by Tom Hansen
Cliff decided to just lay the phone receiver down gently on the table without hanging up. That way, he wouldn’t need to field any calls for a few moments while he got his thoughts together. Bonty had a reputation for blowing smoke to anyone who would listen, so as long as he thought Cliff was still on the line, he would continue to vent. It took the sheriff ten minutes of a nonstop diatribe about FBI agents before he realized that no one was listening.
CHAPTER 28
Monday, March 8, 1982
6:00 p.m.
T he US Airways flight touched down twelve minutes ahead of schedule in sunny Miami, which was a minor accomplishment considering they departed thirteen minutes late in an early March snowstorm that was blanketing eastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania. March had come in like a lion and the Quaker State folks were looking forward to the lamb. Lew Berry was met at the gate by three young, well-built FBI agents, all wearing the trademark dark blue suit and spit-shined black shoes.
“Mr. Berry, this is Agent Tecka and Agent Johnson. My name is Agent Jones. Where is Mrs. Berry?”
“So how did you know who I am?” Lew said a bit startled. He was wearing a Penn State sweatshirt and cap, while carrying a ski jacket in his arms. His brown leather carry-on was nearly worn out, laced with scratches and scuff marks.
“Mr. Berry, your picture is part of your daughter-in-law Sheryl’s file. Please sir, where is your wife?”
“She’s had enough pain and suffering for this lifetime. I decided it was best for her to stay in Pennsylvania. So where are we going?”
“Please follow us. We have a car waiting out front that will take us to FBI Headquarters just a few miles east of here,” Agent Jones stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll brief you there.”
“So you folks work late hours, eh Jones? It’s past six o’clock. When do you go home?”
“We’re not on a clock, Mr. Berry,” said Agent Jones with no apparent emotion.
The twenty-minute drive to FBI Headquarters in Miami was accomplished with nary a sound. Lew stared out the window at the late rush hour traffic moving slowly on the Dolphin Expressway. His thoughts turned to Brett and Sheryl’s wedding day just a few years ago and how blissfully happy they both appeared knowing they would be spending the rest of their lives together. Lew also remembered the close relationship that had emerged between his family and Sheryl’s parents and brother before they perished in a car accident. It was difficult now to conceive that four kith and kin were no longer here on earth and Sheryl could very well be dead, as well.
The black Mercury Marquis pulled into the parking lot of a concrete and steel reinforced building that couldn’t seem to hide the wear and tear from years of constant humidity, rain and sunshine beating down on it. The new FBI headquarters would soon be in North Miami Beach, but for now, wearing crisp blue suits and riding around in fancy cars were the only perks given to the federal law enforcement agents in this area. Agent Tecka parked the car and immediately exited the vehicle to open the door for Lew, who was sitting in the back seat. The four men walked quickly through the front doors, past the security desk and down a long hallway. Many more blue suits could be seen milling about in the labyrinth of cubicles scattered throughout the building.
The FBI agents and Lew entered a small interrogation room on the left. There were no windows except for a smoked-glass reflective pane on the wall around the corner which was to the right of the entry door. Lew had been a huge fan of The FBI television series in the early seventies and he could picture Efrem Zimbalist Junior listening closely behind the fake mirror that was no doubt a hiding place for investigators. But he wondered why he would be led into a cross-examination room when he was only in Miami to get information on Sheryl’s death.
Agents Jones, Tecka and Johnson motioned for Lew to have a seat on a fold-out metal chair that was tucked underneath a square metal table, which was probably used for agents to play poker on in their spare time. Agent Jones then sat down across the card table from Lew, while agents Tecka and Johnson leaned on the wall by the door. Lew was beginning to feel paranoid, trying to speculate what the conversation was going to entail. He placed his cap and ski jacket on top of the table and folded his hands in nervous bewilderment.
Leaning forward on his elbows, Agent Jones spoke first. “Mr. Berry, when was the last time you spoke to your daughter-in-law?”
“Please, Agent Jones, call me Lew.” Lew wanted this conversation to become a whole lot less formal.
