The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

Winston looked at her for a moment. She felt naked under his gaze and in spite of her desire to get this business over with, she started thinking about being naked in his office. There was something about the way he held her eyes to his that thrilled her. There was a power behind those eyes that made her excited. She turned away to compose herself and scanned the surface of his desk. In the corner she could see a framed portrait of a woman. Her excitement faltered.

  “I see,” the man finally said. “I cannot tell you to sign this contract. I can tell you that by signing it, you will not be breaking any laws you have not already broken if it turns out you are not the author.”

  “Which means?” Sarah asked hesitantly.

  “Which means if you are the author or wish to continue claiming to be, it would be to your advantage to sign the contract,” Winston said, taking the papers and handing them to Sarah. “Otherwise, send it back and forget it.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah smiled. “I appreciate everything. How much do I owe you?”

  “Stop by Andrea’s desk on your way out,” the lawyer said rising and offering her a hand. “She’ll get you taken care of.”

  Sarah shook the man’s hand and stepped toward the door. “Thanks again, Mr. Bradley. With any luck we’ll meet again.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Winston said. “Have a good day, Ms. Tuttle.”

  Chapter 57

  (Legal Visitor)

  Jack Bolder’s name was called by the guard and Allan rose to his feet. He had another visitor. He followed the same routine as the time Henry came to see him. Indeed, he was expecting to see Henry in the small cubicle. Instead he was taken to a small meeting room with no glass barrier. Surprise gave way to concern as his mind raced with the possible reasons he might be there. The detectives could be preparing to question him again. Or maybe Sarah had come to explain why she was ruining his life.

  The door on the visitor’s side opened. Ben stepped into the small room and the door closed and locked behind him. The lawyer set his briefcase on the table and held his hand out to Allan. Allan took it and was comforted by the powerful shake of the other.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Ben said. “I’ve been gathering information, checking you out if you will. Trying to learn everything I can learn about Allan Tuttle slash Jack Bolder. Problem is there isn’t a lot out there to learn about either one of you. True to form, my investigator did turn some things up. He’s going to join us here in a few minutes to follow up on some questions he has. Meanwhile, how are you holding up? Anything I can get you? Cigarettes? Chocolate bars? Books? Magazines? Anything at all. You name it, I’ll make sure you get it.”

  “Can you get me out of here?” Allan asked.

  Ben smiled reassuringly. “I’m doing my best. Just hang in there. They haven’t charged you yet. They have to soon or they have to release you. Not likely they'll release you, but possible.”

  “What about Mrs. Login?” Allan asked hopefully. “Didn’t she agree to identify me?”

  “Well, about that,” Ben said. “Mrs. Login is dead.”

  “You’re kidding,” Allan sighed. “I hadn’t heard. How long ago did she die?”

  “The police found her yesterday,” Ben said.

  “Yesterday?” Allan said. “Yesterday? I can’t believe it. How?”

  “She was murdered,” Ben said.

  “Murdered?” Allan’s voice rose. “Who would want to kill Mrs. Login?”

  “They don’t know that,” Ben said. “I can tell you they are looking at the time frame to see if they can include you as a suspect.”

  “Me?” his voice went higher. “Why would I kill the one woman I said can identify me?”

  “They think you gave Login’s name as a way to show your intentions to cooperate and hopefully give them reason to believe you are innocent. They also believe you did so knowing Mrs. Login was already, or would soon be dead,” Ben said.

  Allan lowered his sagging face into his hands. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Login in years. I only thought of her the day the detectives were asking all their questions.”

  “And she died that same day,” Ben said. “You see why they might have a problem with that?”

  “Yea, I see the problem,” Allan said. “But I didn’t kill her.”

  “The police hinted they might be looking for an accomplice,” Ben said. “They’ve been asking Mr. Cutter some questions.”

  “You mean Henry?” Allan looked up. “He doesn’t even know her. Why would they ask him about it?”

