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“Of course we will, Chief.”
“Keep the faith, my dear; this too, as they say, shall pass.” Then, as his men took to their feet, he spoke to me, “Might have a word with you outside, Mr. Stanton?”
I joined them at the back door. The chief had his business card in his hand, “Don’t misunderstand, calling Pete Boyd was better than nothing, but next time you’re concerned about the PPD, give me a shout, hear?”
I nodded, and fished my own card out of my wallet, then, on second thought, emptied my wallet of cards and handed one to each of the men. “I’m on your side, fellas; I really am. What happens here every day is a miracle and I know right-minded men anywhere will protect these people. I’ll help in any way I can.”
The chief chucked me on the shoulder, “From what Pete Boyd has told me, you callin’ for us is the best thing for all concerned, sir.”
I took the message with a nod and grin.
“What was that all about?” Jan asked when I came back inside.
“Just a message from the city’s finest to an aging Nosey Parker.”
“What message was that?” Grace asked.
“Butt out.” I said as I went back to my cleanup chores.
Chapter 27
“You had company this morning,” Jack Nelson said without salutation when I flipped open my phone. I was sitting in the truck, listening to an old radio mystery while Jan was collecting a short list of items in the market.
“Anybody you know?”
“Nope; like everyone else who doesn’t comprehend the “No Exit” sign up on the corner, they turned around in my drive, then rolled real slow up to your mailbox; they idled for a minute or two, then drove away.
“They?”
“Driver and front seat passenger; couldn’t see in the back.”
“Vehicle?”
“Four-door, late model – hell, you know I can’t tell one brand from another – but this was a big, luxury model, lots of tinted windows.”
“You’re a great neighbor, Jack.”
“From what you’ve told me, I’d want to know if our roles were reversed.”
“You’re the neighborhood watch, and I appreciate it.”
“Hmmmph,” he snorted as he disconnected.
Jack’s call niggled at my mind as Jan and I drove home. I freed Judy as we carried the few groceries into the kitchen. “You’re quiet,” Jan said with a look. “Feel okay?”
“Jack called while you were shopping. Somebody in a big car cased us this morning.”
“Cased?”
“You know, ‘cased the joint?’”
Her face changed, went rigid in a way. “How so?”
“Stopped at the mailbox for a few minutes; Jack couldn’t see if they left anything.”
“I’ve heard of ...”
“So have I, but this would be trickier than most.”
“Why?”
“The first person to open the box would have to only arm the mechanism – unless the target is the mail driver.”
“Why?”
“Because you and I won’t check the box until after 3, will we?”
“This something you know about, Jim?”
“Conceptually, some; personally? No. My pop-and-bang experiences were always more reactionary. Our targets were rarely individuals, and our approach was always more straight forward.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Check and see if any mail has arrived early today.”
“Oh, Jim...” She was hugging herself
I reached out and touched her forearm, “I won’t be rash.”
I doubted anyone would plant a bomb, or a rattlesnake for that matter, in my mailbox, but part of living a life prepared is not turning doubts into assumptions. I also thought it might be difficult to plant a device without some sort of tell-tale that could be visible upon close inspection.
I whistled Judy into the house, and left her there. At the box I studied the handle, the flag device and the edges of the door carefully. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I had expected perhaps the edge of a paperclip connecting a trip wire to the door or even a small screw in the door that hadn’t been there before.
Standing to the side of box I pulled the door open slowly. There was nothing attached to the door, and the box was empty except for an envelope.
I left it there and returned a few minutes later with a pair of long tweezers that I used occasionally for tying flies.
The business-sized envelope had the logo of a motel chain. The only writing on it was my last name in a scrawl.
I carried it with the tweezers at arm’s length back to the house.
On several occasions, I had seen FBI evidence technicians handle suspicious envelopes. I laid the envelope on our kitchen stovetop and started the vent fan. With a single-edge razor blade from my fly-tying table, and holding the envelope with the tweezers, I slit the end open. I was gratified there was no puff or cloud of dust in response. Using an instrument Jan employed to curl lashes in one hand and the tweezers in the other I slid a single sheet of paper out of the envelope.
The folded paper also carried the motel chain’s logo. I carefully unfolded the paper.
“You’ve been warned. You have no idea what you’re involved in, but if you want to survive, you’ll mind your own business. You’ve exhausted all your credit.”
Jan read the note over my shoulder, then pulled a sealable bag from a drawer and held it open as I used the tweezers to put the note and envelope in it. “Pete Boyd?”
“Yep. I’ll call him right away.”
She was hugging herself again when I came back from calling Boyd. “You cold?”
She shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “I thought this crap was all behind us, you know? Now, some fling you did or didn’t have on a Florida beach when I was something like 8 years old has me... us ... right back in the poop. No, I’m not cold; I’m pissed and scared... again.”
I took her into my arms and we just stood there, saying nothing, together, but alone in our thoughts. I knew she was thinking this was all too much nothing; I was wondering how I was going to retrieve answers without asking questions. I’d need an interview, I thought, but with whom?
