by Bill Bernico
“What was he doing with those other three lowlife slugs?” Veronica said. “He doesn’t seem to fit in with that crowd at all.”
“I know,” Matt said. “That’s the same thing I was thinking. And another thing has been bothering me about this whole mess. Whatever happened to the clothes those three in the car were wearing? Assuming Abbott carried them away with him, he’d have had to dispose of them someplace. They certainly weren’t found on him or with him.”
“Dad,” Nick said, looking up from his laptop. “Didn’t you say that when you and Mom found Abbott that his clothes were mostly rotted away?”
“Yeah.”
“So if this Abbott took the other three guys’ clothes and dumped them in the woods, wouldn’t they have rotted away also?”
“I don’t know,” Matt said. “Abbott’s clothes could have had some help from the scavengers in those woods. They wouldn’t have had much interest in just a pile of old clothes. And besides, I’ve seen shows on TV where pickers find old work clothes from the turn of the century that are still collectible, so what’s to say that pile of clothes wouldn’t still be out there in relatively good condition?”
“Okay,” Nick said. “So you find that pile of clothes. So what? What would that prove and how would that help your case?”
“It probably wouldn’t,” Matt had to agree. “Just trying to tie up a few loose ends is all.”
“Speaking of one giant loose end,” Veronica said. “What happens to the money they found now that the insurance company that paid it out no longer exists? The bank can’t claim it. They’ve already been paid.”
“Good question,” Matt said. “Maybe we’ll find out during the course of this investigation. Wouldn’t that be something if no one had any claim to it and we ended up as the rightful owners? Finders keepers and all that?”
“Don’t hold your breath, Dad,” Veronica said. “That only happens in the movies.”
Matt shrugged off Nick’s remarks and opened his own search engine, putting Clarence Abbott in the search window. He got thirty-seven hits on the name, most of them for men with the same name who were still alive today and doing business in the Los Angeles area. Digging a little deeper, Matt found one reference to the Clarence Abbott he was looking for. It mentioned him briefly in a newspaper article from seven years ago titled, Remember When, a nostalgic look back thirty years at the newspaper headlines of the day.
The column mentioned something about the political candidates from thirty years earlier who had been in a close race for a seat in local county government. It also took a look back at the notable obituaries from that time period and finally mentioned one Clarence Abbott, 39 of Los Angeles, who, according to the article had gone missing along with two friends. None of the men were ever found, prompting police and relatives to give up the search that had started five weeks earlier. Matt was no further ahead than he was before. He read the small article to Nick and asked what he had found on the three occupants of the car that drove to nowhere.
“Not much, Dad,” Nick said. “I found a small article mentioning Whittaker and Bellamy but not in connection with your guy, Abbott.”
“What does it say?” Matt asked.
“The article is from two weeks prior to the holdup in Victorville,” Nick explained. “It says here that they were both released from prison within two days of each other and that they were given two years probation after their sentences were up. They were supposed to report to their parole officer twice a month for two years. The parole officer never heard from either man. That’s all there was.”
“Did it give the name of the parole officer?” Matt asked.
Nick shook his head. “Nope. Probably wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if he was still around here and still alive, they have to be retired or dead by now. What could he tell you about a case from that long ago anyway?”
“Just trying to cover all the bases,” Matt said and turned to Veronica. “What about you, Veronica? You get anywhere with Robby Wells?”
“Even less than the two of you got in your searches,” she said. “At least nothing we didn’t already know. Just that he went missing and how his mother hadn’t given up for the whole time the police were searching for him. You know, the usual.”
Matt rested both elbows on his desk, clasped his hands together, and rested his chin on his hands. He kept staring at his screen, half expecting something to jump out at him. Nothing did. He sighed. “Maybe were going about this thing all wrong,” he said. “Maybe we should be starting at the other end and trying to work our way back.”
“How’s that?” Nick said.
Matt tugged on his right ear and rose from his desk. “Keep looking,” he said to both his children. “I’m going to stop by and see Kevin.”
“But Lieutenant Cole would only have been a kid himself when all this happened,” Veronica said. “What could he tell you that you don’t already know?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have any first-hand knowledge about this,” Matt said. “But he may have access to records at the twelfth precinct that we can find on the web. I won’t be long.” Matt left the office and hit the street in front of his building. It was a nice day and he decided to walk the three blocks to the twelfth. He made it there a few minutes later and found Lieutenant Kevin Cole in his office, talking with another police officer. They had just finished their conversation when Matt rapped his knuckles on the open door to Kevin’s office. The officer he’d been talking to excused himself as he squeezed past Matt and continued down the hall. “All right if I come in?”
Kevin motioned Matt in with a flick of his wrist. “Come on in, Matt,” he said. “I was just finishing up with Officer Price. Have a seat. Take a load off.”
Matt sat across from Kevin, pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his brow. He looked over at Kevin and asked, “Okay if I pick your brain for a couple of minutes?”
“Long as you put it back the way you found it when you’re done,” Kevin said. “What’s on your mind, Matt?”
