When the Dead Speak (1st Sam Casey Mystery)

by S. D. Tooley

  “I’m sorry, Samantha. I thought this was my house, too.”

  Closing her eyes, Sam bit back her irritation. She rubbed her temples, realizing how she must have sounded. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She forced a smile. “I just ... somewhere along the line I lost control. And it all started with that damn trip to Preston’s.”

  “Yes, you do have a knack for complicating things.”

  “Sam?”

  Sam turned toward the patio where Tim was standing, his face pressed close to the screen.

  “Come in, please. I hope YOU have good news.”

  “Good and bad, I guess you could say.” Tim gave a nod toward Abby.

  “I found the second password,” Tim explained. “It’s GUVNER.”

  “That’s the bad news?”

  “No. The bad news is the program can only be accessed at the main terminal.”

  “Preston’s? We have to go back to Preston’s?” Sam’s face twisted into a look of disbelief and sheer agony.

  Sam walked him to the driveway where he had parked his bike. “Oh, by the way,” Tim said as he climbed onto his bike. “I followed the dark sedan. The two men went to the Suisse Hotel. Suite 1411.”

  Chapter 62

  Jake drove up the driveway, resenting the fact that he had lied to Sam. He and Carl had obtained the contents of the safety deposit box last night. The bank president had personally driven over to open the doors.

  Carl had made a copy of Hap’s affidavit and even kept the last two pages. “Sergeant Casey doesn’t need to see those two pages,” Carl had said.

  It was then that Jake knew Carl had seen the affidavit before. Carl hadn’t even read what was in the safety deposit box. He had gone right to the last two pages.

  Carl finally admitted it. “President Whitter received this report by courier from Samuel Casey AFTER Samuel Casey’s death. He must have suspected that his life was in danger and wanted to make sure a copy got into the right hands. The President faxed me copies of it after I arrived in Chasen Heights. I’m as sick about this as you are, Jake.”

  Jake couldn’t believe those bodies had been out there all this time, and no one had checked out the story. The families had been led to believe that their sons were deserters.

  The coup de grace was, they had found the bodies, all three of Hap’s friends. Question was: Did they die in battle? Or were they murdered?

  Jake turned the ignition off, leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Carl had to work on President Whittier. An election seemed to be more important to the President. Carl’s parting words were for Jake to make sure Sam didn’t find out the truth.

  Chapter 63

  Through the bay window Jake watched Alex tossing a ball to Poco. The sun was blinding, the air humid. The forecast said it would hit ninety degrees by noon.

  Abby was cutting flowers in a rainbow of colors and placing them in a basket. She handled the flowers as gently as if they were made of fine porcelain china. The flowers, trees, plants, and animals, they are all the children of nature, he could almost hear her say.

  Behind him, sitting at the dining room table, was Sam. Her head was lowered, eyes intense, dissecting every word on the pages found in her father’s safety deposit box. Jake wished she wouldn’t wear shorts. Her legs were too distracting. And he knew if he stared into her penetrating eyes, she would be able to read the guilt that was stamped all over his face.

  Or maybe subconsciously he believed what Abby had told him. About why some people on the reservation avoided Sam for fear she could read their minds. Lucky for him Abby said Sam was only good with dead bodies. Jake smiled weakly. He was almost sounding as though he believed it. Abby saw him in the window and waved.

  What was it Sam had said? Abby was a medicine woman and could see into his soul. The weak smile started to fade. Abby knew. If he believed Abby had the power, then he’d have to believe that Abby knew about him and Carl and the FBI. Of course, Abby did say they couldn’t pick what they knew and when. The question he now pondered was, if she did know, why hadn’t she told Sam?

  Sam started with the signed affidavit by Hap Wilson describing what had happened that August day in 1951. He described the horrors they had found, how they had pulled out the only survivors of the killing field. It had been Hap, the three other black soldiers, and a young Korean boy named Ling Toy, not Preston Hilliard and his men, who had rescued the survivors.

  “Listen to what Hap wrote,” Sam said.

  P.K. said he was taking over command and ordered us to go up the hill to see what the Koreans were up to. Sergeant Booker argued that our orders were to retreat. I was in the bushes about fifty feet away. But I could hear them real good. P.K. called us bug outs. It’s a term used when a troop is abandoning its position because it is outnumbered or out-powered. When whitey speaks, it’s synonymous with tactical maneuver or repositioning. But whenever it’s used in relation to blacks, it’s implied as cowardice. This was a Base-ordered retreat. And I was hell-bent on seeing that that was how it was reported.

  Sam read the rest in silence. “My, god. They just shot them as they walked away. And Preston handed out the lightning bolt pins as if they had won Oscars.”

  “I know, Sam. I read it.”

  “Hap was shot running for his life. They left him for dead floating in a filthy river. Did you read what lightning strike meant? How Preston called it out before they killed them?”

  “Hap doesn’t mention Preston Hilliard by name, Sam. Only as P.K.”

  “It shouldn’t be hard to prove that P.K. is Preston, should it?”

  “Preston Kellogg Hilliard was in Mushima Valley. What I’m afraid of is Preston will say it’s Hap’s word against his.”

