by Ace Collins
Chapter 81
Meeker was anxious to get back to Rose. She felt responsible for the girl and didn’t appreciate the fact that it was Asher watching her in town instead of her. But just because she was miffed at having to dig through the house didn’t mean she wasn’t doing a thorough job. She even double-checked everything the men did. Yet the only thing she found of interest was a phone number on a scrap of paper in Burgess’s billfold. As there was no phone at the house, she slipped that into her pocket. She’d find out whose number it was later.
“There’s nothing in the house,” Adams said as he sat down in a threadbare living room chair. “We’ve been all through it. That includes the tiny attic. Ross even got his flashlight and checked the crawl space under the house.”
Meeker grimly added, “When I questioned the woman, she claimed she didn’t know anything about any money. Strangely, I believe her. I think she was too shocked and frightened to lie. Maybe she took Rose in an attempt to make up for the daughter that was killed.”
Reese shook his head. “Well, if there is any money left, he might have buried it. We can get a full team in here to search the property, so there is no reason for us to do that.”
“Has anyone looked in Burgess’s car?” Meeker asked.
“I looked through the trunk and the glove box,” Adams answered. “There was nothing there.”
“How about under the backseat?” she asked.
Reese’s eyes caught hers. Grabbing a flashlight, he led the way to the Graham. Opening the passenger door, he flipped the front seat forward and reached for the back cushion. It wouldn’t move.
“Let me see the light,” Meeker demanded.
After sliding it on, she aimed the beam down toward the floor. There were two latches, similar to the one that had been rigged on the door leading to the small room where the couple had hidden Rose. The only difference was these two were secured with small padlocks.
“This is a job for our locksmith,” Meeker announced. Stepping back, she handed the flashlight to Reese who immediately kneeled down and examined the locks.
“My tools of the trade won’t work on these,” he explained. After standing and yanking out his gun, he added, “So step back and cover your ears. I’m doing this the old-fashioned way.”
One shot was all it took for the first lock to give up. The second one was a bit more stubborn. The agent used three rounds to “unlock” it. Replacing his weapon in his shoulder holster, he reached down and flipped the lower part of the backseat. Shining a light on the upside-down cushion revealed at least a part of what they were looking for. “Let’s take the cushion inside and see what we have.”
Back in the house the four agents sat around a wobbly wooden table and pulled the money from the cushion. After splitting it four ways, they started counting. As the loot was all one-hundred-dollar bills it took less than five minutes to tally.
“I have five thousand four hundred,” Adams announced.
Ross tapped his pile and said, “Four thousand three hundred.
Reese chimed in, “Six thousand even.”
All eyes fell on the woman. “Eight thousand two hundred.” She did some quick mental math and said, “That’s twenty-three thousand nine hundred. Even taking into account that ten grand he gave McGrew and the fact he bought the Graham, this house, and likely some other things, that’s well short of what was missing from the Watling estate. There should be a lot more left.”
“We’ll have to get a team to search for places he might have buried it,” Reese repeated. “Someone needs to question the woman, too. She might know more than we think.”
“We through here?” Adams asked.
“I guess so,” Reese said. “At least the searching part. When are the other agents going to get here?”
“In about two hours,” Ross said. “Some treasury men from Springfield.”
“Okay,” Reese said with a sigh. “This place has to be guarded until we are sure we’ve found all the cash. I’d do it, but I know that Helen feels we need to get Rose back to her parents. And I agree with her. Can you guys stick around until backup arrives?”
“Sure,” Adams chimed in, as if he had a choice.
“And, Ross,” Reese said, “as you are the veteran, you’re in charge until I get back in a couple of days.”
“You got it,” he replied.
“We’ll drop your car off on our way back to town.”
“You can give us that new coupe.” Adams laughed. “We won’t complain.”
“No way,” Reese shot back.
Gathering up the cash, Reese led the way to the car that someone had pulled into the driveway. He already had it started when Meeker slid in and closed the door.