Matt held up one finger. “Let me start off by saying that I realize that both of us were just kids during the time period I’m referring to, so I don’t think you’d have any recollections of your own to share, but I was hoping I could get access to the files around here to look up something from thirty-seven years ago, if it’s not breaching any confidentiality rules.”
“Maybe you should check with Mr. Peabody,” Kevin said.
Matt brows furrowed. “Mr. who?”
“Mr. Peabody,” Kevin repeated, “and his boy, Sherman. Maybe they let you use their Way-Back machine.” Kevin kept a straight face during this whole exchange, waiting for Matt to make the connection.”
“Okay,” Matt said. “I give up. What’s the gag?”
“Haven’t you ever watched reruns of The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show?” Kevin said. “Rocky and Bullwinkle. Come on, you have to have heard of them.”
“I have,” Matt said, “but I don’t…” Then he got the connection. “I get it. Very funny.” He waited; making sure Kevin was done clowning around before he continued.
“Sorry Matt,” Kevin said. “Couldn’t resist. Go on with what you were saying; something about thirty-seven years ago.”
“I’m sure by now you’ve read the article about me and Chris finding the dead guy in the woods on our way home from the Grand Canyon.”
“Who hasn’t?” Kevin said. “I read where you also recovered more than three quarters of a million dollars in an armored truck bag. What about it?”
“I got a call earlier from the mother of one of the missing guys that was also found in that ‘65 Catalina they pulled up from the ravine.” Matt waited for some sign that Kevin understood.
Kevin nodded once. “The three with the extra holes in their skulls? What about them?”
“My client says she was the mother of one of those guys and wants us to prove that her son had nothing to do with the other three guys,” Matt explained. “And I was just wonderin
g if I could just take a look at your records from back then, you know, just to satisfy my curiosity and maybe give some old lady a little peace of mind before she checks out.”
Kevin shrugged and spread his hands. “No skin off my nose,” he said. “But you realize those records can’t leave this building. In fact, they can’t leave the records room.”
Matt patted his breast pocket. “I’ll just take notes and leave your records just like I found them, okay?”
Kevin rose from his desk and motioned for Matt to follow him out of his office. “Come on, Matt, I’ll take you up there myself and give you an empty office to use. Just let me know what you’re looking for and I’ll bring the records to you. Fair enough?”
“Sounds like I’m going to owe you one, Kevin.”
“Always good to have a few in my debit column,” Kevin said. “You never know when I’ll have to cash one of them in someday.” He led Matt to the second floor, to a room one door down from records. He opened the door and stepped inside. “Wait here and let me have your notes on the guys you want to look up.” Matt tore a page from his notepad and handed it to Kevin. “Just give me a couple of minutes,” Kevin said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Kevin left Matt in the empty office. Matt walked around the room, studying the framed photos and certificates on the walls. He finally settled into a wooden armed chair at the conference table and patiently waited for Kevin to bring him the records he’d asked for.
Kevin returned ten minutes later with four file folders that had long since yellowed with age. He laid them in front of Matt. “You’re on your own, buddy,” Kevin said. “I have to get back to work.” He gestured toward the phone on the shelf behind Matt. “Extension 62 if you need anything else.”
“Thanks a lot, Kevin,” Matt said and dug right into the first folder, that of thirty-seven year old Ralph Whittaker. On the inside cover of this folder, Matt found a mug shot paper clipped to the jacket. It showed a hard-looking man with dark hair and three day stubble in both the forward facing pose as well as the profile shot. Matt read the jacket, scanning over the mundane and getting right to the prison record and parole information. Whittaker had been paroled on a Monday in April that year after having served six and a half years of a ten-year sentence for armed robbery. Apparently he hadn’t been reformed during his stay at the taxpayer’s expense. The report also gave his most recent address; a halfway house downtown that Matt knew was no longer in business. That whole block had been razed to make room for a car wash nearly twenty-five years ago. He closed the folder and moved on to the one labeled Morgan Bellamy.
Bellamy’s record was even longer than Whittaker’s, he found out. Bellamy had been in and out of prison for most of his adult life for crimes ranging from grand theft auto to aggravated assault to manslaughter. According to his jacket he had been paroled just one day after Ralph Whittaker from the same prison. The thing that really surprised Matt was the fact that Bellamy and Whittaker had the same parole officer and had been assigned to the same halfway house that Whittaker had ended up at.
Matt laid Bellamy’s jacket aside and picked up the third one, labeled Clarence Abbott. Abbott’s record made his two accomplices look like Boy Scouts. His jacket held information about his crimes, which included armed robbery, breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon and kidnapping. The last charge had been dismissed when no body was ever found to connect him with the kidnapping. His parole officer’s name was listed on the inside of his jacket. Matt looked at the name, blinked and looked at it again before going through the first two jackets again to check for the name of the parole officer in each case. He found the parole officer’s name on Abbott’s sheet; Robert Wells, 27 also from Los Angeles. Now it made sense, Matt thought. That was the connection he was looking for. Matt jotted down this new information on his notepad and tucked it back into his pocket. He dialed Kevin’s extension.
