“This is how we first met. You see, we both went to Yale—she was this beautiful girl with big brown eyes—she came into our meeting and asked if she could take a photo of us. Well of course the others said no but I was instantly in love.” He trailed off, looked at Anderson before continuing. “The others gave me a hard time about it but I couldn’t help myself. She was just so beautiful—and after we graduated, she gave it to me as a wedding present.”
“But that’s you,” Andy pointed to the man that stood amongst a few others.
“Yes.” His father’s voice had tears in it. That was the first time Anderson remembered his father crying. At his young age he knew that the man he had looked up to all his short life had indeed loved his wife. Anderson smiled. “We were so young then--I really should restore the book but that feels like betraying your mother--When I die this book will belong to you,” the older man explained.
“But I don’t know if I wanna be a lawyer,” Anderson had told his father proudly. “Or go to Yale.”
“I know, but it doesn’t matter. This book will remain in our family and you have to take care of it.”
“I promise,” Anderson whispered.
With whispers of his promise vibrating through his head, Anderson pulled out his cell phone and dialed. The voice on the other end sounded tired and hurried. “Masterson.”
“Hey Jack, it’s Anderson.”
“Yo’ brotha, whatta do?”
Anderson laughed at the street slang. “Look, I might need your help with something.”
“Aight,” Matterson laughed. “You know I got your back.”
“Thanks brotha,” Anderson spoke. “I’m gonna come see you.”
“For real?”
“You home?”
“Yeah come on through. I’m in the gym. Just ring and Martha will let you in.”
“The gym. Let me swing by my place, pick up some stuff and join you,” Anderson offered.
“For sure, I be here. You remember where I live right?”
Anderson laughed and shook his head. “You’re a regular Jim Carey.”
“You know how we do. I see you in a bit.”
Anderson took a deep breath and hung up.
Chapter Seven
“Why the hell does everything with that man have to be a three act opera?” Sam said out loud not meaning to. He flipped open his cell phone and called his partner as the bank lady waited patiently for Sam to leave the room.
“Roger, Sam. Get a search warrant for safety box number 12942, at the Bank of New York City, belonging to Anderson Williams. Have it made out to the bank manager here as soon as possible. I’ll wait until you let me know that it has been issued. Williams could have made this so much simpler, but as usual the blockhead is making my job harder.”
“I’ll get on it right away. What’s in the box that you want?” Roger asked.
“Maybe a break in the Orchid murders, that’s what.”
Sam left the room and asked to see the bank manager. When he was shown into her office, Sam introduced himself and told her that a warrant would arrive shortly for the search and seizure of the contents of a safety deposit box. The manager knew the routine as this was something that occurred more frequently than most people suspected.
Sam then left the office and took a seat out in the public area so that he could watch who came and went, not totally trusting Anderson not to come back and remove the book. Why couldn’t Anderson understand that he was trying to find the butcher who cut up his father like a Sunday chicken? Why would he make it harder for the apprehension of the killer no matter how attached he was to a book? Didn’t his father’s murder mean more to him than what was in those pages? Sam never had a chance to explain to Anderson that just photographing a page in an old book reduced the clarity and detail slightly of any photos and thus possibly leaving out critical clues. He was such a hothead—maybe that’s part of what Sam liked about the guy.
A half hour later, his cell phone rang and he heard his partner on the other end.
“Sam, I have the warrant and I’m en route to the bank now. I’ve never seen the court move so quickly to issue a damn warrant before. It really was amazing.”
“Rog, you gotta remember that we’re investigating the murders of three court employees, one of whom was a judge. I’d be in total shock it they hadn’t moved quickly on it.”
“Right. Well, I’m just pulling up outside now, be right in.”
Sam got up and went to locate the safety box lady. “Ahh, Miss Johnson, I’ll be needing to get into that box that belongs to Anderson Williams,” Sam said.
“Do you have a warrant?” the officious little bank lady asked.
“Yes, he does,” Roger said as he walked up to the desk and handed it to her.
“I see,” she said and read the warrant.
“Very well Detectives, the warrant is in order. We will have to drill out the lock as we don’t have the customer’s key. Mr. Williams will be billed for the expense,” she informed them.
Sam couldn’t help laughing out loud. “Serves him right anyhow.”
Twenty minutes later, the boxed had been drilled open and the contents revealed. Along with the book which Sam and Roger took into their possession, were odds and ends including some men’s and women’s diamond jewelry .
“Miss Johnson, we won’t be taking any of these diamond items, will you re-secure them?” Sam asked.
“Certainly and of course I’ll have to notify Mr. Williams of all this.”
“By all means.”
Sam looked at Roger and when a second bank employee arrived to finish the inventory of the remains of the box, Sam and Roger left the bank and headed back to the police station.
It didn’t take him long to snag his stuff and reach Jack, but as he pumped iron with his long-time friend, Anderson explained everything. Jack stopped instantly and was on the phone. When he turned a grim look at Anderson, he knew what had happened.
