When the Dead Speak

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

"What do you mean she went to Preston's last night?" Carl demanded.

"That was my reaction, too." Jake looked at the two agents who stood at attention while Carl interrogated them.

"She must have been in disguise," the older of the agents explained. The two looked like the Blues Brothers, one short, one tall, dressed in dark suits.

"It might have been the car with the youth," the younger agent added.

"Youth?" Jake questioned him. "What youth?"

The older agent shrugged. "A youth showed up on a bike and then left in a car driven by the African American woman."

"Glasses? Nerdy looking?" Jake asked. The agents nodded.

"We didn't think..." the young agent started.

Carl held up a hand to silence the agent. Then swung his hand around to point at the door. "You inform the two idiots who are on duty right now to keep their eyes peeled on Casey's entrance. And if I catch anyone napping again, they'll be assigned to a cow pasture in Hebron, Indiana."

After the two agents sulked out, Carl exhaled, shook his head.

"What on earth was Tim doing there?" Jake rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't know why I post anyone at that house. From what I hear, you spend almost every night there." Carl cast a suspicious glance toward Jake.

"That night I injured my head, Abby insisted I spend the night so she could monitor my condition. I just got into the habit. Besides, she's a great cook, a great woman. What can I say?"

"Are we talking about the mother? Or the daughter?"

Jake ignored the comment, saying, "I wouldn't bother posting a surveillance on Sam. Tim already alerted her that she's being watched."

"Wonderful." Carl lead him down a carpeted hallway, past the kitchen, around the corner into the library where Frank was pouring himself a cup of coffee. They convened around an ornate, cherry wood conference table. Reference books and encyclopedias lined the wall-sized bookcase.

Carl snapped open his briefcase and pulled out a report. "I was faxed the autopsy results on the three bodies found in Mushima Valley. As you know, they were positively identified as Booker J. Jones, Calvin "Bubba" Leeds, and Shamus "Shadow" Lewis, Jr. Jones and Leeds were shot in the back. Lewis took one shot in the back and two to the back of the head. All bullets retrieved were U.S. Army-issued forty-five caliber."

Jake shook his head in disgust as he read the copy. "Have you convinced President Whittier to go public?"

Carl bent his head to where he peered over the top of his glasses. "You have to understand, this is a very sensitive subject."

Frank slapped the autopsy report on the table. His words were slow, forced, his mouth forming each syllable. "Three black men were shot in the back by U.S.-military issued guns. The killers are identified both in this affidavit and in Hap's. Everyone thinks these kids are deserters. And here they are, victims of a racially-motivated assassination. For godsake!"

"I know." Carl looked to Jake for assistance.

"It's out of Carl's hands, Frank."

Frank's head swiveled, his eyes sweeping the ceiling as if looking for written answers or inspiration. "What about Hap's sister, Director? She's counting on you to clear her brother's name. And Lincoln. He went out of his way to make sure the guilty parties are punished. How are you going to reward him for his efforts?"

"You're a friend of Jake's, Frank, and it was on his word that I'm sharing any information at all with you. But nothing," he raised a warning finger at Frank, "goes out of this room." Carl let his comment sink in before continuing.

Jake stood up, peeled off his navy sportcoat and walked over to the window. He peered down at the traffic heading toward the Bishop Ford Freeway-rush-hour traffic heading north to the Loop or east toward the Indiana steel mills and office buildings.

He was having a hard time concentrating. He kept seeing satin sheets and royal blue teddies. His instincts were in overdrive and something told him Sam was unstoppable.

"If I had it in my power to change things," Carl continued, "I would. I call every day to try to convince President Whittier that releasing this information is his only option. But you're detectives. Let's face it. What have we got? Lincoln's word against a highly powerful senior state representative whose distinguished war record has been documented in history books. Do you know what the press would do with this? They'll question whether Preston's opponent put Lincoln up to it. They can write it to sound like Lincoln is the one who aided and abetted the deserters. We need a signed confession. And I doubt we're going to get it from Preston."

"Well, maybe someone will have to force him to do the right thing." Frank began naming black congressmen and church leaders. "Don't fuckin' sweep this under the rug."

"The President is worried about race riots," Carl explained.

"Race riots, hell. He's worried about the election."

"Jake, give me a hand here," Carl pleaded.

Jake turned back from the window, studied the worry lines creasing Carl's forehead. Carl was intelligent, fair. Hated the bureaucracy of the job. Jake had no doubt that Carl was tormented by a choice of following orders and doing what was morally and ethically right.

Jake pointed to a copy of Samuel Casey's report saying, "Did you notice the reference to Samuel giving a copy of all of this to a trusted friend just in case something happened?"

"Wait, now." Frank touched the corner of Samuel's report. "If the original went to Whittier, a copy was in the safety deposit box, where's the copy that went to the trusted friend?"

"Better question is, who is the trusted friend?" Jake asked. They pondered that question for several minutes. "While we're here trying to strategize about keeping the lid on this," Jake warned, "Sam is up to no good. I can feel it. When she and Tim have their heads together, god only knows what havoc they can wreak." He clamped a hand on Frank's shoulder and patted it reassuringly. He looked across the table at Carl and said, "I believe the President should spend less time trying to stifle this issue and more time planning damage control. Because the truth IS going to come out. It's just a matter of when."