When the Dead Speak

by Sandra Tooley

  “I need you to take a letter, Janet.”

  Chapter 29

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Sam closed the door behind them. “If,” she continued, “lightning strike is a North Korean term, why the lightning bolt pins?”

  “Maybe they really don’t have anything to do with it.” Frank laid his notepad down, tossed his pen on the desk next to it. “I just wish Joe Kelly knew a little more about Hap’s unit. I wish Hap’s commanding officer were still alive.”

  Maury knocked on the door before entering. His tailored white pin-striped suit and pink shirt, a sharp contrast to his dark skin, looked right out of a Miami Vice television program. His aftershave was subtle yet pleasant.

  “I’ve tracked down a couple of the guys in the Eighth.” He handed Frank a sheet of paper with the names from Preston’s unit, then left, closing the door behind him.

  “Leonard Ames ... wonderful ...” Frank read, “died in a car accident in 1976. George Abbott is in a VA hospital in Dallas. I’ll get Janet to look up the phone number, see if I can talk to Abbott.” He punched the intercom on the phone.

  Sam looked over at Jake. He was too quiet, ever since Frank explained the term lightning strike.

  “Anything you care to share with us?” She studied his face, looking for any telltale sign of life behind those private eyes. There was an undercurrent in the air, electrical. She found herself admiring his chiseled features and rugged good looks.

  “Not yet,” was all he replied.

  She had to force herself to pull her eyes off him to check her watch. Tim was supposed to call her after he delivered his package to her house. Without his device, she would not be able to make her trip to Preston’s tonight.

  Chapter 30

  Lincoln Thomas shuffled to the kitchen in his modest three-bedroom brick house in San Francisco. From his kitchen window he could see the Golden Gate Bridge lighting up the night sky.

  Again he had been unable to sleep. He told himself it was because of business. He should have hired an accountant rather than try to do his quarterly taxes on his own.

  His daughter, Nina, had been by earlier to bring him dinner. She knew he never stopped to eat when he had to figure out his taxes. She had a key to his house and stops by to clean and do his laundry. He had resisted her offer for him to move in with her, her husband, Raymond, and their son, Raymond, Jr.

  Lincoln had always been independent, didn’t want to be a burden on his family. He considered himself successful, accomplished what he wanted in life. Nina had been his greatest pride. She looked just like her mother, Sia. Dark hair, dark eyes. He had buried Sia ten years after Nina was born. Pancreatic cancer, the doctors had said.

  Lincoln owned a successful employment agency with a staff of eight. Raymond was the vice-president. Thomas Associates was responsible for placing over three thousand Koreans in varying jobs, from offices to hotels, cleaning services, bakeries, retail stores, hospitals. Every type of market. And he made sure they all took night classes to learn English and skills that would make them more marketable. The people saw him as their savior. And it gave him an overwhelming sense of pride and satisfaction.

  He walked through the tidy living room, past the awards hanging on the wall from the Chamber of Commerce, the mayor, the California Businessmen’s Association. Next to a picture of Sia and Nina was his certificate of U.S. citizenship, framed in oak, matted in light peach to match the peach floral couch. He ran his fingers down the frame. That had been his lifelong dream since he was five years old. He would sit and listen for hours to his uncle’s stories of life in America. He knew that was where he was going to live once he was old enough to travel alone.

  He carried his cup of tea to the enclosed breezeway where he sat in the dark. On the coffee table in front of him was a copy of yesterday’s Korean Today newspaper. He could still hear Nina’s voice saying, “Didn’t you tell me once that you were in the war, Papa?”

  Even in the darkened breezeway he could see the outline of the man on the front page of the paper. Do You Know This Man? the headline asked. It gave the man’s name as Harvey Wilson. A black man, young. Back then, they had all been young, too young. Lincoln himself had been fourteen. He had closed his eyes to that war, but obviously not his mind. Because in his sleep, he started to re-live it. Started to remember. Back then, Lincoln Thomas had been known as Ling Toy.

