Confession

by Gary Whitmore

  “I’m home!” Jimmy called out from the living room after he entered the house.

  Betty walked out of the kitchen.

  She entered the living room and her eyes widened with surprise. She saw Jimmy, in his Army fatigues with Sergeant First Class stripes. He had a baby girl around nine months old in his arms.

  “What are you doing with a baby?” she asked a little concerned.

  “Well, honey, we talked about adopting since we can’t conceive any children. And with my connections and daddy’s connections, I was able to adopt this beautiful baby girl,” he said with a proud smile then gave the baby a kiss on her forehead.

  “You adopted a baby girl?” she asked a little stunned.

  Betty walked up and looked at the girl with motherly eyes. “I can't believe you pulled this adoption off. I know we talked about it, but I can’t believe it,” she said while her eyes welled up with joy.

  “Like I said, daddy and Ricky helped with their connections. But, we must never tell Wendy the truth, as doing so, will ruin it for her,” Jimmy said.

  “Wendy? Her name is Wendy?”

  “Yes, her parents died in a horrible fiery car crash up in Kentucky,” Jimmy lied.

  “Poor baby,” Betty said and took Wendy away from Jimmy’s arms. She kissed Wendy on her forehead. “Don’t worry honey, we’ll be the best parents in the world and will always love you,” she said while her eyes welled up.

  “I have some adoption papers I need you to sign. Then I’ll run it back to the adoption agency tomorrow,” he said.

  Betty really did not hear Jimmy since she was too busy being a loving mother.

  Years passed and it was 1970.

  Jimmy sat Betty down on the couch and he looked serious.

  “Listen honey, I volunteered to go on active duty and I’m being sent to Vietnam,” he said.

  “Vietnam? But men are getting killed over in Vietnam!” she said with fear in her voice.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be in the jungles. I’ll be in Saigon assigned as an MP,” he said to make her feel better.

  It did not make her feel any better and she cried inside.

  A week passed and there was a stack of 2x4 lumber and some drywall in his garage. Jimmy entered and wore work clothes and looked ready to work on his project before he headed off to Vietnam.

  A week later, and Jimmy had his duffel bag packed and he was in his Army uniform. He waited in the living room for Betty.

  “I’m ready,” he called out to Betty who was in the kitchen with Wendy, now four years old.

  Betty entered the living room with Wendy trailing along. Her eyes welled up when she saw Jimmy in his uniform and his duffel bag. “Jimmy, when you're in Vietnam, could you kill a Vietnamese? I mean, they also have family,” she said with a worried look.

  “Sometimes you have to do what you feel's right. But, I don't I want to kill,” he told Betty then kissed her on her lips. He gave Wendy a kiss on her forehead.

  A car blew its horn outside their house.

  “I’m going to miss you, daddy,” Wendy said while she ran up to Jimmy who bent down and hugged her.

  “Be a good girl for mommy,” he told her then kissed her forehead.

  “I will, daddy.” Wendy replied with a warm smile.

  Jimmy stood up and grabbed his duffel bag.

  Betty and Wendy eyes filled with tears while they watched Jimmy leave through the front door.

  Jimmy got inside the taxi cab and it drove away.

  Jimmy took a taxi cab to the Greyhound station in Boldger.

  He boarded a bus and headed to Columbus, Georgia.

  Once the bus he arrived at the Greyhound station in Columbus, he got a taxi and headed off to Fort Benning to meet with other soldiers bound for Vietnam.

  From Fort Benning, Jimmy and his fellow soldiers boarded a DC-8 jet. The jet took off and flew to McCord AFB.

  At McCord AFB in Washington, Jimmy boarded a Seaboard Airlines stretched DC-8 jet with two hundred and seventy other soldiers all bound for Vietnam. A few of these soldiers were actually on their second tour of that war. The DC-8 took off the runway of McCord AFB and headed to Vietnam.

