Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Dedra smiled, though the right side of her mouth barely moved. The warm, welcoming humor in her eyes more than made up for her face’s inability to present fully formed expressions.

  “I’ll do my best Mr. Bennington. Now if you’ll please follow me this way.”

  “The congresswoman still on the second floor in that little office at the end of the hall?”

  Dedra glanced to her left and nodded. She was nearly as tall as me, and gave every indication she could most likely kick my ass with just her one good hand.

  “Yes she is. I was told you two met last year.”

  I nodded while at the same time making sure I moved my feet just a bit faster to keep up with Dedra’s quick paced walk.

  “That’s right. She seems like a very capable member of Congress.”

  “That she is, Mr. Bennington.”

  We were now well inside the Capitol Building structure, making our way up a large, marble tiled set of steps that were all too familiar to me.

  “You mind if I ask what happened to you, Dedra? How you came by those injuries?”

  Dedra shook her head as her well muscled legs moved up the stairs effortlessly.

  “Not at all. Roadside bomb – Iraq. July of 2005. Lost my arm, half my face, but not my life, and most importantly, not my faith. Born and raised in Pensacola, Florida, which is Congresswoman Mears’s district. She already knew my family. We’re all kind of one big family down there. She visited me in the hospital several times after I was back stateside, helped set up my rehabilitation, and eventually, made me part of her staff.”

  I paused, my heart rate having quickened just beyond what I felt to be comfortable.

  “What was a beautiful woman like you doing in Iraq?”

  Dedra stopped next to me and gave her half smile again, though this time her eyes were devoid of warmth or kindness.

  “Killing the enemy.”

  23.

  The reception area of Congresswoman Mears’s office was tastefully furnished with a single dark oak coffee table and two matching chairs on one side of the room, and on the opposite side, a matching work area desk behind which sat a broad shouldered Hispanic man in his mid 30’s who I soon realized, was also in a wheelchair. Both of his legs had been cut off well above the knee. I assumed he was similar to Dedra, having been injured during military combat and now given a place on the congresswoman’s staff.

  “Hello Dedra. Go right in, the congresswoman is expecting you.”

  It had been my experience over the years that every congressional office had some kind of sign in form for record keeping. As I paused to look for such a form in Congresswoman Mears’s office, Dedra turned and motioned toward the hallway.

  “This is not an official visit Mr. Bennington. Just follow me.”

  At the very end of the short hallway was a door to the left with a simple bronze plaque that indicated it was the congresswoman’s office. Dedra knocked twice and then pushed the door open. I could hear another woman’s voice from inside the room.

  “Yes, have him come in and then close the door, Dedra. I’ll call you if I have any further questions. Thank you.”

  The congresswoman’s office was furnished with the same, simple lack of pretense as the reception area. She looked the same as I remembered her from our brief meetings last year. A shortish woman, who had recently become a grandmother for the third time, with short, softly curled grey and brown hair, slightly chubby face, and narrow, cheerful eyes that hinted at the degree of toughness that lurked underneath her kindly exterior.

  I spotted the large family Bible she had in the same place on her desk when I was in this same office last year. The very Bible that had contributed to the now deceased Congressman Latner’s disgust toward the congresswoman, dismissing her then as a “backwoods cunt”. Class and respect toward women were never priorities for the congressman, and I had some time ago admitted to myself the world was a far better place without him in it.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Bennington. Is it ok if I call you Frank? You can call me Betty if you like.”

  I knew I looked nervous as hell, because I was nervous as hell, and the prominently displayed biblical quote on the wall behind the congresswoman’s desk did little to set me at ease.

  We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. – Romans 8:28

  “That’s fine by me, Congresswoman. I’m just happy to be standing here at all. Been one shitty morning, though I’m guessing you already know about some of that.”

  Congresswoman Mears smiled as she motioned for me to take one of the two wood framed and cushioned seats in front of her desk.

  “Yes I do, Frank. I’m probably almost as happy to see you here in my office this morning as you are. Those people who were following you…not the kind of men anyone would wish to have to deal with.”

  I sensed I was being tested here. She wanted to see how I handled myself now. Why that was, I didn’t know. Once again, I found myself swimming in dark waters of questions with few answers floating by to grab onto.

  So just dive the hell in, Frank, and be done with it.

  Perhaps my own advice to myself had merit. I’d been running long enough now, and was in no condition to keep doing so. Time to fish or cut bait.

  “I have Walt’s file. The one he wanted me to find.”

  The congresswoman lifted her head slightly while folding her hands together on top of her desk. The atmosphere inside the office grew noticeably heavier – more serious.

