by Dan Walsh
Those victories had earned Wagner something of an intimidating reputation. No one wanted to fight him in court. The threat of it alone tended to make folks settle out of court fairly quickly. The following year, that same public exposure had secured an upset victory for Wagner in the district’s state Senate seat, held by a retiring Democrat. Since then, Burke Wagner had become one of the state’s rising Republican stars. He found it amazing how much attention people paid to someone who could talk well.
Over the next few years, Wagner found it just as easy to sway folks on the Senate Chamber floor as he had in the jury box. Of course, it helped if you didn’t mind bending the truth here and there to make your points. Burke Wagner wasn’t a true conservative, either morally or politically. But he didn’t consider that much of a handicap. As he’d confided to one of his closest friends, “I could certainly play one on TV.”
The talk was now that Wagner was in line to become the leader of the Republican majority in the Georgia senate, which would make him one of the state’s most influential power brokers. In that office, he’d have a strong voice in shaping every major bill that came before the Georgia General Assembly. He’d be among a handful of people who made the final decisions on which programs were funded in the state budget.
Now…a position like that would mean some real money.
Wagner smiled as he thought about it. What would his father think if he could see him now? The old man certainly had his virtues, but his methods in dealing with people had been archaic, even brutal. Burke could never get him to see it. The game was all about leverage. One could whack people with a stick or use that same stick to set a massive boulder rolling downhill.
Wagner turned from his view of the city below and sat in his stuffed leather chair. It squeaked slightly as he leaned back. He loosened his silk tie and shifted his neck from side to side, working out a kink. He took a final sip of his Cafe Amaretto and thumbed quietly through the pages of some contract negotiations, prepping for a meeting with his young aide, Harold Vandergraf.
Being a state senator was a part-time job for Wagner. Had to be, considering the senate only convened the first few months of each year. The rest of the time, Wagner practiced law as a senior partner in the firm of Wagner and Reynolds. But Wagner had already set his sights on bigger things. Either the Attorney General’s office or winning a Senate seat in Washington.
The intercom chimed. Wagner leaned forward. “Yes, Jane?
“Harold’s here.”
“Okay. Send him in.”
The sleek black door opened admitting a lean, impeccably dressed, young man in his mid-twenties. “Afternoon, Senator.”
Wagner hadn’t insisted Vandergraf call him that, but he didn’t mind. He nodded. “Got a mission for you, Harold. Come on in, have a seat.
“What is it?” Vandergraf sat in an upholstered office chair.
“It’s a piece of cake. Can I get you anything? Coffee, a drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I need you to pay someone a visit.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Maybe. He has been in here a few times last month, and I think you were with me when we visited his office once. Mr. David Herndon, owns Herndon Real Estate Group. His firm is looking to buy a huge tract of land on the edge of town, out where that new on-ramp is scheduled to connect State Road 19 to the highway.”
“Is that official?” Vandergraf said. “I thought it was still just talk.”
“It’s not official, but it’s more than talk. I’m in a position to change that, but I’m also in a position to shut it down, or else delay it so long it might as well be. I communicated that to Mr. Herndon. He’s been weighing his options about a decision I’ve asked him to make a few days ago. The problem is, I didn’t give him a few days. I gave him one day. I need you to visit him and remind him of that discrepancy.”
Vandergraf smiled. He didn’t need to ask why Wagner didn’t just send Herndon an email or give him a call. Most of the tasks Wagner gave him were handled this way. In person. No paper trail, no recordings, no digital fingerprints.
“What incentive do you want me to offer Mr. Herndon, to induce him to get back with you right away?”
Wagner sat forward in his chair. “Since this is just a first warning, simply suggest that I’m leaning toward delaying this improvement project until next year…unless he can give me a good enough reason to speed things up. He’ll know what you mean.” Wagner picked up a plain vanilla folder and handed it to Vandergraf. “But just to make sure, here’s a file to look over. It’s Herndon’s personal information. Names and addresses of his wife, kids, what school his grandkids attend. Things like that. I’ll let you decide what to do with it.”
Vandergraf looked down at the folder, opened it, glanced at it for a second then closed it. “I understand. I’m guessing by the urgency in your tone, you’d like this done soon?”
“Very,” Wagner said. “Like this afternoon.” He got up and walked to the wet bar, popped open the glass top to a crystal carafe half-filled with scotch, poured himself a drink.
“No problem. I can do that. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“Not at the moment. But there will be if I don’t hear back from him today.” He held up his glass of scotch. “One for the road?”
Vandergraf stood. “No, thank you. I’ll get right on this, sir.”
“Good, you do that,” Wagner said.
26
Harold Vandergraf rode alone in the elevator, watched the digital numbers rise in the only other building in downtown Culpepper taller than five floors. It was owned by the Herndon Real Estate Group, which occupied the entire top floor. As the elevator climbed, Vandergraf thought through his strategy, how to best convey to Mr. Herndon the Senator’s concern.
