S. Tooley - When the dead speak

Frank’s cellular phone rang. It was Janet. When he hung up he announced, “Maury located Parker Smith, the last of the guys from Preston’s unit in Mushima Valley. He’s in a nursing home in Elkhart, Indiana.”

Carl walked over to the window and gazed out at the night skies. Lights on the break wall could be seen in the distance. Turning away from the window, Carl said, “You look tired.”

Jake leaned back against the couch. “Didn’t sleep much.” Jake had stopped by Carl’s suite on the way home. A lot had happened since he had talked to him last. He handed Carl the list of Cain’s flights Tim Meisner had obtained.

“Cain Valenzio may look big and dumb but he knows how to cover his tracks. We’re keeping an eye on him.” Carl placed his briefcase on the coffee table and opened it.

“What I’m about to tell you has to be kept in the strictest of confidence.” Carl smiled a sincere smile. “But I don’t have to tell you that.” He took a seat across from Jake. “I had to get clearance first.”

“From?”

“Jackson Whittier.”

“The President?” Jake took a long swallow of beer.

“He was chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee in 1977. I called him to brief him on what we’ve discussed. I thought he might be able to shed a little light on the case.” Carl placed his horn-rimmed glasses on his nose, pressing them tightly to the bridge. “When he was chairman, a reporter contacted him with information about some alleged murders that took place in Korea.”

“That reporter didn’t happen to be Samuel Casey, did it?” Jake watched Carl intently.

Carl nodded yes. “Those were volatile times back then. We had Minister Elijah mounting a march on D.C. for more jobs for blacks, better housing. He was promising blood in the streets if all his black brothers he felt were incarcerated in our prisons on trumped up charges weren’t released.”

“What does that have to do with a reporter reporting the news?”

“Timing, Jake. We would have had all-out race riots if the story leaked that white soldiers shot and killed black soldiers in Korea. It happened in a war that was already twenty-five years old at the time,” Carl explained. “It wouldn’t have served any purpose to dredge it up.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. “Except clear the name of a man accused of being a deserter.”

“You have to believe me when I say Jackson wasn’t proud of what he had to do,” Carl said. “The President and I have always been close. We went to college together. Samuel Casey was well-known in the media. When he asked to speak confidentially with the chairman, Jackson made time for him. They arranged a meeting time and place. All Casey told him was that he had a source who would confirm that blacks were murdered in Korea by white soldiers. He was going to bring the witness with him to Washington.”

Carl pulled several sheets of paper from his briefcase and passed them across the table to Jake. “These are the names of the other three men in Hap’s unit.”

“You knew their names all along?”

“No, Jackson knew their names. I can understand Jackson’s reasoning. He’s a fair man, Jake. He’s very concerned about all this surfacing.”

Jake studied the names on the list. “What about lightning strike?”

“It was a play on the term the North Koreans used. According to what little Samuel Casey would tell Jackson over the phone, a soldier made a strike if he shot a black man.”

“And the Armed Services Committee chairman didn’t launch a full-scale investigation?” Jake tossed the pages back across the table. “Sonafabitch. He could have proved it.” Jake stalked over to the bar and popped open another beer.

“What would that have accomplished?” Carl snapped his briefcase shut. “Samuel Casey died and his witness disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Wasn’t the chairman curious about Casey’s untimely death?” Jake moved to the arm chair, tapped his fingers on the beer can, the tapping increasing as his anger increased.

“Samuel Casey had been working on a number of stories, one of which was the sale of arms to Middle East terrorists and the Sanchez drug cartel. The police didn’t rule it a homicide, but if it had been, there were a lot of people who might have had reason to silence Casey.”

“Casey never mentioned Preston Hilliard’s name?”

“Never. He only said it was a high-ranking state official. With the death of Casey, the story, the leads, everything died.”

“I’m sure Jackson Whittier was thrilled.” Suddenly, the beer didn’t taste that good. Jake carried the half-empty can to the bar sink and poured out the remaining contents.

“Thrilled to avert a race riot? Absolutely.”

“And what is he trying to avert this time?”

In the cloak of darkness, Lincoln Thomas checked into the Hampton Inn in Lansing, Illinois, a suburb just south of Chasen Heights. He had spent the morning explaining to his daughter and son-in-law exactly what he was planning on doing.

They gave him their full support. Nina cried and said she was proud of him. Raymond said he and Nina would keep the agency running smoothly and that he should take as much time as he needed. He hoped he wouldn’t need much.

Lincoln tossed the keys to his rental car on the table and peered through the curtains. There were a number of restaurants within walking distance. He needed a current local newspaper and could use something to eat. After he made a call to tell Nina he had arrived safely, Lincoln left his hotel room.

“I’ve never seen you stumped before, Sam.” Tim sat on the floor in the study while Sam fingered the books on the bookshelf.

“I’m just going through cranial overload. I need a diversion.”

“You never told me why they changed your precinct.”

She saw a videotape leaning against one of the books and pulled it out. It was the tape Jake had brought after her visit to Preston’s. She popped the tape into the recorder, saying, “This is why.”

Tim joined her on the circular couch by the entertainment center. Pointing the remote at the VCR, Sam pressed the PLAY button.

“Wow.” Tim’s eyes widened. “Whose house did you break into this time?”

“State Representative Preston Hilliard,” Sam said proudly.

“The chief found out about this?”

Sam stretched out on the couch and propped her head up on one elbow. “No, not this one. At least not yet.” Her voice trailed off, not wanting to go into full detail. “He found out about another one and wanted to distance me from him so as not to jeopardize HIS promotion.”

They watched the video of Sam hiding in the closet, Preston entering, talking on the phone, then pounding on his keyboard.

Slowly, Sam lifted herself to a sitting position, then moved to the floor so she could be closer to the screen. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

She hit the rewind button. When she played it back, she pressed the pause button. “There. Do you see that, Tim?”

Tim crawled closer to the television set.

She pointed to an area on the screen. “The reflection of the computer screen in the window behind Preston. If we could enlarge that, I bet we’d find out his password.”

“I’ll get right on it.” Standing, Tim said, “By the way, did you notice the dark sedan that’s been parked on the street by the entrance to your house? It left when I arrived but I could swear it’s the third time I’ve seen it. It changes location each day, but it’s the same one.”

Jake rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was getting used to sleeping in Sam’s study. After his conversation with Carl the night before, he had an unsettling feeling that the closer Sam got to the truth, the more danger she was in. He was suspicious of the perimeter alarm that had been set off the other night.