Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2)

by Dan Walsh

  “I don’t have one, Jack,” Hank said. “Not at the moment. This could all be exactly what you said. I’m just saying that, right now, all you really got is a scrapbook filled with old newspaper clippings. Everything else is you connecting up the dots for us. Very skillfully I might add. But I’m not seeing anything we could act on here. Are you, Joe?”

  “You mean like arrest someone?” Boyd said. “No, we’re not even close to that. Besides, the guy who did this has been dead for a decade. But I do think there’s some real substance here. My gut tells me this is for real. Jack is on to something.”

  “I’m not saying he’s not. But even if it’s all true, what can we do about it? It’s not just that the killer’s already dead, but from what Jack said, all of these killings took place somewhere else. Not even in Culpepper. Not even in Georgia. So, we don’t even have jurisdiction over any of it.”

  “Not about the original killings.” Boyd looked at Jack. “You didn’t tell him who owns the cabin, or about the journal Rachel’s translating.”

  “The cabin belongs to Senator Burke Wagner,” Jack said, “which means the killer is his father.”

  “Senator Wagner? You’re kidding?”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m staying at the cabin now, renting it for the month.”

  “Tell him about the journal,” Boyd said.

  “I found a handwritten journal with the scrapbook. It’s in German, which I don’t speak. Remember Rachel? She speaks it fluently. She took it home last night to translate. She should be done in a few days. Nothing may come of it, or it could be full of things that implicate Senator Wagner. He was attending college here during the years his father committed these murders. Maybe he helped his father, or at the very least, knew what he was up to and did nothing to stop him. That would be a big deal, don’t you think?”

  Hank’s expression totally changed. “That would be a huge deal. Wagner’s become more than a local bigwig. He’s a bigwig on a state level. But even so, unless he was directly involved, like he actually helped his father pull these killings off somehow, I’m not sure the DA would go after him for something his father did twenty years ago. Especially with cases that were never even opened. It could certainly hurt him politically, but I’m not sure there’s a crime here. And we gotta think about this…if the DA’s drawing such a hardline over some average guy like Tomlin, he’s gonna be triple that way if we try to bring him some case against a prominent state senator like Wagner.”

  “I don’t know,” Boyd said. “I guess it depends on what turns up, if anything, when Rachel translates that journal. But no one’s talking about going to the DA, not yet anyway. I agree, to go after someone with the clout of Senator Wagner, we’d have to have rock-solid evidence, and plenty of it. And like you said…” He looked at Hank. “We might not even have any jurisdiction here. A good part of the case, if not most of it, would belong to the FBI.”

  Jack had to admit: they made some good points. Some things neither he nor Rachel had thought about yet. But still, how could it possibly be right to do nothing at all with this? “So are you men suggesting I just drop this whole thing? Put everything back in the safe and pretend I never saw it?”

  “Put everything back where?” Hank said.

  Suddenly, Jack realized how bad that sounded. “In the safe. That’s where I found these things.”

  “What?” Hank said, “you broke into the guy’s safe?”

  “No, I didn’t break into anything.” How could he say this without making it worse? He almost felt like he should plead the fifth. “I found the key.”

  “So where was the safe, exactly? In the wall?”

  “No.” There was just no good way to say this. “I found it in the crawl space under a floorboard in the living room.”

  “Jack,” Boyd said, “tell me you weren’t prying up floorboards in this guy’s cabin.”

  “I wasn’t prying up floorboards in this guy’s cabin. There was only one floorboard involved, and I didn’t pry it up. It was never nailed down. That’s what got my attention. I stubbed my toe on it. Then I noticed it wasn’t laid flat like all the others, which were nailed down. And it was even a different shade of wood. So, I got curious. What can I say? I’m a curious guy. I bent down to look at it and realized, it didn’t even have any nail-holes. It lifted up pretty easily, which made me think it was put down that way on purpose, which made me wonder why. I lifted it up, and there it was. The safe, staring right back at me. The other significant thing I recall is that it was caked in dust. It hadn’t been opened in years. Clearly, it was something being hidden. And now we know why.”

