“That would be me,” I said. It hurt to talk. I was so tired.
“You’ve had quite an evening. How are you doing? The hostage is unharmed?”
“Yeah. She’s shaken up pretty good, but she’ll be fine.”
“I had another couple of field agents head to Harkers Island. We changed course and came directly here. Apparently, you left quite a pile of bodies over there.” He attempted a smile. “We’re going to need to go through the events of the past few days in detail, but we can debrief after you get a few hours of sleep.”
I reached behind me and pulled the diary from my waistband in my lower back, where I had kept it for so many hours. I slid it out of the plastic bag and handed it to Agent Bauman. “You’re one of the few guys on the planet I’d give this to—maybe the only one.”
He nodded. “Roger that.” He looked at one of his men. “Find a copier and copy every page of this book. Give Mr. Walker the copies. The original will be logged into evidence.” He looked back at me. “You okay with copies?”
Like I have a choice? “Sure.”
“Get some sleep. This place is safer than Iron Mountain. When you all wake up in a few hours, we have a lot to discuss.”
* * * *
Amanda stirred and that woke me up. I had my arm over her waist, curled up behind her on a couch. I sat up, feeling like I had been run over by a truck. I looked around the room and spotted Caleb sipping black coffee in a chair by the window. I patted Amanda’s fanny until she woke up. We both did our share of groaning and stretching, then stood.
“Coffee’s free from the machine,” Caleb said.
“Coffee,” I mumbled. I sleep-walked over, grabbed two Styrofoam cups from the pile and filled them. It was a very happy moment. I handed one to Amanda, who returned to the table to add cream and sugar. I was too tired to do anything but drink it black and wait to feel like a human again.
“Good morning,” said a voice from another corner of the room. It was one of Bauman’s agents, who I had seen last night. He didn’t look nearly as crappy as we did, but then again, he probably hadn’t been fighting for his life all night.
“Morning,” I managed to croak. He hopped up and walked outside, returning a few minutes later with George Bauman, who also had coffee in hand.
“You’re Amanda Jensen?” he asked, turning to my lady, who still managed to look pretty damned good. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now, thank God. Thank you so much for last night. How is Thomas?”
“He’s in recovery. Critical but stable. We need to get statements from each of you. It might be a long day. How about we grab breakfast and take a ride?”
“What about Thomas?” I asked.
“He will have a security detail. Too many folks involved in this case have been threatened or killed. We picked up Dr. Greller last night after I found out about Arthur McDade. He’s in protective custody with his wife until we get to the bottom of this.”
“What about the guys on the beach?” I asked. “Have you figured out who they are?”
“Sorry… I can’t tell you much, as it’s an ongoing investigation, but I can tell you those guys were all very dead.” He paused and looked at me, likely thinking about what the crime scene guys had told him. “You have special loads for your shotgun?”
“Yes, sir. The exact nature of which is classified and most likely illegal in the civilian world.” I refrained from telling him how happy I had been to kill them. I looked over at Amanda. Even exhausted, she was beautiful. “Amanda has attracted the wrong guys since the day I met her,” I said.
“Well, that’s pretty obvious,” she responded.
Yeah, I had set myself up for that one.
Caleb, Amanda and I started to head out after Agent Bauman. I stopped and shook Caleb’s hand. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you. You guys saved our lives.”
“That was Thomas’ doing,” he responded. “Never seen that man so excited. He practically threw a shotgun at me and dragged me down to the dock. I’ve known him all my life. He’d never say no to me if I told him I needed him. So what could I do?”
Chapter Forty-Four
Plans
The next twenty hours were a blur. We were transported to Camp Lejeune for safe keeping under the watchful eyes of thirty thousand United States Marines. We spent hours doing individual interviews with the Feds in offices they’d borrowed from the jarheads.
It felt good to be able to explain the whole unbelievable mess to people who seemed to understand what had happened. They didn’t treat us like criminals. They were professional and courteous, and they made me proud, as an American, to have an agency like the FBI.
At the end of the second day, I was introduced to Special Agent in Charge Jeffrey Hess from the Criminal Investigative Division out of Charlotte. The FBI isn’t very revealing about their ranks like we were in the army. Hell, I wore my stripes proudly on my sleeve. These guys made it a mystery. But I could tell by Special Agent Bauman’s behavior around Hess that Hess was certainly the boss.
Everyone seemed to tiptoe around the guy. I’m not great with ages, but I’d guess he was in his late fifties. He could probably still run a marathon. He had lost most of his hair and decided to go au naturale. That is to say, he was totally clean-shaven from the neck up and looked like some of the hardcore guys I’d worked with back in the day. He walked into the cramped office, shook my hand and introduced himself, then sat on the opposite side of the desk.
“Quite an interesting story,” he said. Then he sat back, crossed his legs and just looked at me. I stared back him, not sure what he was up to. After a moment, he leaned forward and spoke softly. “Here’s the thing, Cory. I’ve got a diary which forensics may or may not be able to prove was actually Casey Stone’s. I’ve got a witness to a murder that occurred twenty years ago that wasn’t a murder then, who remained silent while another man went to jail. His credibility may not hold up in court. I’ve got bodies all over the place on Harkers Island, courtesy of you, and a dead ex-cop who worked the case twenty years ago.”