  “That’s good, Frank, because handing that information over to me is what will save your life. It’s how we do things.”

  She was speaking in half circles, talking just enough to allow her to say nothing, while gently urging me to take another step forward. Whether that was a step toward safety, or into the abyss, I had no idea.

  “I want answers, Congresswoman. If I hand this file over to you, will you give them to me?”

  Her eyes narrowed even further as she studied me intently for several more seconds.

  “With this kind of information comes serious obligation, Frank. I would like you to join my team, but that is not a decision you should take lightly. It is a life choice Mr. Bennington, and if you make this choice, your life will never be the same.”

  The congresswoman was doing it again – speaking in near riddles, increasing my interest in whatever the hell she was talking about. After so many years of working in Washington D.C., I recognized political talent in someone almost immediately, and she had that kind of talent tenfold.

  I removed the manila envelope, its edges now bent and frayed by its having been kept inside my coat during the near deadly morning altercation.

  “You say if I give you this, it will save my life. I’d like to hear the how and why behind that statement.”

  Congresswoman Mears offered the slightest of smiles as her voice lowered to an almost whisper.

  “Before this morning, had you ever heard of the T3 Group, Frank?”

  I shook my head.

  “No, I first saw it written down in this file here. Walt put it there, so I’m guessing he knew something of it.”

  The congresswoman’s eyes softened, determination replaced by sadness.

  “He’d likely still be alive if he had not been so untrusting of us Frank. We tried to contact him, tried to make ourselves available to unburden the information you have now in your possession, but he was too fearful. I understand that fear of course, he wasn’t as experienced as you with this world up here. How the system works, how things are done, the potential for…secrets.”

  “How about you tell me how my giving you this folder saves my life? Let’s start there.”

  Betty Mears gave a short nod, seemingly relieved that I was willing to proceed.

  “Absolutely, Frank, that folder represents a piece of a much larger puzzle. It points to a conspiracy involving some very important people. I assume you’ve already looked through it, correc
t?”

  I nodded as the congresswoman continued.

  “This conspiracy involves the selling of a lie Frank. In this case, and it is just one of far too many examples of this, the lie centers around what used to be called global warming, but was then altered to the more generalized “climate change” crisis. There is no crisis of course. Never has been. What I believe Walt was able to put together in his own haphazard way, were some of the direct financial links of this conspiracy. Even then, he only scratched the proverbial surface, bit it’s enough that the people and organizations he focused in on would be more than willing to kill to have that information silenced.

  Having said that, I would like to have that file Frank, but if you hand it over to me, then you are left with obligations to our group. Obligations, as I’ve already told you, would alter your life forever.”

  I knew my face openly indicated my growing fatigue over the less than direct conversation going on between myself and the congresswoman. I also knew that my frustration could very well be the intended outcome she wanted.

  C’mon lady – just get to the damn point.

  “What do you mean by obligation? As in, I will owe you – but owe you what?”

  Congresswoman Mears lowered her head slightly and gave a half smile.

  “Something like that. You would be an operative within our organization, and as such, obligated to allow us to call on you for assistance at any time. That’s part of the deal with knowing truth, but despite that obligation, I would also add that the truth truly can set you free.”

  My patience had finally run out. There were good manners and all, which generally I tried for the most part to conduct myself with, but man, enough with all the Da Vinci Code sounding bullshit. That story sucked about as much as this conversation with the congresswoman.

  “All due respect Congresswoman, but can you please just say it without all dark shadow, super spy descriptions? Are you talking about the T3 Group? That’s your organization, right? So I give you Walt’s information, the information that you already admitted got him killed, and that means I’m now part of this organization too? So what if I just keep this file and walk out of here?”

  For the first time since our meeting began, Betty Mears betrayed a hint of panic.

  “Then you’ll likely be killed, Frank. Perhaps by those two men from this morning, or others, and it will be sooner not later that it happens.”

  I rested my right hand atop the manila folder, which in turn sat on the congresswoman’s desk.

  “But I give you this envelope, and that threat goes away? Why?”

  Congresswoman’s Mears’s panic retreated, replaced by her usual calm, focused, self assurance.

  “We have access to those who will get the information out to the public in such a way that you will be protected. It’s how it’s been done for…for far longer than even you have worked here in D.C. Frank. It’s the primary purpose of the T3 Group, and with the rise of the alternative media, it has made the process that much quicker, safer, and more effective.”

  My mouth opened to say something using language I was certain would be objectionable to most church-going people, but the congresswoman held up a hand to cut me off.

