“The first question I should have. Where was she the night Frank DeMille disappeared?”
Newly smiled. “Glad to know you’re human. And she just said she’d talk later?”
“I managed to ask where she was that night, but her family called her up to the stage before she could answer. And I think I upset her?”
“With that one question?”
“No. I told her Frank could have been killed with a shovel.”
Newly straightened in the chair. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Sheriff Hickman paid us a visit this morning.”
“Well, thanks for sharing.”
I could tell he was pissed that I hadn’t immediately brought the forensics report to his attention. “Look, I just learned about it this morning. Yes, I should have called you, but it wasn’t your case. You said you couldn’t get involved.”
“I couldn’t get involved officially. But when has that ever stopped either of us?”
“And now?”
“Now? Loretta Case Johnson’s killer just brought us to the dance. So anything else I should know?”
“She sang a song,” I said. “One that surprised her family. One that she might have made up on the spot because she mentioned a shovel.”
“A song?” Newly repeated. “You remember the words?”
“Not all of them. It was based on the old ballad, ‘Come All You Fair and Tender Ladies.’ The same tune with new verses.” I paused. There had been a number of verses, and I wondered how she’d been able to create so many so quickly. “Maybe she’d written the verses years ago and just changed one on the spur of the moment. It was clear to me the song was about Frank DeMille.”
“Maybe her brothers will know,” Newly suggested.
“Maybe. But like I said, they were surprised. I don’t think they’d heard it before.”
I stood.
“Where are you going?” Newly asked.
“To see if the Cases left her fiddle.”
I walked to the main area of the pub. Nakayla, Cory, and Hewitt sat at our original table. It looked like the only other people present were staff and a single uniformed officer at the front door.
“We ready?” Hewitt called.
“One moment.” I saw all the instruments had been put away but the cases remained. “I want to check something.”
“The band had a fit when they couldn’t pack up before going to the station,” Hewitt said. “They only calmed down when the manager said he’d stay until they returned.”
I climbed on the stage and found Loretta’s fiddle case behind the stand-up bass. It looked like the larger instrument’s offspring. I brought it to the table where Newly joined our group.
“What are you looking for?” Newly asked.
“I’m not sure.” I flipped open the latches and lifted the top. The fiddle showed wear but clearly had been well cared for. It lay cushioned in the case’s plush green lining. The bow was held in place on the underside of the cover. In a strange way, I felt like I was touching a sacred object, a part of the spirit that once inhabited a body now on its way to the morgue. I gently handed the instrument to Nakayla.
A folded sheet of white paper lay flat on the bottom of the case’s interior.
Newly nudged me away. “Better let me handle that.” He rolled on gloves and grabbed the paper by one corner. Then he carefully unfolded it to the full size of 8½” x 11” computer paper. The sheet had been folded twice so that the fresh crease marks divided the surface into four quadrants. Words arranged as verses had been handwritten in ink. The writing was neatly penned in cursive with the printed heading, “For Frank, Who Loved Me.”
“This isn’t years old,” Newly said. He angled the page so I could read it. Nakayla peered over my shoulder.
“These are the lyrics she sang,” I said.
“Except one verse is missing,” Nakayla said. “The one with the lyric:
“Come all you fair and tender ladies,
And praise who slew the stars of night,
But one with spade and knees earth-covered,
Has killed my love, my heart’s delight.”
The rest of us looked at her in amazement.
“How did you memorize that after only hearing it once?” Newly asked.
“Because I know the original verses, and the differences stood out. Particularly the missing verse because it contained the words slew, spade, and killed. I made it a point to reconstruct those verses in my mind while we were sitting here.”
Newly nodded. “I understand spade and killed but why slew?”
“Because in one of the letters from Frank, he refers to his nickname as the Slew Meister, but he doesn’t explain what it means.”
Newly studied the verses in greater detail.
Hewitt edged beside him. “Detective Newland, I’d say it’s not what’s here that’s important but the verse that isn’t here. That’s the one that Loretta most likely made up on the spot.”
Newly carefully refolded the paper. “You’re right, Counselor. And the one that most likely got her killed.”
Chapter 11
At nine the next morning, Nakayla and I met Newly and Efird at the police station. We wrote down our individual statements describing the events of the previous evening and waited in an interview room while one of the administrative staff typed them for our signatures.
Newly and Efird entered holding two cups of coffee each. I took one from Efird.
“I know it tastes like varnish,” he said. “Maybe you’ll have some sympathy for our plight.”
I took a sip and winced. “Here I thought you were exaggerating.”
“Well, it certainly wakes you up,” Nakayla said diplomatically. “And I doubt if either of you got much sleep last night.”
The detective team eased into the chairs on the opposite side of the table.
“Three hours,” Newly said. “We didn’t finish with the Case family till two. They were a handful, especially since we kept them separated to prevent them from collaborating on a story.”
I took another sip of coffee. It wasn’t so bad now that my taste buds had been annihilated. “Anything you can share?”
