by Beth Urich
“These odds sound pretty hard to beat,” Sid said.
“The results of the comparison between Sylvia’s DNA sample and that from the victim’s femur is definitive. For legal identification purposes they match. None of the DNA from the other potential victims’ relatives came close. The lab and Dr. Fredericks concur that our victim is Alexander Porter.”
Tom reviewed the brief report before asking, “Is this enough?”
Artie said, “The pieces of clothing and blanket included in the grave can be used to pinpoint the timeframe. No other missing person fits in that equation. I know the DNA evidence will need to be explained carefully by at least one expert in the field. Fredericks is well-known and respected as a forensic anthropologist. He has years of experience in precisely this type of investigation.”
Palmer commented, “But the real question is who killed Porter? After you convince the jury you know who the victim is, you must convince them you know who did the deed.”
“We’re working on that,” Tom said.
“Artie, you said Fredericks made recommendations. What exactly?” Palmer asked.
“He cautioned against telling anyone what we’ve found until you’ve made a firm case against someone. Relatives, in particular tend to go off half-cocked.”
Tom agreed, “Bryan’s pretty close to the edge already. If whoever killed his father is still alive, we don’t want the individual to see us coming.”
“Precisely,” Artie said.
“We plan on questioning Bryan about an issue related to the case. We’ve already discussed his father’s disappearance. He brought it up when we questioned him about his accusations against Fortune Enterprises. Can we ask a few more questions on that subject?”
“Use caution. As you said, Bryan’s a fragile guy,” Artie said, leaving the office.
“Lieutenant, can we speak to you about another issue?” Tom asked.
“What’s up?”
Tom explained the hotline call and the detectives’ follow-up activities, then waited for his boss to ask questions or—even better—suggest someone go to Chicago.
Palmer said, “Which one of you needs to go?”
Tom said, “I would. Julie contacted me specifically. This is a good lead.”
“Don’t oversell it, Tom. I’m all for it. I know someone who works at Chicago PD. I’ll make some calls and find a contact for you. Check with me when you finish with Porter.”
TOM AND SID FOUND BRYAN Porter on the porch of his house. When they parked behind his truck, he didn’t move, but his stare acknowledged their arrival.
“Taking the day off, Bryan?” Tom asked.
“I’ll probably go in later. The place pretty much runs itself,” Bryan said.
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“My lawyer says I shouldn’t discuss my suit against the city.”
“Fair enough. We’ve been working some old open cases, trying to tie up loose ends. Turns out one of the cases is about your father.”
“What about him?”
“After we talked before, we checked to see if your mother had filed a missing person’s case when your father didn’t return as expected. Remember you said she tried to find him at the address where she sent letters?”
“I’m still not following you.”
“She filed the report in 1945. The investigators had a few leads, but eventually hit the dead end in Kansas City. The case was never closed,” Tom said.
“Did anything come up after that?” Sid asked.
“I don’t remember anything except that she cried constantly and eventually we had to close the store.”
“Seems strange ... your dad opening that store. Why did he strike out on his own?”
“I told you. Brighton ran him off.”
“Are you saying Jack Brighton fired him?”
“I told you that.”
“I’m sorry, I guess I misunderstood,” Sid said.
“Did your father tell you he was fired?” Tom asked.
“He didn’t have to. I was in the store when it happened. I heard them arguing. Then Uncle Jack ... I called him that when I was young and naïve ... he yelled for my dad to get out and never come back.”
“You’re sure that’s what was said?”
“Don’t tell me I was too young to know what I heard. And don’t tell me it was a long time ago and I may not be remembering it as it happened.”
Tom said, “I didn’t mean that. I guess I’m surprised you haven’t been this specific before about why your dad left Brighton’s store.”
“Did Etta know about the argument?” Sid asked.
“She did after I went running straight to her crying my eyes out.”
“And what did she say?”
“That she couldn’t help my dad. She said he’d have to live with what he’d done.”
“What did she mean?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. My dad wouldn’t tell me. As you said before, no one tells a kid what’s going on, at least not in the 1940s.”
“And you were how old?”
“I remember exactly. It was a month before my ninth birthday.”
Sid started to say something, but Tom shook his head and stepped off the porch.
“I’m sorry to bring all this up. I didn’t realize what happened. We have enough to close the case without bothering you again.”
BY THE TIME TOM AND Sid returned to City Hall, Lieutenant Palmer was gone for the day, but he had left an envelope for Tom at the police department entrance. “Forgot about big date with wife. Had to go. See inside for instructions. DP.”
“Great. I guess you’re all set,” Sid said.
“Let me open it before we get too excited. Flight itinerary, hotel information, contact name and precinct. Now all I have to do is explain to Katie why we aren’t going to Silver Dollar City on Sunday or bowling on Monday.”
Sid shrugged and said, “How hard can that be?”