“Lost already?” Kevin said when he answered.
“Nope,” Matt said. “Just calling to let you know I’ve finished looking through the folders. You can have ‘em back now.”
“Just leave them on the table,” Kevin said. “I’ll call up to records and have someone pick them up. You need anything else? Otherwise I’m going to get back to work here.”
“No,” Matt said. “That should do it for now. Thanks again, Kevin.” He hung up the phone and left the empty office, taking the stairs back to the first floor. He was closer to the parking lot door than he was to the front door he’d come in earlier so he left by the back door. The walk back to his office took him less time than the trip here. He was walking with a little renewed faith in his step.
When he got back to the office Nick was sitting at his desk but Veronica was gone. Matt gestured with his chin at the empty desk. “Where’d your sister go?”
“She wouldn’t say,” Nick told him. “She said something about wanting a hot pretzel from the corner and said she’d bring back three of them. Said she thought she’d be back before you got back, but I guess not.”
“I’d better try calling her cell phone,” Matt said.
“You find anything out at the twelfth?” Nick asked.
“I sure did,” Matt said, dialing Veronica’s cell. He held up his index finger as the phone rang. “Veronica, it’s Dad. Call me right back when you get this.” He hung up his phone and turned back to Nick. “I found the connection between Wells and the other three and you’re not going to believe what it was.”
“I can’t imagine what,” Nick said.
“He was the parole officer for all three of the others,” Matt explained. “It’s starting to make sense now. How’s this? Abbott, Whittaker and Bellamy were plotting the Victorville holdup when Wells came calling on them as part of their parole. My guess is that he saw or heard something that he wasn’t supposed to and they had to take him along with them so he wouldn’t spoil their plans.”
“Only Abbott got greedy afterwards,” Nick said. “He got rid of his two accomplices and his parole officer all in one move and then dumped the car over the edge, taking off on foot with the bank bag. That about the way you figured it?”
Matt nodded. “Pretty much. Wells was undoubtedly taken by force. Probably tied and gagged and thrown into the trunk. After the other three left the bank with the bag, they must have gotten into an argument about splitting up the cash and Abbott pulls over to the wayside.”
“Which wasn’t even a wayside back then,” Nick added.
“Right,” Matt continued. “He probably forces his partners out at gunpoint and tells them to undress before he shoots them both in the head and throws their bodies back into the car. I can only imagine the terror Wells is feeling at that point, having heard the exchanges and the gunfire. He has to know he’s next. I’d say Abbott pulled him out of the trunk, untied him and told him to undress as well, giving him some cock and bull story about leaving him there naked. I’d say once Wells took off his clothes that he had less than a minute to say his prayers. Abbott throws Wells into the back seat, slams the door, put the car in neutral and shoves it over the edge. Now he’s got no partners to split the bank money with.”
“It all fits,” Nick agreed. “But what about…?”
Veronica walked back into the office and was surprised to see her father standing there. She laid one of the hot pretzels on Matt desk and dropped two mustard packets next to it. She did the same for her brother and then returned to her own desk to eat hers. She’d taken on bite and then looked at Matt. “So what did you find out, Dad?”
Matt and Nick exchanged a glance before Matt turned back to Veronica. “I don’t want to have to tell this whole story again,” he said. “Short version is that I found the connection between the four men—Wells. He was their parole officer.”
Veronica took another bite of her pretzel, chewed and swallowed before offering, “It looks like Mrs. Wells was right about her boy, Robby,” she said. “Somehow from what she told us I had a feeling there must have been something to the t
hings she told us. She’ll be glad to hear that her Robby was a good boy after all.”
“Not so fast,” Matt said, holding up one hand. “We don’t know that for sure. We were just supposing when you walked in. What if Robby was a willing participant instead of a hostage? What if he saw his big chance to make more money than the county would pay him in eight or nine years? What if he and the other two were killed to avoid having to split the take? What if…?”
“Okay, Dad,” Veronica said. “I get it. Could go either way. So now what do we do?”
“Now we dig in and see what else we can find out before we go back to Mrs. Wells with any news,” Matt said.
“And just how do you propose we do that?” Nick asked.
“That’s where good old-fashioned legwork comes in,” Matt explained.
“Okay, so where do we go from here?” Veronica said.
“I’m not sure,” Matt told her. “There are so many cobwebs on this trail that it might be to our best advantage to check with the Victorville police and see what their records might reveal.” Veronica and Nick both stood but Matt held up one hand. “It doesn’t take three of us to drive to Victorville on a case that’s not paying us anything. Why don’t you both do some more digging around here and I’ll drive up there? I should be back later this afternoon.”
Nick raised his hand, like a kid in school with the correct answer. “Uh Dad, is this what you call the Democratic process? How did you determine that you’d be the one to go?”
“I thought about it long and hard,” Matt said. “I weighed all the options, looked at all the pros and cons and did some soul searching before I came to my conclusion.”
“In other words,” Nick said, “because you said so.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what you always told us when we were growing up,” Nick said. “When you’d tell us to do something and we’d question you, your pat answer was always, because I said so, and leave it at that.”
