When the Dead Speak

Chapter 85

Chapter 85

"So, she's okay?" Carl asked Jake.

"Physically. She's with Abby now." Jake offered his left hand to Lincoln who seemed more at ease than Jake had ever seen him.

The lobby of the Jenkins Art Center was lined in chrome and glass with a large crystal chandelier hanging over the entrance. Floral carpeting led up the stairs, through the lobby, disappearing into the entranceways to the theatre.

An aging veteran in Army fatigues exited one of those entrances, spilling Preston's arrogant voice into the lobby.

"She wasn't able to tell you what happened last night?" Frank asked.

Jake shook his head. "She hasn't spoken at all."

Frank eyed Jake's swollen hand. "You should have gone to the hospital."

Jake winced as he tucked his arm back inside the makeshift sling. "There's time for that. I could have broken every bone in my body and it wouldn't have kept me from this moment." He showed them a fax Chief Connelley had sent to Sam's house last night. Jake pointed to the bottom of the page. "Look at the initials." He explained the supervisor's initials on Samuel Casey's accident investigation. "Connelley was the supervisor who closed the case. It was under Connelley's authority that no further examination was made of the evidence gathered from the scene of Samuel Casey's accident. Connelley was Casey's closest friend. And six months after Casey's death, Don Connelley was promoted to chief of police."

Frank shook his head in disbelief. "So Connelley was pressured by Preston to drop the investigation."

"That would be my guess," Jake replied. "Preston has probably been holding it over his head all this time. Since Benny confirmed that the body in the Jeep was Chief Connelley, all the answers we need went up in smoke. The only one who might have heard Connelley's explanation is Sam."

Frank asked, "So how does Murphy figure in all this? Are his hands lily white?"

"Far as we can tell," Carl explained, "he's only guilty of keeping a local politician apprised of community matters. Murphy had no idea Hilliard was involved in anything other than politics as usual, one hand washing the other sort of thing. Contrary to our hopes, he passed a polygraph." Carl pressed his hand to his ear piece. "We better get in there."

They gathered in the back of the auditorium. Carl, Jake, Frank, and Lincoln Thomas. A sea of uniforms from all branches of the armed forces sat in silence and with some admiration for the speaker as he told of his war experiences and his efforts to pass bills for increased health care and disability benefits for veterans. The press was moving around distractingly in the first two rows. Preston talked over their heads, addressing only the audience, gazing up at those in the balcony, across the long rows on the main level.

Carl handed Jake an envelope.

"What's this?"

Several heads turned toward them. One matronly woman in dress blues placed a finger to her lips and gave them an annoyed "shhhhhhhh."

They found a small secluded alcove by the door where they could whisper. "David Noland, Parker Smith's attorney, sent this by courier," Carl said. "It was Parker's instructions that it not be opened until after his death. This is the nail in Preston's coffin."

Jake unfolded the letter and while Frank held a small flashlight, read the confession signed by Parker Smith admitting his involvement in the 1951 killings in Mushima Valley, and accusing Preston of not only ordering the executions but also personally shooting one of the victims twice in the back of the head.