  “Just a minute, before you say anything more, I want to show you something, something that very few people have seen since the original incident. Something that was among the very first things the modern version of the T3 Group was involved with regarding the dissemination of truth in the face of a cover-up. Perhaps it will help you understand what we do in a way my words can’t.”

  I had to admit to myself the congresswoman had my full attention. If her intent was to simply sell me on something, she had the skills of a world class carnival barker. Reaching into one of her desk drawers, Congresswoman Mears withdrew her own manila envelope, and from that, removed a single, portrait sized black and white photograph, which she then slid across the desk so it sat directly in front of me.

  “Please take a close look at that, Frank.”

  The image looked vaguely familiar to me, though the quality of the photo presented an overly grainy and somewhat difficult to make out picture of a man’s upper body peering over a concrete wall with what I guessed to be a cloud of smoke drifting over his head. There also appeared to be the dark outline of a scoped rifle resting on the man’s right shoulder.

  The congresswoman was again staring at me intently, allowing me more time to continue looking over the photograph. When I began to speak, she again raised her hand to silence me.

  “Not yet Frank, I want you to now look at the entire photograph here. What you have in front of you is a portion of the original photo, blown up and pixel enhanced to show just that particular area. Here’s a copy of the full image as originally developed.”

  Congresswoman Mears slid a second black and white photograph across her desk. A voice within me, somehow not quite my own, cried out that I not look at the photo, for in doing so, I would be opening a door that could never again be closed. Truth may in fact set one free, but freedom also has a price, namely the loss of ignorant bliss.

  I knew the image instantly, that day irreparably burned into the collective experience of all who were alive at that time in America’s history. I knew the outline of the large convertible automobile, and more important, the passengers it carried – one passenger in particular.

  At the bottom of the photograph was a simple date stamp:

  November 22, 1963.

  I was looking at the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

  24.

  “What do you see in that photograph?”

  I wasn’t ready to respond. While my eyes told me it was clearly a man with a rifle standing behind what I assumed to be the infamous grassy knoll so prevalent in almost all JFK assassination conspiracies, my mind pushed away the possibility captured by that image. It wasn’t possible such evidence could escape being known all these years.

  Could it?

  “Mr. Bennington?”

  Now I know shit happens in D.C. All kinds of backroom shady deals 24/7. It’s the fuel that drives this place. I’ve never been one for conspiracy though, always considered it crackpot bullshit for the most part.

  “I’m either seeing proof of a conspiracy, or an example of a hoax, and frankly, I have no idea which one it is.”

  Congresswoman Mears seemed pleased by my answer.

  “It’s that very approach I think makes you so valuable to us Frank. You don’t want to believe, but at the same time, are willing to at least consider the possibility of something like what this photograph indicates – that Lee Harvey Oswald in fact did not act alone on that terrible day in November of 1963.”

  I glanced back down at the photo, my eyes drawn to the smoke drifting above the possible shooter’s head.

  “How is it this hasn’t been reported? Why keep it locked up in a drawer?”

  Betty Mears pointed to what she indicated was a copy of the original image.

  “Turn that over and you’ll see a name. Does it sound familiar to you?”

  I flipped the photograph over, and found the name Jim Koty scrawled in black ink along the bottom edge. The name meant nothing to me.

  “Jim Koty? Never heard of him.”

  The congresswoman frowned slightly, but her eyes again indicated I told her something she expected to hear.

  “That’s right – most haven’t. He was a Dallas reporter. Young man, single, thirty years old. He took that photograph. Didn’t realize what he had taken until days later after he developed it, and by then, he was already in a panic over events happening in and around Dallas following the assassination. This photograph just made his panic worse. He believed it would be the death of him. He was right – it was.”

  Once again, Congresswoman Mears was drawing me into her story, making me want to know more.

  “He died? How?”

  The congresswoman leaned back in her seat and looked past me toward the large, floor to ceiling window of her office where th
e outline of a large oak tree’s limbs could be seen swaying softly in the breeze.

  “We’re not here to discuss the details of this one example Frank. I showed you that photograph as evidence of what we do. While Jim Koty died for what he knew, his parents survived because of the efforts of the T3. We take information, and disseminate it in such a way that those who are threatened by others who wish to silence that information, are then protected enough that they no longer fear death and intimidation. We reveal truth, but do it safely, and leave knowledge of that proof to eventually multiply and be known in greater numbers over time.

  You asked how Jim Koty died. He was found with his neck broken inside of his Dallas apartment months after the assassination. To this day, the murder remains classified as unsolved. The apartment had been ransacked, though few items of value were actually stolen. Whoever killed him was looking for something very specific – that photograph.”