  “Like I said,” Ben said, “they are looking for an accomplice. Someone who could have killed Mrs. Login while you were locked up in here. It gives you a perfect alibi and could throw some doubt on your guilt in the other murder.”

  “But Henry?” Allan said. “The man wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “While you and I may know that,” Ben said, “all the police know is that Henry is a decorated veteran. A war hero if you will. He saved a group of his friends who got pinned down by the enemy. He had to kill a lot of men to get them out.”

  “That was war,” Allan said.

  “It demonstrates the ability to kill,” Ben said. “He’s done it before, he could do it again. That kind of thinking.”

  “What does Henry say?” Allan asked. “How is he taking all this?”

  “You know Henry,” Ben smiled. “He’s ready to fight. He has a pretty good alibi, but it isn’t rock solid. They won’t be able to connect him to the crime, because he wasn’t there. So, for now let’s forget about Mrs. Login and discuss your case.”

  “Mrs. Login was all I had,” Allan said.

  “Not necessarily,” Ben said. “Like I said, Monte has some questions.”

  Ben rose and walked to the door he had entered. There was a phone on the wall similar to the one in the visiting booths, no buttons to dial. He simply lifted the phone and started talking. A few seconds later he hung up and returned to sit across from Allan.

  “Monte’s here,” Ben said. “They're bringing him in.”

  The door behind Ben opened and a disheveled looking man walked in. He walked up to the lawyer and the two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Monte sat next to Ben and looked across to Allan.

  “This is Monte Velmir,” Ben introduced. “He doesn’t look like much . . .”

  “Hey,” the disheveled man said.

  “. . . but he is a hell of an investigator.”

  “That’s better,” Monte grinned. He offered a hand to Allan, “Good to meet you.”

  “Monte here has some things to ask you about Jack Bolder and the Tuttles,” Ben explained. “He seems to think there are some discrepancies.”

  “Oh, there are some discrepancies,” Monte said shifting his body in his seat.

  “Okay,” Allan said. “What do you want to know?”

  “First of all,” Monte pulled a notebook out of his pocket. “Let’s start with Bolder. The books claim he is married and lives in this town. Yet there is no Jack Bolder in the phone book, or anywhere else I can find.”

  “That’s because there is no Jack Bolder,” Allan said.

  “Which brings me to my question,” Monte said. “Why does Larry Jasper say there is a Jack Bolder?”

  Allan sighed. “When I bought the cabin from Larry I mentioned I was a writer. I gave him a copy of the book I had just published. The name on the book is Jack Bolder. He’s called me Jack ever since.”

  “And you never corrected him?”

  “Did you meet Larry?”

  “Yes I did,” Monte said.

  “Then you should know why I never corrected him,” Allan said. “Not that I never did. The first few times I pointed out his error and he shrugged it off and asked if I could give him some books to sell in the store, signed. Local celebrity thing.”

  “Okay,” Monte wrote in his notebook. “What about Allan Tuttle? How is it no one knows him?”

  “People know me,” Allan said.

  “Not one person I spoke to could give me your name when I show
ed your picture,” Monte said. “And I talked to every neighbor and every clerk in every store in the area you supposedly live in. No one knew who you were. Looks really bad for your case. On the other hand, I showed a head shot of the stiff down in the morgue to the same people and no one knew him either.”

  “I have spent the last ten years working on a writing career,” Allan said. “I didn’t go out much. Sarah did most of the shopping so I could work. She dealt with the repairmen and talked with the neighbors. She dealt with everything.”

  “What about your neighbors?” Monte said. “None of them know you.”

  “I didn’t go out,” Allan said. “They don’t know me and I don’t know them. It’s just the way it is.”

  Monte jotted something down and frowned. “Allan Tuttle married Sarah Tuttle almost nine years ago.”

  “Correct,” Allan said. “June twenty-third . . .”

  “Yea, yea,” Monte waved his hand in front of Allan. “Did you have pictures taken?”