  The flight of that DC-8 had short refueling stops in Anchorage, Alaska, Japan, Okinawa and finally landed in Cam Rahn Air Base, South Vietnam twenty-three hours later.

  Jimmy was now going to experience war but his experience was not the horror so many other soldiers would experience. Jimmy was an MP in Siagon, so all he had to experience was soldiers who went off the deep end and committed crimes, sold drugs, or got into fights at the bars.

  Four months after he arrived in Siagon Jimmy was strolling the streets late one night. He was off duty and in civilian clothes.

  He walked down the street then made a left turn down a back alley. He was heading to the known entrance of a Siagon brothel frequented by many soldiers. Jimmy often checked out the brothel for any Army soldier that might be dealing in drugs.

  Down the alley was the entrance to a strip club.

  A black soldier in Khaki uniform walked out of the bar and appeared to sway a little from being drunk.

  Jimmy walked down to check out the soldier.

  Once Jimmy got close to the soldier something appeared familiar with him. It was his nostrils. The left one was smaller than the right nostril. While Jimmy tried to figure out why that was so familiar to him, he glanced down at the name tag on his uniform. It took a few seconds for it to dawn on him. “Sampson,” he said recalling this soldier from back in nineteen forty-eight. “Joey Sampson,” he said.

  “Here,” said Joey while he swayed at Jimmy. “Do I know you?” he said while he squinted to get Jimmy into focus.

  “Yes you do. Nineteen forty-eight. Boldger, Alabama. My name is Jimmy Nalla.”

  Joey Sampson swayed while he looked at Jimmy. It took a few seconds then his eyes lit up recalling that time back in forty-eight. “Fuck.”

  Before Joey could get his rubbery legs to move away from Jimmy, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He glanced down and saw Jimmy had shoved a switch blade knife in his stomach. Joey looked up a Jimmy’s eyes that were lit with fury. While he started to sink down to his knees, he felt the sharp blade of Jimmy’s knife slice through his neck.

  Jimmy watched while Joey dropped to his knees with a blank stare of disbelief in his eyes.

  Joey dropped to his side and curled up in the fetal position.

  Jimmy watched while a puddle of blood started to flow out of Joey’s neck onto the alley pavement. He panicked and looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody saw him. The coast was clear again for Jimmy.

  Jimmy stared down at Joey Sampson’s dead body for a few seconds.

  He rushed away down the other side of the alley.

  When Jimmy went to duty the next morning, he got word about the dead black soldier found in the alley last night. His superior officer assigned Jimmy the case of locating the killer.

  Of course, this would be one case in Siagon that Jimmy would never solve. He had his superior believing that the killer got away with murder that night.

  After his tour of duty in Vietnam, Jimmy returned home to Boldger. He quit the Army Reserves and lived a quiet life as the town Sheriff and while he raised his daughter.

  He never took another life again.

  So here you have it. The tale of the Fall Slayer killer named Jimmy Nalla. But would FBI Agent Robert Fillert finally catch Jimmy or would Jimmy’s secret life go with him to his grave?

  Only time will tell. That FBI Agent might find me but only if he gains an additional ounce of a gray matter. And hopefully that additional ounce of gray matter will make him dig a little deeper.

  Chapter 15

  Curtis, Mississippi had dramatically changed since the 1960s. The Ku Klux Klan no longer set terror into the hearts of the African-American community. The streets of the town were once all dirt but are now paved. It’s a peaceful community where everybody gets along.

  The Stein Chevrolet had grown i
nto a thriving business with Billy at the helm. He even moved his used car lot to a larger site on the other side of town.

  It was the middle of September, and Billy sat in his office behind his desk. He glared at the A Killer’s Tale book that lay on his desk. He looked at the cover that had pictures of five gravesites. He looked over at the wall of the framed pictures of Allan and his annual fishing trips over the past forty-five years. The wall was covered from floor to ceiling with those fond memories.

  Billy glanced back at the book and his blood boiled. He got up and paced around his office with his book in hand. He walked over to his windows and stared out into his lot of new Chevrolets.

