When the Dead Speak

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"You read all these letters?" Jake asked Carl as he fanned through the envelopes on the conference table.

"On the flight over." Carl poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Jake.

The suite on the top floor of the Suisse Hotel had a wall of glass overlooking Lake Michigan. Decorated in contemporary European with fine lines and tiny flowers in the furniture, drapes, and wallpaper, the suite screamed expensive from every fiber.

"Hope I didn't pull you from that nice warm bed of yours." Carl grabbed reports from his briefcase and slid them across the table.

"Midnight?" Jake laughed. "I can't remember the last time I got to bed by midnight." He leaned back and studied his former boss. Professional and detail-oriented were two words that had described Carl when Jake first met him twelve years ago and the words still fit. Every category of backup material had its own folder labeled in bold lettering. Jake noticed the folders were even alphabetized in Carl's briefcase.

"Do you have any connections in the Pentagon to get us Hap's military records?" Jake asked.

Carl smiled. "Did better than that. I have all the original depositions from the guys in the Twenty-fifth Infantry Division including the commanding officers."

"You've saved me a lot of footwork. Thanks." Jake studied the list of names. "Was this your war?"

"Please," Carl laughed, "I'm not that old. But I've read a lot about it and I had an uncle who was right on the front line."

Jake took a sip of coffee and winced. "It's a little too late for coffee. Do you have anything that foams?" He walked over to the bar and retrieved a beer. "What did your uncle say?" Jake returned to the conference table.

"Well, it wasn't a pretty sight," Carl replied. "According to what I remember Uncle Paul saying, approximately eight or nine thousand POWs or MIAs are still unaccounted for. Over thirty-four thousand men were reported missing the first week of the war, and that was from the Republic of Korea Army. Our troops were poorly trained and physically unfit. They threw these troops in so quick they didn't even have time to unclog their machine guns or set their sights."

"Sounds more like a suicide mission," Jake said. He gestured toward the stack of letters. "What was the gist of Hap Wilson's letters?"

Setting his horn-rimmed glasses on the table, Carl said, "When he talks about the Army it's like listening to a kid talk about football. He mentions nicknames of some of the guys in his unit. Basically, he was proud, patriotic, for god and country, that sort of thing." He studied the coffee ring in his cup and told Jake about the bond between Mattie and her brother.

"That lady," Carl continued, "would dust my pictures and framed awards. She thought cleaning the office of the FBI security director was the most important job in the world. She would have coffee ready, leave home baked goodies on a paper plate. Everyone loved her."

"Confirmed bachelors bring out maternal instincts in many women." Jake thought about Abby and smiled.

"Tell me about Sergeant Casey," Carl said.

Jake took another long swallow of beer. "She has a great Indian lady for a housekeeper and cook. And Sam's hell-bent on proving that State Representative Preston Hilliard had something to do with Hap Wilson's death."

Carl straighten up at the mention of Preston's name. "What on earth would make her tie Representative Hilliard to Hap Wilson?"

Jake handed Carl a picture saying, "This is what Hap Wilson was holding."

Carl stared at the picture, put his glasses back on and studied it closer. He was silent for a while, then asked, "Any prints?"

"No, we couldn't lift any."

Carl put the picture down. "What does this have to do with Preston?"

"Sergeant Casey found an identical pin in Preston's safe."