“I guess you were right,” Jack frowned. “Some men just don’t have a clue what’s important in life. But here’s what I’ll do. I’ll go and sit on their asses until someone hands it back. And I will make sure they do understand that this is a part of your family.”
“Yeah,” Anderson was not pleased. He slammed his fist into a nearby punching bag and turned to look at Jack, “I don’t care about anything else…”
He stopped as his cell phone began ringing. When he answered it and heard what was the bank manager was telling him over the phone Anderson stopped him in mid sentence. A slight throbbing was forming behind his eyes. “First of all, drilling a fucking hole into a damn lock is never a great idea. Second, I will not be paying for it when all you had to do was pick up the god damn phone—.” The throbbing got worse. “Talk to my lawyer.”
“Now Mr. Williams there’s no need to get a…”
He handed the phone over to Jack. “Deal with this,” Anderson told him simply and swiped a towel over his face. “I’m going to head out to tend to some other business, like selling my house. But make sure you head down to the station and live in their labs if you have to. I don’t want anything happening to that book and it’s safe to say I don’t trust Sam as far as I can throw him.”
An evil smirked played about Jack’s lips and Anderson knew that look all too well. Jack was now on a mission. “Hello?” Jack spoke while holding up a finger for Anderson to wait. “Yes, I am Jack Masterson, Mr. Anderson’s lawyer. Who am I speaking to? Oh right, and I’m going to assume you are the bank’s manager? Right. Well I shall be down to see you shortly.” Jack hung up and handed Anderson his phone back. “Listen Andy, I’m going to hire someone to oversee the evidence being taken from the book. He won’t be involved with anything nor touching anything but it’s just to cover our asses if something should go bad. He’ll just be eyes over their shoulder at all times when it comes to the book. I have to make a few calls, call in some favors. Don’t worry, we’ll get it back.”
Anderson smiled weakly. “
Thanks Jack.”
“As for right now, I need to serve your Sam’s chief with papers to let him know what is going on,” Jack took a deep breath. “I’ll call you later.”
It was dark by the time Anderson left Jack with a quick kiss on the lips. He was feeling confident that once they found who had killed his father, even before, he never had to deal with Sam again. A smile crossed his lips for the first time as he drove back to his house. Maybe that night he can get some papers marked so he could hand them back in preparations for marking his student’s papers on Homer. What he needed was a glass of wine—perhaps something stronger. He stopped by a liquor store, picked up a bottle of red wine and headed home. The something strong would have to come when he had Sam’s head on a spike. “Now there’s a thought for some pleasure,” he smiled again to himself.
Walking into his house alone again, Anderson got jumpy. He still couldn’t get over the cameras. He spent most of the night marking papers and was happy to see that he had them all done by the time he took a shower and pulled on his pajamas. He didn’t sleep in his own bedroom that night but downstairs on the living room floor. The sofa was weird against his back.
The next day, Sam gathered with Roger as well as the detectives from the 14th precinct that had a like connection to the Orchid murders. They met around a conference table where the book from the bank box was on display.
“Okay, as I told everyone on the phone last night, we had some new evidence pop up in our case. As you can see this page is labeled The Russell Trust Association, with pictures underneath it of a group of men, in different poses. One obvious thing jumps off the pages—everyone sees it, right?” Sam asked his cohorts.
“Well, I see twenty or so men in this photo, which looks like it was taken about forty or so years ago, with four of the men being black and the rest white,” answered Roger.
“Correct. Now, I spent the late hours yesterday researching who these men were and I came up with most of the answers. These three black men are our three victims in the Orchid murders. The fourth black man is unknown at this point. At first I thought this was some sort of financial club that Yale had going on, but I was wrong. The Russell Trust Association is another name for Yale’s secret Skull and Bones Fraternity,” Sam said.
“Really? Do you know who any of the white guys are in the photos?” asked the detective from the 14th.
“We’re working on that now. I can tell you this, the third guy from the left in the top row is Senator William Milhous of Maine,” Sam replied.
“Sam, were black men even allowed to be members of that fraternity back then? I would have thought that by virtue of their skin color they would have been prevented from joining,” said Roger.
“Well, black men in general weren’t very prevalent at Yale period. This is why it is rather exceptional that these men were not only at Yale but ‘Bonesmen,’ as they were called. Next question is why these particular black men? Roger, would you scan the entire contents of this book and then return it to Anderson Williams?” Sam asked.
“Sure thing. I’ll get on it now.”
“Can you guys take copies of the pictures from this section here and head up to Yale to see what you can find out about the fourth black guy in the photos?” Sam asked the other detectives.
They agreed and followed Roger out of the conference room to get copies and head out. What was the connection between the Bonesmen and the murders? Was the killer recreating the symbol of the club by the way he arranged the body parts at each murder? And what about the damn orchids?