  “Then how are we going to prove it?” She turned back to the rest of the pages. “I can’t believe Hap had to hide out in Korea, then change his identity, and move to Hawaii. He spent his life in hiding. He didn’t even want to chance contacting his family.”

  She returned to her father’s notes, which described when Hap saw Preston for the first time since Mushima Valley. Hap HAD tracked Leonard Ames down through the article on the Blalock trial. He had told Ames he would go to the media and tell them the truth. Hap had even managed to steal Ames’ two lightning bolt pins. Obviously, Mushima Valley wasn’t the first place Ames had earned his medal of dishonor. Hap hadn’t felt one ounce of remorse when he read about Ames’ suicide.

  It was on his way to Chicago to look up Parker Smith that Hap had seen the picture of Preston Hilliard, victorious from his first election to office. On the same front page, Hap had read a series segment on the exposure of corruption in the Cook County courts. It involved six high court judges and four high profile attorneys from the states attorney’s office. The reporter was Samuel Casey. Hap was impressed by Casey’s honesty and tenacity. So he had sought him out, told him what had happened and asked for his help in exposing Preston Hilliard, Parker Smith, George Abbott and Leonard Ames.

  “Hap wanted to confront Preston,” Sam pointed out as she turned over the last sheet. “According to my father’s notes, he made two copies. My father must have had the original and a copy on him when he died.” Sam looked up at Jake who was watching Abby in the backyard. “Jake?”

  Jake turned toward her. “I’m listening.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “Now we know how your father happened to get one of the pins. Hap probably gave him one of Ames’ pins.”

  Sam flipped through the pages checking to make sure she didn’t miss one word. “Hap probably confronted Preston with one of the pins. Preston felt threatened and that’s when he must have killed Hap. And because my father was going to go to the Senate Armed Services Committee to expose him, Preston had him killed, too.” Her voice trailed off as she thought again of the article reporting her father’s death. “I wonder who was the head of the Senate Armed Services Committee back then?”

  “Sam.” Jake reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “We have no proof that your father
was murdered. To keep focusing on Preston ...”

  “Speaking of Preston,” Sam started.

  “No.” Jake pushed away from the table and checked his beeper.

  “Just listen for a minute.” She told him how Tim had to use Preston’s computer to access the lock and key icon.

  Jake pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and dialed Janet. “Did he say what he wanted? ... And no one saw him leave?” He covered the mouthpiece and asked Sam, “Did you receive a call or a message today from a Lincoln Thomas?” Sam shook her head no. He returned to Janet and asked, “Did he at least leave a number? ... No, that’s okay. I’ll be in shortly. If he comes back, make sure he waits.”

  “Who is Lincoln Thomas?”

  Jake shrugged. “He said he saw Hap’s picture in the Korean newspaper. It’s a pity he couldn’t stick around.”

  Chapter 64

  “Where’s he at?” Sam whispered, as she and Tim crept in through the back door by the kitchen.

  “Upstairs getting ready,” Jackie replied.

  They were in Preston’s house. The staff had been given the night off. Jackie had conveniently run into Preston earlier and made arrangements to stop by tonight.

  “Wow.” Tim’s eyes took in Jackie’s tight black skirt and gold sequined top that was stretched over her massive chest.

  “Down, boy,” Jackie laughed.

  Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink — long, curly hair ratted for even more fullness, the sides punked out to display her cheekbones, cobalt blue eye shadow, lipstick thick and glossy, and large rhinestone earrings. Her royal blue spaghetti-strap dress looked as if it had been painted on.

  Sam was thankful that Jake had been at the office most of the afternoon so she didn’t have to explain what she and Jackie were up to.

  “Are we ready?” Jackie asked. Looking down at Sam’s feet, Jackie said, “And, pulleeze take care of my shoes.”

  “I know. They cost you a hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “That’s what I hate about getting a call fifteen minutes before quitting time.” Frank pounded the keyboard, pressed the PAGEUP key. “By the time we’re done talking to the stiff’s family and witnesses and writing up the report, half the night is over. Frank tugged on his tie. He pulled it off and tossed it on top of the IN box on his desk. “It’s so goddam hot in here.”

  Window air conditioners were working overtime but did little to cool the central room. Ceiling fans droned overhead. Attempts were made to give desk clutter some resemblance of order by use of paperweights on haphazard stacks of papers or by placing everything from the top of the desks to the IN boxes.

  Jake leaned over Frank’s shoulder reading the report as Frank typed. Jerry Sauder, the night duty desk sergeant, lumbered over to Frank’s desk. His jaws worked overtime on a piece of gum and he walked as if his feet were always in position one of ballet — pointed out, looking painfully awkward.

  “Frank, call on one,” Jerry barked between chews.

  “Who is this Noland guy?” Jake asked when Frank had hung up the phone.

  “Parker Smith’s attorney. Parker Smith’s daughter won’t release a letter Parker wrote until she’s had a chance to read it. It seems Parker gave it to Noland years ago and told him to hold onto it and not to release it until his death.”

  “I guess the sight of that pin literally scared the old guy to death.”