  Chapter 31

  “You didn’t have to come,” Sam whispered. The closet was dark. She could feel Jake’s body pressed against hers.

  “Baby-sitting is not exactly my way of spending an evening either,” Jake whispered back. He wrapped his hand around the knob and slowly opened the door.

  An earlier phone call to Juanita, Preston’s housekeeper, confirmed that Preston would be attending the Chamber dinner tonight.

  “Wait.” Sam took a small remote control from her pocket, peered out at the bookcase to her right, and aimed the remote at the shelf which housed the video recorder. A tiny red beam located the one-inch hole which exposed the recorder’s control panel. With the press of a button, the remote sent the recorder into pause mode.

  “Clever. Where did you get that?” Jake asked, stepping from the closet.

  Sam smiled coyly. “A friend.”

  “How much time does it give us?”

  “About two minutes.” Sam opened the safe and pulled out several items. “There it is.”

  Jake pulled Hap’s pin from his pocket to compare the two. Once Jake snapped pictures of the pins side by side, Sam placed Preston’s pin and the remaining items back into the safe.

  “What are you doing?” Sam watched as Jake unscrewed the mouthpiece on the phone.

  “Getting rid of evidence.”

  “But I need ...”

  “We don’t have time to argue. Let’s go.”

  Sam pressed the remote again to turn the recorder back on. They exited down the staircase in the closet, through the basement and out into the darkened yard.

  They heard Jasper’s voice and the Dobermans in the distance, which prompted them to hightail it to the back fence. Sam remembered from her previous visits that it was a straight shot to the back of the property as long as they stayed close to the fence. No ponds or maze of gardens to run through.

  Their feet hit pavement as they located a narrow access road used by the lawn service.

  “How much farther?” Jake huffed.

  “Not much.” Her arms pumped but she matched him stride for stride. “There are large boulders ... we can use them to ... get over the fence.”

  The barking intensified, as if the dogs were right on their heels. Jasper had obviously unleashed them.

  “Shit!”

  “It’s just up ahead,” Sam said as the dark shadows of the boulders came into view.

  They leaped onto the stair step boulders. As their feet hit the top of the wooden fence, Jake wrapped an arm around Sam and pulled her toward him, cushioning her fall onto the damp grassy hill.

  They rolled together down the hill to Frank’s waiting car.

  Sam slid open the patio door to find Abby emptying the dishwasher. Frank followed close behind, an arm wrapped around Jake’s waist.

  “He’s hurt, Abby,” Frank said. Streaks of crimson ran down Jake’s face.

  Abby, dressed comfortably in a nightgown and lightweight robe, quickly pulled her hair back and wrapped an elastic tie around it, preparing for whatever the emergency might be.

  “It’s just a scratch.” Jake lowered himself onto a chair at the kitchen table. The hill they had rolled down had not been a smooth grassy knoll, but a hill speckled with rocks and debris.

  “Let me see.” Abby pulled the bloody handkerchief from Jake’s forehead. “You might need stitches.” She placed his hand back on the handkerchief. “Hold it there.” Turning to Frank, she said, “There’s a first-aid kit in the gym.” She told Sam, “Get me a pail of hot water, a washcloth, and soap.” Next, she called Alex. Within minutes, Alex arrived with medicinal past
es.

  “How did you manage to do this?” Abby pressed the hot wash cloth to Jake’s head. Her face was masked in concern and apprehension, but never panic.

  “Two hundred and ten pounds hitting an immovable object,” Jake replied. His face was smudged with dirt, his jogging suit torn.

  Sam grimaced at the sight of the deep cut. “Are you sure you didn’t break anything?” Sam asked.

  “Maybe he should have X-rays,” Frank suggested.

  Alex elbowed his way between the spectators. “I need room.”

  Sam went to the counter to put on a pot of coffee. Frank joined her.

  “Did you bring the berry root paste?” Abby asked Alex.

  “Yes.”

  “The berry what?” Jake asked from under the washcloth.

