Confession

by Gary Whitmore

  Becky looked irritated with Marty. “I can't believe you searched for one,” she said while she tried to unlock the pad lock with a key, and it did not work.

  “Do you want me to run down to Home Depot and get some bolt cutters?” Marty offered.

  “I have one last key to try,” Becky said then she stuck the key into the lock and it worked. She cracked open one of the cabinet doors. “I hope the Army doesn't bust down the doors and arrest me for seeing their secrets,” she said jokingly.

  Marty chuckled while she opened up the cabinet.

  They both peeked inside and saw Allan’s Army uniforms on hangers, Army hats, a duffel bag, an old 35mm camera and some boxes of old photography developing chemicals.

  “It doesn’t look like Army secrets to me,” Marty said while he looked the items over.

  “I can’t understand why he kept it locked and didn’t want the kids to get inside,” Becky said.

  “Maybe he didn’t want them playing with the chemicals,” Marty replied while he looked inside the duffel bag.

  Becky nodded in agreement with his statement.

  He opened up the duffel bag and turned it upside down. All the contents dumped on the floor.

  On the floor, they saw a pair of combat boots, numerous pairs of Army fatigues, numerous old pictures of Allan and Billy, a 38 revolver and five old issues of the Confidential Detective Cases magazine.

  “I didn't know he had a gun? Is it loaded?” Becky said while she stepped back a little leery.

  Marty picked up the revolver and checked it out. “No.”

  “Uncle Billy's a gun freak, so it must be his. Get rid of that thing!” Becky demanded.

  “I’ll see if a gun shop will buy it,” Marty said while he walked over and set the revolver on top of Allan’s desk.

  Marty walked back to Becky just as she picked up the old photos. One was of Billy, then twenty-two years old in 1963. He wore his Sheriff’s uniform and stood by his Curtis, Mississippi police car with Allan by his side. They both looked cocky an arrogant.

  “I didn't know Uncle Billy was a deputy,” Becky said while she looked at the photo.

  “Dad's book had the killer being a Sheriff,” Marty said.

  “That man will always make my skin crawl,” Becky said while she dropped the pictures on the floor.

  Marty picked up the detective magazines off the floor. There were five issues from various years in the 1960s.

  Marty flipped through the pages of the 1963 issue. Then he noticed some of the pages for an article were stuck together.

  He flipped through the pages of the 1964 issue. He noticed some of the pages were stuck together.

  He flipped through the pages of the 1965 issue. He noticed that some pages were stuck together. He picked at the stuck pages. He then recalled the part of the A Killer’s Tale book where the killer masturbated into detective magazines. He quickly dropped the magazines like they had some type of disease.

  Becky noticed. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I need to wash my hands,” Marty said while he rushed out of the den.

  Becky shrugged it off then walked over to the other side of the den.

  She grabbed an empty cardboard box.

  She walked back to cabinet with the box and started to pick up his Army items and dumped them into the box.

  Marty walked back over and slipped on a pair of latex gloves. He picked up the five magazines off the floor.

  Becky saw him. “Why the gloves?” she asked curiously.

  “You really don’t want to know. Trust me,” Marty said while he walked out of the den with the magazines to dump them in the garbage.

  “What ever,” she said then continued to dump Allan’s Army items into the box.

  They spent the whole night cleaning and packing up Allan’s belongings into boxes.

  It was the next morning and Sam got up early and had a quick breakfast with a couple cups of coffee.

  After he showered and got dressed, he grabbed Allan’s book and a file folder.

  He headed out the front door.

  Later that day, Rodney Burnstein, Allan’s former editor, at behind his desk while he reviewed a manuscript from an envelope.

  There was a knock on the door. It opened and a woman stepped inside. “Mister Burnstein, there's a Mister Woods, a retired FBI agent, who said he had an appointment with you this morning.”

  “Ah yes, please let Mister Woods inside,” Rodney said while he put down the manuscript.