  When Jerry put another call through, Jake punched the speaker phone. “Mitchell here.”

  “Detective Mitchell?” The voice had a foreign accent, Asian, Jake guessed.

  “Mr. Lincoln. I understand you came by earlier.”

  “I don’t trust the phone, Detective.”

  Frank looked up from the report he was signing. “Trust me, they are fine.”

  “No. Nothing is fine, Detective. And I really don’t want to come back to your office. Not if he’s going to be there.”

  “He, who?”

  “Please, I need to meet you away from the office.”

  “All right.” Jake checked his watch. It was almost eight-thirty. “You aren’t familiar with the city so why don’t you tell us where you are staying and we’ll meet you there.”

  “I don’t want to give my location over the phone.”

  Paranoid, Frank mouthed at Jake as he shook his head.

  “You leave now. I saw your picture in the paper. I know what you look like. I will follow you.”

  “What do you make of that?” Jake asked after he hung up.

  “Someone who is scared for his life.”

  Chapter 65

  “How are we going to get Parker Smith’s daughter to let us have a peek at that letter he wrote?” Frank asked, sliding into a wide booth in the back of Izzy’s, a restaurant/bar known for its jumbo-sized burgers, fried chicken, and bottomless pitchers of beer.

  “She’ll give it up once Carl exercises his authority.”

  Gloria Estefan was warning that The Rhythm is Gonna Get You over the jukebox, while a bar filled with men in baseball jerseys tried to talk over the game on the television set. The eating area and bar were separated by a plaque-filled wall.

  The bar should be safe enough for Lincoln Thomas, they figured. Everyone in it was a cop, including Rover, the hog-jowled owner/bartender, who had retired from the force three years before.

  Two minutes later, a well-dressed Asian man of average height, walked through the front door. Jake slid out of the booth and stood up so Lincoln would see him in the back room.

  He saw Jake immediately, walked over and slid into the booth across from the two men. Jake introduced himself and Frank. A waitress came over to take their orders.

  “Have you eaten?” Frank asked Lincoln.

  “I’m fine. Just hot tea for me.”

  The two detectives ordered beer.

  “You have a good memory,” Jake said, referring to Lincoln’s ability to pick Jake out of a crowd after seeing his picture.

  “Yes, I believe I do.”

  The back door opened and a young couple walked down the short aisle into the restaurant. Lincoln gave them a quick glance.

  “Is it true what the papers say? Have you closed the Hap Wilson case?”

  Karen, their waitress, set the tray on the table and distributed the drinks. “Anything to eat?”

  Jake and Frank ordered burgers with the works. Clamping the empty tray under her arm, Karen hustled off to the kitchen.

  “That’s the department’s official stand,” Jake replied, “but not ours.”

  “And Sergeant Casey? I thought she would be here.”

  “We tried reaching her but she wasn’t home and she hasn’t responded to her beeper,” Jake explained.

  Reaching into his pocket, Frank said, “Let me try again.” After a few minutes, Frank reported, “Still no answer at home and her beeper isn’t on.”

  Lincoln quickly checked the faces of the patrons at the tables and booths around them.

  “You’re safe here,” Jake assured him. “All cops.”

  Emptying a packet of sugar into his cup, Lincoln said, “Even your precinct wasn’t safe today.” Jake and Frank peered inquisitively at him over the rim of their beer glasses. “Allow me to introduce myself. Lincoln Thomas is my American name. My Korean name is Ling Toy.”

  Chapter 66

  Tim followed Sam into Preston’s study. On the other side of the wall, in the master bedroom, Jackie was keeping Preston busy.

  Tim’s eyes swept down the length of Sam’s legs. “I can’t get over how short that dress is.”

  “The computer, Tim.” Sam pointed toward the desk. “And make it quick.”

  Bony knees protruded below Tim’s wide-legged shorts. His high-top sneakers scraped along the carpet. Turning the computer on, he waited for the menu to appear.

  Sam checked the surveillance camera. It was off. Jackie had seen to it when she arrived earlier. Sam walked over to the door that opened into the bedroom and pressed her ear against it. The sexy throbbi
ng of an Enigma tune radiated through the door.

  The gold sequined top slithered slowly down Jackie’s body. She stepped out of it and kicked it to one side. Leaning forward, she exposed her ample cleavage toward Preston. His glass was almost empty and his eyelids were growing heavy. He moved around in the chair, shook his head, widened his eyes as the effects of the sleeping powder took hold.

  There was a footstool by a makeup table. Jackie swayed over to the stool and propped up one leg. She eyed Preston playfully as she slowly rolled the nylon stocking down one leg. After stepping out of her shoes, she peeled the nylons off and tossed them aside.

  She eyed a silk scarf on the dressing table and picked it up, held it out with both hands, draped it around her shoulders, pulled it down across her breasts.

  Preston’s head was starting to bob. Jackie let one strap of her teddy slide down her arm as she moved closer to Preston. She lifted the empty glass from his hand and set it on the nightstand. She stepped back, dropped the front of her teddy to her waist, and shook her massive breasts. When Preston didn’t react, Jackie said, “I do believe, Sugar, you are either dead or asleep.”