by Ray Flynt
“Good evening, Major, I’m Brad Frame.”
Denton studied him with narrowed eyelids, then took a step back and gestured inside, which Brad decided was as close to an invitation to enter as he’d likely get.
“This is my wife, Sarah,” Denton said, stiffly.
“Welcome,” Sarah said, sounding like she meant it. “Why don’t you two go into the living room. I was just getting ready to take the girls off to bed.”
Sarah had dimples, and her dark hair was pulled into a pony tail.
Their daughters peered shyly around the corner. They appeared to be about five and seven respectively, dressed in lace edged nightgowns and sporting long blonde hair that favored their father’s coloring.
“How adorable!” Brad smiled at them, at which point the girls disappeared behind the archway that separated the foyer from the living room.
“Come on, girls,” Sarah said, “time for your bedtime story.” Brad watched as they came out of hiding and trailed after their mother.
Brad followed Denton as he marched silently into the living room. Brad recognized one of Amanda’s ceramic raku pieces prominently displayed above the mantle. It added a splash of color to a mostly beige room. Brad took a seat in a cushioned arm chair to which Denton had directed him and watched as Denton pulled up a wooden straight-backed chair.
Denton erupted. “I don’t know who you are or how you came to be working for my mother, but I want to object to your investigation in the strongest possible terms.” He sounded as if he’d rehearsed this line for most of the evening. “Furthermore, I’ve been in touch with my attorney and we’re prepared to get an injunction to stop you.”
“Stop me from what?” Brad asked softly.
Denton paused, his eyes glancing at the carpet. “Stop you from defrauding my mother and investigating my brother’s death.”
“Then you’re convinced your brother committed suicide?” Brad said.
“Yes. And I don’t like the—”
“Why?”
“Wh… what?” Denton stuttered at Brad’s question.
“Why are you convinced your brother committed suicide?”
“Because of all the evidence,” Denton said.
“What evidence?”
“The note, the car running, and the fact he’s dead. Can’t you let him stay dead in peace?” Denton pleaded. “Don’t you know what this did—what it’s doing to my mother?”
Brad leaned forward. “Why won’t you trust her to be the judge of what she needs to bring closure to her son’s death?”
Denton heaved an exasperated sigh. “Look, I don’t want to threaten you—”
“Then don’t.”
Denton seemed momentarily disarmed. “I want you to stop investigating this case.”
Brad moved to the edge of his seat. “If your mother wants Dana’s death investigated, that’s good enough for me. I’m wondering why you don’t want it investigated. Have you something to hide?” Brad jabbed a finger toward him. “Talk with your attorney sir, and let’s go to court and have the whole story out. Instead of a relatively quiet inquiry to determine the facts, let’s plaster it on the pages of the local newspaper. Threaten me if you like, Major, but I can assure you of one thing, trying to stop my investigation won’t increase your chances of exchanging your gold oak leaf for a silver one.”
Denton leaped to his feet. “If you’ve said what you had to say, maybe you’d better go.”
Behind Denton’s bravura, Brad saw fear. Brad’s comments about making a public case seemed to distress him; perhaps because he understood the risk to his career if his superiors saw him embroiled in a legal action. Brad settled back into the cushions of the chair.
“The truth is I haven’t begun to say what needs to be said, but then I hadn’t expected to encounter such an asshole.”
Denton stared at Brad and swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I came here,” Brad continued, “to update you on what I’ve learned and share my perspective on why your mother wants me to pursue this case.”
Denton’s face flushed.
Sarah Carothers appeared, asking, “May I get you anything to drink? Soda, beer, coffee? I’ve brewed a fresh pot of decaf.”
“Coffee sounds good, thank you,” Brad replied.
With Sarah Carothers’ help, Brad had established he wasn’t about to be bullied out of their house.
Denton sagged back into his chair, and there was silence between the two of them while Sarah retrieved the coffee from the kitchen. Denton fumed and shifted in his seat, while Brad concentrated on acting relaxed.
Sarah returned and handed Brad his coffee, then pulled up a chair next to her husband.
Her presence seemed to soften Denton’s approach, as he said, “You were about to tell me how you got involved in the case.”
Brad recapped the entire story from the purchase of one of Amanda’s raku pieces to her e-mail message and their meeting a few days earlier.
“I understand it’s my mother who’s pushing this obsession of hers, Mr. Frame,” Denton began, “but are you aware that she’s spent most of the last four and one-half years high on drugs and liquor to the point where she sometimes didn’t know her name?”
Sarah reached over and touched her husband’s arm. “Denton.”
Denton glared at her, and barked, “It’s true!”
Sarah smiled in a charitable but disapproving way.
Denton lowered his voice, and said to Sarah, “He doesn’t know how many times I had to rescue her from a sleazy, back road bar. It was scandalous. She was the laughing stock of the whole community.”
“I’m aware of her problem with drugs and alcohol,” Brad said. “I would think you’d give her credit for overcoming it.”
“Has she?” Denton seemed unconvinced.
“She’s a strong woman with the courage of her convictions.”
“And I suppose you believe this crock about Dana being murdered?”