  “Jack, no need to get upset,” Boyd said.

  “Do I sound upset?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Then I apologize.” Jack no longer enjoyed the feeling that he was being taken seriously. He was starting to regret ever coming here at all. “Can we at least wait and see what Rachel turns up when she translates that journal? What if it directly implicates Senator Wagner?”

  “If it does,” Boyd said. “You get on the phone and give me a call.”

  33

  Located down the hall just one door from Boyd’s office was the men’s restroom. Officer Tony Campbell just happened to be coming out of the restroom five minutes ago. He had planned on just walking past Boyd’s office back to his desk. That is, until he’d heard someone mention the Senator Wagner’s name. His ears perked right up like a dog hearing the dinner bell.

  Campbell stood still, very still, and listened to what the men were saying. It was Boyd talking with Hank Jensen, Boyd’s pet. There was a third man who was clearly the one stirring up all this talk. Campbell recognized him from that big shootout case that happened last year out at the college. Jack something. He didn’t remember his last name. An easy problem to solve.

  He didn’t really understand everything they were saying. Something to do with the Senator’s father. Campbell had never met the old man. But for the last two years, Campbell had been receiving a steady monthly check from the Senator for what they had agreed to call “private security services.” It was easy money. So far, he’d just wanted Campbell to alert him to any conversations about him that took place at the police station, or anything that concerned him, his law office, or his dealings as a state senator—no matter how small.

  This certainly qualified.

  He hadn’t had anything to report for about six weeks, so he was actually glad he’d stumbled into this. Wouldn’t want to give the Senator any reason to cancel this lucrative arrangement. Campbell was making his bass boat payment with it.

  When he got back to his desk, he spent some time digging through the online reports until he found those related to the college shootout last year. He didn’t have to read long before he found the name he’d been looking for. He’d remembered the guy had been wounded. Sergeant Boyd had actually received a commendation for saving the man’s life.

  His name was Jack Turner. Back when this whole thing went down, he’d been a guest lecturer at Culpepper. Campbell had heard something about him teaching there full time now. He pulled out his personal cell phone, looked up the number the Senator had given him for Harold Vandergraf, the Senator’s aide. He was instructed to always call Vandergraf first. Vandergraf would decide when, or if, Campbell’s information needed to be passed up the ladder.

  Campbell got up from his desk, pulled out his cigarette pack and showed it to one of the guys as he headed outside. “Smoke break.” He pushed the send button.

  After a few rings, Vandergraf answered the phone. “Officer Campbell, been a while since I’ve heard from you. I was wondering if you’d forgotten about us.”

  “No, nothing like that. Just nothing worthwhile to report. Guess no news is good news, though, right?”

  “I suppose that could be true,” Vandergraf said. “You calling must mean you have something worthwhile now…”

  “Potentially,” Campbell said. He lit his cigarette. “Overheard a conversation just now i
n Sergeant Boyd’s office. He was talking with another officer and a professor at the college, who’d come in to see him.”

  “And this is significant because….”

  “I heard them mention Senator Wagner’s name. A few times, in fact. Couldn’t hear everything they said, because the door was half closed. I was out in the hallway. Piecing together the parts I did hear, it seemed this college professor had come in to talk about something to do with the Senator’s father. Like maybe he was trying to push them toward looking into something he thought the father might have done years ago.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I didn’t hear anything specific, but I did hear somebody use the phrase implicate Senator Wagner. That sounded pretty significant to me.”

  “Hmmm. I’d have to agree with you on that. Did it sound like this professor was persuading the officers to pursue this, whatever it is?”

