When the Dead Speak

by Sandra Tooley

  Chapter 76

  “I’ve made several copies. Study his face carefully.” Preston passed Cain’s picture to the three security guards, copies of the picture Sam had left with him. “You can check with Chief Murphy if you want. This man is suspected in the possible murder of a Korean War veteran in Dallas and the MIA whose body was found recently in a concrete overpass. He’s been seen in Chasen Heights and I could be his next target.”

  The three guards were former mercenaries who had trained with the Secret Service. Preston had used them in Springfield when he had received numerous death threats after introducing a bill to end welfare as we know it. On the surface, his argument for the bill had basis. There were almost ten thousand alcoholics and drug addicts receiving Social Security benefits. Preston had argued that all they did was take their checks to the nearest bar or drug dealer.

  But Preston actually was targeting the black inner cities. He had made a statement to a close friend that welfare to the blacks was nothing more than a way for them to receive monetary restitution for years of slavery suffered by their ancestors. He hadn’t realized the cameras were rolling.

  The guards were well-trained and heavily armed with Ruger police carbines, Stealth C-1000 9mm handguns, laser sightings, and night vision glasses. They would spend the night patrolling the grounds.

  Two of the guards referred to the taller one as, “Sergeant.” Sergeant Cowles passed out walkie-talkies to his men instructing them what channel to use. They were dressed in dark jumpsuits and combat boots.

  “This man is armed and dangerous,” Preston continued. It was unfortunate, but Preston couldn’t leave any witnesses behind. The only other person who had seen Cain in the house was Juanita. This morning he sent her back to Mexico on a one-month vacation. In a week, he would send her a telegram informing her that her services were no longer needed.

  “How do you want us to handle it, Sir,” Sergeant Cowles asked.

  Preston tilted his head up in a condescending posture and replied, “Do whatever needs to be done.”

  Having left his fortress under the protection of Cowles and his men, Preston retreated to his study. He flipped the master switch on his computer just as the phone rang.

  “Avery, it’s about time you returned my call.” Preston said. “The baseball cards were a nice touch, but really. Couldn’t you have tossed in a Babe Ruth?”

  “I don’t believe you have any more than one set of those pictures, Preston. I will not resign nor will I ever endorse you. So don’t try to ...”

  “Shut up. I don’t give a damn what you believe.” The cursor on the computer ran down the menu to the lock and key icon. Preston clicked the mouse. “I do have to admit, though, I didn’t think you’d have the balls to hire someone to steal them. Now, I want you to listen carefully.”

  A rectangular box appeared on the screen with one question, Do you wish to execute program? Yes - No. Preston placed the cursor on Yes and clicked it once. Executing, the screen flashed. A time clock appeared in the lower right hand side. At the press of a button it would begin a countdown preset by Preston. He had given it a release time of seven in the morning. Enough time for the press to review it before his speech. Once released, the time could not be altered or canceled.

  “Did you hear that, Avery?” Preston leaned back, a triumphant smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “That’s the sound of your career crashing and burning.”

  Chapter 77

  Jake stood with one foot on the patio and one in his living room. The hot shower and a cigarette hadn’t done much to remove the emptiness he felt. Except for a green banker’s light on the desk, the apartment was dark. He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, barefoot, clad only in a pair of jeans, but he knew he was on his fourth cigarette.

  He watched his neighbor, Cyrus, pulling his poodle, Jellybean, by a leash. Jellybean wanted to stop and smell every blade of grass but Cyrus was up way past his bedtime. Jake flicked the cigarette butt over the railing.

  Carl had finally reached Jake to tell him about Sam’s visit. A little too late, Jake had thought. At least if Jake had had some forewarning ... but it still didn’t change anything. The what ifs, and only ifs, weren’t going to make Sam understand. Maybe if he had told her he loved her. Maybe if he could have pulled those unfamiliar words from his mouth. They were there, on the tip of his tongue, unused during his entire thirty-four years. Sam was the only woman who tried his patience. She was so stubborn sometimes he could shake her. But she had Abby’s strength, beauty, loyalty. And he wanted her so bad sometimes he couldn’t think straight.

