When the Dead Speak

by Sandra Tooley

  “Yeah, we’re going to get them a doctor,” Booker said clapping a hand on Ling Toy’s back. “Just try to keep them alive until we can get them back to Base.”

  Hap crumpled an empty cigarette package and patted his pockets. His hand touched damp fabric. They were all covered with dirt, sweat, and the blood of war. Booker shook out two cigarettes from his pack and held them out to Hap.

  “Thanks, Sarge.” Hap broke out in a broad smile. His trembling hands had trouble striking a match so Booker lit one for him.

  Ling Toy marveled at the camaraderie of the black men and the loyalty of the Americans to their cause. But he still couldn’t understand why there were separate units for blacks and whites.

  Hap took a long drag off his cigarette and winced.

  “Still got those cramps?” Booker lowered his muscular frame onto a flat rock next to Hap.

  Hap nodded. “Feels like someone’s puttin’ my intestines through a wringer.”

  “Bad river.” Ling Toy stood up, his clothes hanging loosely over his frail body.

  Booker sucked long and deep off his cigarette, savoring one of the few luxuries of combat. “That’s what you guys get for bathin’ in that river two days ago. I told you there’s enough stuff floating in these rivers to make you sick for a month. Even a guy your size, Hap.”

  Hap nodded toward Bubba and Shadow. “Did Base confirm that the injured are the guys who were missing?”

  “Yes. We’re looking at what’s left of Task Force Kelly. They were dispatched to Mushima Valley yesterday. Supposed to climb Hill Fifty-six and report back. It doesn’t seem they ever made it up that hill. The last communications Base received yesterday was that the civilians they had found were decoys.”

  Along the horizon, a number of smoke trails spelled the demise of more villages. Beyond kelly green rice fields, Ling Toy could see the sun, a huge yellow ball setting quickly. He listened, deciphering the words Hap and Booker spoke, how they wondered how the North Koreans could be so brutal in their killing by the looks of those who didn’t make it out of the valley.

  “Not Korean,” Ling Toy offered. He waved a hand toward the injured. “Chinese. They do this.”

  “Bull shit. There ain’t no damn Chinese here.” A figure stepped out of the shadows and flicked a cigarette butt at Hap’s feet. He wore his khaki shirt tied at his waist in such a way that his Sergeant’s stripe and several odd-shaped pins were exposed. He glared at Hap with eyes that were sinister, mysterious, and dangerous, as his shoe slowly ground the lit butt into the dirt.

  Ling Toy didn’t like the white sergeant who was called P.K. There were four white soldiers who had shown up right after the survivors had been pulled from the valley, claimed they had been separated from their unit. All four of them treated the black soldiers cruelly. But the white sergeant, he was the worst. He eyed Booker’s unit and even Ling Toy, as if they were the lowest form of life.

  Lincoln awoke with a start, the memories too vivid, too painful. He shivered, wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed the papers away. One of the Chicago Tribune papers opened part way. He froze when he saw the picture. He’d remember those cold eyes anywhere. The leering smile was a mask of lies and deception. After all these years, Lincoln would never forget that face.

  He read the description under the picture about the Illinois state representative who had recently held a reception at his home in Chasen Heights. The picture was of Preston Kellogg Hilliard. Lincoln knew him as P.K.

  Chapter 37

  “You’ve been staring at the screen all day. You didn’t finish the dessert that lady brought you,” Janet said. She looked over at the platter of cookies and brownies and took one of each.

  “Ummmm,” Jake mumbled.

  “Who was that woman?” Janet asked.

  “Abby? That’s Sam’s mom. Great lady.”

  “She just kinda snuck up out of nowhere. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “She has a way of sneaking up on people. It’s in her genes.”

  He leaned back and watched the computer screen freeze as it processed his command. The second shift was drifting into the room. He looked at his watch. Sometime within the last hour Sam had left for home.

  “Captain Murphy never came back?”

  “No. Sam asked me six times. Guess she didn’t like that memo Dennis wrote.”

