When the Dead Speak (1st Sam Casey Mystery)

by S. D. Tooley

  “In principle only. There was too much in-fighting. Many commanding officers would rather separate the troops and have peace than try to follow the executive order and have fights and disorder among the ranks. Besides,” Joe went through a ten-second coughing spasm before continuing, “what D.C. ordered and what actually happened thousands of miles away, hell, it was two different worlds. I had a couple of blacks in my task force. Never had a problem with my men. We had bigger fish to tackle.” Joe heaved a sigh. “My men. Damn.”

  “Have you ever talked to the men who made it out?”

  “I met with each of them at the hospital. All four had been unconscious when they were pulled out of there.

  “So they don’t remember anything about the rescue.”

  “Just what they were told ... that four men from the Eighth pulled them out and drove them back to base. Those boys were decorated heroes.” Joe coughed and wheezed again. Frank could hear Joy mumbling something.

  “Just one last question, Joe. What does the term lightning strike mean?”

  “That’s when the North Koreans conducted a full assault, threw the whole damn shit load at us. It was quick and deadly. I guess you could say that’s what my boys got.”

  Chapter 28

  “I received my medical examiner’s preliminary toxicology report,” Murphy whispered into his phone. “It’s negative. Did you hear me, Preston? Negative on the drug or alcohol theory.”

  “I have confidence in you, Dennis. Get your people in line. I have a major announcement that I can’t talk about right now. I don’t need a full-blown story about the death of some black deserter to overshadow my campaign. I’ve had a flawless record when it comes to introducing laws to keep down the crime in Chasen Heights. This would diminish everything I have worked for. It would certainly look bad for you and anyone in law enforcement. How could I even entertain the thought of your promotion in the necessary circles if this unfortunate occurrence tarnishes our efforts?”

  Murphy shook his head. Preston was good. No wonder he was in a high-ranking elected office and Murphy was just a patsy, doing Preston’s bidding.

  “I can’t ask my medical examiner to falsify his report.”

  “You don’t. You order him.”

  Murphy listened to the dial tone, then dropped the phone in its cradle, as if it were as repellent as Preston. He walked over to the glass partition and scanned the outer office. He watched Frank and Jake walk into Casey’s office.

  He pursed his lips, walked back to his desk and buzzed Janet.

  “I need you to take a letter, Janet.”

  Chapter 29

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Sam closed the door behind them. “If,” she continued, “lightning strike is a North Korean term, why the lightning bolt pins?”

  “Maybe they really don’t have anything to do with it.” Frank laid his notepad down, tossed his pen on the desk next to it. “I just wish Joe Kelly knew a little more about Hap’s unit. I wish Hap’s commanding officer were still alive.”

  Maury knocked on the door before entering. His tailored white pin-striped suit and pink shirt, a sharp contrast to his dark skin, looked right out of a Miami Vice television program. His aftershave was subtle yet pleasant.

  “I’ve tracked down a couple of the guys in the Eighth.” He handed Frank a sheet of paper with the names from Preston’s unit, then left, closing the door behind him.

  “Leonard Ames ... wonderful ...” Frank read, “died in a car accident in 1976. George Abbott is in a VA hospital in Dallas. I’ll get Janet to look up the phone number, see if I can talk to Abbott.” He punched the intercom on the phone.

  Sam looked over at Jake. He was too quiet, ever since Frank explained the term lightning strike.

  “Anything you care to share with us?” She studied his face, looking for any telltale sign of life behind those private eyes. There was an undercurrent in the air, electrical. She found herself admiring his chiseled features and rugged good looks.

  “Not yet,” was all he replied.

  She had to force herself to pull her eyes off him to check her watch. Tim was supposed to call her after he delivered his package to her house. Without his device, she would not be able to make her trip to Preston’s tonight.

  Chapter 30

  Lincoln Thomas shuffled to the kitchen in his modest three-bedroom brick house in San Francisco. From his kitchen window he could see the Golden Gate Bridge lighting up the night sky.

  Again he had been unable to sleep. He told himself it was because of business. He should have hired an accountant rather than try to do his quarterly taxes on his own.

  His daughter, Nina, had been by earlier to bring him dinner. She knew he never stopped to eat when he had to figure out his taxes. She had a key to his house and stops by to clean and do his laundry. He had resisted her offer for him to move in with her, her husband, Raymond, and their son, Raymond, Jr.

  Lincoln had always been independent, didn’t want to be a burden on his family. He considered himself successful, accomplished what he wanted in life. Nina had been his greatest pride. She looked just like her mother, Sia. Dark hair, dark eyes. He had buried Sia ten years after Nina was born. Pancreatic cancer, the doctors had said.

  Lincoln owned a successful employment agency with a staff of eight. Raymond was the vice-president. Thomas Associates was responsible for placing over three thousand Koreans in varying jobs, from offices to hotels, cleaning services, bakeries, retail stores, hospitals. Every type of market. And he made sure they all took night classes to learn English and skills that would make them more marketable. The people saw him as their savior. And it gave him an overwhelming sense of pride and satisfaction.

