Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2

by Duncan Whitehead

  “Yes, son, that’s me,” replied Ignatius. “Hey, don’t I know you?” he said, a look of recognition engulfing his face. “Didn’t I teach you at Savannah High?”

  The young officer nodded. “Yes, sir, you did, John Fuller.”

  “John Fuller,” repeated Ignatius. “I remember you. Damn fine footballer if I recall. Well, look at you, son, all grown up and a police officer. I always knew you would do well. Now tell me, son, why are you banging on my door and ringing my bell at five o’clock in the morning? You are lucky my wife isn’t here. After she had scolded you, she would have you eating cookies and milk and have you telling her your life story.”

  Officer John Fuller took a deep breath. “Mr. Jackson, that’s why I am here. It’s your wife; she has been involved in an accident.”

  Ignatius smiled. “I know that, son. That’s where she is now, dealing with the accident, the fire at the hotel. I know all about it. Don’t worry, I know they probably sent you to let me know she ain’t coming home yet. Come in, son, take a seat. I will fix you some coffee, and maybe you can take a sneaky five minute break.”

  “You need to come with me, please, sir, come with me.” John Fuller loved his job, but this particular task of being a police officer was one he hated. It was especially hard, as he had nothing but affection for Ignatius Jackson. Everyone had; every kid who had ever met him, while he was teaching, had a soft spot for Ignatius. It had been the officer’s decision to be the one to deliver the bad news to Ignatius. His partner, Sergeant Taylor, who sat waiting in the squad car parked in the street outside, had offered to do it, but John Fuller had insisted.

  Ignatius arrived at Memorial hospital thirty minutes after his wife died. He did not get the chance to say goodbye, to tell her how much he loved her, how sorry he was that she had never been a mother, how proud he was of her. Her friends and colleagues at the hospital had tried desperately to save her. Though she was dead, they had tried to revive her non-beating heart. No one had wanted to make the call, no one wanted to give up on her, but it was pointless, even if she had recovered, regained consciousness and a heartbeat, her skull and torso had been crushed, and her brain had ceased functioning the moment TJ Robertson had hit her car.

  Officer Fuller, accompanied by Sergeant Taylor, explained to Ignatius what had happened, explained the head-on collision, and explained that May was not responsible, explained that they believed the other driver, who was still unconscious, had been drinking, and that he had crossed into her lane. Paramedics had stated that the other driver had reeked of alcohol, and they had concluded that he must have been drunk. When, and if, he regained consciousness, a blood sample would be taken, and a breath test administered, and of course charges would be filed.

  The officers were joined by the attending doctor, his scrubs covered in May’s blood. He explained to Ignatius, that his wife had not suffered, that she had arrived at the hospital unconscious, and that it was highly unlikely that she had suffered any pain. The words flew over Ignatius as he stood in disbelief. He steadied himself and was aided by Officer Fuller and Sergeant Taylor and led to a chair. He was used to death, used to tragedy, but this was different. In a flash his whole life had crumbled. May, his beautiful May, his lover, friend, companion and soul mate, gone. Their future, gone. Their happiness, gone. In an instant.

  “Can I see her?” he asked, his composure slowly returning.

  The doctor shook his head. “I am not sure that is wise. You may want to remember how she was. Her injuries were quite traumatic.” Ignatius stared into space. He noticed young nurses weeping, he could also see that the physician before him was trembling, and the redness around his eyes indicated that he to, had shed a tear for May Jackson.

  “Son, I spent 8 years in Vietnam, I cradled dying boys with no limbs, with half their heads blown off. I think I can handle saying goodbye to my wife.”

  The doctor nodded; he understood. He knew, from May, about Ignatius, his medals, his valor, his war time service. Normally he would have refused such a request, but not this time. The doctor led Ignatius through the emergency room waiting area and into the operating theater, where his wife’s body lay. Ignatius took her hand and held it tightly. It was true; she was unrecognizable, but that did not deter or waiver Ignatius’ resolve. He turned to the doctor.