  “Sure,” Allan said. “Not a lot. We had wedding pictures and some travel shots. Why?”

  “I was in the Tuttle house,” Monte said. “There is no wedding picture. There are damned few pictures as a matter of fact.”

  “Sarah must have gotten rid of them,” Allan suggested.

  “That’s what I thought, too,” Monte said. “I have to ask you something. I mean if your story is true and she is setting you up, I really have to ask.”

  “Ask what?”

  “What did you do to piss her off so bad?”

  Chapter 58

  (Jack Bolder)

  Carl sat at a table in the county library looking through a stack of documents he had found with the name Jack Bolder on them. Most were old, brief accounts in the city records. The reading fascinated Carl, a history buff from way back. The chance to follow the history of a man was one of the reasons Carl had selected his line of work.

  Jack Bolder was born April second nineteen-nineteen, the son of a farmer. His mother stayed home carrying for Jack and his five siblings. Jack was the youngest. There was little information on him until nineteen-thirty-five when Jack tried to enlist in the army. He was rejected because of his age. There was a story about his patriotism. The story mentioned he worked in the local general store at the time.

  In nineteen-forty-two he married Mary Ann Green. In forty-nine, Mary Ann passed away. There was nothing more about him until he remarried in fifty-seven. Her name was Ruth Rolland, a twenty-six year old school teacher. Jack was still at the general store.

  In sixty-two, the couple had a son, Jack Junior. In sixty-four, they had a daughter, Elizabeth. In nineteen seventy-two, Jack bought the general store from the previous owner’s widow. There was a receipt for the purchase of a home in seventy-five. In seventy-seven, Ruth and Jack Junior were killed in an automobile accident. After that there was nothing. In fact there were no records at all between the years of eighty-one and ninety-eight.

  Carl rose from his seat and stretched his limbs. He walked to the information desk and waited while the woman behind the counter tried desperately to help an elderly man find a book he was looking for. The difficulty in finding the man’s book was due to his not remembering the title or the author. In spite of the woman’s obvious frustration, she tried everything she could to find what the man wanted. He in turned seemed confidant she would. Carl got the impression the old man was a regular guest to the library. To Carl’s amazement, the woman found the book and led the man to locate it on the shelf. She returned and was quick to apologize for Carl’s wait.

  “Not at all,” Carl said. “I’m impressed. I would have never had the patience to do what you did.”

  “Mr. Kirby’s been coming here for years,” the woman smiled. “Always knows exactly what he wants but never knows the title. Now, how can I help you?”

  “Well, I’ve been looking through periodicals and such,” Carl said. “I’m trying to follow the history of a man who was born in this area in nineteen-nineteen.”

  “That’s quite a feat,” the woman smiled. “I bet you have more patience than you’re letting on.”

  Carl chuckled. “Maybe. Anyway, I ran into a small problem. The woman who gave me the periodicals and newspapers left out almost twenty years’ worth. I think these may be the critical years in my research. Could you look them up for me?”

  “Eighty-one to ninety-eight?”

  “Yea,” Carl said. “You are good. How did you know?”

  “We had a fire in ninety-nine,” the woman said. “Lost the years you are looking for. And unfortunately, there was no other source to recover them from. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I can get you some state papers, but they probably wouldn’t have much on a local man. Unless he was a politician or high profile criminal.”

  “Nope,” Carl said. “No such luck.”

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized again.

  “Not a problem,” Carl said. “I’ve run into worse obstacles than this. Thanks for the help.”

  He smiled at her and returned to his table. He flipped through pages with little enthusiasm. As expected he found nothing more on Jack Bolder. He pushed ahead through the years looking for the name Allan Tuttle. There were only two entries. The first was when Allan Tuttle bought his house in two-thousand-two. The second was an announcement of his marriage to Sarah. There was no accompanying photo.