  “No, I’d say it was just the opposite. Sounded like they were trying to talk him out of it…whatever it is.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Maybe this will be the end of it then. Whatever it is. Between you and me, I know very little about the Senator’s father. From what I understand, they weren’t all that close. I do know he’s been dead for ten years and that anything he might have done while he was alive is likely irrelevant and would likely be of no interest to the Senator.”

  “So you want me to drop this then? Not pass on anything else I hear?”

  “On the contrary, you’ve done well to call. By all means, call again if you learn anything more or anything new.”

  “Great. I’ll do that. You have a good rest of the day, Mr. Vandergraf.”

  “You, too, Officer Campbell.”

  Vandergraf put his phone back in his suit coat pocket then quickly took it out again. Contrary to what he had told Campbell, the Senator had confided in him some information about his father. Though he got the clear impression what he’d been told was just a fraction of the story. He knew enough to know the Senator would not take kindly to the news that somebody was digging into his father’s past. And it’s never a good thing to hear the word implicate spoken by police officers in a police station.

  He sat back in his office chair, swiveled around until he faced the picture window behind his desk. A plan was already beginning to take shape in his mind. No need to overreact at this point. It certainly could be nothing at all. And he was glad to hear that the two officers involved in the conversation were discouraging the professor from pursuing this matter any further.

  Vandergraf had just thought of a way to ensure that the good professor did just that…and follow their advice. He hit the button to call Campbell back. Campbell answered almost immediately.

  “Hello, Mr. Vandergraf.” He was almost whispering.

  Vandergraf knew that meant he must be inside the police station.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  “Has that professor left the station yet?”

  “He just walked by my desk toward the front door, not two minutes ago.”

  “Could you quickly get up and watch him get into his car. Find out the make, model and color and call me right back?”

  “I can do that. I can even get you the number on his license plate if that’ll help.”

  34

  The atmosphere inside the arcade was perfect, just how Jack remembered it. He hadn’t planned on coming here but as he’d driven by, it almost seemed to call out his name. He’d spent so many hours here years ago as a student at Culpepper. Used to be his favorite way to unwind. It was also a much cheaper hobby for a student on a tight budget than something like golf, or even fishing. After the meeting he just had with Joe, he could use a little unwinding time.

  He was surprised to find the arcade still in business. These days, gamers could find ten times the sophistication and better graphics on their Xbox and PlayStation consoles. Really, even on their smart phones and tablets. When he had been in college, arcade games were the cutting edge.

  Jack, however, wasn’t into hi-tech. Just lo-tech pinball.

  To his great surprise, one of his favorite pinball tables was still here, in good working order, occupying the same spot it had so long ago. He decided to blow a few dollars’ worth of tokens then head back to the cabin and dive into his Dresden research.

  Within five minutes, he had recovered his old rhythm with the flippers, had the bells and lights ringing and was running up the score.

  “Aren’t you a little old for pinball?” a male voice said over Jack’s shoulder. Jack thought the words were directed at him but ignored them, hoping he was wrong.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I’m talking to you,” the same voice said a little louder.

  Jack turned to look for just a second. Two guys, college-age. One short and well-built, Hispanic, baseball cap on backwards, baggy jeans. On his left stood a much bigger and taller guy, thick-necked with a shaved head. Had a dumb look on his face, like someone with a room temperature IQ. Something about the way he looked reminded Jack of a big toe. Were they there to rob him? “I heard you,” Jack said, “but I’m kinda busy trying to keep this little silver ball alive. Why do you care anyway?” He tried sounding tougher than he felt.

  The ball slid between the flippers. Jack turned to face them. Gave a quick glance at their hands. No weapons. Mentally, he readied himself in case either one reached behind them for a gun stuffed in their pants.

  “I didn’t hear him ask if he could play our pinball table, Paco,” Big Toe said to the shorter guy.

  “I didn’t know it was your machine,” Jack said. “So, this is your place?”

  “Not really,” Paco said. “We just look after it sometimes. And when we do, people gotta pay a little extra. Like a cover charge. For you, I’d say fifty bucks should about do it.”