“OK, Lew, and you can call me Jack, if you wish. Now, when was the last time you spoke to Sheryl?”
Jack Jones. Yep, Lew could picture that name for him. The agent was tall with a muscular body, dark complexion, blue eyes and dimples that would make the ladies wobbly if he looked at them. Lew was thinking that Jack could easily be the little brother of his wife’s favorite singer, Tom Jones.
“I spoke with Brett every week. He would give me updates on his basketball team frequently. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to Sheryl, though. I know that sounds rude, sorry.”
“You are aware from Coroner Sutton that the FBI is involved in this investigation because we suspect that Sheryl was kidnapped,” stated Agent Jones rhetorically.
“Yes, I am. But I thought a kidnapping had to cross state lines before the FBI was called in.”
“That’s correct, Lew. We got involved when the medical experts who investigated the remains in your son’s pickup truck found some evidence.”
“What the hell does some unknown dead body in Brett’s pickup have to do with Sheryl’s kidnapping? And what makes you think she was transported out of Florida?” Lew was losing his cool and his patience.
“I can’t give you that information right now, Lew. We are still early in our investigation,” Agent Jones said calmly.
“Okay, Jack, if you say so. But a lot of things simply don’t add up. For instance, if Sheryl didn’t get into Brett’s truck after the game that night, where did she go? From what I understand, there was quite a crowd in the gym because the teams were arch rivals. How could someone not see her get forcibly taken away? She’s well known in town, feisty enough to put up a struggle, and seven months pregnant! Hard to imagine there weren’t any witnesses. And also, does anyone know who that man in Brett’s truck was and how did he get there?”
“Lew, I understand you are upset and I apologize for not being able to divulge any more information. We brought you here to ask some questions and I’d like to get on with that, if you don’t mind?” Agent Jones’ tone of voice was turning a bit more serious.
“Fine. Then, get on with it,” said Lew insolently. Lew wasn’t about to hide his frustrations with this inquiry. His son was dead, his daughter-in law was missing and may be somewhere outside of Florida, and his questions were unrequited.
Agent Tecka walked out of the interrogation room for a long moment while Agent Jones kept silent. Jones snuck a quick glance over at Lew, then folded his hands on top of the table and twiddled his thumbs, a sign, perhaps, that he was a bit nervous himself. Agent Tecka returned with a small, black plastic pill box sealed with two narrow strips of clear tape. After placing the box on the table, he took out a pocketknife and slashed away the tape.
Agent Jones then looked up at Lew and asked, “Is there any chance that you saw Sheryl’s wedding ring, either before or after they were married?”
“I didn’t see it, but I remember they exchanged rings right after their vows were said. I guess most couples do. Why? So is that what you think is in that box, Sheryl’s wedding ring?” Lew’s curiosity was sparked.
“Well, quite frankly, Lew, that is why we wanted your wife to come along on this trip with you. Women usually enjoy examining a wedding ring more so then men and chances might be better that Janet knows if this is Sheryl’s ring or not.” Agent Jones then opened the lid. The ring was large, especially the band which was made from silver, or so it appeared that way. The stone itself was enormous, perhaps four or five carats.
“That ain’t
Sheryl’s,” Lew said without really taking a deep, hard look at the jewelry.
“You didn’t look very close, Lew. Are you sure it’s not hers?”
“I don’t have to look very close. That ring is humungous! It must have cost a fortune! Brett was a school teacher and coach. Ain’t no way he could have afforded that thing without robbing a bank!” Lew caught himself a bit too late . . . not the best choice of words to share with FBI agents, he thought!
“Lew, this ring appears to be very beautiful. In fact, our jewelry expert verified that it’s a replica of Queen Elizabeth the Second’s engagement ring that she received from Prince Phillip in 1946.”
“Well, there you have it. Brett would have been extremely lucky to make that kind of money in his whole career, say nothing of having it laying around before the wedding.” Lew was once again on the brink of full sarcasm.