  If it were any other woman, he would have shrugged it off. He had never lost his head or heart to a woman before. He had never wanted to fight for anything in his life before. Not his job with the Bureau, not for the salvation of his family life as a youth. He wouldn’t even fight for his badge. If Murphy wanted it, he could have it. Sam was that lone exception. All he could do now was let her cool down, maybe talk to Abby in the morning. Have her intercede on his behalf.

  First, Carl needed his help in the morning. Even Carl had found it difficult to explain how Sam derived all that she did by merely touching the file folder. But it was enough to convince President Whittier that Sam could do some major damage to his political career.

  Preston’s speech was going to take an exciting twist tomorrow, thanks to Sam and Tim. Without going into too much detail, Sam had explained to Carl what Tim had replaced in Preston’s computer program. Carl wanted Jake and Frank to join him at the Jenkins Art Center.

  Sam raced her Jeep down a residential street. She didn’t know why she took this turn. It was another ten minutes to her house. Her thoughts kept racing back to Cain and Preston. The sense of impending doom was so strong, it overpowered the scent of burning fuel that had filled her nostrils back at the warehouse.

  Chills racked her body. She felt something else maneuvering the Jeep, some force steering the vehicle to a safe place. She pulled up in front of an apartment complex and looked up at the three-story building. The address was familiar although she had never been there before. It was Jake’s apartment building.

  When Jake opened the door, Sam’s heart crept up into her throat. He looked good, damn good. All the old feelings resurfaced. She vaguely remembered that they had argued, but she couldn’t remember why, wasn’t sure if it was something more significant than the feeling of death.

  A rush of tears filled her eyes as the sensation that she would never see him again overwhelmed her. Her life was hanging in the balance and she hadn’t made proper arrangements for Abby.

  She stumbled through the doorway pleading, “Promise me, Jake. If anything happens to me, promise me you’ll take care of Abby.”

  But he didn’t answer. He pulled her into the room and slammed the door shut. His hands plunged into her hair snapping off the banana clip. Covering her mouth with his, his fingers found the zipper of her jumpsuit. She returned his kiss in desperation, her hands helping to strip his clothes away.

  Their passion was fueled by the erotic images that had plagued their dreams. Sam needed to feel his touch, feel their bodies entwined.

  “Sam,” Jake whispered.

  “Don’t talk,” she whispered back. “Just make the first one quick.”

  Jake lowered her onto the rug right in front of the door amid discarded clothing. There were no apologies for what had happened earlier, no discussions or explanations. Feelings dominated. It was lust, passion, and love knowing no boundaries.

  Through the opened patio door, among the drone of cars on the street and Jellybean yapping, the sound of a hawk could be heard screeching in the night.

  Jake’s breathing was slow and deep as he lay behind Sam in bed, his arms wrapped around her tightly. Sam reached up with her right arm and ran her hand up to his shoulder. Every cell in her body still ached for him.

  The feeling of impending doom had passed, eclipsed by the love and safety she felt in Jake’s arms. She pressed her chee
k against his warm skin, his body heat radiating. She wished she could stay just like this forever, in Jake’s arms.

  She looked at the leather and turquoise bracelet Jake had slipped on her wrist. She in return had given him her medicine bundle. They had exchanged possessions after offering them to the four directions. It was tradition.

  There was one more custom Jake didn’t know. When two people are married, if one of the spouses dies, it’s up to the other to take care of the in-laws.

  She drew his arms around her even tighter and whispered, “Now you HAVE to take care of Abby.”

  Chapter 78

  Cain pulled into the back parking lot of an all-night restaurant just a block from Preston’s house. He never parked on Preston’s premises, always walked around to the side of the estate and through the opening in the fence used by the landscapers.