  “Every morning, son, for the last 40 years, I have kissed this woman. This morning will be no exception.” Ignatius bent over his wife’s lifeless body and kissed her forehead.

  The days and weeks following May’s death were the hardest of Ignatius’s life. Numerous tours of Vietnam, postings in some of the most dangerous places in the world, were nothing compared to the anguish he felt. He had never felt so alone. The house was filled with May’s possessions, the echo of her perfume lingered in the air. He was a mess, and he felt he had lost his will to live. He sometimes expected his wife to walk through the door, and that surely this was all a nightmare. It should have been him who was buried at Bonaventure Cemetery, not May. He should be the one who was dead.

  Ignatius had no idea how he could face life without May. He didn’t know how long he had anyway, and without May, he was sure his life would have no purpose; he had simply nothing to live for. The only thing that kept him sane and indeed alive, for many were the times he contemplated taking his own life, was the fact he wanted to see justice done, and the man who had murdered his wife, for that is how Ignatius saw it, would never be able to hurt another soul again. TJ Robertson needed to pay for his crimes. Son of a rich man, privileged spoiled brat, it didn’t matter. Ignatius wanted justice, and by God May deserved it.

  Ignatius, though his faith in God was waning, still had faith in justice, had faith in the law, faith in the American way, faith in the ‘system’, the system he had served faithfully his whole life, as a soldier and as an educator.

  But there was no justice.

  TJ Robertson never did take a sobriety test. Nor was his blood ever tested for alcohol. Before anyone could even speak to him, after he recovered consciousness, they had to navigate past several of his father’s high priced attorneys. The paramedics who had initially claimed that they had smelled alcohol on his breath recanted their statements. Pressured by attorneys who had argued that the smell of alcohol could have emitted from anywhere; maybe one of the empty bottles found in TJ Robertson’s car had been the cause of the odor? There was no proof at all he had been drinking. As for the two attending police officers, they hadn’t even spoken to poor TJ. It was conjecture and rumor, and there was no evidence. Yes, a few witnesses said they had seen him drinking earlier that evening, but was he drunk? Prove it.

  There was now also a new spin on the cause of the accident. Hadn’t May Jackson been working for over fifteen hours; wasn’t she exhausted? She hardly ever drove at night. She was old; maybe, just maybe, it was she who had caused the accident. The attorneys were good, the best money could buy, and it didn’t even go to trial.

  In the months that followed, Ignatius hounded the DA to press charges, begged the police to investigate TJ Robertson. Surely he had a record? Surely there must be something, something they could do? How dare they pin this on May? How dare they shift her from victim to cause of the accident? Though they listened, the police could do nothing. Though Ignatius understood that the DA’s hands were tied, that didn’t help him. As time passed, Ignatius lost faith in the ‘system’ he had served. He lost faith in justice, and he lost faith in just about everything. He had lost faith in the law. His medals and ribbons, his service, meant nothing to him now, and it seemed to no one else.

  As Ignatius’s life spiraled downwards, alone and bitter, frustrated that no one would help him seek justice for May — and maybe even save the life of someone else who could become a victim of the drinking and driving habits of TJ Robertson — his life shattered. It had been a chance meeting with an old friend and comrade that had changed and redirected his life.

  Lieutenant General Peter Ferguson, retired, had served under Major Ignatius Jacks
on during The Battle of Fire Support Base Ripcord, as a young 2nd Lieutenant. The 23 day battle between the U.S. Army 101st Airborne Division and the North Vietnamese Army, that occurred from July 1, 1970 until July 23, 1970, was the last major confrontation of the Vietnam War between United States ground forces and North Vietnam. Three Medals of Honor and six Distinguished Service Crosses were awarded to participants for actions during the operations. One of them to Ignatius Jackson, for saving the life, while under heavy fire, of his second in command, Peter Ferguson.

  Peter Ferguson would be visiting Savannah, on private business, and had looked up the number of his old comrade and friend. It would be marvelous to see Ignatius and May again. Though they had lost touch over the years, he owed the man his life. Though it would only be a fleeting visit, maybe they could grab dinner before he flew back to Washington.