TOM’S FLIGHT ARRIVED in Chicago on time Sunday afternoon, much to the amazement of several regular travelers. A tall man in jeans and a sports coat, arms folded across his chest, waited outside the gate area. When he made eye contact with Tom, he held up a sign with “Collingwood” hand-printed in thick felt-tipped capital letters.
“You must be Sergeant Cross,” Tom said.
“Call me Eddie.”
“Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem. Your boss said you’d take a cab and call me in the morning. But my wife took the kids to her mother’s in Cincinnati, so what the heck.”
“Great. I’m all set. Everything’s in my carry-on bag.”
“Traveling light,” Eddie said.
“I’m hoping for a quick trip.”
“We’ll get you checked in and go somewhere for a bite.”
The drive to the hotel took longer than Tom expected. Eddie explained it was located near the precinct. Tom registered at the front desk and took his bag to his room while Eddie waited in his car.
“Beer and pizza okay,” Eddie asked when Tom slid into the passenger seat.
“Sounds great. I’m guessing your precinct was chosen because of proximity to the address we have on our witness.”
“Bingo. Which reminds me. Your lieutenant spent over two hours trying to get this all set up. No telling how many people he spoke to. I got the impression he doesn’t know how big Chicago, or Chicago PD, is.”
“Branson’s a small town. Lieutenant Palmer is from Springfield, which is larger, but still doesn’t compare.”
“I understand you were in the Kansas City PD for about ten years.”
“Still nothing like Chicago.”
Eddie parked in the precinct lot and the two men walked a few blocks, mingling with the crowds on the busy sidewalk. Distracted momentarily, Tom lost track of his guide.
“I’ll try harder to keep up,” he said as he caught up several doors later.
“No problem, this is it.”
A neon sign on the b
rick wall next to the plain wooden entrance proclaimed “pizza” in bright red letters. Eddie pulled the door open and motioned Tom inside. Once they ordered the two detectives continued to exchange career information until the beers arrived.
“So, let me tell you what I’ve done already,” Eddie said, redirecting the conversation.
Tom nodded and sipped his beer.
“The address is one half of a duplex a few miles from here. Owners are Lionel and Beverly Frieden. They own the whole building, live on one side, rent out the other half. Not sure who the current tenant is. Could be your witness. I have a request submitted to see who’s paying the utilities. We should know tomorrow.”
“You’ve been busy.”
Eddie shrugged. “The Friedens are exemplary citizens, meaning they have no priors, no wants, and no warrants. Daughter Julie Hill was married at eighteen for a grand total of twenty-seven months. No children, former husband arrested a couple times for petty stuff, no convictions. Julie is squeaky clean like Mom and Dad.”
“Which leaves Frankie Martin,” Tom said motioning to the waiter for another round.
“Yes. He’s not quite squeaky, but close. He was a gang member when he was in middle and high school. Got in a bit of trouble, but somehow managed to outgrow and outrun the gangs. I know this because, when I couldn’t find anything current, I asked a few people I know at his high school. Otherwise, nothing. He’s been a union guy since he got out of trade school.”
“All this background is great. I appreciate your doing my job for me.”
“No problem. I expect the same in return when I come to Branson someday.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jack Brighton’s assistant showed Kate into a small conference room close to his office suite. The meeting, rescheduled from last week, was a follow-up for the Branson history series, which had proven to be popular with readers. She hoped to get information from Brighton about some individuals he knew and worked with in the early days as Riverside Mercantile evolved into Fortune Enterprises. Her ultimate goal was to maneuver the discussion to the “city project” his grandson confronted him about during their argument.
“Great view,” Jack said, joining Kate by the large picture window. “You know Randy. And this is my lawyer, Keith Hawthorne. I hope you don’t mind if they sit in on the interview.”
“No problem.” She took out her recorder, turned it on, and placed it in the middle of the table, following the if-you-don’t-want-to-know-don’t-ask rule of journalism. When no one made a comment, she started with her first in a series of questions about the first decade of Jack’s company. The questions were innocuous and straightforward, preliminary inquiries to make the interviewee comfortable and begin to tell his story. His responses were complete and accurate, according to research Kate had done in preparation for the discussion.
Hawthorne chimed in about thirty minutes later, “I might make a suggestion, Kate. Jack could probably use a break. I’d like to get up and stretch my legs myself.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said, turning off the recorder.
During the break, Randy excused himself to go to a meeting in Springfield. Kate, impatient to finish the interview, waited five more minutes before switching on the recorder.
“I’d like to move on to more specifics about Fortune Enterprises during the 1960s up to the present. Our research department made a list of major projects, in particular ones that were turning points for the Branson community.” She handed Jack and his lawyer a copy of the list and asked Jack to discuss the impact of each on the city and him personally. Jack described each project thoroughly.
“One final question,” Kate said an hour later.
“It seems like you have enough for several articles,” Hawthorne commented.
“You’re right. The stories have been so interesting, I didn’t want to stop. But I have one more question and this will be the last session for the series. I promise.”
