A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  “I lose stuff all the time too,” Lauren admitted.

  “Everyone does! I know they’re watching my every move because they care about me, but God damn it, people! Give me some breathing room!”

  Lauren wondered what Harris looked like, so as she spoke to him, she pulled up his retirement records. He was a good-looking guy. He had a rough looking face, surrounded by salt and pepper hair. His eyes were dark, almost black in the picture. He looked very no-nonsense, but there was compassion in his countenance. “I would like to talk to you about a twelve-year-old case of yours. Are you up to it?”

  “Frank and Elizabeth Walker and their son Matthew…November thirtieth, two thousand five,” he answered without missing a beat.

  “I guess you are up to it then?”

  “Definitely; that case haunts me to this day. Just let me just step outside where I can talk without being scrutinized by the local KGB.”

  Lauren could hear heavy footsteps followed by a screen door slamming. “That’s better. Before you start asking me questions, I want you to understand that while my family and doctor may say I’m losing it, there are certain things I will take with me to the grave that are as clear as day. The Walker case is one of those things. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder how that little boy is doing. Well, I guess he must be all grown up by now.”

  Lauren agreed. “I guess he would be nineteen or twenty now.”

  Harris eased himself into a chair on the front porch. The house was located in the Hillcrest area of town, just north of Balboa Park and the San Diego Zoo. It was a lovely location. He liked visiting the animals. “I’m going to tell you something, Detective, that I’ve never told anyone else. I was on the force for another seven years after the Walker double homicide, and for that entire time, I kept the case folder in the right-hand drawer of my desk. For seven years, I hoped for a lead. I wanted so badly to bring closure to that young boy.”

  Lauren smiled. “You know what Jack? I believe you. That just seems like someone as dedicated as you would do.”

  Harris let out a sigh. “So how is it that the Walker case landed in your lap? I thought for sure it would have been locked away with all the other cold cases.”

  “Actually,” Lauren admitted. “Today was the first day I ever heard about your case. It turns out we had a homicide of a very prominent city official here in Jacksonville that might fit the same M.O.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m very serious: our victim was bludgeoned to death, and the forensics team believes that the weapon of choice might have been a baseball bat. It could be a coincidence, because I never read anything in your report suggesting the weapon was a bat, but CODIS thought it was close enough to suggest it might be a match.”

  “Where did you say you were calling from?”

  Lauren repeated herself. “Jacksonville, Florida. I’m with the Jacksonville P.D.”

  “Holy crap,” Harris exclaimed. “Before you do anything else, I want you to do me a favor.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Listen to me carefully, Detective. As soon as you hang up, I want you to go out and buy two lottery tickets, one for you and another for me. Pick whatever numbers you want.”

  “Why would I do that, Jack?”

  Harris began to laugh joyously. “No, don’t worry, it isn’t the Alzheimer’s kicking in. I say this in all clarity. You’ve got to be the absolute luckiest person on the face of God’s green earth!”

  “I am?”

  Harris couldn’t hold in his excitement. His blood hadn’t circulated this fast in years. “Did you know that the boy’s grandparents were granted custody of the boy? They live in Jacksonville! Can you freaking believe it? How cool is that! You need to find out if this family is still living in your area and see if you can track down the boy and talk to him. You need to find out if he remembers anything from that night.”

  Lauren began to write notes with her free hand. “Why didn’t I read about this anywhere?”

  “Why would you? The only reason I was never able to question the boy was that he was very young at the time and I know that he suffered some type of brain damage from the attack. That’s not a very credible combination. The next thing I heard, the grandparents had taken him back to Jacksonville to live with them. I’m pretty sure they were the paternal grandparents, so the last name would be Walker as well. You’ve got to check it out and call me back, Detective. Promise me you will! I’ve got to know how Matthew is, and if he remembers anything!”

  Lauren put down her pen. “I promise to let you know if I find him, Jack. Now, is there anything else that you can tell me that might not have made it into the case file?”