“Based on what I’ve seen to date, I doubt your brother committed suicide.”
“Well, that may mean you’re just as crazy as she is,” Denton said, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.
Sarah patted his arm.
“Your attitude may be effective with recruits, Major,” Frame said. “But from where I’m sitting, I see someone who can’t face up to his own pain over his brother’s death. How much do you really know? Did you know the car doors were locked when they found his body in the garage?”
“No. I, ah…” A grave look came over the Major’s face.
“Your mother knew. Why didn’t you?”
“She never said anything,” Denton remarked.
“She said you never wanted to listen to her.”
“No, that’s right,” he said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t.”
“She feels your disagreement about Dana’s suicide has driven a wedge between the two of you?”
“It’s not because of me—”
“Maybe the fact you wouldn’t talk about it with her—the fact that her only living relative didn’t care enough to share her grief—drove her to nearly four years of escape with booze and drugs.”
“Stop it! I’ve had enough. I’ve grieved enough. I wanted to put that painful chapter behind me. I hardly had time to get over my dad’s death, and then the suicide...” Denton’s voice trailed off, and Sarah put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“And let me tell you two other facts I’ve uncovered in our investigation that cast doubt on the suicide theory,” Brad said. “One, his keys—minus the ignition key to your mother’s car—were found in Dana’s left-hand pocket. An odd location for someone who was right-handed. Two, your brother wasn’t wearing any underwear or shoes or socks when his body was found. I realize that’s not significant by itself, but with the other items it forms a nucleus of doubt on the suicide theory.”
“Wait a minute,” Denton said, impatiently. “Did you say he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks?”
> “That’s right.”
Denton broke his erect bearing and stared off into the corner, as if trying to remember something.
“What is it?” Brad asked, waiting to see what tidbit had been unlocked in Denton’s memory.
“It’s nothing.”
Brad tried again. “You obviously had a thought.”
Sarah, the dutiful officer’s wife, asked, “May I get you more coffee?”
“Yes,” Brad said, “right after I find out what the shoes and socks information prompted your husband to remember.”
“It’s nothing really,” he said. “I just recall my mother telling me that Dana got the mail that morning. She said it was sitting on the kitchen table when she got home, so Dana must have gotten it. Well, you’ve seen where the mailbox is. I’m sure he would have had to put on shoes to pick up the mail.”
Sarah looked at her husband, and then back to Brad. For an instant she seemed about to say something, but didn’t.
“I’ll have that fresh cup of coffee now.” Brad handed his cup and saucer to Sarah. “That information is helpful. Is there anything else you can remember?”
“There is one other thing. As different as Dana and I were, we were both trained by our father in certain…,” he hesitated, as if searching his mind for the right word, “habits. My father was a career Marine, and he insisted we be completely dressed in the morning. We weren’t even allowed to lounge around the house on the weekend watching television in our pajamas. It was a firm rule.”
Brad nodded. It felt like the log jam with Denton Carothers had been broken. He casually asked, “How did you and Dana get along?”
“There was eight years difference in our ages. By the time I went to college he was ten years old. I tend to remember him as a little squirt.” Denton cracked a smile. “He looked up to me though. I could always get him to do whatever I wanted. You know, chores and stuff.”
Sarah returned with coffee for Brad, and handed her husband a cup as well.
“Dana was fifteen when we were married, wasn’t he, honey?”
Sarah nodded, before resuming her seat near to him.
“He had art talent at an early age,” Denton continued, “and I can remember him going to great pains to make signs for our car. One said, ‘Just Married,’ and the other one, ‘Las Vegas or Bust.’ That’s where we went on our honeymoon.” Denton touched his wife’s arm. “He took after Mom I guess. He did a great job on those signs.”
Brad heard Denton’s voice crack on the word ‘great,’ and saw him swipe the back of his right hand across his eyes.
Brad leaned forward in his seat. “Look, Denton, before we can successfully prove Dana’s death wasn’t by suicide, I need your help. And your mother needs your support.”
Denton’s fist clenched and anger rose in his voice. “Christ, it’s been four years. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I understand you saw him on the night before he died, at the opening of a new movie theatre in Beaufort.”
“Yeah,” Denton said, with a quizzical expression.
“Let me refresh your memory a little bit more. His girlfriend, Kathy Westin said you made a comment to her... let me find it.” Brad consulted his notes. “Here it is. You said, ‘I wish you better luck with him than I just had’ You were there too, Mrs. Carothers.”
“I saw him at the movies,” Denton said, “but I don’t remember what I said to him or anybody else.”
“Don’t you remember, honey,” Sarah said, “how Dana snapped at you when you interrupted him while he was talking to that other boy?”
“I really don’t, Sarah,” Denton said, impatiently. “Do you?”
“It was kind of strange,” Sarah began, staring at Brad. “We had just bought our tickets and Denton said, ‘There’s Dana.’ He and this other boy were talking over by the refreshment counter. We couldn’t see Dana’s face, but the other boy looked serious. Denton came up behind his brother and slapped him on the back. Dana turned around and didn’t even say anything, just scowled and shrugged and then went back to talking. I know we’ve gone through this, honey,” she said, turning back to face her husband. “That was the last time you saw him alive.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you remember, but I don’t,” Denton sounded frustrated.
