M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

Private services will be held at 1:00 PM on Wednesday, October 1, at the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church. Interment will be in Arlington National Cemetery. Remembrances may be given to the mission society of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church.

Brad was deep in thought mulling over the events of the last few days while packing and the phone jarred him. Answering it quickly “Hello..”

“Brad, this is Olivia. Charlene just called to say how pleased she was that you had agreed to help her…” she paused, “With the letter from Paul.”

“Ah,” he stopped, and then responded with irritable discomfort. “Yes, yes, as I told you earlier we came to a mutual agreement and…”

“Never mind all that Brad,” she broke in, “Besides the letter from Paul which you haven’t told me about, Charlene asked a question that I would like you to answer for me. Did you know a man named George Kelshaw?”

She heard a sharp intake of breath, “Why do you ask me that? What did Charlene tell you?” he blustered.

“No need to use that tone with me, Bradley, I asked a simple question—did you or do you know George Kelshaw?”

She could hear his breathing, but no answer was forthcoming. She continued, “There is an obituary in the morning Journal for George Kelshaw, Jr., and it states among other things that he died in Seattle. Charlene told me that he tried to contact her and after that he was murdered. What do you know about this man, Brad? And what letter from Paul is she referring to?”

“I’ll have to call you later, Olivia. I must go now, I have an appointment.” He placed the phone gently in the cradle. Then picking it up again, called the desk and ordered The Washington Times and the Post to be delivered to his room along with The New York Times. Then he dialed Lyle Ramsey’s private number. “Lyle, this is Brad, we may have a problem; I want you to find out who claimed Kelshaw’s body and arranged for its transport back to DC.”

“Someone claimed the body?” Lyle asked incredulously.

“Yes, and I want to know who. Use your contacts in Seattle Police Department to find out,” he demanded.

“I will, certainly, Brad,” Lyle was disturbed. “I thought all this was over,” he said as he hung up and buzzed Connie Porter. “Connie, I want you to get the police chief on the phone for me. I need to speak with him. Tell him it’s urgent.”

In less than a minute Lyle’s phone buzzed, “Captain Martin is on the line, Mr. Ramsey. The Chief is out of town until next week. Do you wish to speak with him?”

“Yes, thank you, Connie.” Lyle picked up the call, “Captain Martin, this is Lyle Ramsey of Ramsey and Carr. Perhaps you can help our firm with a little information.

We have had an inquiry about a crime victim who may have been without resources for a proper burial, whose name was George Kelshaw. We have a client and his wife who generously provide funds to a homeless shelter and have offered to give Mr. Kelshaw a decent burial, anonymously of course, if no one has claimed the body.”

“That’s very generous, Mr. Ramsey,” Captain Martin replied. “But, as it is the body was claimed and sent to the East Coast for burial.”

“But I thought he was a transient,” Lyle argued.

“Not really, Mr. Ramsey; his body was claimed by a gentleman from the U. S. State Department—I can give you his name, its right here on my desk,” the Captain paused looking through his rolodex. “Yes, here it is, a Mr. Evan Scott. He was a nice fellow, I spoke with him personally. “So I guess, Mr. Ramsey, you can tell the well-meaning folks that it has all been taken care of.”

This news was disconcerting. Ramsey didn’t want to appear too interested by asking more questions, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there could be an important loose-end not thought about. He immediately placed a call to Brad. “You are right; we may have a problem. The man who claimed the body was a person from the State Department, an Evan Scott. Do you know him?”

“No, Lyle, I don’t, but I will certainly find out who he is when I get back to Washington. You’re sure about this?”

“Yes, Brad I am sure. I believe I made a convincing inquiry on behalf of a Good Samaritan client who wanted to pay for a proper burial. I then spoke to the Police Captain with whom Evan Scott personally negotiated for the release of the body.

“In view of this turn of events, I think perhaps it would be best if nothing more was said or done about Kelshaw for the moment. Call me when you get back to Washington and we will talk about the situation regarding the contracts.”

“Yes, to err on the side of caution is most prudent; your point is well taken, Lyle; thank you for your efforts, I’ll call next week after I have done some investigating.”

Andrew checked his watch, it was 11:50; he had been told that General Coleman was still in the hotel and he bribed a bellman with a ten spot to give him the General’s room number.

Kincaid knocked loudly on the door of the VIP Suite. Brad was searching the papers for Kelshaw’s obituary to no avail; he threw the papers down to answer the knock. Opening the door Coleman was shocked when he saw Kincaid.

“Good morning, General. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop by for a little interview,” Andrew said glibly.

“What the hell do you want, Kincaid? Brad sputtered trying to shut the door, but Andrew had already wedged himself into the room.

“I’m serious, General.” Andrew stated sincerely. “I really do have some questions I would like you to answer.” He glanced around the room and noted the open suitcase on the bed indicating that Coleman was preparing to leave.

“I see you’re planning to depart our fair city, General. That must mean that you have concluded your business here. Was Charlene Thayer the only reason you came to Seattle or were there other reasons as well? Couldn’t be on military business since you are obviously alone and I assume are traveling commercial. No aide and so forth.”

Brad was angry at Kincaid’s intrusion. He knew Andrew was baiting him, but he decided to treat him as he would any other reporter who had invaded his privacy. He would not give way to his growing intense dislike of the journalist. “I’m a busy man, Kincaid! Why I came to Seattle is personal and is none of your business nor is it in any way connected to Charlene Thayer. With that said, ask whatever it is that you want to ask and get out!” he demanded.

“You’re an interesting study, Coleman; I’ve learned a little about you; for example, I know that you came from a coal mining town; from very humble roots actually, you were dirt poor, so to speak,” Andrew watched Brad’s face as he spoke and saw the General stiffen slightly and he knew he had touched a nerve… He continued, looking at his notes, “Let’s see, later you became a protégé of West Virginia Senator Mike Owens. In fact, he was your sponsor to West Point where I see you did well…”

Brad was watching Andrew, wondering what he wanted. He knew that Kincaid was not conducting a conventional interview. It was clearly a fishing expedition. What was he after? He broke in, “I’ll give you three minutes, Kincaid, and then I will have you forcibly removed from the premises,” he said firmly.

Andrew persisted, thumbing through his notes, “I’m getting there, General, bear with me a minute; I see that you married well; a very nice Philadelphia lady.” It was a flat statement. His eyes met Coleman’s. Did he see a flicker? Continuing, “She was a friend of Paul Thayer’s wasn’t she?”

“What are you after, Kincaid?”

“I told you, I wanted a short interview. A few more ques—”