“Because I read her diary. Well, not all of it. I sort of stopped after the part that said Harrison was William’s son.”
“What did Garret say?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Did you bring the diary with you?”
“Yes, here.” Alex handed it to Kate. They both took a seat on the couch. Kate flipped through the pages of the book.
“Alex, did you know there’s a photograph in here?”
“What do you mean?”
Kate pulled a photograph from between the pages. It had been tucked into the back of the book. Instead of handing it to Alex, Kate looked at the vintage photograph. It was of a teenage boy. Kate’s eyes widened.
“Holy shit, this could be Russy when he was in high school,” Kate said as she flipped it over. On the back of the photograph someone had inscribed, William Hunter, 1903.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Kate continued to mutter as she stared at the back of the photograph.
“What is it, Kate?”
“I think you’re right,” Kate said, somewhat dazed. She handed the photograph to Alexandra.
“Oh my god, you’re right. If this is really William Hunter… If what Mary Ellen wrote is true…” Alex murmured.
“I think we need to read the diary—all of it,” Kate said. Alex nodded in agreement.
For the next hour, Alex and Kate took turns reading Mary Ellen’s diary aloud. When they finished the last page, Alex gently closed the book, and the sisters sat quiet for a few moments, each lost in her own private thoughts.
“From what she writes, I get the impression Randall has been… I don’t, know… cognizant of her grief. Like when she wrote…” Alex opened the diary, looking for a passage to explain what she was trying to say. “Like here, she writes, Randall thinks I spend too much time at your house. Perhaps he is right. I promised him I would try to get more involved in life.”
“I know what you mean. It’s as if she’s discussed her grief with Randall, and he’s supportive. But nowhere in the diary do I get the impression Randall knows the truth about Harrison—that he’s William’s son, not his.”
“Harrison has to know the truth,” Alex said.
“Why do you say that?”
“He must have been the one to put the ledgers in that box. It wasn’t Mary Ellen, because she was gone when Randall started his diary.”
“Alex, maybe Randall put the books there. Didn’t Garret say it wasn’t a secret that she kept a diary? He was her husband. I can’t imagine he would leave it lying around for just anyone to read.”
“Maybe he didn’t read it,” Alex suggested.
“I find that hard to believe. I’m always hearing how she was the love of Randall’s life. Don’t you think he would be compelled to read it after she died?”
“Lord, that’s sad,” Alex muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. You’re madly in love with your wife, and after she’s gone, you find out she’s had an affair with your best friend—that your only son isn’t yours.”
“True, Alex, but Mary Ellen writes as if Randall knew about the affair. She even mentions her and Randall’s unusual relationship and discusses about how they have become close friends. It’s as if she and Randall are platonic friends—not a married couple.”
“What do we do with this?”
“I guess you take the diary back home and let Garret read it. Then Russell needs to read it. I suppose it will be up to them to do something—if something must be done.”
“I’m going to head back home. Who knows what Garret found in Randall’s diary?”
The two sisters stood up and exchanged a hug before Alex returned home.
Chapter 25
“Well that was a bust,” Sophie said as she pushed open the glass door at the Coulson Herald office and stepped outside.
“At least you know; your grandmother had all the articles the local paper ran on her husband. I wonder how she got them.”
“I suspect Nick’s grandfather sent them to her. But I was hoping someone who worked for the paper back then was still around.”
“I assume you mean around in Coulson, not still working at the Herald,” Adam asked with a chuckle.
“Yes.” Sophie got into the passenger side of the car.
“They did say the editor in chief from back then was still in town, and just our luck, he’s staying at the same senior center as Jerome Walker.” Adam got into the car and turned on the ignition.
“They also said he has Alzheimer’s.”
“I think we should still talk to him, Sophie. I had a friend whose grandmother had the disease. She remembered all sorts of stuff—from the past.”
“I suppose. If they’ll let us see him.”