Agent Jones paused a few seconds to make sure Lew was listening closely. “The stone on this ring is made from cubic zirconia, not pure diamond. The band itself is sterling silver. The total cost is estimated under $100.” Jones didn’t ask a question; he didn’t need to.
Wrinkles appeared on Lew’s forehead as he tilted his head up, opened his mouth, and squeezed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. He was now in deep thought, but keeping silent. Finally, he needed to know.
“Why do you think this is Sheryl’s, Jack?”
“Take a look at the engraving on the inside of the band.” Agent Jones placed the ring in Lew’s palm.
Sure enough, there were two initials, “SB” and “BB”, separated by a heart. Sheryl’s maiden name was Babbitt.
“Where did you find the ring?” Lew asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.
“The ring was found in a marsh just west of Miami International Airport during an investigation into the crash of those two jets a couple of weeks ago. A human finger, severed from a hand at the knuckle, was found a few feet away from an unidentified body, and this ring was lying on the ground next to it. Because there was red nail polish, the finger most likely belonged to a female. Forensics said the dried blood on the finger was type AB positive. We checked Sheryl’s birth records and she is AB positive. Sorry, Lew, there was no easy way to tell you.” Agent Jones’ face was melancholy as he locked eyes with Lew.
“Are you saying Sheryl was on one of those flights? Oh my God! Could there be another explanation? Her and Brett can’t be the only SB and BB to ever get married! And plenty of other women have AB positive blood type!” Lew’s voice was transitioning from angry to panicky.
Agent Jones reached across the table and patted Lew’s wrist. His serious nature was beginning to melt. However, he quickly regained his professional composure despite his somewhat demure disposition. “Your absolutely right, Lew. The ring and blood type match could be purely coincidental. But there’s one other thing. The Trans South Airlines flight manifest listed a Susan Blanchard sitting in seat 14C. A travel agent in Orlando made the reservation on the agency’s Sabre computer system, but claimed to not know the lady. She was a walk-in first time customer. The agent asked the lady for a driver’s license to complete the reservation so her home address would be correct on the ticket. Susan Blanchard provided her Florida license with an address listed in Winter Haven. We checked that address. There is none, not even an actual street with that name in Winter Haven. And no, there is no Susan Blanchard living in Winter Haven, either.”
“Okay, but I’m not following you. What does a Susan Blanchard, fictional or not, in Winter Haven have to do with Sheryl Berry in Seminole Bend?”
“The Trans South customer service rep who checked in Susan Blanchard at the airport remembered her very clearly. Usually, people remember other people and events more vividly when something out of the normal happens. The rep described a few strange incidents that he remembered about this girl Susan. He claims Susan’s traveling partner was leading her, well actually somewhat pushing her, to the counter, and then the partner provided driver’s licenses for both himself and the lady. According to the rep, Susan was wearing an obvious wig tucked underneath a loose scarf. When she reached the counter, she put her head down with her chin literally touching her chest and she never looked up at him. After checking in at the ticket counter, the traveling partner tugged her around and yanked her towards the gate. But the rep especially remembered her name because of another oddity. . . The traveling partner’s name was John Smith.”
“So you think Susan may have been Sheryl with a fake ID? Come on! That’s simply spontaneous and fluky, just like the ring with the initials on it.” Lew was even more puzzled, but determined to contradict the agent’s speculation. “It’s time you tell me what you’re thinking, Jack! As I remember from the newspapers, the Trans South flight was going to Atlanta, right? Why would an incognito Susan Blanchard be traveling to Atlanta? How does that play into your theory?”
“The travel agent in Orlando provided a description of Susan Blanchard to one of our artists. Here, take a look.” Agent Jones nodded to Agent Johnson, who removed a manila envelope from inside his suit coat and placed it on the table. Agent Jones opened the envelope, slid out the artist’s sketch and offered it to Lew. Lew laid the picture on the table and a startled look appeared on his face. “Now, here is an artist’s sketch of the gal that the Trans South rep at the Miami airport described.” Agent Jones removed a second picture from the envelope and placed it on the table so both sketches were sitting side by side. Lew was dumbfounded.