“Did you tell them about the book you found?” Sarah asked.
The phone rang, and Sarah left the room to answer it.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that,” Denton said. “It’s another reason why I think it was a suicide. After he died, we went through Dana’s room. We found a library book under his bed entitled, Till Death We Part: The Life Cycle. He was studying all about it. It had to be suicide.”
Sarah walked back in the room and said, “Honey, it’s for you.”
“Get the number, I’ll call back,” Denton snapped.
“It’s the base. They said it was important, and I should interrupt you.”
“Excuse me,” Denton said, as he rose from his chair and walked in the kitchen to take his call.
“I wouldn’t be too hard on him,” Sarah said when her husband was out of earshot. “He’s gone through a lot these past few years. Denton never had time to fully recover from his father’s death. He idolized his dad. He always wanted to be just like him. Denton isn’t just trying to protect his career. He’s trying to hold on to the positive memories, and Dana’s death and what it did to his mother made that difficult.”
“Have your husband and Amanda ever talked about Dana’s death?” Frame asked.
Sarah glanced toward the kitchen and then lowered her voice. “When Denton was ready to talk about what happened, his mother was hooked on drugs. He wants to put that chapter behind him and now Amanda won’t let him.”
Denton cleared his throat as he returned to the living room. “Look, do we have anything more we need to talk about? I’ve told you all I know. I have to go over to the base. If I think of anything else I’ll call you.”
After one final round of pseudo-pleasantries, Brad was escorted to the door. As he walked toward his car he heard a verbal outburst inside the house. It was impossible to make out words, but he heard a shouting female voice followed a male one.
Brad drove two blocks from the Major’s residence, then pulled over and let his car idle with the lights on. In his rear view mirror he could observe the driveway of the Carothers’ home. He waited to see if Denton would head out for a return to the Marine base, or if that had just been a ruse to get Brad to leave.
At 9:58 p.m. Brad watched as Denton climbed into his vehicle, and a few minutes later sped by Brad’s parked car. Brad hoped he’d make it back to Hilton Head in time to catch the last ferry of the night to Daufuskie Island.
Chapter Seventeen
Brad activated the cruise control after he turned left on State Route 170 where the posted speed limit was 45 mph. He kept his left hand on the wheel and used his right to rub his neck muscles, followed by rolling his shoulders. He yawned. The tensions of the day had caught up with him, and he couldn’t wait to return to the beach house and relax with Beth.
A Brandenburg Concerto, one of his favorites, played on the radio, and he adjusted the volume, turning it up a few notches.
Brad noticed how clear the sky was and opened the moon roof to catch a glimpse of stars more visible in the rural countryside than he usually saw in Bryn Mawr, PA. At the edge of the highway fog began to form as the temperature dropped. This was South Carolina’s low country, and it seemed as if the roads were laid on “high ground” meandering through marshes and alongside creeks.
Brad continued to steer one-handed on the curvy, nearly empty highway, and reflected on the long day that had begun with Sharon’s 5 a.m. abdominal attack, followed by Amanda’s call to halt the investigation, and his meetings with Kathy Westin and Denton Carothers. He hummed along with the music.
Just when he thought he was the only car on the road, he spotted headlights in the rear view mirror.
A few seconds later
he noticed that the vehicle had closed the gap, and Brad put both hands on the wheel, alternating his view between the road ahead and the rearview mirror.
As the vehicle behind closed the gap, it also flashed its bright lights. Jerk!
Brad tapped his foot on the brake disengaging cruise control. He’d happily pull over to let the impatient driver pass, but on the curvy narrow road, with fog obscuring his view of the berm conditions, he didn’t want to risk running his tires into the muck.
He maintained his speed while the vehicle behind closed to within one car length. At first he thought it might have been a truck or SUV, but Brad could make out the roofline of a sedan.
Brad felt relief as he came out of curve, saw a half-mile of straight highway up ahead, and in the distance the tail lights of another car.
That asshole will finally be able to pass me. Brad tapped his brakes and slowed on the straightaway.
The interior of the rental car glowed from the reflected bright lights of the car behind, and Brad flipped the switch on the rear view mirror to lessen the glare.
Brad turned on his bright lights to help illuminate the stretch of road and slowed his speed to thirty-five miles an hour to encourage the car to pass.
Brad’s heart began to pound as he realized the car had no intention of passing.
It suddenly felt darker. The light from his pursuer’s high beams disappeared, the car so close—no more than a foot or two behind—that the bright lights had been replaced by the menacing shadow from the trunk of Brad’s own car.
Brad stared in his rear view mirror. With the bright lights blinding him, he hadn’t been able to make out who was driving the other car, but now the guy’s bright lights reflected off his trunk and gave him a full view of a face he didn’t recognize, but would never forget.
A yellow sign warned of a sharp curve to the right and a speed limit of fifteen mph. Brad knew he would have to maneuver his way out of this dangerous situation.