If there was one thing Vandergraf had learned from the Senator, it was that words had power, so choose them carefully. A few sticks of dynamite properly placed can blow the side off a mountain. One’s eyes were another effective tool but they worked more like lasers, fierce and precise. Together, Vandergraf had found they enabled him to manipulate soft, pudgy men in expensive suits with relative ease.
He let go of the polished brass handrail as the stainless steel elevator doors opened. As he stepped into the lobby, he digested the scene of Herndon’s world: plush tan carpet, walls paneled in marble and mahogany, a petite brunette sitting behind a large colonial reception desk.
The receptionist noticed Vandergraf standing there. She looked and gave him more than a courteous smile. “Can I help you?”
Vandergraf walked up confidently. “I sure hope so.”
“Me, too,” she said, then laughed.
“I’m here to see Mr. Herndon.”
She glanced at the computer screen. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t.”
“I didn’t think so. I didn’t have any scheduled on his calendar.”
“But I’m pretty sure he’ll see me, if you’ll just let him know I’m here.”
“And you are?”
“Harold Vandergraf. I’m Senator Wagner’s aide.”
“I thought you looked familiar. You were here before, a few weeks ago, right?”
“Good memory. That’s true, I was. You could tell him I will only take a few minutes of his time.”
She clicked a few buttons then spoke into her headset. She listened a few moments, looked up and said, “Mr. Herndon said you could come right in. Do you remember where his office is?”
“I think so, but maybe you should escort me, just to make sure.” Vandergraf took a few steps, intentionally in the wrong direction.
“Wrong way,” she said, taking the bait.
He followed her down a wide hallway. Her walk suggested she’d spent time on the runway.
“Right in there,” she said. “Through the big wooden door. Mr. Herndon’s executive secretary is out today. Just pass her desk through the second set of doors.”
“Thank you very
much, Miss….”
“Just call me, Julie,” she said, holding out her hand.
First name. Very good. “Thank you very much, Julie.” He let his grasp linger. Julie did not resist.
“Right in there,” Julie repeated, gently pulling her hand away.
“See you later,” Vandergraf said.
“I hope so.” She gave him another interested smile as she turned to walk away. He stepped into Herndon’s roomy outer office, noticed the empty secretary desk and the second set of doors.
As he opened the one with a door knob, he heard, “Come in Harold. I’ve been expecting you.” Herndon spun around in his overstuffed chair to face Vandergraf, but did not get up.
“You have?”
“Well, I figured the Senator preferred to handle matters like this in person. Considering how busy he is, didn’t figure he’d come himself.”
“I assume then you know why I’m here?”
“Let me guess?” Herndon said. “I’m late.”
Vandergraf nodded.
“Care to have a seat?”
“I don’t plan on being here long enough.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Have you made a decision?” Vandergraf said.
Herndon didn’t answer. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled a sigh. “See, the thing is—”
Vandergraf held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear what the thing is. I’m not here to discuss the matter with you. I don’t even know enough details to do so.”
“What do you know?” Herndon said.
Vandergraf needed to be careful. He quickly scanned the room looking for any obvious signs of a video camera. He didn’t see any, but they could be well-hidden. “I know it has something to do with a large tract of land your company wants to buy, if you can get certain…assurances. I know that Senator Wagner is inclined to recommend delaying any activity along those lines, at least in the current fiscal year.”
“Is that what he said? He’s planning on delaying the project?”
“I think the phrase I used was…inclined to recommend. But I understand he gave you some things to consider. Specifically, a decision to make.”
Herndon sat back in his chair, sighed again.
“I’ve come for your reply. And as you said, you are…late.”
Herndon sat up. “It’s not as simple as you make it sound.”
Vandergraf shot him a menacing look. “I’m afraid it is.” He noticed Herndon’s office had a balcony. “Shall we finish our discussion out there?”
Herndon glanced at the glass door. “Why?”
Vandergraf walked toward it. He realized by the look of fear on Herndon’s face. He was thinking Vandergraf was planning to assault him, maybe even throw him over the side. He wasn’t. Not for a first warning. But it certainly didn’t hurt for Herndon’s mind to go there. “It’s a beautiful view. I like fresh air. Take your pick.” The real reason was, he couldn’t be certain Herndon wasn’t recording the conversation. On the balcony, he could speak freely. When he got to the glass door, he unlocked it and slid it open. “You coming?”
Herndon stood up but didn’t move. “Why can’t we talk in here?”
“Come on,” Vandergraf said, more like an order than an invitation. “This won’t take a minute.”
Herndon sat back down. “I don’t…I’d rather…”
Vandergraf stepped out onto the balcony, left the door open for Herndon. He waited a few moments. Finally, Herndon appeared.
“I’ve made my decision,” he said, still standing on the carpet. “Tell the Senator I accept his proposal.”
“As is?” Vandergraf said.