“At least we got the kid,” he said. “And some of the cash. I wonder what he did with the rest.”
“He never had it,” Meeker stated.
He looked at the woman, her face illuminated by the dash lights. “What do you mean?”
“He didn’t have the brains to orchestrate this complex deal. There was someone working with them. That person either has the rest of the cash or had it.”
He grinned. “I’m thinking you have an idea as to who it is.”
“I’ve got a lead,” she admitted, “but I need some help to figure it out. After we get Rose back to her parents, I want to gather everyone who was associated with the Packard in one place and lay out what I think happened. With everyone there, I believe we can figure it all out. Can you help me arrange that?”
“I think so.” He laughed. “And by the way, I understand you stood between Rose and Burgess. So you did offer to lay down your life for that little girl.”
“You offered your life as well,” she quickly replied. “So now we both know what we are made of.”
Chapter 82
Thanks to counting games with playing cards and the alphabet countdown with road signs, as well as reading through the half-dozen books they had purchased at a store in St. Louis, Meeker and Rose had fully bonded on their trip from Koshkonong to Oakwood. During those long hours of games and stories, the child opened up, and from her own young perspective, she told Meeker about her life clear back to the day she was taken.
The little girl remembered two men. One was Burgess or Burton. He’d taken her from the shop. But she’d only seen the other man a couple of times. She couldn’t remember what he looked like, but she did recall that his words hurt. She couldn’t put it any clearer than that, so Meeker didn’t fully understand what she meant, but whatever he’d said, the tone he’d used had obviously had a profound effect on the girl.
Rose said Burgess was the man who had given her to Hooks, the woman she had been told to call Mommy. But Rose wouldn’t do it.
“She hit me,” Rose announced, “when I wouldn’t call her Mommy. But I didn’t care. I just kept saying, ‘You’re not my mommy.’ ”
And she seemed to understand where she was going. She remembered her parents. She could describe them in detail. She also remembered her room and a laundry list of other facets of her life. Best of all, she was excited to be going to Oakwood. Even though Oakwood was where the nightmare had begun.
Reese parked the ‘42 Ford in front of the flower shop. The motor was still idling when Meeker opened the door, stepped out into the sunshine, and then turned and reached for the little girl’s hand.
Rose took in the sight of the flower shop. She smiled and hopped out into the street, tugging on Meeker’s arm as they headed to the front door. They didn’t have to open it; Carole did that for them.
The next moment was like nothing Meeker had ever witnessed. The fact that it happened at Carole’s Flowers was so appropriate.
As quickly as Meeker let go of Rose’s hand, the child jumped up into her mother’s arms. There was no hesitation. Rose knew she was home. As the child and mother drew each other close, Helen saw her own mother longing for a moment like this that never came. And as Carole began sobbing, it was the child who offered words that summed up
the whole episode.
“It’s a happy time,” Rose scolded her, wiping her tears. “Mommy, it’s a happy time.”
Kissing her daughter’s cheek, Carole whispered, “Yes, it is. Yes, it is!”
Standing at the counter, his eyes filled with disbelief, was a man in an Army uniform. He was just days from being shipped overseas. The little girl lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder. No one had to tell her who he was.
“Daddy!” Rose screamed.
Rushing to his wife and child, George wrapped them both up in his arms. “My baby,” he whispered.
“I’m not a baby anymore,” Rose corrected him.
After stepping through the open door and into the shop, Helen Meeker stood to one side silently watching the reunion. She didn’t know what to do or what to say. It was all so overwhelming. The moment she never actually believed would happen had happened.
She sensed her partner’s presence behind her. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, “Look outside.”
Meeker glanced over her shoulder and out the window. A hundred people where watching through the glass. Many were crying, some were praying, and no one was saying anything. Maybe it was because, like Meeker, they couldn’t figure out what to say.