  She left and a second later, Sam entered his office with a file folder in hand.

  Rodney looked curious while he stood up and walked up to Sam.

  “I’m Rodney Burnstein. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mister Woods,” he said while they shook hands.

  “If you don’t mind, do you have some identification? I have to make sure you’re really a retired FBI agent.”

  Sam removed his retired FBI credentials and Florida driver’s license from his wallet and showed it to Rodney.

  “Please have a seat,” Rodney said while he walked Sam to a chair in front of his desk.

  “May I get you something to drink? Some coffee perhaps?” Rodney offered.

  “No thank you,” said Sam while he put his identification back in his wallet and sat down.

  Rodney walked over and sat down behind his desk. “So, you said you wanted to see about Allan Stein’s book, A Killer’s Tale?”

  “Yes, when I was with the FBI back in the sixties, I was working on the October Slayer case.”

  “I remember when that happened. I was living up in Chicago at the time. So what does Allan’s book have to do with that case?”

  “First it was very similar to that case and second it mentioned events that only the killer and myself knew.”

  “What events? I read his manuscript,” Rodney curiously asked.

  “Well, there was the part where the FBI agent was drunk in a bar and Jimmy, the killer, talked with him. Then he dropped some sergeant’s stripes in the pocket of the agents suit. Back then, I drank heavily and got drunk one night at a bar, the next morning, I found a pair of Army Warrant officers bars in the pocket of my suit.”

  “That’s interesting but could be coincidence,” Rodney said.

  “Then the killer sent me taunting letters. Letters like these,” Sam said while he removed the letters from his file folder and showed them to Rodney. “The book had the same exact words in its letters,” Sam said while he showed Rodney the applicable sections of the book.

  Rodney looked at the letters and what Allan wrote in his story. “Allan knew how to dig up information and twist things around,” Rodney said while he handed Sam back the letters and book. “Maybe someone else in the FBI knew about these letters and passed it onto Allan.”

  “I’m positive nobody knew about them,” Sam said and looked dead serious.

  “I don’t know how I can help you.”

  “I was wondering if you could give me the list of individuals Allan consulted with? Or copies of his research material?”

  “I'm sorry. I don't have that type of information. Allan kept it all to himself. I only had his final manuscript to review before we published it.”

  “But his book had clues I believe will lead to the identity of the killer,” Sam insisted.

  “If Allan thought he had discovered the identity of the October Slayer, killer, he would have turned it over to the proper law authorities. He was after all retired Army CID, so I doubt he would let a killer get away. So I'm sorry Mister Woods, you’re wasting your time.”

  Sam stood up disappointed. “Thank you, Mister Burnstein,” Sam said while he reached across his desk with his hand.

  Rodney stood up. “Have you read his other book, Murder At Night?” Rodney said while he shook Sam’s hand.

  “No sir,” Sam replied.

  “You should. It’s also a great read.”

  “I’ll give it a read,” Sam said but didn’t have any intentions on reading Allan’s other book
.

  “These books always bring out the whacko’s,” Rodney said quietly to himself while he watched Sam leave.

  While Sam drove back down I-95 to Daytona Beach, Becky and Marty relaxed at their house in Kissimmee after cleaning Allan’s house.

  It was quiet inside the den while they enjoyed the Nothing In Common movie on their DVD player. Michael and Nancy were still at their grandparents in St. Petersburg.

  Becky snuggled next to Marty where the Tom Hanks’ character just received a phone call from his father, Jackie Gleason, stating his mother just left him.

  The movie continued then the doorbell rang.

  “I wonder who that can be?” Marty said.

  “I’m not expecting anybody,” she said while she got up.

  Marty pulled her back down on the couch. “I’ll get it,” he said then got up from the couch and walked out of the den.

  Becky watched the movie where Tom Hanks visited his father’s apartment where there was loud music playing and a steak burning on the stove.

  “Becky, you better come to the door,” Marty yelled from the living room.