  Gently washing the rest of Jake’s face, Abby explained, “The paste has a numbing agent which should ease the pain somewhat.”

  “Did you at least see the pin?” Frank asked.

  Jake pulled the Polaroid pictures from his pocket. “Identical. In size, shape, type of clasp. They are the same pins.”

  “Damn. What a pity we can’t do a thing about it. No cause to present a search warrant. And we certainly can’t say how we got the pictures.” Frank sat down on a stool to study the pictures closer.

  “Why can’t we just knock on Preston’s door and show him Hap’s pin?” Sam suggested. “Ask if he ever saw it before. After all, he was in Mushima Valley. He might have known Hap. It’s part of our investigation.”

  “Not yet,” Jake said to Sam from behind Alex. “We still don’t know how Preston ties in. And if there’s even a hint we’re suspicious, he’s going to either start covering his tracks or get rid of the people who are suspicious.”

  Alex taped a gauze pad to Jake’s head. “I put on a butterfly bandage so I don’t think you need stitches. Too bad,” Alex mumbled, “you’ll live.”

  “By the way.” Sam spun on her heels, away from the cabinet where she had been pulling out cups and saucers. “What gave you the right to take the bug out of Preston’s phone?”

  Abby looked up from the pail of water. “You bugged the state representative’s phone?”

  Alex let out a hearty laugh.

  “It IS inadmissible,” Frank pointed out.

  “I wasn’t going to use it for evidence. Just information, for my own use.”

  Jake lightly touched the gauze bandage, his eyes hooded in pain. “When and if Preston is arrested, how do you think it will look in court when that bug is found?”

  Once the makeshift emergency room was cleaned up, Alex left and Abby disappeared down the hall.

  Frank rolled up his shirt sleeves as he informed Sam and Jake of his call to George Abbott’s hospital room in Dallas. Abbott had been with Preston in Mushima Valley.

  “His doctor said I can call him in the morning. He just had surgery earlier today. They removed his right leg ... diabetes. Other than that, he’s of sound mind and body. Should be coherent enough to answer some questions.”

  Returning to the kitchen, Abby announced, “You will stay here, Jacob. I want to keep an eye on you should you develop a fever during the night. I have made up the hide-a-bed in the study.”

  Sam shot Abby a look that did not go unnoticed. They exchanged words in their native language and it was evident that Abby had the last word.

  “That’s nice of you Abby, but ...” Jake started.

  “I don’t take refusals very well, Jacob.” Abby swept out of the kitchen before Jake could respond.

  Sam caught up with Abby at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re carrying hospitality a little too far. He could have gone home with Frank.”

  “He would have been over here in the morning for breakfast anyway, Dear.” She kissed Sam lightly and walked up the stairs.

  Clenching her teeth, Sam debated on whether to say anything more. Subconsciously lifting the collar of her jumpsuit, she inhaled the scent of Jake’s aftershave which was clinging to her clothes. She could still feel his arms locked around her when their bodies had rolled down the hill. Sam shook the thoughts from her head.

  Chapter 32

  The rubber-soled shoes were silent against the sterile white floors of the Dallas VA Hospital. The young, dark-haired nurse didn’t even give the orderly a passing glance as he walked by carrying a tray.

  The door to Room 321 was slightly ajar, the television set tuned to CNN. Thin white window drapes were shut. The light from the television set cast an eerie light in the room. A slim figure in the bed was asleep, defenseless. Three blankets were pulled up to his chin. A glass of ice chips was on the nightstand.

  The orderly took a syringe off his tray and injected the contents into the IV tube running into George Abbott’s left hand. He watched for several seconds, then carried the tray down the hall to the laundry chute.

  Once outside in the darkened parking lot, Cain changed his clothes. He would find a dumpster on his drive back to the airport, where he would discard his orderly uniform. By the time his flight was airborne, George Abbott would be dead.

  Chapter 33

  Sam answered the phone on the first ring.

  “I’m sorry to be calling in the middle of the night,” the voice said.