“All we can do is try.”
They arrived at the care home at 10:45 a.m., intentionally timing their visit to fall between breakfast and lunch for the residents. At the front desk, a familiar face greeted Adam.
“Adam Keller!” a young blond woman called out as she made her way around the desk and gave him a hug.
“Barbara, good to see you!” Adam returned the brief hug, then said, “Barbara, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Sophie Marino. Sophie, Barbara and I went to high school together.”
“Nice to meet you,” the two women said in unison and then laughed at their timing.
“It’s been ages, Barbara. How long have you been working here?”
“A little over a year now. Kevin and I ate at your restaurant Friday night. We wanted to say hi, but they said you’d taken some time off. Must be nice!”
“Sorry I missed you. How’s Kevin doing these days?”
“Same ol’ same ol’. Still teaching at the middle school. Kids driving him crazy. Hey, I heard about Myrtle Scarlett; that’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is.”
“She had a lot of friends here. She used to come and visit every Wednesday morning. They’re all talking about it. I thought it was strange—the newspaper said the accident was under investigation. Do they really think foul play was involved?”
“It’s probably a little too early to say. They just found the body yesterday.”
“Were you home when they found her?”
“No. We spent the weekend up at Clement Falls.”
Barbara glanced over at Sophie and smiled, taking a closer look at the woman whom she believed was Adam’s new girlfriend.
“So, who are you visiting today?” Barbara asked Adam.
“We’d like to see Jerome Walker, if that’s possible.”
“Mr. Walker?” She looked at Sophie and asked, “Oh, is he a friend of yours? He rarely gets any visitors.”
“We’ve never met Mr. Walker. We want to ask him about an old case involving someone we’re trying to get more information on. Mr. Walker used to work for the Coulson Police Department. Sam Peterson suggested I get in touch with him,” Adam explained.
“I imagine he’ll enjoy that. He loves talking about his time on the force.”
“After we see him, we’d like to visit Carl Hammond, if that’s possible. He’s in the Alzheimer’s section.”
“I’ll have to first see how he’s doing today. Is he an old friend?”
“No. Actually, we want to talk to him about the same case we’re asking Jerome about.”
“Sounds interesting. But I don’t know how helpful he’ll be. Of course, depending on the day, and the date of the case, it’s possible he’ll remember something. Let me take you to Mr. Walker’s room, then I’ll go check on Mr. Hammond and see if he’s up to a visit.”
Sophie and Adam followed Barbara down the wide hallway, its waxed floor shiny from a recent mopping. An unpleasant odor of chemical-pine hung in the air, ineffectively masking the scent of urine. Doorways lined both sides of the hallway, with some doors ajar, giving the visitors a glimpse into the residents’ dismal quarters.
When Barbara reached their destination, she stopped at an
open doorway and said, “Mr. Walker, you have some visitors.”
An elderly man sat hunched over in a wheel chair in the center of the room. He wore baggie, blue, sweat pants and matching sweatshirt. The top of his baldhead glistened with perspiration while his slipper-covered feet twitched to some imaginary beat. Lowering his head slightly, he peered over his spectacles and watched as Barbara led Adam and Sophie toward him.
“I think you got the wrong room; I don’t know you folks,” Jerome said in a raspy voice.
“Hello, Mr. Walker, I’m Adam Keller, and this is my friend Sophie Marino. We’ve come here to talk to you, sir. If you could spare a minute.”
“Hell, I have hours to spare. Keller you say? You Wally Keller’s boy?”
“Wally Keller was my grandfather.”
“I’ll leave you to your visit,” Barbara said in a whisper, then ducked out of the room.
“You look a bit like him. Now, who did you say that pretty young thing with you is?” Jerome eyed Sophie.
“Sophie Marino, sir.” Adam introduced.
“Hello, Mr. Walker,” Sophie walked to the wheelchair and put out her hand. Jerome gave it a brief shake.