  He walked through the tidy living room, past the awards hanging on the wall from the Chamber of Commerce, the mayor, the California Businessmen’s Association. Next to a picture of Sia and Nina was his certificate of U.S. citizenship, framed in oak, matted in light peach to match the peach floral couch. He ran his fingers down the frame. That had been his lifelong dream since he was five years old. He would sit and listen for hours to his uncle’s stories of life in America. He knew that was where he was going to live once he was old enough to travel alone.

  He carried his cup of tea to the enclosed breezeway where he sat in the dark. On the coffee table in front of him was a copy of yesterday’s Korean Today newspaper. He could still hear Nina’s voice saying, “Didn’t you tell me once that you were in the war, Papa?”

  Even in the darkened breezeway he could see the outline of the man on the front page of the paper. Do You Know This Man? the headline asked. It gave the man’s name as Harvey Wilson. A black man, young. Back then, they had all been young, too young. Lincoln himself had been fourteen. He had closed his eyes to that war, but obviously not his mind. Because in his sleep, he started to re-live it. Started to remember. Back then, Lincoln Thomas had been known as Ling Toy.

  Chapter 31

  “You didn’t have to come,” Sam whispered. The closet was dark. She could feel Jake’s body pressed against hers.

  “Baby-sitting is not exactly my way of spending an evening either,” Jake whispered back. He wrapped his hand around the knob and slowly opened the door.

  An earlier phone call to Juanita, Preston’s housekeeper, confirmed that Preston would be attending the Chamber dinner tonight.

  “Wait.” Sam took a small remote control from her pocket, peered out at the bookcase to her right, and aimed the remote at the shelf which housed the video recorder. A tiny red beam located the one-inch hole which exposed the recorder’s control panel. With the press of a button, the remote sent the recorder into pause mode.

  “Clever. Where did you get that?” Jake asked, stepping from the closet.

  Sam smiled coyly. “A friend.”

  “How much time does it give us?”

  “About two minutes.” Sam opened the safe and pulled out several items. “There it is.”

  Jake pulled Hap’s pin from his pocket to c
ompare the two. Once Jake snapped pictures of the pins side by side, Sam placed Preston’s pin and the remaining items back into the safe.

  “What are you doing?” Sam watched as Jake unscrewed the mouthpiece on the phone.

  “Getting rid of evidence.”

  “But I need ...”

  “We don’t have time to argue. Let’s go.”

  Sam pressed the remote again to turn the recorder back on. They exited down the staircase in the closet, through the basement and out into the darkened yard.

  They heard Jasper’s voice and the Dobermans in the distance, which prompted them to hightail it to the back fence. Sam remembered from her previous visits that it was a straight shot to the back of the property as long as they stayed close to the fence. No ponds or maze of gardens to run through.

  Their feet hit pavement as they located a narrow access road used by the lawn service.

  “How much farther?” Jake huffed.

  “Not much.” Her arms pumped but she matched him stride for stride. “There are large boulders ... we can use them to ... get over the fence.”

  The barking intensified, as if the dogs were right on their heels. Jasper had obviously unleashed them.

  “Shit!”

  “It’s just up ahead,” Sam said as the dark shadows of the boulders came into view.

  They leaped onto the stair step boulders. As their feet hit the top of the wooden fence, Jake wrapped an arm around Sam and pulled her toward him, cushioning her fall onto the damp grassy hill.

  They rolled together down the hill to Frank’s waiting car.

  Sam slid open the patio door to find Abby emptying the dishwasher. Frank followed close behind, an arm wrapped around Jake’s waist.

  “He’s hurt, Abby,” Frank said. Streaks of crimson ran down Jake’s face.

  Abby, dressed comfortably in a nightgown and lightweight robe, quickly pulled her hair back and wrapped an elastic tie around it, preparing for whatever the emergency might be.

  “It’s just a scratch.” Jake lowered himself onto a chair at the kitchen table. The hill they had rolled down had not been a smooth grassy knoll, but a hill speckled with rocks and debris.

  “Let me see.” Abby pulled the bloody handkerchief from Jake’s forehead. “You might need stitches.” She placed his hand back on the handkerchief. “Hold it there.” Turning to Frank, she said, “There’s a first-aid kit in the gym.” She told Sam, “Get me a pail of hot water, a washcloth, and soap.” Next, she called Alex. Within minutes, Alex arrived with medicinal pastes.

  “How did you manage to do this?” Abby pressed the hot wash cloth to Jake’s head. Her face was masked in concern and apprehension, but never panic.

  “Two hundred and ten pounds hitting an immovable object,” Jake replied. His face was smudged with dirt, his jogging suit torn.

  Sam grimaced at the sight of the deep cut. “Are you sure you didn’t break anything?” Sam asked.

  “Maybe he should have X-rays,” Frank suggested.

  Alex elbowed his way between the spectators. “I need room.”

  Sam went to the counter to put on a pot of coffee. Frank joined her.

  “Did you bring the berry root paste?” Abby asked Alex.

  “Yes.”

  “The berry what?” Jake asked from under the washcloth.

  Gently washing the rest of Jake’s face, Abby explained, “The paste has a numbing agent which should ease the pain somewhat.”