  Harris closed his eyes shut and tried to remember. He could visualize every inch of the crime scene, only now it was like he was looking at it through a gauzy shroud. “Let me think…”

  Lauren waited patiently and listen to the old man breathe. “Did I mention in my report that Franklin Walker worked for one of the cruise ship lines in Miami? He was like the C.F.O. or some other hot shot in the company. I don’t know if that matters. That trail dried up real quick.”

  Lauren leaned forward in her chair. “Which cruise line, Jack?” She pressed, “Do you remember the name of the cruise line?”

  There was another pause on the line as Lauren closed her eyes tightly in anticipation of the answer she prayed was coming. Her right hand was clenched into a fist.

  “Mason, I think. Yes, that’s the one…Mason Cruise Lines. Does that mean anything?”

  Lauren King didn’t realize that she was suddenly grinning from ear to ear as her fist pumped the air. Ah-ha.

  26

  The Coast Guard base known as Sector Jacksonville had been established when the Mayport Naval base was reorganized in 2005. Sector Jacksonville was located on six acres of land adjacent to the Naval Station Mayport, along the St. Johns River.

  Turning onto the base, Toby found himself third in line at the guard gate. He checked his watch, even though his dashboard clock told him he had fifteen minutes to spare. Reaching over to the passenger seat, Toby pulled out his police and personal identification from his coat pocket. When he finally reached the guardhouse, he smiled and handed both to the Coast Guard Military Police Officer, who eyed him suspiciously.

  “State your business, Doctor Bilston,” the M.P. requested as he checked Toby’s credentials.

  Toby leaned his head out of the perpetually broken window of his 1972 Ford Gran Torino Sport and tried to sound nonchalant. “I have a nine o’clock appointment with Admiral Baer. I should be on the list.”

  “Yes sir,” the guard replied as he swiped Toby’s license through a scanner. “Do you know where the Admiral’s office is, sir?”

  Toby reached out to take his identification back. “I’ve never been here before. If you could point me in the right direction, I would really appreciate it.”

  The M.P. stepped out of the guardhouse and pointed to a cluster of buildings to the east. “The Admiral’s office is in the main building. It’ll be numbered 10426 over the doorway. Park in a visitor’s spot, and when you go inside his office is at the far end of the main corridor. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you, officer. I appreciate the directions and your service to our country.”

  The M.P. held up his hand for Toby not to leave quite yet. “Is this a seventy-three?”

  “Seventy-two,” Toby answered.

  The M.P. took a quick stroll around the rust pitted car. “Nice! Are you in the middle of fixing her up? Looks like you’ve still got a lot of work ahead of you.”

  Toby let out a mournful sigh. A week didn’t go by when someone didn’t stop and ask him about his car. “Nope, not fixing her up, I’m the original owner,” he said by rote. “I got it when I was in high school. It was a graduation present from my grandparents.”

/>   “Are you kidding me? You’re the original owner? Why don’t you get her fixed up? I bet she’d be worth a ton!”

  Toby shook his head. “I like her fine just the way she is. She shows her age just like I do. Fixing her up would be like having plastic surgery on this magnificent specimen of male pulchritude you see before you. She’s like a fine wine.”

  The M.P. leaned in through the window that had been stuck halfway down for the last two weeks. “The inside is still in pretty good shape. How many times have you spun the odometer?”

  Toby looked over at the dashboard clock. He wasn’t as early anymore. “I have over two hundred thousand miles on her.”

  “Wow, that’s incredible!” The M.P. said, jealously. “This is an awesome ride. I hope the both of you make it another two hundred thousand.”

  The gate slowly began to open. “Thank you, officer, that’s very kind of you to say.”

  “Well, have a great day, Doctor. And if you take care of your patients the way you take care of your car, they are some lucky folks.”

  Toby looked up at the M.P. and smiled. “All my patients are dead.”