“With all the uncertainty in this world,” Reese quietly said, “with so many of their husbands and sons fighting in a war, these people needed to know that someone could safely come home. You’ve given them that.”
“We have,” she corrected him. “Even if J. Edgar never admits it, ‘The Great Experiment’ worked!”
He nodded and whispered, “And everything’s set for tonight. Everyone will be here. Are you sure you won’t tell me what you have planned?”
“No.” She smiled. “Let me have my moment and put the cap on this case and my career with the FBI in my own way.”
“I owe you that much,” he assured her.
“Are the technicians going to be able to hook up the special equipment I need?”
Reese nodded. “They’ll have it ready. Listen, I need to get into Danville and make sure everything you and I need has come in.”
“You’ve got my list,” she whispered. “This is my show. What do you need?”
“That’s my surprise,” he answered. “Consider it a thank-you for a couple of times you saved my life. I’ll see you later.”
Reese opened the front door, the bell rang, and he stepped out. As he disappeared, Meeker turned her attention back to the reunited family. In a short while she was going to have to push that little girl into a place where at least one more bad memory was going to bubble to the surface. She prayed that not only would Rose be strong enough to handle it, but that she would be strong enough to help her uncover the complete truth.
Chapter 83
It was almost eight when nearly everyone who had had any kind of a connection to the Packard was gathered in Carole’s Flower Shop. Rose and Angel were playing jacks on the floor in a corner, while most of the others had found places to stand, sit, or lean as they waited for the final invitee to arrive. Though most of them knew each other, it was not a comfortable scene. No one understood why the meeting was called, and each of them fidgeted as if they were standing outside the principal’s office waiting to find out what they had done wrong. None of them made eye contact with each other, and except for a few whispers between George and Carole, no one spoke. Thus, beyond the children’s play, the only real noise was the uneasy breathing of those waiting for the party to start.
Henry Reese, dressed in a black suit with white shirt and black tie, had spent enough time getting ready for this unique moment in his personal history to appear very much Hollywood’s prototype of an FBI agent. Unlike the others, who were tense, he was relaxed, casually leaning up against a display case that stood beside the front door. He seemed to sense that the final curtain call of Eleanor’s Grand Experiment was going to be very special indeed.
As the flower shop’s clock struck the hour of eight, Meeker glanced out the window. A single streetlight illuminated the 1936 Packard Beverly Coffman had driven down to Oakwood from her home in Wilmette.
“When are we going to get started?” Sheriff Jed Atkins asked. “Mabel doesn’t like to be left alone at night.”
“I was waiting on the arrival of another guest,” Meeker answered, “but I guess I can get started. Let me start by telling you I brought each of you here tonight because of a connection to that yellow Packard sitting on the street just outside this shop. It has made an impact on every life here in some way or another, and I believe it is going help us solve not just one but three crimes.”
Her eyes shifted from the sheriff, to Sam Johns, to Landers, who’d come up from Arkansas, to the Halls and Beverly Coffman, before landing on Henry Reese. She winked at her former partner, and then she shifted her gaze to the salesman from Arkansas. Landers reached up and rubbed his throat with his right hand.
“You have a question, Bill?” Meeker asked.
“You said three crimes? I thought there were only two.”
She nodded, spun on her heels, took a long look at the front glass, and then explained, “Everyone knows about the kidnapping. Everyone here also knows about the money that was stolen from Abbi Watling. But I think only one person in this room is aware that there was a murder.”
“A murder?” Sheriff Atkins’s voice was laced with a mixture of confusion and shock. “Are you talking about Abbi? I always had the gut feeling someone killed her.”
Meeker looked from the sheriff to the man standing beside him. Samuel Johns caught her gaze then diverted his eyes to the floor. He was really uneasy, and why not? This case would have been a lot easier if the attorney had just taken a closer look at the sketch of Burgess.
