by M Murphy
“The day John Wilkes Booth is shot in a barn and dies.” I interjected, wanting to show off my knowledge.
“Yes, that is one. The other reason is that James was still in England on that date, but the letter was sent to the home in Charleston.”
“Maybe his father didn’t know.”
“Possibly, but doubtful. They were in constant contact because James was in control of the company’s interests overseas.
James also didn’t return to South Carolina until September of
1866. So the letter wasn’t written in hopes that he would be home
soon.
“Okay, I’ll give you that. It makes Booth’s death more of a coincidence than the letter being sent to James in Charleston.”
“I agree.” Hannah said. “The other thing that really stood out to me is this.” She turned the letter over to the back and on the top right corner there was a small marking.
“What is that?” I asked. It didn’t look like anything more than simple scratches of a quill.
“Jack, that is a hooked x, a symbol often associated with the Knights Templar and even the Masons. It has been found on archeological sites from Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland to the often disputed Kensington Runestone in Minnesota.”
“So what connection does it have with Jason’s family or his death?”
“I’m not exactly sure. As a scholar, I’ve written off the hooked x as nothing more than a conspiracy theory reserved for the History Channel, but having found it on a document from
1865 makes me curious. I’ve had the letter examined by a couple of my colleagues and it appears to be legit.”
“I believe this whole case is quickly becoming out of my league. Missing Confederate gold and now Masonic symbols, I’m pretty sure my FBI training didn’t prepare me for this.”
“Well, I’ve got something else you may relate to a little easier then.” Hannah said. “The marking was originally written in invisible ink.”
“They had invisible ink during the Civil War?
“Invisible ink goes back to the Romans and Greeks in natural forms, and the Colonists used it often during the American Revolution. It’s a relatively simple spy tactic, but an effective one.”
“The question remains, what is the marking doing on the letter?”
Hannah looked over the letter, flipping it from back to front and front to back a few times. “I’m still not sure. The body of the letter seems pretty simple and online, but the hooked x, the date of the letter, and the fact that it was sent to someone who wasn’t there to receive it all add up to too many coincidences for me.”
“Do you think the body of the letter is coded in some form?” I asked.
“I do, except I haven’t been able to figure out how or why?”
Chapter 12
“Yeah, what is it?” I awoke to the phone ringing next to my bed the next morning.
“Good morning, and rise and shine sleepy head.” I heard Colin’s voice come from the other end. “Rough night last night?”
“Not really, just a long couple of days. How are things in Cleveland?”
“The wife’s great, the weather sucks, and work is a bore. You know the same old thing. I’ve meant to ask you if you plan on coming home anytime soon. With spring right around the corner, I thought maybe I could get your car out of winter storage for you.”
I had left the care of my beloved Austin Healy in Colin’s hands when I had left town last fall. Since then, I’ve found myself traveling warmer climates. “I don’t know when I’m coming back and you can pull the car out of storage, but only when the last snow has fallen up there. I don’t want a single bit of the salt they use to clear the streets touching my baby.”
“Fine, I guess I’ll wait till April then.”
“Good idea. Was the car the only thing you were calling about, or do you have a better reason for waking me up?”
“It’s after eight, you should be up anyway.”
“Who says?”
“Whatever. I’m calling because I have the information you asked for on one Tommy Makem.”
“And?”
“He’s clean. No record and we don’t even have a file on him. I even went out of my way to call Atlanta to see if they had something on the guy…nothing. The only thing I found was that his father was Sean Makem.”
“Sounds familiar.” I said trying to clear the morning fog from my brain.
“It should. He had connections to the Celtic Club and Danny Greene.”
“Wasn’t Danny Greene the Irish mobster who became an informant for the FBI?”
“Sure was. He helped bring down the Italians here in Cleveland. Of course, they ended up killing him with a car bomb soon afterwards.”
“Other than his dad’s connection to the Irish mob, what does this have to do with Tommy?”
“Nothing, but I thought you would like to know the kid’s back story before you go sticking your nose where it probably doesn’t belong. Forgive me for helping you.”
“Sorry, I’m still half asleep.”
“Must have really been a rough night?”
“I told you it wasn’t. I’m just worn out.”
“Do you need me to take a few days off and comedown there? You know, to give you a hand.” Colin asked hopefully. “I hear the weather is nice in Charleston this time of year.”
“I’ll be fine, and there is no need for you to waste vacation days helping me work a case.”