  It was her client. “It’s okay. Are you still coming to Chasen Heights?” The voice was in a whisper. Sam had to strain to hear him.

  “I’m in town now. I wanted to let you know I would swing by at seven-thirty this morning. Is that too early?”

  Sam pulled the covers back and slipped a cotton robe over her pajama short set. “No, no problem. I’ll be up.”

  Sam checked the clock on the nightstand. It was just after three o’clock in the morning. She crept downstairs, cursing herself for not removing the pictures from the hiding place she had stuffed them in after her caper at Preston’s. Of all nights Abby had to invite Jake for a slumber party.

  Because the door at the foot of the stairs would make too much noise when she slid it open, she walked around to the kitchen and entered the study door across from the gym.

  She found the light switch for the track lighting above the bar and gently pushed it up, casting the room in the faintest of light. She quietly pulled out the books where she had placed her client’s pictures. They weren’t there. Maybe she had the wrong shelf. Maybe the wrong books. She pulled them aside, searching between the encyclopedias and forensic research books.

  A voice in the shadows asked, “This what you’re looking for?”

  Sam screamed, dropping two books to the floor. Jake snapped on the lamp on the end table, the pictures clutched in his hand.

  “Just great.” She shoved the books back into their slot on the bookshelves and stormed into the kitchen. Jake pulled a CHPD tee shirt on over his gym shorts and hobbled after her, holding his hand to his head.

  “You are a piece of art,” Sam continued. “Abby nurses you, offers you a place to recuperate, and you thank us by snooping?” She slid onto the stool by the counter and buried her face in her hands, kneading the sleep from her eyes. “I promised my client the utmost in secrecy.” She slowly poured out two aspirin on the counter. Jake filled two glasses with water, setting one in front of her, then took a seat on the stool next to her.

  “Don’t tell me you’re blackmailing the governor.” Jake winced as he moved his head a little too quickly.

  “No.” It came out as a painful whisper. “Preston is. Governor Meacham hired me to get the pictures back.”

  “Hey.” Jake wrapped a hand around her right arm and pulled it away from her face. “I’m not the enemy here. Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” she forced a laugh. “Last time I looked, you had copies of a videotape of me.”

  “I haven’t used them, have I?”

  His skin felt warm, almost hot. Maybe he had a fever, maybe she did. She looked into his eyes. There must be something trusting about him if Abby liked him. His hand slid down her arm and clasped her hand, gave it a squeeze. He must have felt th
e same heat because he let go of her hand and wrapped it around his glass of water.

  “You certainly don’t give me much of a choice now.” Sam downed two aspirins with several gulps of water, then searched through the pictures in the envelope.

  “They are all there.” Jake popped two aspirins into his mouth and swallowed them dry. “I don’t have to know all the sordid details. I’m just curious what Preston wants from Governor Meacham.”

  Sam glanced at the pictures of two men in compromising poses. It was easy to conclude the two men were in a motel room from the sign by the phone listing extension numbers.

  “Preston wants to be governor. He wants Meacham to not seek another term and throw all of his support to Preston. Preston is power hungry.”

  “Who’s the other man in the picture?”

  Sam gazed down at the faces in the picture. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize Archbishop Simon Carmichael.”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t really follow the papal circuit.” He drank half a glass of water in one long gulp. “What will Preston find when he checks his safe?”

  Sam smiled. “Baseball trading cards.”

  Jake flashed a weary smile. “Good ones?”

  “Mickey Mantle, Hank Aaron, among others.”

  “Those are too good for Preston.” Picking up the pictures of Meacham he asked, “Did you notice these were Polaroid pictures?”

  “Yes.”

  “My guess is they are the only copies.”

  Sam’s eyes brightened. “You think so? That’s what I had hoped but Preston doesn’t seem to be the type not to cover his bases.”

  “True. But I don’t see him walking into a Walgreens and asking to have copies made. He couldn’t chance someone seeing these pictures and trying to do his or her own blackmail scam.”

  “He could have had someone on his payroll make copies.”