David Bishop - The Original Alibi

Hillie must’ve handed him the phone. “Hey, boss.”

“You finding out anything?”

“Two of the five old soldiers never had visitors. The other three did. Two of those three had only infrequent visitors from out of town. There were two regular visitors, the general and his chauffeur, a man named Clifford Branch, the son of the last man to die. The general used to come every other week to have lunch with his men, as Mr. Morrissey said the general called them. They have a private dining room here and Mr. Morrissey always set that up for them to use. When he came, Clifford Branch came with him. Drove him here I’d guess and joined them for lunch. Clifford Branch also came the in-between weeks to have lunch with the group in the main dining room. Is General Whittaker as good a man as everybody says he is?”

“Yes. He’s a pip, as my grandmother would say. I’ll bet he was a hell of a field commander. But, back to business, are you finding anything we can use? Any friction among the five men or animosity toward the general?”

“Gosh, no. From what the staff remembers, the few I’ve talked to who were here back then, the old soldiers all swore by the general. Of course, if someone’s paying all your bills, you tend to think that person’s pretty swell. You know?”

“Sure. By the way, how did you get out there? Buddha drive you?”

“Buddha’s on the job. We took a cab.”

*

At home, with Axel still with Hillie, I picked up the mail and right away tore open an envelope from the Law Office of Reginald Franklin III. Inside was a copy of the general’s will with a hand written note from the attorney, dated two days ago.

“The general instructed me to provide you a copy of his last will and testament. If there are any questions I shall be available.”

I sat down and read it finding nothing I didn’t already know. He would leave a half million to Clifford Branch, the chauffeur, two million to Charles and two and a half to Karen. Another million was designated for Ileana Corrigan’s parents. Stocks and bonds were to be sold as chosen by his personal representative in sufficient value to increase cash funds to cover those bequests. All remaining assets, real and personal, tangible and intangible, net of any remaining liabilities inured to the benefit of Edward Whittaker, the general’s grandson.

There was one other clause addressing the disposition of the general’s assets in the event of any of the legatees dying before the general. If Charles or Cliff or either one or both Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan died before the general, their shares would be divided equally between Eddie and Karen. In the event that either Karen or Eddie predeceased the general, the bequest for that heir would go to the other. In the event both Eddie and Karen predeceased the general, their inheritances would be combined and a foundation created, administered by Charles Bickers, to provide scholarships to the children of soldiers killed during their term of duty.

I had already known about all of it except for providing for Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan. The only other new piece of information, the personal representative was Reginald Franklin and in the event he couldn’t serve, his daughter Karen would serve in that capacity. There was the usual language that the personal representative would serve without bond and, in the absence of gross negligence, without liability for acts performed in good faith as personal representative. And, further, that no conflict shall be claimed by others should Karen serve, given that she would be a legatee in addition to her official role. And a proviso that should anyone named in the will challenge its content or division of assets, that person would be removed and his/her portion divided equally between Edward and Karen Whittaker.

I had taken last night off to have dinner with my ex-wife and our two daughters. That event had been scheduled before I took the assignment for General Whittaker. Back when we set it up, last night had been the only night both our daughters would be home from college and had nothing else they had to do. Rose and Amy, were adults, but of the ages when parents were scheduled in amongst gal pals and love interests.

The evening with them had been pleasant, but not altogether a good night. Don’t misunderstand, seeing my daughters had been an absolute joy. Still, when we are all together things seem, I don’t know, off center, somehow. It had been that way since the divorce and my getting out of prison. Not the easy way it had always been when we lived together as a real family. We all knew those days were behind us. Our daughters wanted Helen and me to be together again. At least that was my read of their feelings on the matter. Yet my ex just couldn’t get over the hump. What I did, shooting the guy, going to prison for it, well, she feels I deserted her, abandoned our family. My pardon meant the state had forgiven me. Helen had not. I understood, sort of.

I’m not sorry I shot the scum. I wish my doing it could be explained with John Wayne’s line: a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. But I doubted Helen would take advice from The Duke. The thug had killed children and their mother, after raping her, and walked out of court free on a technicality. I’m sorry for the impact my flushing that waste had on my family. He deserved to die. About that I’m not sorry. Life is complicated.

After getting home, I sat out on the patio and had an Irish, several actually, but then I stopped. Drinking doesn’t drown your problems, it teaches them to swim.

*

I awoke at seven to find Axel had already left to meet up with Buddha and get on the trail of Eddie Whittaker. They had to relieve the graveyard man at eight. When Axel had asked if I could get along without him around in the mornings, I had looked at him like, “are you kidding me?” He had only been with me a short while, but here I am missing his having made coffee. Don’t tell him that. It’s amazing how quickly we become spoiled. I thought about going to see Clarice at the end of the hall. She would have coffee on, but that woman is a major distraction. I would have stuck around for more than coffee and I needed to get back on the job.

My first stop was a convenience market a few blocks from our condo building. I got a big cup of black coffee and before I got back on the road I had taken my first sip. It hurt, too hot. My mouth protested against it not being Axel’s coffee. A block and two sips later, my stomach voted with my mouth. While stopped at the next intersection, I opened my door and poured it on the pavement. The empty cup went into the dashboard holder until I could find a place for its permanent interment.

Some days you’re the pigeon, some days you’re the statue. So far, today I was a statue. Chunky wouldn’t have the DNA results until the end of the day. I saw the DNA bit as an effort designed to support my claim that I had followed up on even the remote.

I jumped on the interstate and headed toward Buellton to find Michael Flaherty, the retired middle-school principal who had testified seeing Eddie Whittaker in the Pea Soup restaurant in Buellton. He and the Yarbroughs, but the Yarbroughs had rescinded their testimony. I needed to know if this would be true as well for Principal Flaherty.

Through online snooping, Axel had found very little on Michael Flaherty. The man was divorced and lived alone in a tract home with a backyard swimming pool. He was sixty-four, having taken retirement two years earlier with a twenty-year school system pension and reduced Social Security benefits. He had paid enough into Social Security during the years before being employed by the school.

I found Flaherty’s address without difficulty, and guessed the man drove the blue Ford Taurus which sat partway back in the driveway next to a side door, the kind which, on this vintage house usually accessed the kitchen. His car, I figured, because visitors usually parked on the street, as I did, or in the driveway nearer the front of the house. The driveway went all the way back to a detached garage. As I got closer I saw a St. Louis Rams decal in the rear window of his car. The Rams had left Los Angeles many years ago and moved to St. Louis. Flaherty appeared to be a man with a sense of loyalty. I knocked on the front door.