by W.H. Harrod
Terrance couldn’t believe how long he stayed at the graveyard. An invisible force seemed to hold him there. He couldn’t recall what went through his mind at the time, only that a powerful sense of needing to be there held him in place. For the first time in his entire life, he felt he belonged, and that someone else knew how he felt and understood the loneliness of not knowing who you are or where you came from. A new feeling permeated his entire being, unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.
After a while, the monotonous drone of the Cherokee’s motor as he drove along the interstate towards Kansas brought him back to reality. Enough of this craziness, he reasoned as he redirected his attention towards the serious matter regarding this ever-expanding investigation. Never in his life did he expect anything like this to unfold right before his eyes. This involved a lot more than he hoped for. It went far beyond the matter of someone stealing a person’s name for the purpose of creating a new life. It included international criminals and an unsolved, twenty-plus-years old murder of a prominent businessman. He stood up to his ears in this story and started to consider if maybe he ought to try to get out of it, right now.
Did he, for sure, want to go ahead with it? What if he did write the story based on the evidence he possessed to this point? It would make headlines in Lawrence and Harmony and maybe, even get picked up nationally. But, is that what he wanted to do knowing that international criminals might be lurking in the background? Maybe there are worse things about this case he didn’t know about. Maybe the cartel will try to find out if he knows more than he reports in the story. Probably, a veteran investigative reporter who lived for this kind of thing would get a buzz out of all this action—enjoy the notoriety, but not him. He didn’t plan to do this job his entire life. He wanted to be a lawyer, not a once ambitious young reporter who will forever be on the run from the Mexican Mafia.
Although telling the story would undoubtedly add some much needed light to this long unresolved affair, it still didn’t prove who killed Whiting. The police, if you attempted to decipher their reports in the paper, weren’t necessarily trying to pin the murder on Howard Douglas. It seemed as if they suspected someone else murdered Whiting, and that most probably, they had gotten to Howard, also. And again, what reason did Howard have to kill Richard? They were friends. Whiting functioned as his benefactor and mentor.
Or maybe not! thought Terrance as an entirely new line of thinking occurred to him. Possibly Howard did not know up front when he took the job what kind of people he worked for? Commonsense said he didn’t. What employer would go up to a recent graduate school graduate and ask him if he wanted to come to work for him and participate in a life of crime under the aegis of an international criminal organization? More than likely, he found out later. So why didn’t he quit then? The answer to that question is the simplest of all—they wouldn’t let him. Those people wouldn’t wish you well and give you a good recommendation to your next employer. What Howard knew about them could have put them all in jail. He couldn’t walk away. If he did, they would surely have killed him. He was in there to stay.
Maybe Howard did have a reason to kill Whiting, concluded Terrance. Possibly, he killed him for getting him involved in the whole dirty mess and for ruining his life and making it a complete fraud. Maybe that’s why Whitney left him? And then, when they brought her home in a casket—what did he have to look forward to? For the first time it made sense. Maybe Howard did blow the guy’s face off and then run away to hide in a soup kitchen in Kansas via a quick stop in Missouri to pick up a new identity. He probably even suspected that sooner or later the authorities would find out about the cartel and blame it all on them. They would even go so far as to believe that the cartel most likely killed Howard Douglas as well. It’s even possible Howard was the secret informant who led the authorities to investigate RTW Holdings, Inc. in the first place.
“He probably did do it,” said Terrance. “I would do it if the guy did that to me.”
For the first time, Terrance thought about Joseph Right aka Howard Douglas in a different way. Earlier, without knowing anything about his past, Terrance had consistently thought about his subject as a good person with a mysterious past. But now, possibly, Joseph Right of Lawrence, Kansas, did commit murder during his earlier life as Howard Douglas. Terrance doubted that Mrs. Bidwell expected him to return with this kind of information. Maybe it would be best if he kept his suspicions to himself for the time being. Besides, he didn’t know for sure. Maybe the cartel did do it. Maybe Howard expected something to happen and had taken the precautions of going to Missouri earlier to provide for such an occurrence. It was possible.
One final thought crossed Terrance’s mind. Regardless of what the police suspected, the cartel knew they hadn’t done away with Howard Douglas. No matter who murdered Richard Whiting, they most certainly would relish the opportunity to do away with Howard or anyone else who might still be able to expose their operations—if they could but find them.
This last sobering thought hung on as Terrance attempted to organize his timetable. He expected to arrive in Lawrence by late tonight, too late, to meet with Mrs. Bidwell. He also knew he didn’t want to go home until he had a chance to reveal his findings to her and get her opinion on the whole affair. It might be better for him to stop short of town to find another cheap but well-lit motel, and then call her first thing tomorrow morning and make arrangements to meet with her. A lot of things needed to be decided upon before he let this sleeping monster out of the cage.
“Let’s see, today is Wednesday. I’ll meet with her Thursday morning as early as possible. That will give me tomorrow afternoon to write up the story if that’s what we decide to do.” The sound of the word we caught Terrance’s attention. Did he really intend to allow her in on the decision process? Remembering what she said to him about intending to deny any and all complicity in this matter if he tried to force the issue, he knew he didn’t want to be hung out all alone with this story. From this point on, as far as he was concerned, they were partners. They either worked together, or they didn’t work at all.
Terrance intended to live long and prosperously if he had anything to do with it, and he believed he still did. Getting whacked by the Mexican Mafia for his scant knowledge about a guy and a murder that happened over twenty years ago didn’t enhance his cause. If he had to keep on looking for that big break he needed, then so be it.
Speaking of potential big breaks, Terrance recalled the professor making him promise to be available for Friday’s run to Kansas City. That’s the kind of big break that he preferred to be involved in, a simple one. Take the professor to the track and pick up the cash. But first, the professor needed to hit the big one he always talked about. If he did, Terrance knew, for sure, all this cartel stuff became a historical footnote. “Come on professor,” whispered Terrance.
Only one lingering thought prevented Terrance from hoping the whole Joseph Right affair fell by the wayside and that had to do with the strange feelings he’d experienced at Whitney’s grave. Those feelings were unlike anything he ever felt before. Right at this moment, what they meant or what he should do about them was unknown to him. Is this something to bring up during his discussions with Mrs. Bidwell? Did she know more than she let on? Terrance remembered her surprised look that first day they met when she got a close look at his face. He cringed at the thought of his innermost feelings being exposed to more disappointment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