  His phone on his desk buzzed, and he ignored it. His phone buzzed again. He ignored it.

  A few seconds had passed and there was a knock on his closed office door.

  The door opened and Judy Williams, an older African American woman who was Billy’s secretary, entered his office.

  “Mister Stein, your accountant’s on line three,” she said while she saw him staring out his window.

  Billy glared at her. “Like I said earlier, I don't want to speak to him. Can't you listen to orders? I should fire your black ass,” Billy yelled.

  Judy rolled her eyes and left his office then closed the door. She got accustomed to his temper flare-ups.

  Billy threw Allan’s book across the room. He stared out his window and looked worried.

  In Daytona Beach, Sam read the last page to A Killer’s Tale while he relaxed on back porch.

  He looked out at his small back yard for a second to rest his eyes. He could hear the traffic on A1A and the sound of the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

  He looked back at the book and wondered if he should pursue the idea that kept on popping in his head.

  He got up and went inside his house. He walked inside his den.

  He walked up to his desk and opened up the bottom drawer. He removed a bundle of old files and set them on his desk.

  They were the case files for the five girls killed by the October Slayer. Sam has not looked at these files since he was in Phoenix. He kept them tucked away for the past ten years. He looked at the case files then looked at Allan’s book. He was afraid of unleashing that demon.

  He got up and paced around the room while he glanced at the book and case files on his desk. He paced around while he wondered if he should press on with his idea or should he forget about it forever.

  He walked back to his desk and sat down.

  This bastard must be caught! He thought to himself while he opened up another drawer and removed a pad of paper and pen.

  He made a “Fall Slayer” column and an “October Slayer” column on a piece of paper.

  He opened up the book and flipped through the pages. Then under the “Fall Slayer” column, he wrote “1962 – Annette Boyer, 1963 – Rhonda Wilt, 1964 – Angie Dunham, 1965 – Sandy Lurcott, and 1966 – Fran Schaefer.”

  He looked at the labels of the five folders, then under the “October Slayer” column, he wrote “1962 – Rhonda Moore, 1963 - Fran Adams, 1964 – Sandy Yoder, 1965 – Angie Gardner, and 1966 – Annette Watson.”

  “The author used the girls real first names with different years,” he said to himself while he compared the two columns.

  He opened up another drawer and removed a cigar box. He opened the box. It contained all kinds of small items, that were mostly junk. He rummaged through the junk and removed two Army Warrant officer bars. “How the hell did that author know about this?” Sam asked himself while he looked the bars over.

  He heard his front door open and close, and he knew it could only be one person.

  “Sam, where are you?” Cindy yelled from the living room.

  “I’m in my den, honey,” he replied then set the Warrant officer bars on his desk.

  Cindy entered the den. She walked up to Sam and gave him a kiss on his forehead.

  “I hate to sound like a broken record, but when are you going to get an alarm system for you house? Anybody could pick your lock and slip inside,” Cindy said.

  “I’ve lived over seventy years without an alarm system. I’ll be fine,” Sam replied while he looked at the case files.

  She glanced at Sam’s desk. “What are those folders?” she asked while she picked up one of the folders.

  Sam took it out of her hands. “It’s a copy of the case files on the girls that were killed by the October Slayer. They have some pretty graphic pictures inside.”

  It dawned on her when she glanced back at the case files. “Why Sam? Do you want those nightmares to return?” she scolded him.

  “But Cindy, that book had information that only the killer and myself knew,” he said while he held up the book.

  “Like what?”

  “Like the night I went out to a bar called Cooters and vaguely remember some guy chatting with me. I never knew his name and don’t remember what he looked like, since I was so drunk. Anyway, a few days later, I found these in the pocket of my suit jacket,” he said then showed her the Army Warrant officer bars.

  “I’m not following you,” she replied a little confused.