“They don’t like you,” Efird said. “They think you either killed her or got her so riled up that someone else killed her.”
“Well, I didn’t kill her.” I wasn’t so sure about the second of their accusations. That bothered me. Had her reaction to the news of Frank’s death led to her own?
“Any evidence as to why she was in the alley?” Nakayla asked. “Was she going for a smoke?”
Newly shook his head. “Her brothers said she didn’t smoke. We found no cigarettes on her body. There were a few scattered butts, but nothing looked recent. We’re testing them for DNA, but I doubt that will lead anywhere.”
“The Cases believe you spoke to her in the alley,” Efird said. “They saw you and Nakayla get up and leave while she was off the stage. She’d told them on the road in she had to see someone.”
“That wouldn’t have been us, because she didn’t know we were going to be there,” I said. “Did you check her phone?”
“It wasn’t on her body,” Efird said. He turned to Nakayla. “You said you saw her texting?”
“Yes. Are you checking her carrier’s records?”
“We will.”
“She had to set up this alleged appointment somehow,” I said. “Surely one of the numbers in the phone log will provide a lead.”
Nakayla shook her head. “Not if it was texted via something like WhatsApp Messenger. Those texts are heavily encrypted, and I doubt if you’ll be able to read them. There’s also email as a possibility. Do you know if she had a computer? We didn’t see one at her house.”
“We’re going out there as soon as we finish here,” Newly said.
“Good,” I said. “Nakayla and I happen to be free this morning.”
“And you’ll stay that way as far as we’re concerned,” Newly said.
“You encouraged us to investigate,” I protested.
“Frank DeMille’s death for Cory,” Newly countered. “We’re in an ongoing investigation of Loretta’s murder, and that means you’re out. If we find something that overlaps, we’ll let you know. That’s our official position, and with Tuck as my witness, you’ve now been informed.”
“Your official position,” I repeated.
Newly smiled. “The department’s official position.”
I returned the smile. “Understood.” And I did understand. Newly’s own words from the previous day rang in my ears. I couldn’t get involved officially. But when has that ever stopped either of us?
* * *
We left the police station with a couple of hours free before we needed to drive to PARI for our two o’clock tour. Loretta’s death meant our guide, the retired scientist Joseph Gordowski, became our main source of information about that Apollo summer nearly fifty years ago.
“We might want to get there early and maybe catch Gordowski before the tour.” I made the suggestion as we walked up the sidewalk toward our office. Already I could tell we were in for another record-breaking scorcher of a day.
“How early?”
“Maybe one. We could always putter around the exhibits in the air-conditioning if Gordowski’s not there yet.”
“What about lunch?”
I had a ready answer. Actually, it was the real reason I’d suggested leaving early for PARI. “Let’s ditch lunch for brunch. While we’re out and sweating, we might as well go to the Over Easy Cafe. The breakfast crowd has passed.”
The Over Easy Cafe was a great eatery only a few blocks away. Their food was primarily prepared using ingredients from area farms.
“Then we can swing by the office afterward,” I said. “In the meantime, Blue’s there to man the phones.”
Nakayla eyed me suspiciously. “Which idea came first? The early meal or early interview?”
“It’s a chicken and egg thing. Hard to separate which came first.”
“Right. I’m guessing your egg will be a full-blown omelet and more biscuits than your waistline should encounter in one meal.”
“You know, having a girlfriend who’s a detective can be a real pain sometimes.”
Nakayla laughed and quickened her stride. “Race you.”
Forty-five minutes later, we returned to the office with about half an hour to spare. Nakayla decided to go online and see if she could find any background on the Cases, not only the brothers but the sons as well. I used the time to make some notes on what I wanted to ask Gordowski. I’d jotted down a few questions when my cell phone rang, flashing the ID for Chief Warrant Officer DeShaun Clark.
“DeShaun. Glad you’re still alive. I’ve started searching milk cartons for your face.”
“Hey, man. I got back to you as quick as I could. You don’t ask for simple favors.”
“If it was simple, I could do it myself.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I forgot. Simple is your specialty.”
“So what’s so complicated about Eddie Gilmore?”
“I worked the unofficial route first. You know, called a few friends who could have access to records. All of them hit trip wires when they inquired about your man.”
“Trip wires? What kind of trip wires?”
“The callbacks with ‘who wants to know’ attached. Evidently, Eddie Gilmore’s history is still sensitive and remains classified, probably because no one’s ever officially asked for it before.”
“That’s because his widow just accepted what the army told her. She’s never pressed for more.”
“That’s what I figured,” DeShaun said. “So I used your name.”
“You what?” I felt a knot in my stomach. I’d gone to DeShaun to keep my name out of the inquiry. During my recovery in the VA hospital system, particularly at Walter Reed, I’d made waves testifying to Congress regarding what I considered insufficient care. The more politically oriented army brass (translation ass-kissers) didn’t appreciate my outspokenness.
