M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“I only have a couple of questions, Mr. Carr,” Andrew persisted, “I know that you are on the Board of Directors for Global Construction International and I also know that there was a connection between Lyle Ramsey and General Bradley Coleman. I’m certain that you know what that connection was.”

Carr regarded Andrew briefly, “I can only tell you that GCI was and is a client of Ramsey & Carr. I’m sure you know that we are bound by a code of ethics and cannot, nor will we divulge to you or anyone else, the nature of their business with us.

“As for my position on the Board of Directors of GCI, I consider it a privilege to serve on the board of such a prestigious corporation,” Carr replied modestly.

Andrew tried another approach, “Mr. Carr did you know that based on a growing body of evidence, Detective Savalza accused Lyle Ramsey of being involved in the death of Seattle Police Detective Monte Maxwell and ex-POW, CIA agent George Kelshaw?”

“I am happy to say, Mr. Kincaid, I know nothing of such calumny. Now if you will leave my office I believe we are finished.”

Andrew walked toward the office door he noted a photograph of Harrison Carr standing next to a man identified as Karel Schneiderman; they were both dressed in hunting vests and holding rifles. The photo rested beside a small plaque, an award given at a GCI European rifle event. It stopped Andrew momentarily and he whirled around and looking at the elderly Carr; “It was because of GCI! You killed him didn’t you?” the words fell out of Andrew’s mouth. It was foolhardy, but he knew he was right. “You did it and it was a perfect suicide. I don’t know how you got him to write the note…, I told Savalza you were tough… I just didn’t know how tough,” Andrew marveled in appalling fascination.

Carr was looking at him, studying him, he hadn’t flinched, chin resting in the ‘cats cradle’ of his hands; for an instant a brief knowing smile played at the corner of his mouth, “Close the door, Mr. Kincaid.”

Andrew obeyed slowly, wondering what was coming next.

The deep voice droned on, “You know Andrew, I have lunch with your editor Joe Belmont once or twice a month, sometimes more often and I saw your publisher at round table just the other day. I’ve told them both on several occasions to keep an eye on you, you’re smart and you’re a comer. I enjoy most of your columns and I would like to see them continue. It would be a shame for you to let your career get bogged down in some less than plausible theory of international intrigue.” Carr’s voice oozed with deep concern.

“Are you threatening me?” shock crossed Andrew’s face.

“Threatening you… of course not, Mr. Kincaid, I’m an old man. Why would I do that?” Carr feigned incredulity, “I am only looking out for your welfare. I am very sure that you came here today to offer your condolences,” he stood; dumbfounded, Andrew shook the hand that was offered.

Carr smiled, “Thank you for coming—when all this is over I will be glad to give you an in-depth interview about GCI. Yes, and have your business editor, Mr. Browne call me about an interview too-anytime, here is my card.”

Slightly dazed, Andrew left astonished at what had just transpired in Carr’s office. “He did it… he killed Lyle Ramsey. He knows that I know he did it and he also knows that I can’t do anything about it.”

Wednesday, October 8, 1980

Lyle Ramsey was buried next to his father in the family plot at Evergreen-Washelli Cemetery. His funeral was attended by a host of prestigious individuals, many of whom were political leaders of past years and who were friends and associates of Lyle Ramsey, Sr., many trekking to the cemetery for a final farewell.

As the casket was lowered, Harrison Carr leaned on Connie Porter’s arm for support walking from the graveside to the waiting limousine; his despair and grief visible to all those present.

Andrew and Jim watched the procession from a distance.

Jim commented, “Well they’ve put my prime suspect for Monte and George Kelshaw’s murders in the ground. Too bad he chose to end his own life. I would like to have seen the man sweat out his years in Walla Walla. I still feel sorry for old man Carr.”

Andrew smiled sardonically, “I have a hunch he sweated some before he died,” he philosophized. “I’ve got to get going; I have to pick up Neil Klein at SeaTac, want to come? I could use a police escort,” he jibed.

“No, Andy, but thanks for opportunity to use the bells and whistles. I think I’ll go back to my office and try to catch up on the mountain of paperwork on my desk,” Jim sighed.

“Okay, but remember Klein is going to want to talk with both of us so don’t be too far out of reach.”

Andrew was waiting when Neil Klein’s plane touched down. This time there was no subterfuge, no Evan Scott scenario; the threat that had hung over them was gone. They greeted each other as old friends.

“Neil, it’s good to see you… what brings you back to Seattle, GCI?”

“In a way, Andrew… it’s good to see you too—I came mostly to meet with you and Father Ben and Charlene Thayer and I’d like to see Jim Savalza as well. I will see some of you together and some individually.” As an afterthought, Neil asked, “By the way, is Jack Hubbard still in town? I would very much like to talk with him about George and to thank him for all of his help.”

“Yes, Neil, as a matter of fact he has been crashing at my place off and on; I’ll have him call you. I’ve made a reservation for you at the WAC if that’s all right.”

“Yes, Andrew it is and hopefully under my own name.”

“That’s how you’re booked.

Andrew delivered Neil to the Washington Athletic Club and after registering, Neil said, “Join me for a drink, Andrew; I’d like to get caught up.”

Their drinks were brought to their table; Neil leaned forward and spoke softly, “Tell me about Ramsey’s suicide, Andy.”

“It wasn’t suicide, Neil—but there’s no way to prove it. It was the perfect crime. I’m the only one who doesn’t believe that Ramsey took his own life. Savalza and the coroner are convinced that it was suicide; the note was handwritten and signed by Ramsey and there was no indication of duress.”

“Then why do you think it wasn’t, Andrew?”

“I had a gut feeling; so I went to see Carr and it was clear, he did it. I accused him and he didn’t deny it, but he let me know that my bread is buttered by virtue of his pleasure. He pulls some powerful strings and the powers in the Seattle Times dance. He knows that I can’t prove he did it. He isn’t worried.”

Neil was struck by Andrew’s temerity, “So now what? What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Andrew took a deep breath took a long drink and looked steadily at Neil, “There is nothing that I can do, the old man got away with murder. Sometimes it happens,” he shrugged. “Now, what about Coleman? What did you find out? He was tied to GCI wasn’t he?”

“Yes Andy, he was, and my boss and the Secretary have given us the green light to turn the information from George Kelshaw and Chernakov over to the Armed Services Committee. Senator Ken Stone who has worked with us on the POW/MIA issue for years is on that committee along with Senator Mike Owens who chairs it.

“I expect there will be a Senate Hearing on this whole mess and I also expect a number of subpoenas will be issued to key individuals.”

“How will that affect Coleman?” Andrew’s frustration level was growing.

“Patience Andrew, General Coleman is going to have to explain his failure at DIA to the Senate Armed Services Committee and why DIA ignored the reports of POWs being used as slave labor; he will have to answer to Senator Mike Owens and I think that will be a little hard for General Coleman.