Chapter Eight
Love Sex Magic blared from the room and Anderson couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips. Even though he was tired, hungry and worried he could not help stopping by the studio door and sticking his head in. The women were dancing around with the teacher calling to them the counts for each step, each position. Anderson remembered when he was small his mother thought he would do ballet—horrid idea that was. He was about to turn away again when the teacher saw him. “Come on professor!” she hollered with a wave. “Join us!”
Anderson shook his head. “No one has any interest in me dancing, trust me.” She laughed. “Thank you. Besides, I am late for a lecture.” He did not add that each time she asked him to join them he wanted to but lately there was nothing to dance about in his life.
She laughed, blew him a kiss and Anderson was on his way. When he walked into the large lecture hall, he placed his laptop on the podium and began hooking it up to the overhead screen. But he stopped suddenly as something white on the adjoining table caught his attention. He glanced around the room and, seeing nothing else out of the ordinary, lifted it to see that it was another envelope. Curious, he abandoned what he was doing and removed the note from inside. It was simple and to the point. “Your father was a fool. He had what was mine. Soon you will see what kind of a fool he really was—all in good time.”
“Excuse me,” he called to the class who were busy chattering amongst themselves. “Did anyone leave me a note before class?”
No one owned up to it and Anderson figured as much. He shook his head and glanced down at the paper again. It was old, browning and soft. “Oh God, no,” he whispered. His eyes stung, his heart hammered. “Guys, I’m sorry but I must go out for a while.”
“What about our papers?” one student asked.
“Erm, you have an extension until the weekend. Email it to my account, but make sure you request a receipt for when it is received and opened.”
The class cheered but Anderson couldn’t wait. He shoved his way through the halls, leaving his laptop where he had left it on the podium. He skidded to a stop and ran down the stairway then charged out the front door. His head was pounding as he made his way to his car.
“Mr. Williams!” someone was calling him. Why were they calling him? Anderson couldn’t stop now; he was hardly thinking straight.
He kept moving until he was in his car and speeding towards the police station. He hadn’t even bothered calling, he just showed up. He shoved through the doors and pushed past the officers that tried to stop him. “Where’s Morgan?” Anderson demanded.
“What?” an officer asked.
“Sam Morgan,” Anderson swore and asked again. “Am I not speaking English? Donde esta Sam Morgan, Donne moi Sam Morgan!”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down or leave the station immediately,” someone spoke and tried to grab at Anderson’s arm but he simply shoved him off.
“Get off me!” Anderson told him.
“Whoa where’s the fire?” It was Sam’s partner. “It’s all right, officer, I know him.”
Anderson whipped around to face him and shoved the note at his chest. “You must be Sam’s—Detective Morgan’s partner. Give this to him. You tell him that this is from my father’s book. You remind him that I warned him not to take that book from the safety of the bank now, it’s missing and it’s missing a page. That book was a part of history, black history, my mother’s history, my father’s history, my history.”
“What do you mean the book is missing?” the detective wanted to know. “We had a warrant for it, and seized it.”
“Bravo Einstein, don’t you think I know that? I’m talking about from here!”.”
“I really wish I could arrest you for being annoying,” the man spoke rubbing his eyes. “No wonder Sam hates your ass.”
It took all of Anderson’s strength and will power not to knock him on his ass. “Show me the book…now!” he managed instead. Roger escorted Anderson into a private area in the back of the station. “It’s in the…oh shit.”
There was a vault standing open and Anderson knew what had happened. He felt the bile rising from his stomach and the rage that pulsated through his body did not help. He felt his heart break. It was gone—just like that. Anderson’s knees gave out from beneath him and he slumped to the ground. “It’s gone…” a long breath left his body.” My father’s gone.” Pressing his eyes closed he rubbed a hand over
his face and pushed up from the ground.
“Mr. Williams, I have no idea what happened,” Roger explained, looking white as a sheet with the note crumpled in his hands. “It was right in there last night, and we were going to return it to you today.”
Anderson did not say another word, but turned on his heels and left. As per usual his ringing cell phone had the worse timing ever. Absentmindedly, Anderson answered. “Hello Mr. Williams. This is Christine from the medical examiner’s office. You can pick up your father’s remains now…”
He didn’t say a word but dropped the cell phone and walked from the station. He drove his way home then walked from there to Byung’s. By the time his friend opened the door to him; Anderson was soaked clean through to the bone and shivered.
“Andy?”
“He’s dead, Byung. He really is gone.” Anderson’s voice was so cold, so distant inside his own head that he winced at it. He could not believe it was him speaking. He felt scared, heartless—strange. At that moment, the moment Byung pulled him into a tight hug, inside out of the rain Anderson Williams was a stranger to himself. He had lost everything that mattered and now he was a shadow just hovering until the end.
“Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” Byung spoke.
The words sort of registered to Anderson but he wasn’t paying any attention. He kept muttering, “He’s gone. The book is gone,” over and over. He had finally been broken. He let Byung take his wet clothes off and they fell against the ground with a loud smacking sound.
The Orchid Murders Page 8