  Ignatius had been surprised to hear from his old friend. He had of course followed his career, and was not the least surprised that he had achieved the rank of Lieutenant General. They had exchanged Christmas cards for a few years, but then, suddenly, Peter Ferguson, after retiring from the army, disappeared. Ignatius had lost contact with him, even his Christmas cards returned unopened. So it was an immense surprise when Ferguson called.

  Ignatius explained to his friend, during that initial phone call, that May had passed away. He didn’t go into details, but he would do, once they met, he would love to go to dinner with his former subordinate. Pete Ferguson had expressed his condolences for Ignatius’s loss. May had been a good woman, and had been well liked and respected by all Ignatius’s men.

  Peter Ferguson had a proposal for Ignatius. He had something he wanted to discuss, face to face, something he couldn’t talk about over the phone.

  But Peter Ferguson had known that May was dead. He knew most things, and his call had not been by chance, but Ignatius didn’t need to know that, not yet anyway….

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kelly Hudd knew she needed to shower, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t showered in days. As she stared into the mirror, she could hardly recognize herself. Her once model like figure had gone. In the past few months she had piled on weight, fifteen pounds, give or take a few pounds. Her once perfect skin was blotchy and dry. Her hair was lank and unkempt, and her roots were now showing. Her fingernails had been chewed and gnawed, and she could not remember the last time she had indulged herself with a manicure. The woman staring back at her was a stranger to her, who bore no resemblance to the once beautiful, contented and happy woman she had once been.

  She sighed heavily as she dressed in a bathrobe and headed from her bedroom, down the stairs to her sanctuary… the kitchen and her parent’s fridge.

  Kelly had been staying with her parents since Tom had left her. She had no desire to return to her old home or neighborhood. Atlanta was a good distance from Savannah and the memories of Tom. She did not care what became of her old home on Henry Street. It did not matter to her if it was falling apart, if the place was filthy; she didn’t even care if it was even swallowed up by a sinkhole. It could burn, for all she cared. She paid no concern to the probable state of her lawn; she did not give a hoot if her once immaculate garden was now overgrown with weeds. Her life, as it had been, was over.

  She had lost her job at Macy’s, fired, after failing to turn up for work on six consecutive occasions. She hadn’t called them anyway, her boss, nor her former colleagues, nor had she responded to the numerous phone calls from her worried supervisor, and she had simply ignored the letter that had arrived, informing her she had been terminated.

  She was sure the house was probably in foreclosure anyway. She certainly could not afford the mortgage payments, nor the taxes due, even if she was working. They, she and Tom, had relied on both their salaries to keep the house, and to indulge in their penchant for fine clothes and expensive luxuries… not that that mattered, nothing mattered anymore.

  Kelly opened her parent’s refrigerator and inspected its contents. Shaking her head, not craving the block of cheese, nor the day old fried chicken, she closed the fridge door and opened the freezer compartment door and retrieved a carton of chocolate ice cream. This was her life now; this is how she coped; lying in bed, or sitting at her parent’s kitchen table, probably now addicted to Xanax and gorging on ice cream. Brokenhearted, depressed and with nothing to look forward to, for all intents and purposes, her life was over.

  Her parents, though, had been fantastic: they had told to stay for as long as she wanted. Not to worry about a thing. She was their daughter after all, their only child, and of course Shmitty, who lay on the kitchen floor watching his forlorn mistress shovel spoonful’s of ice-cream into her mouth, was welcome to live with them also.

  Her parents had not asked too many questions. Kelly had simply told them that Tom had left her. She did not explain why, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure herself. They had respected her privacy, had tried to reassure her, that everything would be fine, that Tom would be back, that all marriages, sooner or later, had their downs, as well as their ups.

  As she delved into the ice cream, Kelly felt empty and hollow inside. A continual pain in her stomach, a result of the clinical depression, for which she was now receiving therapy and treatment. She knew she had brought this all on herself. If only she hadn’t gone to Paris, if only she had never met the ridiculous, deceitful, and conniving Billy Malphrus, if only Tom hadn’t found out and left her.