“I wasn’t coming down for help, only moral support.”
“I think I’m good on that.” I said.
“Oh really?” Colin asked inquisitively.
“Yeah, there is Bryce and his family here to give me support.”
“Who’s the lady?”
“I’m not sure I get what you’re asking.”
“With you there is always a woman.” Colin almost snickered.
“Not sure what you mean. I’ve got to go, and thanks for the help.” I quickly hung up on him before another word could be said, and then I gave myself a smile.
I heard the shower turn off and Hannah stepped out of the bathroom. “Do you want to grab some breakfast before my first class?” Hannah asked as she dried off her hair.
“Definitely.” I got out of bed and quickly threw on some clothes. From the window, I could see Mrs. Legare and a couple of women having coffee on the piazza. “The gossip mill will be running today.” I said, pointing to the ladies.
“Oh, I can’t wait to make their day. I’ll hurry and get dressed so we don’t miss them on the way out.” Hannah quickened her pace, and I had to laugh at her relaxed attitude.
Chapter 13
After breakfast Hannah and I went our separate ways, she had classes to teach and I had plans to meet Bryce and Sarah at her parents’ Sullivan’s Island beach house. What could have been a relaxing day of lunch on the oceanfront porch turned into an uncomfortable afternoon. Sarah was still a complete wreck over Jason’s death, as I’m sure Bryce was, but he held strong in order to support his new wife. Tensions were running high with everything that happened over the past couple days, and a day at the beach was no day at the beach. Most of the afternoon was spent discussing sensitive subjects and avoiding Sarah’s tears.
That afternoon I decided to have a little happy hour at the Cocktail Club in hopes of meeting up with Tommy Makem. The bar was in the trendy Upper King Street District and sat on the second story of a historic building. The building had been stripped down during the remodeling to expose the beams on the ceiling and between each room. The effect was interesting, as it left the bar feeling open, but still providing different areas for socializing. The drinks were pricey and took a while to make, but the end result was something truly delicious.
I finished up my first cocktail as a man walked up the stairs and into the bar. He sat at the last stool on the end and immediately chatted up the attractive brunette tending bar. He was
comfortable in the place and an obvious regular.
Noti
cing my fluids were running low the bartending headed my way. “Another round?” She asked.
“Yes…please.” In the five minutes, it took her to make my cocktail I began to wonder if the man could be Tommy Makem. He did not have the appearance of a bookie, at least not one from where I grew up, but he did have an aura about him that you wouldn’t find from a normal business man. His clothes were cut nice, probably tailored, and he was well-groomed, but underneath there was an aggressive nature that belonged to a man who did a lot of fighting to get to where he was.
“Here you are.” The bartender said as she set my drink down. “Anything else at the moment?”
“Actually there is. Who is the man at the end of the bar?”
“You mean Mr. Makem? He’s one of our regulars. Comes in Monday thru Friday around this time, but we never see him on the weekends. The crowd in here changes then, and the regulars always hide until Monday comes again. Anything else?”
“No thanks, I think I’m okay for now.”
I waited a few minutes sipping my drink about half way down before I took it with me and sat next to Mr. Makem.
“Can I help you?” He asked a little annoyed with the breach of his personal space.
“Are you Tommy Makem?”
“Yeah, who’s asking?”
“Jack Francis. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind talking with me about a few things?”
“About what?”
“Jason Trenholm.”
“I was wondering when this conversation was going to happen, but you don’t seem to be one of the local guys.”
“I’m not. I’m actually from your hometown.”
Tommy almost looked pleased by the fact. “Well another Clevelander. Okay let’s talk, and if the conversation turns sour we can always move on and talk about the Browns.”
“Another sour topic.”
“No doubt.”
Chapter 14
“Jocelyn, can we get another round down here?” Makem called out to the bartender.
“Sure thing.”
“I think I’m going to switch it up a bit. Do you have any Pappy Van Winkle?” The pre-prohibition cocktail I had been drinking was good, but the mood called for a little bourbon.
“12, 15, 20, or 23 years old?” Jocelyn called back.
“The 15 year should do the trick.”
“Nonsense pour the man a 20 year old and put it on my tab.” Makem offered.
“Thanks.”
“From one Ohio boy to another. Now let’s talk about Jason. I’ve got nothing to hide, so do you want to ask the questions or should I just start talking.”
“Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
“How about I talk and you sit there and sip on your bourbon. If you have any questions, we can work them out when the time comes.”