  Becky got up and walked out of the room.

  She walked to the living room where Marty had the front door open. He looked concerned while he glanced at Becky. She had a gut feeling this was not going to be good.

  Becky got to the front door and saw Billy outside on the front stoop. She instantly got pissed. “What the hell are you doing here?” she yelled.

  “Aren't you going to invite me inside?” Billy said with a smart-ass tone and smirk.

  “Never!” Becky snapped back.

  “Why did Allan write that book?” Billy asked and looked like he wanted to pound on someone.

  “Why should you care?” she asked.

  “How could he be so stupid? He promised!” Billy said while he paced by the front door.

  “What the hell is your problem? If dad wanted to write a book, he didn’t need your permission,” she yelled at him.

  Billy walked closer to the front door and tried to get inside.

  “No!” Becky said then started to close the front door.

  Billy stuck his shoe on the threshold and stopped her from completely closing the door. “Listen, I really need to look through his house. I can pay you ten thousand dollars. Just think, ten thousand dollars! That would be a great start on your kids college fund,” Billy said with a serious tone but he was not going to pay her a dime if he came up empty handed.

  “Like I told you before, no! And what is with you and that retired FBI agent?”

  “FBI agent? What agent?” Billy said then it dawned on him a few seconds later. “Woods! Damn him!”

  “I’m going to call the police if you set another foot on my property or dad’s property,” Becky yelled. She slammed the door in Billy’s face the second he moved his shoe away.

  She rushed over to curtains and peeked out. She watched while Billy got inside his red on red 2005 Corvette and drove off down the street.

  “Honey, maybe that ex-FBI agent's right about dad's book,” Marty said while Becky continued to peek out their curtains.

  “Come on Marty, this was dad's version of solving that case. Pure and simple! So, I can't help it if some old man didn't do his job forty years ago,” she said irritated with him.

  “Maybe Uncle Billy wants to find that wooden chest mentioned in the book.”

  “Enough! You didn't find a wooden chest in dad's house. So that means it doesn't exist anymore. Dad threw it away years ago. Case closed!” Becky barked out and was getting more and more irritated with Marty.

  “Didn't Dad have a skull tattoo with five letters on his back? I thought I remember seeing that when we dated. His book gave the killer the same type of tattoo but on his bicep,” Marty said not realizing he was pushing things too far.

  “Can't you let dad rest in peace? He used that to jazz up his story!” she yelled while her face turned red.

  Marty looked concerned while he watched her storm out of the living room. He had a gut feeling Allan’s book was written to provide clues to the identity of the October Slayer.

  It’s probably Uncle Billy! He thought to himself while he rushed out of the living room and to make up with Becky. But he did not have the balls now to mention his theory to Becky that Billy might be the killer.

  Billy’s Corvette raced north on I-4. He weaved in and around traffic and almost caused a few accidents. Some of the drivers blew their horns. And some of the drivers gave Billy the one-finger salute.

  Inside his car, Billy could care less he pissed off some other drivers, as finding that wooden chest weighed heavily on his mind.

  “I’ll wait a couple of days,” Billy said to himself while he quickly moved into the left lane and cut off a Honda Civic. The driver blew his horn.

  He sped his Corvette up to ninety miles per hour and raced north to I-4 so he can catch the Florida Turnpike.

  His cell phone rang, he looked at the viewfinder and it was a text message. He smiled, as it was the address and phone number he needed.

  Chapter 20

  It was later that evening, and Sam sat at his computer while he conducted some research. His computer made a gunfire sound that indicated new email arrived.

  He quickly opened up his program and saw an email from Charles. His eyes lit up and he quickly opened it.

  “I hope this information on Allan Stein helps. Please don’t return to your old ways if nothing becomes of your investigation,” Charles’ email message stated.

  Sam quickly opened the attachment titled “Allan Stein” and saw that it was scanned information on Allan’s history that covered both military and family.