“Hey, man. Give me credit. Just to Nicky Diamond.”
“Who’s he?”
“A young lieutenant in army intelligence. His dad was Major Art Diamond.”
I remembered the major. He’d been tough but fair-minded. DeShaun and I had run an investigation for him into some corruption he suspected in a supply chain. Materials were being pilfered and sold on the black market. Major Diamond had sent me a letter of encouragement after I’d lost my left leg.
“Lieutenant Diamond had heard his father speak highly of you.”
“So you got the information?”
“Not exactly. I’d positioned my request as a way to get what you needed without other parties petitioning the Department of the Army Freedom of Information Act Program and enlisting some headline-seeking congressman in the process. I said you were trying to avoid an avalanche of paperwork for everyone.”
“He didn’t buy it?”
“Oh, he bought it and was sympathetic. But Gilmore’s file is tagged for a review before being released. The knee-jerk reaction is to keep such information classified as long as possible.”
“For over four decades?”
“I’m sorry,” DeShaun said. “What army were you in? Mine never met a time-consuming protocol it didn’t like. I made the assumption you wanted the information before another four decades elapsed.”
I backed off. “You’re right. Did Lieutenant Diamond propose a workaround?”
“Better than that. We didn’t hear it from him, but Chuck McNulty lives in Charlotte.”
“Who’s Chuck McNulty?”
“The man who may have been with Eddie Gilmore when he died.”
“How’d you find that?”
“Diamond discovered the files were linked and both classified.”
“DeShaun, you are the man.”
“What did you expect, brother? I learned from the best.” He laughed that deep, throaty laugh. “And I also picked up a tip or two from you.”
DeShaun gave me enough data on McNulty that I’d have no trouble contacting him in Charlotte. I thanked him and promised to let him know how things turned out.
We were too close to when we had to leave for PARI for me to begin a conversation with our new lead. And as any good investigator knows, there’s no substitute for a person-to-person interview. Body language can speak as loudly as words. A trip to Charlotte needed to occur sooner rather than later.
It was too hot to take Blue to PARI where he’d have to stay in the car, so we left him in the office, perfectly content to sleep on the rug with a big bowl of water nearby. As we headed out of town, I briefed Nakayla on DeShaun’s discovery.
“Will you try and reach McNulty when we return?” she asked.
“Yes. But I want that conversation as brief as possible. The only goal is to set up an in-person meeting, with luck either tomorrow or Friday.”
“Do you think you should go to Charlotte alone? Keep it army to army?”
“I assumed you’d accompany me, but you raise a good point. McNulty might be more open if it’s just me. We don’t know what he and Eddie Gilmore experienced or what makes Eddie’s service record classified. Maybe I should take this solo. And you might be more productive back here, especially if Joseph Gordowski proves helpful. And my trip could be a wild goose chase. Odds are Eddie’s death has no connection to this case.”
I took my eyes off the road to see Nakayla shaking her head.
“You’re wrong there, Sam. Whatever you learn, connected or not, has an impact on Nancy Gilmore and Cory. Nancy lost a brother and a husband. Cory lost two uncles she never knew. They deserve any infor
mation we can give them.”
I didn’t say anything. Nakayla was right. I wasn’t doing this to satisfy my own curiosity about the dead but to find answers that might bring a degree of comfort to the living.
Nakayla knew she’d made her point and graciously changed the subject. “I had a breakthrough with the Case family. I narrowed the suspects to Danny and Bobby.”
“But they were the only ones alive in 1971,” I argued. “Their sons hadn’t been born.”
“I’m including Loretta’s death. If she was killed by a family member, it had to be Danny or Bobby.”
Something about the way she phrased the assertion told me there was more to the story. Murder with a punchline.
“OK. I’ll bite. How do you know it’s Danny or Bobby?”
She laughed. “Because they’re all named Danny or Bobby.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Each twin named his first son after himself. Bobby Lee Case Junior and Danny Ray Case Junior. Then when the second sons came, each twin named the boy after the brother. So one family is Bobby Case Senior, Bobby Case Junior, and Danny Case. The other family is Danny Case Senior, Danny Case Junior, and Bobby Case.”
“Three Dannys and three Bobbys?”
“Yes. It must have been confusing unless they created nicknames like DJ or Bubba Bobby.”
“That’s almost as bad as George Foreman,” I said.
“The boxer?”
“Yes. And father of George Junior, George II, George III, George IV, and George V. George Senior said he wanted them always to have something in common.”
“Matching watches would have been nice and far simpler.”
I laughed. “Maybe you should mention that to the Cases.”
“The Cases,” Nakayla mused. “How appropriate. Of all our cases, Sam, this is shaping up to be a strange one.”
“I’m getting that feeling too.” The scope was widening, not narrowing. From outer space to Vietnam to Rat Alley and over a span of nearly half a century. Strange was hardly the word.
Murder in Rat Alley Page 9