“So what’s this all about?” Jerome asked.
“We were wondering if we could talk to you about Anthony Marino. He was the one they found buried up at Sutter’s Lake a couple years after they pulled his car from the lake. This was back in the seventies.”
“Marino, didn’t you say your name was Marino?” Jerome asked Sophie.
“Yes, sir. Anthony Marino was my grandfather.”
“Hmm, interesting. Why don’t you kids take a seat, get comfortable.” Jerome pointed to the two chairs sitting adjacent to his bed. They both nodded their acceptance and then took a seat while Jerome repositioned his wheelchair to face them.
“So, your grandpa was in the Mafia?” Jerome asked.
“I really don’t know much about him. Apparently, they believe he was a hitman. But he never faced murder charges.”
“I guess that means he was good at his job.” Jerome smiled.
“Do you remember him?” Sophie asked.
“Oh sure, I remember the case. Not every day you find a wise guy buried in your back yard.” He paused and glanced at Sophie, then remembered he was talking about her grandfather. “Err, excuse me, miss.”
“No, please, go on. I want to hear what you have to say.” Sophie smiled sweetly.
“It caused quite a ruckus, especially with those G-men showing up and taking over the case. It was the most sensational story to hit town, but there wasn’t much about it in the local paper. I imagine old man Coulson sat on the Herald. Didn’t want any bad press for his boom town.”
“You mean Harrison Coulson? Harrison Senior?” Adam asked.
“Harrison? No, I’m talking about Randall. Back in those days, he ran the town. All of us in the department knew Peterson didn’t make a move without first checking with Coulson. We all knew, but if we wanted to keep our jobs, we kept our mouths shut.” Both Adam and Sophie understood he was referring to Sam Peterson’s grandfather.
“Back then, did Chief Peterson assign you to put Anthony Marino under surveillance?” Adam asked.
“Under surveillance? Nah, the Chief would never assign something like that to me. Maybe to Simons or Jordon. Why do you ask?”
“He made a note in his calendar back then. He wrote JW—surveillance Anthony Marino Cliffwood,” Sophie explained.
“And you thought I was JW?” Jerome laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Adam asked.
“JW—that was John Weber. I’d bet the farm on it. He probably gave Peterson the order.”
“Who was John Weber?”
“Randall’s right hand man. Everyone knew he did the old man’s dirty work. Kept Randall’s hands clean. No one dared cross Weber. Not unless they wanted to end up in a shallow grave like Marino.”
“I’ve never heard of Weber.” Adam frowned.
“Are you implying John Weber was responsible for my grandfather’s death?”
“I don’t know anything about that. But the man wasn’t someone you wanted to cross. And some say,” Jerome leaned forward and whispered, “that he did more than just Randall’s dirty work.”
“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
“I don’t want to offend the young lady. But let’s just say, Weber and Coulson were a little too close. Unnatural.”
“Are you saying they were gay?” Adam blurted out.
“Well, both men had been married,” Jerome said with a shrug. “But there was some talk back then. One of the guys on the force, George Davis, did some moonlighting at Coulson’s offices as a security guard. He told some of us in the department he’d walked in on Weber and Coulson in a, well, compromising position. The chief got wind of the stories he was telling the other officers and called him in, gave him a real dressing down. Next week, he takes off with his girlfriend, leaves his wife and is never heard from again.”
“What do you mean he takes off? The guy who supposedly saw Weber and Coulson?”
“Yep. He left a note behind, saying he’d fallen in love with some broad and was running away with her. None of us even knew he was cheating on his wife.”
“Do you think he really ran off?” Sophie asked with a frown.
“What do you think?” Jerome eyed Sophie over his glasses. “But after that, you bet we minded our P’s and Q’s. Wasn’t about to disappear for passing some rumors. Even if those rumors were true.”
“You don’t really think Coulson or Weber was responsible for his disappearance?” Adam asked.