  “Did you at least see the pin?” Frank asked.

  Jake pulled the Polaroid pictures from his pocket. “Identical. In size, shape, type of clasp. They are the same pins.”

  “Damn. What a pity we can’t do a thing about it. No cause to present a search warrant. And we certainly can’t say how we got the pictures.” Frank sat down on a stool to study the pictures closer.

  “Why can’t we just knock on Preston’s door and show him Hap’s pin?” Sam suggested. “Ask if he ever saw it before. After all, he was in Mushima Valley. He might have known Hap. It’s part of our investigation.”

  “Not yet,” Jake said to Sam from behind Alex. “We still don’t know how Preston ties in. And if there’s even a hint we’re suspicious, he’s going to either start covering his tracks or get rid of the people who are suspicious.”

  Alex taped a gauze pad to Jake’s head. “I put on a butterfly bandage so I don’t think you need stitches. Too bad,” Alex mumbled, “you’ll live.”

  “By the way.” Sam spun on her heels, away from the cabinet where she had been pulling out cups and saucers. “What gave you the right to take the bug out of Preston’s phone?”

  Abby looked up from the pail of water. “You bugged the state representative’s phone?”

  Alex let out a hearty laugh.

  “It IS inadmissible,” Frank pointed out.

  “I wasn’t going to use it for evidence. Just information, for my own use.”

  Jake lightly touched the gauze bandage, his eyes hooded in pain. “When and if Preston is arrested, how do you think it will look in court when that bug is found?”

  Once the makeshift emergency room was cleaned up, Alex left and Abby disappeared down the hall.

  Frank rolled up his shirt sleeves as he informed Sam and Jake of his call to George Abbott’s hospital room in Dallas. Abbott had been with Preston in Mushima Valley.

  “His doctor said I can call him in the morning. He just had surgery earlier today. They removed his right leg ... diabetes. Other than that, he’s of sound mind and body. Should be coherent enough to answer some questions.”

  Returning to the kitchen, Abby announced, “You will stay here, Jacob. I want to keep an eye on you should you develop a fever during the night. I have made up the hide-a-bed in the study.”

  Sam shot Abby a look that did not go unnoticed. They exchanged words in their native language and it was evident that Abby had the last word.

  “That’s nice of you Abby, but ...” Jake started.

  “I don’t take refusals very well, Jacob.” Abby swept out of the kitchen before Jake could respond.

  Sam caught up with Abby at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re carrying hospitality a little too far. He could have gone home with Frank.”

  “He would have been over here in the morning for breakfast anyway, Dear.” She kissed Sam lightly and walked up the stairs.

  Clenching her teeth, Sam debated on whether to say anything more. Subconsciously lifting the collar of her jumpsuit, she inhaled the scent of Jake’s aftershave which was clinging to her clothes. She could still feel his arms locked around her when their bodies had rolled down the hill. Sam shook the thoughts from her head.

  Chapter 32

  The rubber-soled shoes were silent against the sterile white floors of the Dallas VA Hospital. The young, dark-haired nurse didn’t even give the orderly a passing glance as he walked by carrying a tray.

  The door to Room 321 was slightly ajar, the television set tuned to CNN. Thin white window drapes were shut. The light from the television set cast an eerie light in the room. A slim figure in the bed was asleep, defenseless. Three blankets were pulled up to his chin. A glass of ice chips was on the nightstand.

  The orderly took a syringe off his tray and injected the contents into the IV tube running into George Abbott’s left hand. He watched for several seconds, then carried the tray down the hall to the laundry chute.

  Once outside in the darkened parking lot, Cain changed his clothes. He would find a dumpster on his drive back to the airport, where he would discard his orderly uniform. By the time his flight was airborne, George Abbott would be dead.

  Chapter 33

  Sam answered the phone on the first ring.

  “I’m sorry to be calling in the middle of the night,” the voice said.

  It was her client. “It’s okay. Are you still coming to Chasen Heights?” The voice was in a whisper. Sam had to strain to hear him.

  “I’m in town now. I wanted to let you know I would swing by at seven-thirty
this morning. Is that too early?”

  Sam pulled the covers back and slipped a cotton robe over her pajama short set. “No, no problem. I’ll be up.”

  Sam checked the clock on the nightstand. It was just after three o’clock in the morning. She crept downstairs, cursing herself for not removing the pictures from the hiding place she had stuffed them in after her caper at Preston’s. Of all nights Abby had to invite Jake for a slumber party.

  Because the door at the foot of the stairs would make too much noise when she slid it open, she walked around to the kitchen and entered the study door across from the gym.

  She found the light switch for the track lighting above the bar and gently pushed it up, casting the room in the faintest of light. She quietly pulled out the books where she had placed her client’s pictures. They weren’t there. Maybe she had the wrong shelf. Maybe the wrong books. She pulled them aside, searching between the encyclopedias and forensic research books.

  A voice in the shadows asked, “This what you’re looking for?”

  Sam screamed, dropping two books to the floor. Jake snapped on the lamp on the end table, the pictures clutched in his hand.