  He was puzzled that he hadn’t heard on his police scanner about the car bomb. The thermostat on the Jeep should have reached the required temperature in fifteen minutes. But the delay might work to his advantage.

  For a large man, he moved silently through the shadows. In the distance, he saw lights on in Preston’s bedroom. Cain would pick up his money and go back to his motel room. As far as he knew, his job here in Chasen Heights was complete.

  As Cain crossed the parking lot, he saw movement in the trees. He stopped to watch and listen. The movement stopped. Maybe it was Jasper walking the dogs, but he would have heard the dogs bark by now. About fifty yards south of the first movement, he saw a second one.

  Slowly, he pulled out his .357 Magnum from his hip holster and moved deeper into the shadows. The full moon slid behind a large cloud. In the distance, he could hear the bubbling of the fountain in the flower garden.

  Cain moved from one tree to the next, stopping to listen, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The moon made an appearance from behind a cloud. When a figure darted out of the light, Cain made his move.

  “STOP WHERE YOU ARE! a voice yelled.

  Cain was bathed in spotlight. He aimed and fired.

  It took four shots to bring Cain down. Cowles and his men approached the fallen man carefully. Cowles felt for a pulse, looked at his men and said, “Good job.”

  Upstairs in his bedroom, Preston sat up in bed re-reading his speech for tomorrow morning. When he heard the gunshots, he snatched his reading glasses off and smiled broadly. He picked up the phone and made a call. But this call wasn’t to Captain Murphy.

  “I told you to keep her in line. Now it’s too late.” Preston hung up before he could hear a response. Then he unplugged the phone, laid his glasses and speech on the nightstand, reached up and turned off the lamp.

  Chapter 79

  Sam checked her watch. Five-thirty. Sunlight was struggling to break through the room darkening shades. It had succeeded with the vertical blinds in the living room.

  She glanced down at Jake, lying on his side, the sheet pulled up to his waist. She was afraid to kiss him for fear of waking him. If she woke him, she’d have to do all the talking she had avoided last night, like how she had met Cain on her own, how she lost her gun. And she didn’t want to listen to lectures.

  Last night at the warehouse was a blur. There had been an officer down and she hadn’t called it in. The feeling of doom and death were gone. She dismissed it as the shots that had been fired at her. Nothing more.

  Right now, she needed to get home before Abby woke up, and then get to the precinct as soon as possible. If anyone questioned her whereabouts last night, she was sure Abby would cover for her.

  Slowly she bent down until she was within eye level of Jake’s broad, strong shoulders. She resisted the urge to climb back into bed. Her eyes traced the map of scars on his back. Softly, she kissed one of the scars.

  The moment Sam climbed into her Jeep and turned the key, that feeling of impending doom reared its ugly head. With each block she drove, the feeling intensified, gripping her with a fear she had never experienced before. She told herself to fight it, concentrate. If she could figure out the source of the fear, she could eliminate it. Abby would help.

  She chose whichever streets were the least crowded, not exactly sure how to get to a main street, but needing to get home as quickly as possible. She avoided a city street cleaner on Superior Avenue only to be delayed at a railroad crossing while an Amtrak train rumbled by.

  Her thoughts turned to Cain, Preston, the warehouse, the dead cop. Doom hung over her like a black umbrella. The realization that Cain was nearby struck her full force. He was going to try something in broad daylight.

  She found herself searching the faces in the vehicles around her ... the pickup truck driver with the black Stetson; the yuppie with the starched white shirt and wide floral tie driving a red Beemer; the elderly man in tattered clothing bending over a wire trash can looking for aluminum cans. Cain was around somewhere. She could feel his presence.

  Someone familiar ran over to her Jeep. It was Chief Connelley.

  “Uncle Don, what are you doing here?”

  “Slide over, Sam.” He gave her no choice but to climb over the console to the passenger seat. “I tried reaching you all night. I’ve tried your portable phone, your house. I pulled my car over as soon as I saw you.” Chief Connelley’s tie was loosened, his hair disheveled. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.