  Jake looked up at her. She was leaning on the corner of his desk. Her white skirt hit her mid-thigh. The hot pink blouse didn’t have enough buttons to conceal her cleavage. A gold necklace around her neck held a small gold typewriter that had the pleasure of resting comfortably in the valley of that cleavage.

  “If you don’t have plans for dinner, Jake, I have spaghetti sauce simmering in a crock pot at home.”

  Jake smiled. Janet was a catch for any lucky guy. He had taken her to dinner once years ago. He had no intention of it being any more than a friendly dinner. But she took him home to meet her two young kids. She had been newly divorced at that time and scared to death of being a single parent. She was looking for a father for her kids, but Jake wanted no part of it.

  “Thanks, Janet, but I’ll have to take a rain check.” He handed her the container of cookies and brownies. “Here, take these home to the kids.”

  He watched her walk away and felt guilty that he couldn’t even bring himself to have a friendly dinner for fear he might give her the wrong impression. She was too nice to be used. That’s basically what he did — used women. And they used him. They each knew ahead of time that the relationship would be purely physical, maybe dinner every now and then. But never any family-type dates like a trip to the zoo or shopping, where the woman would gush over furniture and place settings and make subtle remarks like, “When WE get a place of our own,” or “Wouldn’t it be nice to have ...?”

  He rubbed his eyes with his palms and stared back at the computer. The printer beeped. He pressed the paper feed button and stood to rip the pages off.

  Brandon swaggered in from the break room. “How’s the Dragon Lady? That broad had a hell of a lot of nerve planting ideas into Camille’s head.” He worked a toothpick around between his teeth.

  “You should be concentrating more on getting your home life back in order and less about Sergeant Casey.” Jake gathered the pages into a file folder and headed for the elevator.

  “My home life is fine, but do let me know if you need any help with your project. It would be my distinct pleasure,” Brandon called out.

  Jake stepped onto the elevator and stared back at Brandon. The prick Murphy had filled Brandon in on their conversation.

  “Not in this lifetime, ass,” Jake whispered as the elevator doors closed.

  Sam closed the glass doors of the fireplace in the study. The flames engulfed the photos, the edges curling up, the paper disintegrating into ashes.

  Governor Avery Meacham leaned back against the sofa and heaved a sigh of relief. Due to unexpected meetings, he had been unable to make it to Sam’s until late in the afternoon.

  Not an overbearing figure, Governor Meacham looked more like someone’s math teacher. An accountant by trade, he had managed to balance the state’s books with money to spare in the three years he had been in office. He had abolished the school boards his first year, insisted on more parental involvement, and more accountability by the teachers.

  Creases had deepened around his eyes as if the whole ordeal had aged him ten years. “I thought I could handle it myself. I thought, naively, that the threats were just that ... threats.”

  Sam took a seat on the sofa next to Governor Meacham. “What is the significance of July nineteenth?”

  “My wife and I are flying to England on the eighteenth to spend time with our son. He’s stationed there, in the Air Force.” Governor Meacham clasped his hands together prayer style. “I wanted my family out of the country if Preston decided to go public with the photos.”

  Seeing that the photos had been reduced to ashes, Sam turned off the fireplace just as someone knocke
d on the study door.

  “Are you ready, Dear?” A petite blond wearing a tailored navy suit and a quick smile, peered into the study. Nancy Meacham cradled a box in her hand. Abby followed her in.

  “Abby was nice enough to take me out to Alex’s house. He finished repairing my bracelet.”

  Avery smiled wearily and stood up. “We really should get going. Our plane is waiting.”

  “Thank you for hosting the tea, Dear,” Nancy said to Abby.

  “My pleasure.” Abby turned and clasped Avery’s hand.

  Sam winced at the sight of Avery’s hand in Abby’s. Sam’s powers were strongest with the dead, but Abby’s were with the living. Sometimes a touch could tell Abby a lot, sometimes nothing. Sam didn’t see any reaction on Abby’s face.