  “Thanks son. And I won’t return to my old ways. Promise!” Sam typed his reply.

  He started to review the information Charles provided.

  “Allan was born in Curtis, Mississippi in 1936. His father was Alvin and his mother was Sadie. His brother was Billy Stein born in 1941. Allan attended Curtis High School in Curtis, Mississippi and graduated in 1954,” Sam read from the email attachment.

  He grabbed his coffee cup and took a drink.

  “Allan enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1954. He was stationed in Fort Gillem, Georgia from 1955 – 1960. Stationed in Fort Benning, Georgia from 1960 – 1970. Stationed in Vietnam from 1970 – 1971. Stationed in Fort Benning, Georgia from 1972 – 1985,” Sam read from the email attachment.

  Sam got curious and searched for websites where people could look up old high school friends. He decided to see what information that would reveal about Allan. He found a popular site and opened it up.

  Sam clicked on Mississippi. He clicked on Curtis, Mississippi. He clicked on the “Curtis High School” link. He clicked on the “1954” year. A listing of students appeared, and Sam noticed that Allan Stein was not in the listing. He saw a link for “Annette Brown Watson” and curiously looked at it. He clicked on her link, as her name sounded familiar for some strange reason.

  Her bio appeared. “Annette married John Watson on July 6, 1958 after John graduated from Mississippi State University. John joined the United States Marine Corps immediately after graduating. Annette died in 1966,” Annette’s bio read.

  His eyes lit up when it dawned on him why Annette Brown Watson was suddenly a familiar name. His cell phone rang, and he opened it up and he smiled when he saw the caller from the viewfinder. “Hey Peter,” he answered.

  “Sam, I traced Joel Nelson to Memphis. He’s retired from the bureau. His phone number is five, five, five, one, zero, nine, five,” Peter said from the cell phone.

  “Thanks Peter. And guess what?” Sam said excitedly while he jotted down Joel’s phone number.

  “What’s that?”

  “The author and the last girl murdered went to the same high school in Mississippi. There’s a connection so I’m thinking the author must have discovered who the October Slayer was, and didn’t have the guts to tell the authorities. Maybe it was a close friend from his home to
wn.”

  “Maybe he wanted to protect this person but gave you clues in his book. You know, one last chance to solve the crime,” Peter replied.

  “That sounds plausible,” Sam said.

  “Well, the offer still stands to visit me if you find some good evidence,” Peter said then disconnected his end of the call.

  Sam jumped up excited and rushed out of his den.

  He rushed into the living room where Cindy watched the movie The Notebook with James Gardner.

  “The author of A Killer’s Tale and the last girl murdered by the October Slayer went to the same high school in Mississippi. I’m on to something!” Sam said excitedly.

  “That’s nice dear,” Cindy replied while she did not hear Sam, since her eyes were glued to a romantic scene in the movie.

  Sam rushed out of the living room.

  Sam rushed back into the den and over to his desk. He picked up his cell phone and made a call but got the recording to leave a message.

  “Hey Joel, it’s a memory from your past. It’s me, Sam Woods from the Atlanta office in the sixties. Please call me. It’s extremely important,” Sam said into his cell phone.

  Sam disconnected the call then looked at his computer monitor.

  Sam looked at the list of students and found John Watson’s name and clicked his link.

  “John retired from the United States Marine Corps and now lives in Phoenix, Arizona,” his bio stated.

  Sam saw the “Send John Watson an Email” link and clicked on it. An email message box appeared.

  “John. My name is Sam Woods a retired FBI agent now living in Daytona Beach, Florida. It’s extremely important that I get the chance to talk with you about Allan Stein. I believe you went to Curtis High School with Allan. Please call me at five, five, five, eighteen, oh four or email me. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. Sam Woods,” he typed in his email message then hit the “Send” button.

  Sam got up from his desk and looked anxious for a reply from John. He grabbed his coffee cup and left the room.

  He entered the kitchen and poured a fresh cup of coffee.