“They look like the same girl,” Lew’s voice was quiet, almost incoherent. “And they both look a bit like Sheryl.”
Lew was dazed and Agent Jones got to the point. “Could Sheryl have been in Orlando on February 11th, the date the airline ticket was purchased?”
“Absolutely not, Jack! During the basketball season, neither Sheryl nor Brett traveled anywhere except for out of town games. They looked forward to Spring Break when the basketball season was over and they could finally relax. You guys are investigating on a wing and a prayer!”
“I’m not saying those pictures are Sheryl, Lew. As a matter of fact, because we’re pretty sure the lady at the airport was wearing a wig, someone went to a great deal of trouble to look like Sheryl. I had to ask the question about the date to help confirm our suspicions and check that off our list. Now, only one item remains on that list and that’s the wedding ring. Would you mind calling your wife and find out if she has ever seen Sheryl’s diamond?”
CHAPTER 29
Tuesday, March 9, 1982
8:00 a.m.
O n Monday night, Lew had attempted three phone calls to his wife Janet in Pennsylvania to inquire about his daughter-in-law’s wedding ring, but each time the call went to her answering machine. On Tuesday morning, he phoned his neighbor Ralph Kline and asked him to check on Janet. Lew waited as patiently as possible in his hotel room for Ralph’s return call.
Ten minutes later the phone rang. Ralph said he had knocked on the door and waited for five minutes, but no one came. He had checked the door handle and found it unlocked, so he went into Berry’s home and looked around. On the kitchen table he found a note written by Janet. Ralph asked Lew if he should read it to him over the phone and Lew said “yes”.
Dear Lew,
I needed to get away for a few days to clear my head. I’ve tried everything to get over losing Brett and Sheryl and can’t do it. Going up to the Pocono’s and hoping the fresh air will help. Sorry, was going to call your hotel but couldn’t remember where you were staying. Can’t wait to hear what the FBI said. Be back soon.
Love, Janet
The airline ticket issued to Lew in Pennsylvania had an open-ended return. He threw his clothes and personal belongings into his carry-on suitcase and checked out of the Holiday Inn. The FBI had set up direct billing, so Lew dropped off his key at the front desk and ran for the Yellow Cab that was parked outside the lobby. “Airport, fast please.”
“Sure. What airline, sir?” replied the cabbie.
“Allegheny, I mean US Air, and please step on it!”
The cab driver was used to dealing with rush hour in Miami, and amid a flurry of honks and middle fingers being flashed his way, he cut, swerved and battled Lew to the airport in twenty minutes flat. The smallest bill in Lew’s wallet was a twenty, so he threw it in the cabbie’s lap and told him to keep the change. The fare was $8 and the big tip was greatly appreciated by the driver. He could now head to Denny’s for a Grand Slam breakfast.
US Airways Flight 450 was departing Miami in fifty-five minutes for Pittsburgh. Lew wanted to be on it and there were plenty of open seats. However, the counter agent noticed that the open jaw return had been stamped “Compulsory Approval Needed by Procurer”, so the agent advised Lew that he would need to call the phone number written on the ticket before he could reserve a seat. Lew tapped his fingers on the counter while the US Air agent called the FBI. Five minutes later Lew was told that his return to Pennsylvania had been denied.
Lew was furious. The US Air agent didn’t want to cause a scene, so he invited Lew to step into the supervisor’s office and use one of their company phones to call the FBI back. A secretary looked up the number and dialed while Lew fumed in a cheap metal folding chair. After waiting on hold for fifteen minutes, the secretary was finally connected to Agent Jones and she handed the receiver over to Lew.
“Jones, just what the hell is going on? I need to return to Pittsburgh and my return ticket was denied! Who the hell denied it?”
“I denied it, Lew. You need to at least tell us why you’re going back. The last we spoke yesterday you were going to call Janet and find out about the wedding ring.”
Lew explained his unanswered phone call attempts and the note found on the kitchen table by his neighbor.