  Chapter 38

  By eight o’clock in the evening, Jake and Frank had completed the investigation of a homicide at Stateline Liquors. Beat cops had found the nineteen-year-old stock boy four blocks away still carrying the Glock 9mm. A homicide once a month on State Street wasn’t unusual for Chasen Heights.

  “You didn’t have to give ALL the cookies to Janet. You could at least have saved me one,” Frank moaned.

  “I’m sure Abby has more at home. Quit whining.”

  “This kid better do some fast confessing. I don’t plan on spending all night dancin’ around with him.”

  Jake’s cellular phone rang. It was Elvis calling to update him on the blurb he had placed in the Korean Today newspaper.

  “Anything new?” Jake pulled out a notepad from his shirt pocket. “What time?” He scribbled five-thirty and underlined it. “Call me at the following number.” Jake gave him the phone number for the Suisse Hotel. He wanted the conference call to take place in Carl’s room.

  “Elvis has something?” Frank asked after Jake hung up.

  “He set up a conference call at five-thirty in the morning. There’s a woman in a town called Yongchou, South Korea, who recognized Hap’s picture.”

  Chapter 39

  Sam walked up behind Tim Miesner, who was hunched over Sam’s keyboard. A fluff of youthful, sand-colored hair stood straight up on the top of his head. He stared intently at the screen through rimmed glasses.

  “I’m sorry finals tied me up.”

  “How did you do?”

  Tim flashed a smile. “Straight A’s.” Sam patted him on the back. Tim pointed to the screen on her computer. “This lock and key icon on the menu is a tricky one.”

  “Just take your time. I only need it yesterday.” Tim looked sharply at her. Sam smiled. She wrote CAIN on a sheet of paper. “Also, see if you can find anyone by this name with a rap sheet.”

  “You mean like CIA or Interpol?” His eyes grew wide with anticipation.

  She laughed and ran her hand through his hair. “Police, FBI, CIA, whatever your heart desires.” She stood at the door, “Don’t let anyone in but me.”

  Jake and Frank walked in through the back door carrying their sportscoats. Frank’s tie was loosened. The front of Jake’s cream-colored knit shirt was damp.

  “The motor pool better have the air conditioning in that car fixed by tomorrow or I’m just going to drive my own,” Frank said.

  “How did you get in here?” Sam demanded.

  Jake dangled his keys in front of Sam, then snapped them away before she had a chance to give them a closer look.

  “You made a key to MY house?”

  “Abby gave me a spare.” Jake tossed his sportscoat over the back of a kitchen chair.

  Sam raised her hands in an I give up gesture. “I want you to listen to something.” She pressed the button on the tape player sitting on the counter.

  The two men listened to Preston’s threatening call to Murphy, demanding that he close the case on Hap Wilson. But the most interesting call was to someone named Cain. All Preston had said was, “I have a job for you.”

  “This was the morning before Abbott died. The morning before YOU,” Sam pointed an accusing finger at Jake, “removed the bug.”

  “That’s reaching, Sam.” Jake pressed the STOP button. “I have a job for you does NOT mean he hired a hit. The guy could be an auto mechanic.”

  Frank checked his beeper, then carried Sam’s cordless phone to the dining room to call the office.

  “Sam ...” Tim stopped when he saw she had company.

  Jake reached out a hand to him. “You must be the boy genius.”

  “I guess so.” Tim turned back to Sam. “I’m going to need more time on that lock and key icon menu. And I better use my modem at home to access the CIA and Interpol files.”

  Jake asked, “Am I going to want to know what you want with CIA files?”

  “No,” Sam replied, steering Tim toward the back door. “He’s just going to run Cain’s name through the files.” Turning to Tim she asked, “How soon can I have something in my hands?”

  “I have to write a program in order to cross-check the name. That may have to run all night. I’ll write the program right after dinner. As far as the menu, I’ll keep working on it. There may be a password within a password, and those can be tricky.”

  “They can trace it, you know,” Jake said after Tim left. “And if the paper trail leads to Tim, you’re putting him in a compromising position.”