  The train passed and traffic started moving again, people heading to the train station, others toward the expressway. He stole a quick glance in the rear view mirror as he turned the corner.

  “I lost my portable. I left early for a jog and was just headed home to shower.”

  “I want you and Abby to go out of town for a while, maybe the reservation.”

  “We already went over that.”

  “Your life is in danger.” He stole a quick glance toward her. “You have to trust me on this.” Connelley’s fingers and knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. His breathing came in short, asthmatic bursts.

  Sam stared at his hands. Her eyes were drawn to his cuffs which protruded from his suit coat. A scene played over in her mind — Hap lifting her up on his lap to trace the lightning bolt pin. But something never seemed right. Now she knew it couldn’t have been Hap. The skin wasn’t dark. The skin was light. And the person holding her had cuff links shaped like bullets.

  “Oh, my god,” Sam whispered. “It was you!”

  “Listen to me,” Connelley yelled. He had to apply the brakes quickly as a traffic light turned red. “He is going to kill you if you don’t get out of town.”

  Sam wasn’t listening. She was too busy remembering. “YOU were the one who lifted me on your lap to draw the pictures of the lightning bolt pins. My father told you about Hap Wilson. You KNEW! YOU were the friend who he entrusted with his copy of Hap’s affidavit.

  “Honey ...” Connelley reached for her, grabbed her hand. “Let me explain.”

  Sam pulled away and reached for the door handle. Every instinct in her body told her to get out of the Jeep — NOW!

  Chapter 80

  Jake stretched and reached his arm across the bed. It touched sheet, not Sam. He swiveled his head toward the bathroom. The door was opened. He called out Sam’s name. Silence.

  Maybe last night was just a figment of his imagination, like the night he was in the whirlpool. After all, he hadn’t even buzzed Sam upstairs last night. She simply appeared at his door, just as she had appeared floating through the whirlpool.

  He pulled a pillow over and pressed it to his face. The subtle scent of Sam’s perfume still clung to the fibers. He shoved the pillow behind his head and glanced over at the wing-backed chair sitting in the corner. Last night he had sat on that chair wrapped only in a towel. He remembered Sam coming out of the bathroom in one of his shirts, unbuttoned, but she held it together with all of her refreshing naivetE9.

  If it was all a dream, it was one of the most fantastic dreams he had ever experienced. Sam straddled him, his towel fell open. She pulled some yin-ya
ng thing on him that she said she had read about in a magazine. Told him to stare into her left eye, to inhale when she exhaled and vice versa. And to not move. They stayed that way, inhaling, exhaling.

  For the first time in his life he cried out. When they wrapped their arms around each other she had whispered in his ear, “Strong, silent type my ass.”

  Dream? He refused to believe it had all been his imagination. Propping himself up on one elbow, he felt something solid hit his chest. He looked down and saw Sam’s medicine bundle.

  The buzzer rang just as Jake stepped out of the shower. Jake pressed the buzzer to let Frank in, then quickly slipped into a blue dress shirt and navy blue pants, official clothes for arresting a state representative. He had told Carl he would meet him at his hotel and they would go together to the Jenkins Art Center.

  “Jake.” Frank was breathless from running up three flights of stairs. “Did you hear about Stu Richards?”

  “Who?” Jake closed the door behind him. Frank followed him into the bedroom.

  “He’s only been on the force one month. He was killed last night while patrolling that industrial site on Cornell.”

  “Gang shooting?” Jake pulled a blue tweed sportscoat from his closet and tossed it on the bed.

  “Have you talked to Sam this morning?” Frank trailed Jake from the bedroom to the kitchen.

  Jake turned from the counter and studied Frank’s face. “Why? What’s going on?”

  Frank looked at the phone and answering machine on the counter sitting next to the toaster. He lifted up the cord which had been unplugged from the wall.