He started ticking off points on his fingers. “I’ve read the reports. I’ve spoken to Dr. Greller. I’ve examined the diary. I’ve personally spoken to the agents who were on the scene at Harkers Island as well as to Special Agent Bauman. And this morning, I spoke with Thomas Woods myself about the events of August third, 1991. Let’s assume for a minute that everything happened exactly the way that you and Thomas say it did.” He folded his arms. “Now what?”
I was somewhat stunned. “Now what? Now you arrest that sick fuck!”
“And charge him with a murder that was considered solved twenty years ago, by the conviction of a man, coincidently, who isn’t around to give his side of the story? For that matter, neither is the newly accused Anne Stone.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” I yelled. I stood without even realizing it.
“Sit down, Mr. Walker. I’m just asking you what you think expect to happen next.”
“I’m just a civilian, Mr. Hess. I don’t know how it works. Hey—wait a second. I haven’t seen a paper in days. Did the Inquirer run the story?”
“They’re holding off, awaiting a chance to speak with you.”
“What about the shootout on Harkers Island? That must have been in the papers? No?”
“The incident occurred on federal land. Federal jurisdiction. We sealed off the east end of the island, did our work and sanitized the scene. No one knows what happened there.”
Whose side is this guy on? Holy crap—they had the diary. What if Stone had gotten to them? I could feel myself starting to lose it. I guess he saw my wheels turning, and he raised his hands and cut me off.
“Mr. Walker, I want to see Earl Stone stand trial for the murder of his wife and the sexual assaults on his daughter. But here’s the thing… We don’t have enough. He’s a powerful man with deep pockets. His lawyers will use every trick in the book. He’ll make the O.J. trial look normal.”
“He gets to
run for President when we all know he’s a raping murderer? Are you fucking kidding me?” I was standing up again, my hands squeezing the edge of the desk, feeling sick to my stomach. My version of low-key. “So he’s just gonna walk?”
“Not if I can help it. But we need your help. Have a seat, Mr. Walker.”
I sat back down.
“As of right now, Earl Stone has no idea what has happened to you. He doesn’t know the FBI is involved. All he knows is that he had another witness silenced and one is in the wind. As far as he knows, you still have the diary, and he wants it back.”
As he spoke, I was trying to think ahead to where this was all going. “He’ll never admit anything.”
“He might…if you have the diary.” He let that sink in.
“You want me to wear a wire? Try to set him up?”
“That is one possibility.”
We just sat and looked at each other for a second.
“You think he’d meet with me alone?”
“He has to know soon that his effort has failed. He isn’t President yet. And he’s not even an official candidate at this point, so he doesn’t have a Secret Service detail assigned to him—just a few goons he likes having around him to look impressive. A few less than he had yesterday, but he can call them off and do whatever he wants.”
“And how would I possibly get to him? I mean, to ask him to meet. He ain’t exactly in the book.”
“Actually, he is. He’s a congressman. They’re all in the book. And I just happen to have his office manager’s number. It’s public information. You’ll tell her who you are—Cory Walker, the guy who’s living in his old house on Harkers. You think you have something of his, and you’d like to speak to him personally. He already knows what you’ve got. Trust me… He’ll call you.”
“And…?”
“You set up a meeting, and we’ll have you wired up and covered from a dozen places. All we need is for him to talk about the murder of his first wife.”
We spent the next two hours planning my conversation. An FBI psychologist named Jan came in and gave me a bunch of pointers. She told me to use his first name and get personal with him. Use Casey’s first name, too. Then I realized she had introduced herself as Jan—not doctor so-and-so. Very funny. She’s using her psych-ops on me, too?
“Be specific about things in the book,” she said. “Use a calm voice.”
That one made me laugh. She didn’t know me very well.
She shook her head when I laughed. “Look… If you can get him riled up, just keep pushing those buttons, but you have to try to remain calm. You have to control the conversation.”
That made sense. I always wanted to control the battle-space. Now the battle-space was the conversation. It would literally be a war of words—interesting concept.
“Paint the picture for him, Cory,” she said. I was so aware of her using my first name that I wasn’t sure if she was screwing with me or not. “He’s probably suppressed these memories for decades and might have managed to seal them away in some brain compartment somewhere. Your job is to make it real again and piss him off. Get him talking.”
“One thing I’m good at is pissing people off.”
When we were finished, I asked to call Kim at the paper and catch her up a little, off the record. The paper wouldn’t sit on the story forever, unless I promised them something even better. Hess agreed, and we called from the same office. While Mark Rosman wasn’t delighted about waiting another day or two, this was worth biting his fingernails over.
There was only one last person to discuss this with. Amanda. I had go talk to her myself. I preferred to face armed men on the beach.
Long story short, it didn’t go over that well. Miss Worrywart was quite sure I would get my head blown off. No matter how many times I explained that the Feds would have my back, she didn’t want to hear it. She ‘was a prisoner on a Marine Base’ and just wanted to go home. And by home, she was referring to Twin Oaks, far away from the house of horrors. When I told her she couldn’t until Earl Stone was arrested, it just upset her more. Even my usual charm and wit was useless. The woman had had it with the house and with me. It sucked.