  “Tim’s good. He never leaves tracks.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “If I remember correctly, you were the one breaking and entering with me the other night at Preston’s.”

  “Self-preservation. You get busted, it reflects on the entire department.”

  “Sam,” Frank called out. “What’s your fax number here?” Sam wrote the number down and gave it to Frank. Minutes later, Frank ended his call and joined them in the kitchen. “Jim Ludders, who’s investigating Abbott’s death in Dallas, said they would leave the case open for a couple of days in case we come up with anything on our end but, as far as their department is concerned, George Abbott died of natural causes.”

  The fax machine started humming. They walked into the study and stood vigil over the paper-spitting machine.

  “The family lawyer accessed Mr. Abbott’s safety deposit box,” Frank explained. “It contained only one item. Ludders wasn’t sure if it had any significance. But when a man bothers to rent a safety deposit box for over forty years ...”

  “Forty years?” Sam interrupted.

  “Yes. And all he kept in it was one piece of jewelry.” Frank pulled the sheet out of the fax tray.

  “Sonafabitch,” Jake whispered.

  The picture was of a pin in the shape of a lightning bolt.

  Chapter 40

  Carl opened the door to his hotel suite wearing a robe, his face covered in shaving cream. “I see you are still an early riser,” he told Jake.

  “Old habits are hard to break.”

  “Help yourself to coffee.” Carl returned to the bathroom. “Any luck on the survivors in Mushima Valley?” Carl called out.

  “According to Lieutenant Colonel Joe Kelly, none of the survivors of his Task Force was conscious at the time so they wouldn’t be able to tell us anything anyway.”

  Jake carried his cup of coffee to the large picture window. The sun was making a stunning appearance on the horizon, dwarfing the fishing boats and a large tanker off in the distance. He walked over to the dressing area where Carl was rinsing off the shaving cream.

  “Murphy closed the Wilson case. He received the order from Preston.”

  “I thought you removed that bug from Preston’s phone.” Carl hung his robe up in the closet and slipped into a light blue short-sleeved shirt.

  “These were calls made before I removed the bug. Preston is bribing Murphy with the police commissioner post. Claims he can’t have any negative publicity in HIS town before his announcement.”

  “What announcement?”

  They moved to the couch in the living room. Jake told Carl that Preston was blackmailing Governor Avery Meacham. “I’m not at liberty to explai
n the extent of the blackmail. It has been neutralized, for now.”

  Carl shook his head in disbelief. “That man has no conscience. State rep wasn’t good enough. Now he wants to be governor?”

  Jake told Carl about the phone call from Murphy to a man named Cain.

  Carl slid several pictures across the table. “My surveillance team took shots of this guy coming and going from Preston’s house numerous times. Recognize him?”

  Jake studied the picture. The man looked like a retiree from the pro-wrestling tour. “Hate to meet him in a dark alley.”

  “His name’s Cain Valenzio. Former boxer from New York. We think he was a runner for the Gambino family at one time. We could never get anything to stick. For his size, it’s surprising he’s able to slip in and out of the darkest recesses of a city without being seen. If he’s used aliases, we haven’t pegged any on him yet. But give us time.”

  “He didn’t happen to hop a plane to Dallas recently, did he?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say he gave my men the slip that night. His name wasn’t on the flight log but he could have used an alias. Our Dallas office showed Cain’s picture around the VA hospital. No one recognized him.”

  Jake showed him a copy of a fax. “The family attorney found this lone item in Abbott’s safety deposit box. According to the bank, the box hadn’t been accessed since 1957.”

  Carl studied the picture. “Damn. That’s the same pin.”

  At exactly five-thirty, the phone rang. Jake pressed the speaker button on the phone. They exchanged introductions and pleasantries. The woman’s name was Phong Lee. Elvis translated for Phong Lee who said she hoped she could help.

  “Phong Lee tells me she was twelve years old when Hap washed ashore in their village of Yongchou,” Elvis explained in his slight accent.

  “Does she remember a date?”

  Elvis relayed the question to Phong Lee.