“As is.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“The Senator said if I did, it might give him enough reason to change his mind and get fully behind this project.”
“He did?” Vandergraf said. “Well, if he said it, I’m sure he meant it. The Senator is a man of his word.”
They stood there looking at each other a few moments. “You sure you don’t want to come out here, Mr. Herndon? It’s really very nice.”
27
All afternoon, Jack did his best to stay plugged into his doctoral research project, but he was having the hardest time. Whenever his mind was free for even a few moments, it instantly drifted back to the scrapbook with the obituaries. In the hours since making the discovery, he was only more certain he’d found something very dark and sinister.
The implication was stunning: old man Wagner was a killer. Not just a killer, but a serial killer who, for some reason, had stalked these eight elderly World War II pilots over a period of five years and systematically executed them. Nothing else made any sense.
But why these eight men? Were there more than eight? Was there another scrapbook somewhere, or were there others he had killed but didn’t save the obituaries?
He got up from the dinette table and walked into the living room, picked up the scrapbook again. This wasn’t just innocent or idle information; it was evidence of a crime, a series of premeditated murders. Jack knew by itself, it wasn’t proof. At least, not enough to gain a conviction, but it seemed like enough evidence to launch an investigation.
He picked up the journal, thumbed through all the handwritten pages. This had been in the safe with the scrapbook. And it was written by the old man. Maybe there was more evidence inside, incriminating statements that could link him to these murdered pilots. Maybe even a confession. He couldn’t read a word of it. But Rachel could. He had to call her. She had to see this. He set the books down on the coffee table and pulled out his phone.
The phone rang four times. “Hey Jack, I was just thinking about you.”
He so loved the sound of her voice. “Hi Rachel, that’s nice to hear. Obviously, I was thinking about you. Actually, I was thinking about how much I wished I could see you.”
“That’s funny,” she said. “That’s exactly what I was thinking about.”
“Actually, the reason I want to see is probably a little different. I mean, I’d love to see you anytime. But something’s come up. Something pretty serious, I could really use your help with it.”
“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not me, it’s something I found here at the cabin.”
“Something in the photo album?”
“No, something else. It’s connected, but it’s something else. Something a lot more serious. Is there any chance you could come out here?”
“I’m sure I could. What time are you thinking?”
“How about…right now?”
“Now? Okay, I guess it is pretty serious then.”
“It really is.”
“Can you tell me anything else?”
“I’d really rather just show you. After you see it, we can talk.”
She paused a moment. “Do you see the time?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting pretty close to dinner.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Want me to bring something up with me?”
“Sure, that would be good. Maybe some Chinese, or some other kind of takeout. You decide. You know what I like.”
“Okay,” she said, “then that’s what we’ll do. I can be up there in about forty-five minutes.”
“Great. See you then. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Jack was straightening up the cabin when he heard Rachel’s car pull up outside. He had decided to leave the living room, as is. The recliner moved out of the way, the floorboard exposed, the scrapbook and journal laid out on the coffee table. His cleaning efforts were mainly about getting all his research material put away, so they could eat on the table. That and making his bed, putting his dirty clothes in a laundry bushel.
He hurried to the front door and opened it just as she stepped onto the porch. “Chinese! I was hoping it was going to be Chinese.”
“I figured you were.” She leaned forward, and they kissed. She handed him two lit
tle white boxes. “These are yours. Szechuan pork and pork fried rice.”
“And yours is…orange chicken with white rice.”
“Of course.”
Jack had never seen her order any other kind of Chinese food since their first date. They walked back into the cabin toward the dinette table, but Jack noticed Rachel’s eyes instantly lock onto the mess in the living room. Especially down at the opening in the floorboards.
“Jack, what have you been doing? Did you tear that up?”
They set their boxes down on the dinette table. “No, the board wasn’t nailed down. It lifted right up.”
“How would you even know it was loose?”
Jack laughed. He realized how odd the scene must look now viewing it through her eyes. “I kept banging my foot on it. Since it wasn’t nailed down, I guess over time it warped a little, which made it raise up a little from the rest. After the second time, I looked down and noticed, it wasn’t only not nailed down, it didn’t even have any nail-holes in it. It never had been nailed down.”
Rachel gave Jack a puzzled look.
“What?”
“I don’t know, the things you notice. Who would ever see such a thing and, if they did, would feel compelled to investigate it further?”
“It wasn’t only that. I could also see that this one floorboard was a different shade than all the others. It even has different grain marks. Here, let me show you.” Jack walked over and picked it up. He bent down and laid it on the floor. “See? Not even close.”
“She walked over. Okay, I see that. But still…”
“Okay, I can see how that still seems a little weird. But it just made me wonder, why would they just replace one floorboard? If you had water damage or bug damage, it wouldn’t limit itself to one board. And even if it did, why wouldn’t you nail down the replacement board. It made me wonder if he didn’t do it on purpose. So he could have easy access to something under the floor.”