He squinted at the handwriting on the form Jake handed him. Charlie Buckmeister had retired from the police force ten years ago but couldn’t seem to keep himself busy at home. So he was hired on as a part-time records clerk.
“Nineteen-seventy-seven? You weren’t even born then.”
Jake laughed. “I assure you, Charlie, I was alive and driving my mother crazy.”
The Records Department archives were in the basement at Headquarters near Central Stores. The smell of paper dust mingled with subtle exhaust fumes filtering from the door to the underground garage.
Headquarters, Precinct One, was Sam’s old precinct and home to Chief Connelley. Being a weekend, there would be a skeleton crew upstairs but Jake had no plans on browsing the halls.
“They’ve been trying to get all the records on those new-fangled computers but they’ve only gotten as far back as, I think, about 1982.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “Casey, Samuel. Okay, let me lookie-see what I’ve got.”
Jake watched Charlie shuffle off to the filing cabinets. A half-empty cup of coffee sat next to a chocolate donut with two bites out of it.
“Have to try the back room,” Charlie called out, having checked the dates on the cabinets in the front room. Several minutes later, Charlie returned. “Here you go. Need to sign out the file or do you just want a copy of something?”
“I’ll let you know.” Jake skimmed through the incident report on Samuel Casey’s death. Reading Abby’s comments made him conjure up a picture of a cute five-year-old girl, clutching a doll, waving to her father through the window.
The case was only investigated for three days. It seemed to have been thorough. Even the arson and explosive experts found nothing to point to a homicide. Jake wondered if the technology they had today would have come to the same conclusion. If he had been the detective on the case, he would have spent more than three days investigating it.
“Do you remember this case, Charlie?” Jake asked.
“That specific case, no. But I remember the date. June 6. That was the day before that letter bomb went off at City Hall. Injured three people. Killed the mailman.”
“Nice diversion,” Jake whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Jake pointed to a signature at the bottom of the report. “Do you recognize these initials?”
Charlie squinted again, studying the curly letters that looked like an ampersand with a line through it.
“Naw. Can’t say that I do. He would have been the supervisor on the case.”
“Why does it say revise on the top page?” He flipped through the back pages. “Where’s the original?”
“Should be in there.”
Jake checked the file again. Only the revised report was there. “What about the two men who investigated the incident?”
“Simms and Beransky?” Charlie rubbed his dimpled chin. “Simms I believe was killed in a high speed chase several years after that. Beransky quit the force not too soon after. Beransky had been driving the squad car.”
“Could you make two copies of this sheet for me?” Jake handed the file back to Charlie with the page to be copied on top. He wanted one of the copies for Carl.
Chapter 56
“You’re lucky you came today, Sam,” Benny said as he opened the door to the smaller examining room. “We’re shipping the body to his sister in D.C. this afternoon.”
“So soon?”
“I’ve delayed it for too long as it is.” Benny looked through the glass window to his office where an assistant stood with a stack of papers for him to sign. “You have fun. Let me know when you’re through.”
Once Benny left, Sam took her necklace off and looked down at the mummified remains that now lay on a metal gurney. Hap probably had been filled with a lot of hope when he had spoken with her father. If that truck driver hadn’t hit the overpass, Hap’s body might never have been found.
She pushed the necklace into Hap’s hand, the one that had held Hap’s pin. Immediately a sea of lightning bolt shapes floated in her mind. All shapes and sizes. She sensed fear. Hap’s fear. Then bodies, falling in succession. She heard footsteps running, ragged panting. She saw the smiling face in the picture, Hap’s face. She saw a man’s hands, lifting her onto his lap. She saw the shapes again, and this time, a hand drawing them. A small hand. A child’s hand. Her hand.
Chapter 57
“I wish you had called first, Detective.” Mrs. Leland led Frank down the tiled hallway to Parker Smith’s room. Her uniform fit snugly over her robust figure. Frank could hear the sound of her nylons rubbing together as her inner thigh’s collided.
“I did call. The front desk told me Parker Smith was a resident here at Shady Pine Nursing Home.”
She made a face that said likely story. “If you had asked his condition, we would have told you Mr. Smith had a stroke three years ago. He hasn’t spoken a word. I don’t know how you plan to question him.”
They stepped into the sterile room. A poor attempt had been made to give the room some semblance of home… floral paintings, potted plants, a quilt thrown over a rocker. Nurse Leland walked over to the picture window and turned the wand on the mini-blinds to let in more sunlight.
“I don’t know why the nurse’s aide closes these blinds. Sunlight rejuvenates a person.” She motioned with her arms as though pumping iron. “Now, Mr. Smith. How are you doing today?” Her voice had increased in volume when she spoke. Walking over to the frail figure lying on the bed, she said, “You have color in your cheeks. Yes, you do.” She plumped up his pillow, cranked his bed to where he was more upright. “You have a visitor.” She motioned toward Frank.
Parker Smith showed no response. His glassy eyes stared straight ahead. The thin blanket covering him rose and fell with each breath.
“He’s not on a respirator?” Frank asked. He saw the wires leading to a machine that registered his heart rate and blood pressure.
“He eats, breathes. We’ve had a therapist work with him on speech, but, no luck. He does have some movement in his right hand. Recognizes his daughter… some days.” Looking down at Parker, Nurse Leland said, “I’m going to leave you with Detective Travis for a little bit.” She patted Parker’s arm and left the room.
Frank studied the man in front of him. The skin lay in folds where his muscles used to fill out his form. His gray hair was cut short. Pale blue eyes seemed bright against his pallid face.
Frank pulled up a chair and introduced himself. He watched for telltale reaction as he mentioned Hap Wilson’s name and Mushima Valley. There wasn’t a twitch, no flicker behind his vacant stare, no hint that Parker was understanding, much less hearing, what Frank was saying.
A cart rolled along the corridor stopping in front of the room. Visitors talked quietly as they passed, some pushing relatives in wheelchairs.
Frank stood up and pulled Hap’s pin out of his pocket. He held it up in front of Parker’s eyes, let the sunlight glisten off the shiny metal.
“Have you ever seen this pin, Mr. Smith?”
He thought he saw Parker’s right finger twitch. The monitor on the cart next to the bed showed an increase in Parker’s heart rate.
Second’s later, Nurse Leland came running in. “Is everything okay in here?”
Frank slipped the pin back into his pocket. “Sure. I did notice a change in his heart rate.”
“You betcha. The damn machine lit up like a Christmas tree.” She watched the monitor. “I don’t like the way