  “This book described the killer coming up to the FBI agent in a bar and talked with him. When the killer left, he whispered his name and dropped some Army insignia into the agent’s suit pocket. The agent was too damn drunk to realize the killer was within his reach,” Sam said pissed off with himself. “I know believe that same thing happened to me,” he said and now realized that killer was actually within his reach.

  “That’s too bad but it happened a long time ago, can’t you let it go? After all, you’re retired,” she said.

  Sam looked at the book and case files. “No, I believe this author might have evidence he didn’t publish. Evidence that might finally identify this killer, or maybe he knew who the killer was, and,” Sam said convinced he was correct.

  “Forty years has passed and the killer is probably dead by now,” Cindy interrupted.

  “That’s always possible. But I’m thinking he’s still alive,” Sam said with a tone of confidence.

  “You need to drop this tonight,” she said and walked away. “We’re leaving in ten minutes for dinner,” she said when she left the room.

  Sam looked at the case files and the book. He looked determined while he got up and walked out of the room.

  They drove away and headed to a nice Italian restaurant.

  In Kissimmee, Marty read the last chapter of A Killer’s Tale. Becky watched TV in the living room.

  The phone rang from the kitchen. Becky glanced over at Marty to see if he would get up to answer the phone. He was too involved in the book and was not about to budge.

  She got up and walked bout of the living room.

  She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Becky,” she answered the call.

  “I'm tired of waiting!” Billy yelled from the phone.

  “I want that lien removed so I can sell his house!” Becky snapped back pissed.

  “I won’t remove that lien until you let me go through it. He has something he wants me to have.”

  “No!” Becky yelled then slammed down the phone.

  She stormed out of the kitchen.

  She stormed back into the living room. She sat down on the couch. Marty was still too involved with the book to hear her conservation from the kitchen.

  “What a creepy jerk!” Becky cried out while she fumed.

  Marty looked over at Becky and got concerned. “What's the matter?”

  “That was Uncle Billy on the phone bugging me about Dad's house.”

  Marty looked curiously at his book. He flipped back through some chapters and stopped at a page. “You know, dad’s book had the killer hiding evidence in a wooden chest. He also hid it in the attic of his garage,” Marty said while he held up the book.

  “So what?” Becky said but thinking of Billy had her blood boiling. Then she thought for a few seconds. Her eyes widened when she recalled a memory
. “Wait, I remember on day when I was around five years old,” Becky said.

  Becky’s childhood memory…

  After Allan returned home from Vietnam, he was still stationed in Fort Benning. He lived in a neighborhood off South Lumpkin Road in Columbus, Georgia.

  It was one cool day in March and Becky was almost six years old. Her mother, Beverly, spent the week with her sister in Memphis and left Becky alone with Alan.

  Allan fell asleep on the couch. This gave Becky the opportunity to explore the house. She got curious and decided to go inside the garage. “Too many things to hurt you in there my dear,” Allan would tell young Becky.

  But today, her curiosity was too strong to resist that day. She went inside the garage since Allan forgot to lock the door.

  When she got inside, she was impressed with all the fancy tools Allan hung on the wall. She walked up to the work bench and looked it over.

  At the bottom shelf was an old wooden chest. The chest got her curiosity peaked. She dragged it out from underneath the bench. Allan removed the chest from the attic because he was going to find a new hiding place. He had a spot picked out but it required traveling to another state.

  Beck opened the chest and immediately saw a brown dress inside on top of some clothes. She pulled it out and quickly got dressed in it. She strutted around the garage pretending she was a grown woman.

  The door to the garage from the kitchen opened and Allan stormed in worried. He had woken up and panicked when he could not find Becky in the house. He saw her in the dress and got furious.

  He stormed over to Becky and quickly removed the dress off her little body. “Never, and I mean never come inside my garage!” he scolder her then gave Becky’s butt a few hard whacks.

  “I’m sorry, daddy!” Becky cried.

  He grabbed Becky by her arms. “You must never tell Mommy you found this dress. It’s a Christmas present for her,” Allan said with a raised tone.