  Carl turned back to the earlier years and searched for the name Tuttle. There was nothing to be found. He sat back in his chair and stared at the stacks of papers without seeing them. Supposedly, the name Jack Bolder was a pen name and Allan Tuttle was the real man. Carl could find a Jack Bolder in history, and no Allan Tuttle. In the missing twenty years something happened to change that. Of course, being born in nineteen-nineteen, it stood to reason Jack may have died in those years. The question of where Allan Tuttle came from was somewhere in those lost years. Carl wanted a look at those years.

  Carl stretched and started backtracking just to be sure he didn’t overlook anything. It wasn’t long before he gave up. He walked away from the table, apologizing to the woman behind the counter as he left the mess. She smiled and assured him it was no trouble. Carl smiled back and started to leave turning back suddenly.

  “Excuse me,” he said. The woman looked up again with the same pleasant expression as before.

  “Is there something else I can help you with?” she asked.

  “I was just curious,” Carl said. “You have a local author. A Jack Bolder.”

  “Oh, yes,” the woman said. “He writes a decent mystery. Are you interested in seeing one?”

  “No thanks,” Carl said. “I was actually wondering if you ever saw Mr. Bolder here in the library?”

  “Oh, sure,” she smiled. “He comes in fairly often. He usually spends a lot of time in the history and geography sections researching for his new books.”

  “Does he usually come alone?”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes,” Carl said. “Does he come alone, or does he bring someone with him, like his wife maybe?”

  “Well,” the woman seemed to be trying to remember. “I don’t remember him coming with anyone.”

  “Okay,” Carl said. “Thanks.”

  He turned away again. Nearly out the door, the woman’s voice brought him back again. She was punching the keys on the computer keyboard in front of her. Carl stepped up to the counter looking at the puzzled expression on the librarian’s face.

  “Did you find something?” Carl asked.

  “It’s what I didn’t find. When you asked about his wife I got curious to see if she was listed on his card,” the woman said. “And it’s the funniest thing . . .”

  “What’s that?”

  “He doesn’t have a card,” she said. “There’s no Bolder listed at all.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “It probably means he never checked anything out,” the librarian said. “But that can’t be, I’m sure he took things home from time to tim
e.”

  “Is it possible he had the card under a different name?” Carl asked.

  “Not unless he had identification with another name on it,” she said. “He couldn’t get a card without a photo I.D.”

  “Do me a favor,” Carl said. “Look up Allan Tuttle and tell me what the last book he checked out was.”

  “Tuttle?”

  “Yea. T-u-t-t-l-e.”

  He watched the woman as she worked the keys and waited for the results to come up on her screen. It took a while as the computer was an outdated model. The screen finally flickered to life and she sat up in her seat.

  “Here it is,” she said. “There were two: '101 Things to do in Chicago' and 'A guide to Chicago's historic Districts'”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “Does that help?”

  “You can’t imagine how much,” Carl smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  As he disappeared through the door he still had the smile on his lips. He turned back to the woman and waved to her as the door closed between them. She had definitely helped him.

  Chapter 59

  (The District Attorney)

  “I can’t believe it,” Dave yelled.

  The man standing across the desk from him was unfazed by the detective’s outburst. He stood silently waiting for the detective to calm down. Only then did District Attorney James Trout pick up the document on his desk.

  “You’re lucky I’m considering manslaughter,” James said. “Look at the evidence. You have nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Dave said through clenched teeth. “What do you mean nothing? We have proof that the suspect had contact with the victim.”

  “You have a fingerprint on a credit card,” James said.

  “The suspect’s fingerprint on the victim’s credit card,” Dave clarified. “You know that puts them together.”

  “It proves the suspect had contact with the victim,” James agreed. “It doesn’t tell us when that contact occurred. It could have been a day or two earlier. You get me a witness or a fingerprint on a murder weapon, and I’ll give you murder one. For now you’re looking at manslaughter and more than likely he’ll walk away from that. Unless you want to let him go now and bring me something more substantial.”