  In the rearview mirror, Toby could still see the speechless look on the guard’s face. Sometimes he really loved his job.

  As he drove along the docks that were built on the Saint John’s River, Toby could see that there were only three cutters in port, one being the Intrepid. He slowed down as he passed by the ship. It was up in dry dock and repairs were already underway. There were only a handful of recruits working on the exterior, but they appeared hard at work. As he approached the main building, Toby had his choice of parking spaces, of which he chose the closest. Even this early in the morning, the perspiration was beading up on his forehead. The air conditioner in the Gran Torino was aftermarket and very temperamental: it hated working when it was hot out. Just like its owner.

  Admiral Theodore Baer’s office was sparsely decorated. There was a female Ensign behind the desk in the outer office and she offered Toby a seat. “Can I get you anything, Doctor?”

  Toby let himself sink into a faux leather sofa. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “The Admiral is expecting you. He’ll only be a minute.”

  Toby attempted to cross his legs but then thought better of it. He put the beige case folder down on the sofa next to him. There were a few small photos of various sized naval ships from the past to the present scattered on the walls. A few were in color, but most were in black and white. The Ensign seemed to be wearing a permanent smile, but Toby didn’t mind it. She seemed sincere. The phone on her desk buzzed and she answered it.

  “The Admiral is ready for you, Doctor. Just go in, no need to knock.”

  Toby struggled to lift himself out of the sofa. Just when he was getting comfortable; wasn’t that always the way?

  The Admiral rose to his feet as Toby entered his office. “Holy mackerel Toby, how long has it been, thirty or forty pounds ago?”

  Toby winced and held out his hand. “I’m glad you only lost your hair and not your sense of humor, Teddy.”

  “Touché my friend. So really, how long has it been? How are Harriett and the kids? How is Benjamin doing?”

  Toby took a seat in front of Baer’s desk. Pictures of the Admiral with various politicians and other noteworthy people adorned his walls, along with a myriad of framed medals and certificates. “The family is good, Teddy. Thanks for asking. The girls are grown up and ignoring every word I say, Harriett is still the commanding officer of the Bilston crew, and Benjamin is still making me proud just to be his father.”

  The Admiral smiled as he sat down. “That’s terrific. Send them my love.”

  “And how’s your family?” Toby asked. “Ronnie and the kids okay?”

  Baer nodded. “Everyone is fine. Veronica is running a little boutique in Southside, and Jesse and Tony are both attending Florida State on tennis scholarships. Full ride.”

  Toby struggled to find a comfortable position in the chair. It was apparently made for someone with a smaller caboose. “Tennis, very cool. I never had the stamina for tennis.”

  The Admiral shook his head. “We could never get you out of the library, Toby. You were always nose deep in some anatomy or biology textbook. But look at us now! A doctor and an Admiral. Who would have guessed?”

  Toby smiled. “Good times.”

  Baer agreed. “So, enough with the trip down memory lane; what did you find out about Ensign Hale?”

  Toby patted the envelope on his lap. “I have the results here Teddy, but the autopsy has raised more questions than it answered.”

  The Admiral leaned forward attentively. “Such as?”

  Toby clasped his hands together. “Look, I know you aren’t at liberty to reveal classified information to me, but I am well aware that you lost a ship, and more importantly, an entire crew. Before I tell you my findings, I need to ask you some questions that might clarify what I discovered about the Ensign.”

  The Admiral turned stern. “You and I go way back Toby, but we’re not close enough for me to betray my country.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that,” Toby disagreed.

  Baer nodded. “I think that’s what you were implying. I will gladly tell you what I can, but I won’t reveal anything that’s considered classified. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  Toby put his fingers to his lips. “How about this, then: you let me ask you a few questions, and if the answers are off limits, let me know. How’s that?”

  “And then you’ll tell me the results? You know I can just pick up this phone and have a couple of M.P.’s make you hand over the envelope. It is government property.”

  Toby lifted himself up and slid the envelope under his rear end. “Better make it four of them.”