  Jack looked around the arcade, hoping to locate a security guard. At least somebody who worked here.

  “There’s nobody else here,” Paco said. “We checked.”

  Jack couldn’t think of anything clever to say. He had no plan. But he felt surprisingly calm. Was it the grace of God or the fact that he knew how to take care of himself a little better now? He’d never had to test those skills and hoped he’d never have to but, if it came to that…“Well gentlemen,” he said. “I think it’d it be a good idea if you both just turn around and head back the way you came. Or, put some tokens in one of these machines. Either way, this isn’t your establishment, and I have no intention of giving either one of you a dime.”

  Paco and Big Toe took a step forward at Jack’s remarks. Big Toe’s expression stayed the same, but Jack saw a tinge of fear in the shorter man’s eyes. Paco wasn’t used to being opposed.

  “Maybe we should tell him the real reason we’re here,” Big Toe said. “Cause in a minute he won’t be able to understand a thing either one of us say.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Paco said. “We hear you been digging into somebody else’s business. Putting your nose where it don’t belong. Asking questions and stirring up trouble. We’re here as a friendly warning. It’s time for you to butt out.”

  What were they talking about? Jack thought. This couldn’t be about his conversation with Joe and Hank, could it? That seemed impossible.

  “He’s acting like he doesn’t know what you mean,” Big Toe said.

  “He knows.”

  “But we don’t even know,” Big Toe said.

  “Shut up,” Paco said. “Doesn’t matter. I was told he’d know, and that’s enough.” He looked back at Jack. “You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you? And now, you’ve been warned. Walk away from it.”

  Paco pretended to turn around, then quickly came back at Jack with an overhand right, aimed right at Jack’s face. Jack deflected it easily with his left forearm, then counter-punched with a right, straight into Paco’s exposed temple. A reflex reaction. Paco was off balance when the blow came and fell to the floor. Jack drop-kicked him full-on in the ribs. Paco moaned loudly.

>   “You’re dead, Mister,” Big Toe said, lunging forward.

  Jack took two quick steps back. Big Toe grabbed for Jack and got a square yard of thin air. Jack sent two fast chops into his gut, bending him in half, then brought his knee up, hard, into his face. The big man dropped to the floor and grabbed his face. Blood began to flow between his fingers. He swore then yelled, “You broke my nose.”

  Jack looked down at Paco, who was still holding his stomach, then at Big Toe. He grabbed the bigger man by his shirt collar and lifted him slightly. “What’s your name?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Your name?” Jack repeated.

  “Jeff.”

  “Okay Jeff, this didn’t exactly go the way you guys planned, you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got some more things I could do right now, but I’m willing to stop. You guys said someone sent you here to warn me. I want to know who, and why?”

  “I don’t know,” Jeff said, through his hands. “That’s Paco’s department.”

  “Hey, Paco, are you listening?” Jack said.

  Paco began to sit up. Jack saw him grab for his jean pocket. He was pulling out a knife. Jack quickly stomped on his forearm. Paco screamed. Jack bent over and slid out the knife. He pushed a button on the handle, and the blade snapped to attention. Jack continued to apply pressure to Paco’s forearm with his foot. “Paco, that wasn’t smart.”

  “You’re gonna break my arm,” he shouted.

  “No, I’m not. But I could. It wouldn’t be that hard to do at this point. You obviously haven’t learned your lesson. I’m not wanting to hurt you. I came in here to relax, play some pinball. You two came in here after me. Now I want to know who sent you here, and what this is all about.”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Can’t,” Paco said. “No matter how many times you hit me. I tell you anything, and I’m dead.”

  What in the world was he talking about? This didn’t make any sense. What kind of people were these guys involved with, and why would people like that want anything to do with Jack? “Well, the two of you get up and walk right out of here, now, while I decide whether or not to call the cops.” He lifted his foot off Paco’s forearm.