The Feds told Amanda that she had to remain in protective custody until the operation was over. They apologized for the inconvenience and got to stand there and have their asses chewed off, too. My girl was spunky. I’ll give her that much. I tried to give her a hug as I left the base for Harkers Island, and she pushed me away. That hurt.
Thankfully, by the time I got to the door, she yelled, “Be careful.”
That was something, I guess.
I said, “I love you,” and left. I’m pretty sure she was bawling her eyes out again.
Women.
Chapter Forty-Five
Phone Call
Thomas was recovering. Caleb and I paid him a visit. He still had a Marine guard posted outside his door. The young Marine stood at attention, facing straight ahead, her weapon across her chest at the ready. She was hard and squared away. The future looked bright for the Corps.
Thomas was a tough bugger and never complained about pain or the numerous tubes and hoses running all over his body. His chest was wrapped up like a mummy under his stylish green hospital gown, reminding me of my own beat-down on my first date with Amanda.
I thanked him for his heroics. Thomas said he owed it to Casey and Ben, and I forced a smile and patted his shoulder gently. He’d be released in a few days and taken home, when he was up for it. The Feds gave Caleb and me a ride back to Harkers Island on a boat borrowed from the Marine Corps base. They’d already had Sea-Tow bring the Lucky Lucy back to the dock, and that news delighted Caleb.
There were nine FBI agents on the boat with us, all in jeans and T-shirts, looking like tourists…or FBI agents trying to look like tourists. In any event, I didn’t mind having them around. Maybe I could get them to clean up my house.
The storm had moved out to sea, headed for Rhode Island, and the water in the Back Sound was calming down. We docked next to the Lucky Lucy and piled out onto the dock. Caleb’s wife and son Mike were there waiting for us. There were a few other tourists around the dock, the kind with mirrored sunglasses and ear buds. They didn’t say much, but it was obvious they were pros who had worked together before.
George Bauman, who had come with us on the boat, said he’d give us a lift home. He informed me that he was now ‘my old army buddy’ and would be staying with me for a few days, along with a couple of my other ‘old friends’.
No problem—just pull up a broken lamp and make yourself at home.
The Feds had sent men ahead in several cars and they split up and gave Caleb and me rides back to our houses. I told Caleb I’d be in touch. He didn’t love having the Feds hanging around his house but didn’t complain.
When we arrived at my house, I saw Agatha working in her front yard. She was sawing away at a huge limb that had fallen during the storm. Damn, she’s a tough old bird. I made George pull over, and we all piled out. She gave me a hug and told me she had been worried about me, asked me where I had been during the storm, the whole nine yards.
I made up a bunch of bullshit, introduced my buddies, and the four of us tough-guys sawed her tree limb into little pieces and stacked it in the rear yard for firewood. If Agatha had had her way, we all would have stayed for dinner and dessert and coffee and stories about the old days, but we had serious business ahead of us.
The Feds went into my house first, and searched every room for intruders, explosives, booby-traps, you name it. Then they checked all the phones and swept the rooms for bugs. The land line had been bugged, and the bug was removed.
When they were satisfied, I sat at the kitchen table, by the phone. I watched as they hauled duffle bags from their cars and hooked up all kinds of devices to my phone. They’d be recording all calls and trying to locate the positions of any callers who dialed in. It was impressive to watch them work. Reminded me of me in the old days, back when my shit was stil
l wired tight and I had two shoulders that worked equally well. Oh, well…
When they were finished, George put on some headphones and handed me the phone. It was almost three in the afternoon. “You ready?”
“Ready as I’m gonna be.” I dialed the number for the congressional office of Earl Stone.
“Representative Stone’s office,” she said in a professional voice. “This is Susan speaking. How may I assist you?”
“Hello, Susan. My name is Cory Walker. I live in Congressman Stone’s old house on Harkers Island. It is extremely urgent that you give the congressman a message.”
“Yes, sir? And what is the message?”
“Please tell the congressman that I have something of Casey’s that was left in the house when he moved. I know he’ll want it back. I will only give it to him in person, though, because it is a very personal item. This is very important.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to read back the message to you?”
“No, Susan, I’m sure you have it right. I’ll give you my home number. I’ll be here for a while yet…”
“I have the number you’re calling from. Is this the best way to reach you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I gave her my address, although Stone obviously knew it. It was his old house, which seemed to go over Susan’s head as she wrote it down. She promised to get the message to Stone as soon as possible.
“Susan, if you have the congressman’s cell phone number, no matter what he is doing or where he is, I suggest you give him this message now. As soon as you hang up with me. It’s that important.” I hung up.
“Perfect, Mr. Walker,” said George.
“Please, would you call me Cory?”
He tried to smile and said, “Sure.”
One of the Feds, a guy named Ronnie, walked into the kitchen, stepping over a broken drawer on the floor. “I love what you’ve done with the place! It has sort of an Early-American post-apocalyptic feel to it.”
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