Chapter 28
“Of course, there are no fingerprints,” Boyd said on the phone the next day. “I would have taken a bet that at least your prints, or Jan’s, would have been on at least the envelope.”
“I had a warning from Jack Nelson, so I was on my guard.”
“Any further thoughts on who sent you that note?”
“Nope; still think it has to do with Truman. And the report of a giant of a man beating up hungry people makes me think of Randy Mason, but, of course, I have no proof that he’s not at home on his farm in Florida.”
“Rhodes is working on that as we speak.”
“Any progress from Truman’s home address?”
“The Feds are on that, and I’m sure the owner of record – and knowing them, a complete title history – is in hand, but unless they found something directly linked to you or your safety, I don’t think they’d share that info with me, or even you.”
I recognized the logic, and said so, “Need to know, while often frustrating for those of us on the outside, remains the first rule of engagement for investigators.”
“It’s mine, too,” Boyd said with a quick chuckle. “I think you should start keeping me posted whenever Jan, or you, is out alone; you know, give us a heads up and itinerary so our patrols can keep an eye open. Better yet, I’d like to know neither of you is alone for a while...”
“Thanks, Pete. We’ll be as careful as we can be.”
“That makes my eyes roll, Jim; you should know that.”
I was laughing as I heard him disconnect.
An e-mail from Jeremy caught my attention, and after reading it on screen, I punched in a print command. While the printer was hiccupping and purring, I hurried downstairs for a coffee refill.
“Will
you bring a cup up for me?” Jan called from our bedroom.
I delivered her coffee, and then pulled the three-page list off the printer in the next room. It was obvious to me that Maggie Lennon was intent on her search for answers, and I paused to consider just how important this must be for her – a matter of life or death not only for herself, but for some unknown, unknowable child. My heart wanted to reach out to this stranger, then I remembered that Maggie’s issue was not the center of my world or my concerns.
I attacked her list, looking for any hint on how it could have led to threats against her or for some connection to the threats closer to my home..
Cross-referencing her list to my own Google searches found nothing of interest that morning, and after lunch I trudged back to the task.
When I found Renée Rockland’s name on the list, it was with a little shock. The grandmother of four’s name ignited a memory of Terry Rockland, another of the housemates I’d stayed with that week in Florida.
Terry had been the other “kid” in the group. He hadn’t been on the assignment that had gone sideways in Laos. He was a radioman; a forward spotter for air support, general communications wizard, and a tremendous athlete who could run a five-minute mile with a full pack and his radio gear. We’d never been in the field together.
I had to wonder. I called the number for Renée’s home.
“Hello?” Her voice triggered no memories for me.
“Mrs. Rockland? Renée Rockland?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name, ma’am, is Jim Stanton. I believe your maiden name was Tollifson, and that I met you and Karen O’Connor in Florida in the spring of 1973.”
“My God, Jim Stanton! I’ve thought about you from time to time over the years. My son, Gilbert, gave me one of your books a few years back. Your name brings back so many memories of those days... How are you?”
“I’m good. I live in Eastern Oregon now. I understand you’re still in Cleveland?”
“Oh, yes. Lived here all my life, but I’ve traveled a good bit too. Been all over the Pacific Northwest. My husband, Terry – you must have known Terry back then. I met him that week in Florida. You and he were so different from those other boys you were with. We talked a lot that week, and then started exchanging letters. He came to Cleveland on a leave that summer, met my folks. Then we saw each other about twice a year while he was in the service. I graduated from Miami with a teaching degree, he quit the service about the same time; went to work for the FCC in Washington. We were married in June of 1978... Oh, I’m running off at the mouth, aren’t I?”
“Not at all; I called to be sure that you’re who I thought you were, and, if so, I of course wanted to know how you’re doing and how Terry came out after service...”
“Oh, he’s living the life of Riley,” she said with a giggle. “He retired from the FCC with a full pension, and now he just putters around with his HAM set and goes fishing with his gang of cronies.”
“I didn’t know him all that well; he had only been with our team for a couple of months when I met you... Whatever happened to Karen?”
She let that question hang there for a minute, and I heard a difference in her voice. “We were the best of friends growing up, but after that trip our relationship changed, Jim. I don’t think she ever really forgave me.”
“For what?”
“Talking to you about her feelings; remember? She was furious in a way I had never seen in her. She felt I had betrayed our friendship. We were never close again after that week. On our last night there, Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor relaxed our rules to allow us to hang out at a party at the house where you had been staying... I think that’s when Terry and I really clicked. There was a lot of drinking and loud music, but Terry and I just sat on a back porch and talked. He kissed me that night, you know, just a good night kiss, but it was like no kiss I’d had ever before... I went back to the hotel alone and on cloud nine.”