  Initially she had thought Tom might have been in trouble, maybe he had even been abducted. She remembered the morning he left her as if it were yesterday. She had been feigning sickness, trying to avoid the rat of a man living next door, with whom she had unwittingly had a one night stand; after he had lied to her and tricked her. Tom had taken Shmitty for his morning walk; it was usually her job to do that, but he still had a day of leave remaining, and of course, she was ‘sick’, and unable to even leave the house. An hour passed and Tom had not returned. Usually Shmitty would just run into the park, sniff around and run back to the gate, unless there were other dogs in the park. Then he would play; especially if The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club were present with their canines.

  She had peered from behind her curtains, too afraid to venture outside, should she encounter either Cindy or Billy, trying to spot Tom walking back with Shmitty. It had been Shmitty’s crying that had forced her to open her front door. She had found Shmitty, his leash around his deck, sitting on his haunches, looking just as confused as she.

  In a panic, she had dressed quickly and then driven the neighborhood looking for her husband. Her first stop had been the park; she had shouted his name from behind the gated entrance, before entering. She had continued to shout his name as she traversed every inch of the place, but he was nowhere to be seen. There was not even a hint, or trace that he had ever even been there.

  She had then frantically knocked on Elliott Miller’s front door. Since he lived opposite the park maybe he had seen Tom, or maybe heard something. Elliott had been kind, he had swapped his house slippers for shoes and insisted they go back to the park and search some more. He had a key to the scout hut; maybe Tom was in there? Elliott’s and Kelly’s combined search of the park proved to be fruitless; Tom was definitely not there. Next, the pair had driven through the neighborhood, crisscrossing every avenue and street, in their separate cars; still there was no sign of Tom. Elliott had asked Kelly to call her husband again on his cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Elliott had tried from his phone; again it had gone straight to voicemail.

  Distraught and emotional, Kelly had burst into tears. Elliott had held her as she cried, “Where is he? Where is he?” But of course Elliott had no answer for her.

  “This is all my fault. I knew it. I knew he would find out. I knew it. He has gone, Elliott. He has left me. I just know it,” she had said through her tears to her neighbor.

  “That’s just silly,” Elliott had reassured her, confused by her comments.

  “He has. I did so
mething terrible, and I know he has found out,” sobbed Kelly, hugging Elliott, tears staining his immaculate white shirt.

  Elliott had hugged her harder. “Look, let’s call the police, they will sort this out, I am sure.”

  “You think so? You think they will help me find him? Oh, Elliott, what I have done?”

  It was Elliott who called the police, who had responded to his call within minutes, well aware that the man placing the call could soon be their Mayor. Elliott had stayed with Kelly as she explained that her husband had just vanished, and that she and Elliott had searched everywhere. He had been there when they took her statement, and he had remained at her side as the police also drove through the neighborhood, carried out a cursory search of the park and returned without finding Tom.

  The attending officers advised Kelly to wait a few days, then if Tom didn’t show up, to report him as a missing person. They tried to reassure her that he would return soon, that maybe he had just gone to the store; that maybe there was a logical explanation for his mysterious disappearance.

  “You don’t understand,” she had said, even more tears streaming down her pretty face. “I did something bad. I cheated on him. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. What am I going to do?”

  Neither the police nor Elliott had any answers. Elliott thanked the officers for their search and told them he would make sure Kelly followed their instructions, that if Tom hadn’t resurfaced in a few days, that she would report him as a missing person. Elliott had then made sure Kelly made it safely home, following her in his car, as she drove the short distance back to there.

  Kelly waited patiently for Tom to call, but he didn’t. She called his parents, the fire department, spoke to his Captain, but they had not seen or heard from Tom since he had begun his extended leave period. After three days, Kelly reported Tom as a missing person.

  She had asked Elliott to accompany her to the police station; she felt with him there they might take her seriously. Maybe with the Mayor-in-waiting at her side, they would be prompted to work especially hard to find her Tom.