“I’m fine, Keith. What’s your question, Kate?”
“I’ve heard rumors that your company has a big project in the early planning stage for Branson. Specifically, the project involves a major renovation of old downtown and a significant development along the lakefront.”
“And your question?” Hawthorne said when she paused.
“Can you tell me more about the project, including specifics and a timeframe? I’d like to give the readers a little teaser for the future.”
“Specifics and a timeframe would be a lot more than a teaser,” the lawyer said.
“But you can confirm there is a project in the works?” Kate asked.
Hawthorne started to respond, but Jack held up his hand and shook his head. “You are very clever, Kate. But we had this conversation weeks ago. As I told you then, Larry will keep you in the loop for any announcements, which we will make at an appropriate time.”
Kate turned off the recorder, securing the latch on her portfolio before she rose to leave. “I’ll have a draft of the article to you in a few days,” she said.
Jack said, “Before you go, I would like to chat about the papers you gave to Etta. I’m interested in one of the documents.”
“The partnership agreement?” Kate asked, pushing her luck a bit.
Jack took a step closer to the reporter. “You gave Etta a copy. Where’s the original?”
Hawthorne touched Brighton’s arm and said, “We don’t want copies to be circulating that may confuse the issue. The fact is, the document is not a legal contract that would stand the test in a court of law.”
“Why would I test it in a court of law? I prefer the court of public opinion,” she said, immediately regretting her words.
“Etta would appreciate your giving us the original document and any copies you have made,” Hawthorne said.
Kate said, “She told me the document was a lark, the act of two good friends trying to cheer her up during an incredibly sad time in her life. She didn’t ask if I had copies. You are the ones placing importance on an invalid document.”
“You have no reason to keep the original. You have nothing to gain by sharing it with anyone,” Hawthorne said, speaking slowly and more sternly.
“You’re right. I have nothing to gain by doing that.” She paused at the door with one parting shot. “But I thought perhaps Bryan Porter would be interested in seeing a document signed by his father.”
KATE COULDN’T GET OUT of the building fast enough. Her people skills—not to mention her common sense—had taken one giant step backward. She rushed to her office and removed the original partnership agreement from her case. She took a deep breath and tapped on Helen’s door.
“You have a safe in your office, don’t you?”
Helen looked over her computer screen and sighed. “I’m afraid to ask ...”
“I need to use it for a few days.”
“Sit down. Sounds like we need to talk. You first.”
“I finished my final interview with Brighton for the history series.”
“Did you plan two more articles about him, his family, and company?”
“Yes, but that may not be possible now.”
“Explain, please.”
“You know I’m doing research on Larry Allen. Well, I am now convinced he has some big project in mind for Branson. How bad can that be, right? But what if he is setting himself up to make a lot of money?”
“I hate to point out the obvious, but Allen is a businessman. His family has been extremely successful in this town. I can’t say it would be surprising for him to make lots of money. But what does this have to do with putting something in the safe?”
“The interview cruised along for two hours and everything was fine. But I was trying to find out about Allen’s project. His grandfather has to know about it. But that’s another story. Anyway, Brighton got defensive and clammed up.”
“You didn’t push him at all, right?” Helen asked.
Kate shrugged and then said, “I was about to leave, but he stopped
me. He wanted the original copy of an agreement I found in one of Etta’s keepsake boxes.”
“And that is the document you are gripping in your hands as if it were attached?”
“This is an agreement between Jack Brighton, Etta Stupholds, and Lex Porter, which sets up the three dear friends, and their heirs, in a partnership for life in Riverside Mercantile.”
“Which owns Fortune Enterprises,” Helen said. “And, let me guess the rest. Since you were out on the limb, you decided to jump up and down on it.”
“That would be a good description of my next move. Brighton and his lawyer insisted the agreement was not valid, so I asked why they wanted the original document. And then the conversation went downhill.”
“How far downhill?”
“I may have implied I would give the document to Bryan Porter.”
Helen closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I’m not seeing how this fits in with any of your current assignments. You found this document in one of Etta’s boxes?”
“Don’t worry, I showed her what I found. I gave her a copy of the agreement, but I returned the originals of the other two.”
“Good. More or less. Why did you keep the original of the contract?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because Bryan deserves to know about it. Etta and Jack might not be eager to share it with their partner’s son.”
“I would suggest that you put it somewhere other than the newspaper’s safe until you decide who to give it to.”
“Speaking of turning things over. I know my investigation on Allen and this big project hasn’t turned up anything more than my curiosity. My dad encouraged me to confide in Tom. He hasn’t said anything, but the police have to be checking on Porter’s lawsuit, hoping to prove or disprove his allegations. Maybe what I’ve collected can help.”
“I agree with you. It seems so sensible, maybe even wise.”
“And out of character?”
“You have to admit, this is not your usual way of completing an investigation.”