“Let’s just say, I wouldn’t put it pass Weber or Coulson. Funny thing, I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this before. But, hell, what can they do to me now?”
“Do you remember anything else about my grandfather?” Sophie glanced over at Adam, who seemed more preoccupied with Jerome’s statements about Weber and Coulson than her grandfather.
“Nothing that wasn’t in the paper. I was never a part of the inner circle. Can’t remember ever seeing him around, except for when they found his body up at Sutter’s Lake.”
“You mentioned two other officers, the ones that might have been assigned to put my grandfather under surveillance.”
“You mean Simons and Jordon?”
“Yes.”
“Simons has been gone a good ten years or more. Jordon passed a couple years back.”
They chatted for another ten minutes before Sophie and Adam thanked Jerome for his time and said their goodbyes.
“It’s too bad Simons and Jordon aren’t still alive,” Sophie said when she was alone with Adam in the hallway. “If they were the ones who had my grandfather under surveillance, I’d love to know what they saw.”
“You think they might have witnessed the murder? And not done anything to stop it?”
“Either that or saw who my grandfather was associating with in Coulson.”
“Sophie, wait here for a second. I want to go back in and ask Walker something.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“No, what I want to ask him—I think he might be uncomfortable to go into detail in front of you.”
“Okay, I’ll wait here.”
Adam found Jerome Walker in the same place he’d left him just minutes earlier.
“Mr. Walker,” Adam began. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure, where’s your pretty friend?”
“She’s out in the hall. I didn’t want to discuss this in front of her.”
Walker nodded, as if he understood what Adam meant.
“Can you tell me anything more about that—compromising position—with Weber and Randall Coulson?”
“Well, according to Davis, he had the graveyard shift at Coulson Enterprises one evening. He assumed he was alone in the building. When he checked in that night, the supervisor gave him the wrong set of keys. He wasn’t supposed to go into any of the executive offices, but when he real
ized he had the master key, he decided to snoop around—didn’t figure it would hurt anything since no one was there. The first office he decided to check out was the big cheese himself, Randall Coulson.”
“Did they catch him?”
“No, they never would have known had he kept his mouth shut. He used the master key to let himself into the office of Coulson’s secretary. When he got into that office, he heard something. The door to Coulson’s private office was ajar. He looked in and saw Randall Coulson and John Weber in a bed.”
“There was a bed in Coulson’s office?”
“I guess it was one of those beds that goes into a wall.”
“A murphy bed?”
“Not sure what they’re called. But the two were buck naked, and old man Coulson was showing Weber who was boss. That boy was his bitch.”
“They didn’t know Davis was there?”
“No. Davis got the hell out of there. Later, when he knew they had gone, he went back to the office. He was curious about that bed. When he returned to Coulson’s private office, the bed was gone, but there was this built in cabinet along the wall, where the head of the bed had been. He started poking around and realized the bed folded up into the wall. Damn convenient if you ask me.”
“Why in the world would he tell the other guys in the department about what he saw? He was admitting he had practically broken into the offices.”
“Davis was always an idiot. Not much common sense.”
“Did anyone ever say who the woman was that Davis supposedly ran off with?”
“Never. According to the note, it was some tourist.”
“You said Chief Peterson reprimanded him for telling the story. If someone made Davis disappeared, do you think the chief was involved?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. After Davis disappeared, the chief started telling people about how Davis loved to make up stories, painted him as a liar and drunk. He did a pretty good job of discounting Davis’s story. And for those who believed it was true, the fact Davis disappeared was enough to keep our mouths shut.”
“And you’ve never talked about this before?”
“No, can’t say I have. Back then, I had other things on my mind. Our son, Jerome Jr., had just been killed in Nam, and my wife wasn’t doing too well. Hell, I wasn’t doing too well back then. A son should never go before his parents. I wasn’t about to get in the middle of Davis’ shit when I was trying to keep it together at home.”
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