I heard something else in her voice, and as I was wondering how to pursue that, she continued speaking. “When Karen’s mom saw me come home alone, all hell broke loose. Mr. O’Connor went looking for her at the party, but he couldn’t find her. When he returned to the hotel he was frantic, out of breath, and ready to call the police when Karen just appeared in the lobby.
“It was a cold and quiet ride back to Cleveland the next day. Karen never spoke to me again. She even passed up graduation; went to visit an aunt in D.C. for the last three months of our school year.”
“Really? That seems odd.”
“She was a great student; really smart, and had all the grades and credits she needed to graduate, but I think her row with her parents went way beyond what I saw and heard that night. I never saw Mr. or Mrs. O’Connor again after that, either. They just disappeared out of my life.”
“I’m sorry to awaken such a sad memory. I had no idea of the fallout. I last saw Karen on the Thursday before. She was angry at you, and, now I realize, embarrassed at me, and we had words. I had offered to hang around with you girls at the party if the O’Connors gave you the night off, but she made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested in that offer. We parted without a kind good-bye, and the next morning I just said ‘to hell with it’ and hit the road back to Jacksonville.”
“We were all young then.”
“Have you ever heard of a woman by the name of Maggie Lennon?”
“You know her, too?”
“Too?”
“Well, I mean, I just had a call from a woman by that name... is your call part of that, Jim?”
“Part of what?”
“Well, this Maggie Lennon said she was trying to track down her mother’s birth mother and ... oh, holy shit! Er, excuse me, please, but I feel like such a hick fool.”
“Slow down, you just lost me at a turn.”
“Karen went to DC to have a baby!” She blurted the words, and followed up with an earthy, “What in the hell was I thinking?”
“You think she became pregnant on that trip?”
“Well, it wasn’t afterwards, and she surely wasn’t active with boys before that trip; believe me, I’d have heard all about it...”
“Maybe not if it were rape...”
“You don’t understand how girls treat their best friends, Jim; there wasn’t a thing in her life she hadn’t shared with me up until that week, and vice versa. At 18 a girl has one person in the world they tell everything. I was that for Karen; she was that for me until I opened my big mouth and told you about how she was feeling.
“I’ll bet those Navy boys caught her on the rebound that night at the party; pretty much anything could have happened then. Karen was a decider; if she abandoned her code that night, anything could have happened.”
Her voice changed again, almost a sob, “Because I betrayed her trust...”
“Do you recall the name of the aunt in D.C.?”
“Probably never knew it, but she’d more than likely be dead now. It was Mrs. O’Connor’s sister, I recall. Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor are both gone; Mrs. O’Connor died of cancer when Karen was still in college.”
I was making a note and didn’t respond right away, “Jim?”
“I’m sorry, I’m here. But you didn’t hear about a baby back then, right?”
“No, I wouldn’t have; after that week I was completely cut off from Karen. She went off to Columbus for college; I went to Miami. She never came to a high school reunion... we were cut off, you understand?”
I reviewed my notes, “You said Mrs. O’Connor died of cancer?”
“Yes, lung cancer, I recall; she was 55. A beautiful woman, inside and out. I’m so sorry to have lost her – like with Karen – one of my life’s regrets.”
After hanging up, I thought of another question and called her right back. “Hello, Renée ; it’s Jim again. I thought of a question I should have asked before.”
“Of course, we all do that all the time at our age,” she giggled. “The biggest lie I tell myself these days...”
She laughed and added, “Amen. What was the question?”
“Terry’s fishing buddies; would I know any of them? Did he retain contact with any of the guys we served with?”
“Well, if so, they’re not part of the ‘gang’ that I know and see every day, but do you remember Mark Gardner?”
“Sure.”
“He’s a very successful lawyer, and they met again when Terry was working in D.C. many years ago. They keep in touch, you know, a card now and then; a phone call. Mark never married, did you know that?”
“No, I lost touch with all those folks; I never really fit in with that group...”
“I’ve heard Terry mention that your brain and body were totally committed but your heart was never really into the game.”
“I think that sums up that chapter in my life. Well, thanks again for the time today; I’ll try to keep in touch without bugging you, Renée ; have a great life.”
“It’s in process, Jim; you keep yourself happy, too.”
After typing up my notes, I sent an e-mail to Jeremy inviting him to call me at his convenience concerning our latest exchange. I then did something I hadn’t done for months, backing up my hard drive, before shutting down the machine so it would take a password to open.
Chapter 29
“What credit?” Ray Jensen started the conversation before I could say hello.
“What?”
“That note says you’ve used up your credit; what kind of credit?”
“It goes back to the war. We were jammed up in Laos, three of the team were injured, two of them matched my blood type and the medics hooked us up, one at a time all the way home.
“When I met with Art Truman, he warned me off something, and told me I was cashing in credits from that time. A weird way of telling me he was giving me a pass if I played it smart.”
“And you immediately conned his sister into giving us his home address, thus using up that credit?”
“That’s what I took from his cryptic message.”
“How much blood did you give those guys?”