“Mr. Johns,” Meeker broke into the silence. She caught him and everyone else by surprise. “I still don’t fully understand why you didn’t recognize Burton, the man you knew as Burgess, from our sketch.”
The lawyer awkwardly shrugged. “I guess I should have. I just didn’t think he was capable of doing anything like that.”
“That shows bad judgment in at least two ways,” Meeker calmly explained. “I’d expect more from a member of your profession. As a member of the bar, I might be inclined to believe you were keeping quiet to protect yourself.”
“I’ve heard the gossip,” Johns shot back. “There are a lot of folks who seem to think I had a hand in the missing cash.”
“And,” Meeker continued, “even if you didn’t help plan her murder, you might have been after Abbi’s money. Even lawyers struggled in the Depression. The year Abigale Watling died was about as tough as any in the 1930s, so maybe you needed to get your hands on that cash. Janet Carson trusted you. It wouldn’t have been that hard to pull the wool over her eyes. And you seem to be a pretty big spender. That desk in your office probably costs more than most cars.”
“Are you serious?” the man roared. “How dare you question my integrity!”
She smiled. “Well, when I visited with you in your office you did expose something that would put any professional investigator on alert. It sure set off warning bells.” Glancing over at Reese, she paused.
As Meeker considered her next words, Johns was deflating like a balloon on a winter’s day, and though he surely wanted desperately to defend himself, he seemed at a loss for words. Finally he asked, “What did I say or do?”
“You knew which seat in the car the money was stored under,” she explained. “When we gave you that scrap of information, you told us it was the backseat that was uncomfortable. We hadn’t told you that our lab found the evidence in the backseat. We just said a seat.”
“But,” he argued. “I tell you I’m innocent.”
“We’ll see,” Meeker replied. She paused for a moment, her eyes falling on George and Carole Hall, before noting, “Of course it seems even more strange that a trained officer of the law like Sheriff Atkins missed indentifying Burgess.”
“I thought the sketch looked something
like Mitchell,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sure. I’d have looked stupid if I was wrong.”
“You look pretty stupid now,” Meeker solemnly noted.
“You know what many at the FBI are saying?” Reese added.
“Yeah,” the sheriff mumbled as he folded his arm. “Some folks in town are, too. They’re saying I worked with Burgess or Barton or whatever his name is and I took some of Abbi’s money.”
“It’s not that far-fetched,” Meeker said, “that you and an old friend like Sam Johns would be in this together. After all, you were the ones who supposedly searched the Packard after Abbi died.”
“I swear—” he said.
“Not right now,” Meeker cut him off. “Save swearing until your hand is on the Bible in the courtroom.”
The dinging of the bell over the door caused everyone to turn. Dressed in a gray coat, Janet Carson stepped in, clutching an envelope in her hands. Her gaze moved from person to person in the room until her eyes finally locked onto Meeker.
“Are you Helen Meeker?” Carson asked.
“Yes, I am,” Meeker replied.
“Here is what you asked for.”
As Meeker took the envelope, Janet unbuttoned her coat, revealing a nicely tailored olive-green suit that matched her pumps. She pulled the coat off her shoulders and laid it down on an empty bench.
“If you’re going to point fingers,” Atkins barked, “then you need to look at her.”
“Miss Carson?” Meeker asked.
“Yes,” he growled.
“Why?”
“Well,” the sheriff said, “she must have money. Look at the suit she has on. I bet it cost a pretty penny. Doubt if she could buy that on a schoolteacher’s salary.”
“But her aunt’s money was going to her anyway,” Meeker pointed out. “What reason would she have to take it?”
“Maybe she wanted to avoid paying taxes on it,” Atkins said.
Meeker cast an eye toward the late arrival before moving to the center of the room and pulling a small scrap of paper from her pocket. “The missing piece might be right here. It’s a phone number I found in the billfold of Mitchell Burgess. It’s pretty old, as you can tell by the faded ink and worn paper. But it was important enough that he kept it. Why?”