“Sounds fine with me.”
“Jason came to me about three months ago,” Makem began. “He contacted me through a mutual friend.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Her name is Sarah, and that’s all I’ll give you.” I almost choked on the name Sarah. Must have been a coincidence, but then again there are no coincidences. “So Sarah set Jason up with me,” Makem began again. “He wanted to bet the ponies and some college football. Normally I take a small deposit from new clients, but Jason came from good stock and was well backed, so I looked the other way. The kid lost a good amount of money testing the waters of college basketball and March Madness, but since then he was playing the horses very well.”
“Did he owe you anything?”
“I was getting to that. Isn’t that always the question when somebody shows up dead? Jason owed me some money, but not to the point where I was worried. Like I said, he was doing well with the horses and he was well backed.” Makem pulled out his phone and played for a minute. “According to my records the kid only owed me 5 grand.”
I almost spit out my bourbon. “5 grand seems like a lot.”
“Not really, not for these old Charleston families. They have plenty of money, and besides Jason had owed me more a month earlier. When he was losing, it was closer to 15 grand. The
kid paid his dues, so I wasn’t worried. If I was getting nervous
about his debt, killing him would not be worth the $5,000 I would be out.”
“Seems like a good point to me.” I could tell Tommy Makem was being sweet, giving me the story without much of a fight. Either the man was telling the truth or he wanted me off the track. “Was Jason betting with any other bookie that you
know of?”
“Nah, if he were then I might have a reason to kill him.” Makem laughed and gave me a smack on the back. “I’m the only game in town for someone willing to bet real money.”
“Any other ideas as to why Jason may have been killed?”
“Not that I can think of, but then again we only had a business relationship. We would chat here over a couple of drinks, but like I said that was business. Maybe you should ask Jocelyn here. If there is one thing, I know, it’s that the bartenders in this town have all the good gossip.”
What was it with Charleston and gossip? “I might just do that, but not today. I need to let some things sink in first. Tommy, you’re not leaving town on vacation anytime soon, are you?”
“Not at all, I’ll be right here if you need me.” He patted his big palms on the bar top.
“Thanks for talking with me, and thanks for the Pappy.” I said tossing back the last of my drink. Tommy Makem seemed innocent enough, but I knew better. His type never left anything to chance, when it came to saving their own asses.
Chapter 15
My phone rang. It was 3 A.M.
The first time I ignored it, the second time I woke up a little pissed. “What?” I half-yelled into the phone.
“Jack, its George Trenholm. Throw some clothes on and get over here fast something has happened.”
“What is it?”
“Never mind that just get over here.”
“Fine, but I don’t know where you live.”
“16 Meeting Street, someone will be there to meet you.” The man hung up as promptly as he called.
I took my time getting dressed and even made some coffee. I’ve had enough middle of the night phone calls to know I wasn’t going back to bed anytime soon. I knew from the address that the Trenholm residence was not that far away, so I stepped out onto the dark Charleston streets and began my walk south towards the end of the peninsula.
16 Meeting Street was not a house, nor could it be called a home. I was pretty sure by the sight of it that it was the biggest house in Charleston, an amazing feat in a city filled with grand homes. The house was fenced in and the grounds concealed from the street, but as Mr. Trenholm suggested there was someone waiting for me at the gate.
“Good morning.” I said to the man, and with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
“Good morning Mr. Francis. Please follow me.” With no introduction, the man led me through the front gardens and into the house.
Inside I was greeted by a grand entranceway, complete with Italian tiled floor and a large chandelier. The house was split down the middle by a large hall, decorated with three more chandeliers and an array of heirloom antiques. I followed the man into the hallway and was quickly ushered into the first doorway on the right. The man did not follow but instead showed me the way with an opened door and the wave of his hand.
“Mr. Trenholm will be right with you. Please have a seat.” Once again with no introduction the man closed the door and left me alone in the great house.
I found myself in the library, or quite possible Mr. Trenholm’s study. The walls were covered with antiquated books, and a large oriental rug covered the floor. Above the fireplace was a bulky gold leafed mirror, and in front of the only window sat a Victorian desk, big enough to serve dinner on.
“Please have a seat Jack.” George Trenholm said from behind me as he came into the room.
I took one last look around
the room then placed myself in one of the two chairs directly in front of the desk. Trenholm moved behind it and took a seat in the leather chair. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?” I asked.
“We had a break in tonight.”
“Really, the house looks calm and in one piece to me.”