  The Admiral smiled. “Ask your questions.”

  Toby smiled back. “Were there any satellite images of the Truman before she went down?”

  Baer shook his head. “Without revealing the Truman’s mission, I can tell you that there were no images because satellites are easily hacked.”

  Toby bit his lower lip. “Okay, that makes sense. Were there any other ships in the vicinity of the Truman when it went down?”

  “None that we are aware of. Understand that the Truman’s mission was classified and that they were ordered not to communicate to avoid detection. I can tell you that she was retrofitted with stealth technology so she would have been invisible to any ship’s radar unless that ship just happened to cross her path. We went to extreme lengths to make sure that the Truman was nowhere near any commercial shipping lanes.”

  “So the Truman was a ghost ship.”

  “Pretty much. Where are you going with all of this, Toby?”

  Toby cocked his head back and forth. He could feel a tension headache coming on. “Nothing adds up here.”

  The Admiral reached over and took his phone off the hook. “Let me tell you what I can, Toby, and then you tell me if any of it jives with your findings.”

  Toby pulled out a pen and a small spiral notepad.

  “No notes,” Baer warned. “This is between you and me. Not for public consumption. None of what I will tell you is classified, but it’s not to be made public either. Don’t forget, we have our own internal investigation going on.”

  Toby slipped the notepad back into his breast pocket. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  The Admiral leaned back in his chair. “This was to be the Truman’s last trip to sea. She was due to be decommissioned after this mission. I can tell you, without revealing any details, that her mission was a success. We know she achieved her objective because there is physical proof. What happened after that is where our information dries up. Something catastrophic happened onboard the Truman, and Ensign Hale was the lone survivor. He died shortly after being rescued by the Cutter Intrepid.”

  “Which was sent
to look for survivors and investigate the wreckage?”

  The Admiral became tight-lipped. “I won’t talk about the Intrepid’s assignment.”

  “But you lost two men on the Intrepid as well.”

  Baer’s eyes narrowed. “I think I need to have a long talk with Petty Officer Simms.”

  Toby leaned forward in earnest. “Simms lost two of his commanding officers. He wants to know why.”

  “We all want to know why Toby. Now, quid pro quo. Tell me what the autopsy revealed.”

  “One last question.”

  The Admiral drew in a frustrated breath. “You are really pushing this friendship, Toby. One more question and then you start giving answers.”

  Toby put up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Tell me what you know about the Truman’s Captain.”

  Baer looked skeptical. “Roy Sowell? Why are you asking about him? He was a fine officer who gave his life in the service of his country as did the rest of his crew.”

  “I heard he was very sick and that this mission was his sendoff.”

  You could plainly see the color of the Admiral’s complexion turn beet red. “What the hell did Simms tell you?” He fumed, reaching over and slamming the phone receiver back in its cradle. “Sowell was retiring. This was to be his last assignment. He was passed over for promotion numerous times during his career because of his temperament. He was insubordinate at times, but he ran a tight ship. I can’t speak to his health due to regulations, but he wasn’t happy that he was being put out to pasture. What dedicated officer wouldn’t be? It’s all in his personnel file. Or did Simms already fill you in on all of this?”

  Toby raised his voice which he never did. “Simms only told me what he was a witness to. He knows nothing about the Truman’s mission. He was only trying to help me piece together what happened. He lost friends on the Truman, and he wants some closure.”

  Baer’s teeth were clenched. His Ensign had crossed a line. “Enlighten me on what else Simms told you.”

  “Listen to me Admiral,” Toby said, showing his college friend the utmost respect. “Simms is a good man. He only wants the truth. He brought me the only piece of evidence that matches my findings on Ensign Hale. He also told me that whatever was onboard the Intrepid was missing when his commanding officers dove down to the wreck to investigate. He was in the radio room when Captain Fitzpatrick radioed that ‘the package’ was missing. He also told me that Hale’s last word was Sowell.”