friendships with a nomadic lifestyle. But my first friend is at home and looking for company.
    Luther Hodges hired me out of seminary and enticed me to Savannah. He’s retired now and his wife died a few years ago. He lives in a small cottage owned by the diocese, two blocks from Chippewa Square. He’s waiting on the porch, eager to get out of the house.
    “Hello Padre,” I say as we embrace.
    “Hello, my son,” he says piously. Our standard greetings.
    “You look thin,” he says. He worries about my lifestyle—bad diet, little sleep, stress.
    “Well, you certainly don’t,” I reply. He pats his stomach and says, “I can’t stay away from the ice cream.”
    “I’m starving. Let’s go.”
    We’re on the sidewalk, arm in arm, strolling Whitaker Street. Luther is almost eighty now, and with each visit I notice he’s moving a bit slower. He has a slight limp and needs a new knee but says replacement parts are for geezers. “You just can’t let the old man in,” is one of his favorite lines.
    “Where have you been?” he asks.
    “The usual. Here and there.”
    “Tell me about the case,” he says. He is fascinated by my work and wants updates. He knows the names of Guardian’s clients and follows any developments online.
    I talk about Quincy Miller and our typical slow start. He listens carefully, and, as always, says little. How many of us have a true friend who loves what we do and is willing to listen for hours? I am blessed to have Luther Hodges.
    I hit the high points without revealing anything confidential, and ask about his work. He spends hours each day writing letters to men and women behind bars. This is his ministry and he’s committed to it. He keeps meticulous records and copies of all correspondence. If you’re on Luther’s list, you get letters along with birthday and Christmas cards. If he had money, he would send it all to prisoners.
    There are sixty on his list at the moment. One died last week. A young man in Missouri hung himself, and Luther’s voice breaks as he talks about it. The guy had mentioned suicide in a couple of letters and Luther was concerned. He called the prison numerous times looking for help but got nowhere.
    We descend to the Savannah River and walk the cobblestone street near the water. Our favorite little bistro is a seafood joint that’s been here for decades. Luther took me to lunch there on my first visit. At the door, he says, “My treat.”
    He knows my financial situation. “If you insist,” I say.

Chapter 11
    VCU is a city campus and seems to occupy most of downtown Richmond. On a raw January afternoon, I make my way to the Department of Forensic Science on West Main Street. Kyle Benderschmidt has chaired the department for two decades and rules the place. His suite occupies an entire corner of the floor. A secretary offers coffee and I never decline. Students come and go. At exactly 3:00 p.m., the renowned criminologist appears and welcomes me with a smile.
    Dr. Benderschmidt is in his early seventies, lean and energetic, and still dresses like the old frat boy he was back in the day. Starched khakis, penny loafers, a button-down shirt. Though he is in demand as an expert, he still loves the classroom and