He continued, “A. J. Kettler, Stan Daniels, the Pensacola City Council, and the Insider have tried to manipulate this so-called public-private project from the beginning. They will do anything to steal this land from the people of Pensacola, land that should be preserved for our children and grandchildren.”
Wittman went on to complain, as he had done since the project was first proposed, that the city had never sought requests for proposals from other potential development groups.
“Daniels made sure his client, Kettler, got his ballpark,” Wittman said. “This was not a citizen-driven process. The promoters manipulated it for their personal gain. We will defeat the project, and then the people, not the carpetbaggers, will decide what’s best for Pensacola. Kettler can build his ballpark somewhere else.”
Wittman added that his brother-in-law wouldn’t be speaking today, but he had a statement prepared by Hines’ attorneys to read.
“The Hines family wants to reiterate its support for Save Our Pensacola,” he read. “It will contribute whatever funds it takes to stop the construction of the maritime park with its ballpark.”
Wittman continued, “We were distressed today to learn those supporting the ballpark have attacked the memory of Sue Hines in order to defeat our grassroots petition drive. Our attorneys will seek every legal means possible to punish those who have so heartlessly tried to damage the reputation of a beloved woman of this community. We will continue to cooperate with the authorities, but we will not let the legacy of someone so dear to all of us be tarnished.”
I kept my chin up, arms folded, and looked ahead. Inside I wanted to whip my own ass for posting the suicide note.
A television reporter asked Wittman about the note. “I can tell you that was no suicide note. As I said earlier, Mr. Hines isn’t going to comment, but that note was written weeks ago and had nothing to do with her death. My sister often wrote notes to Bo and me when she was upset with us.”
The reporter asked, “What lies is she talking about?”
Wittman said, “Who knows? Probably referring to a hunting trip we took when she thought we were in Tallahassee.”
Puff! And my “smoking gun” vanished.
The reporters cornered me after the press conference. I hated being part of the news, but there was no dodging the scrutiny.
“The note we published today was written by Sue Hines,” I said. “Our expert confirmed it. And, yes, it clearly is a suicide note. Mrs. Hines was fed up with the lies concerning the missing Arts Council funds and whatever else her husband has covered up.”
I continued, “The public has a right to know the truth, regardless where it leads. Kettler, Daniels, and the city had no warning of my publishing the note. Any such allegation is ridiculous.”
I told the reporters that I stood by what I wrote and threats would not deter my paper from reporting the truth. “I regret any pain this may cause the Hines family, but the news needed to be reported.”
Over the reporters’ shoulders, I saw Bo Hines wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. Surely a photographer caught it. I stayed long enough to make sure I answered all questions. I wanted Wittman, Hines, and the Save Our Pensacola folks to leave first. I stood my ground.
I waved Yoste over and told him to type up his notes and email them to me. I would post them on the blog tonight. He moved away from me as quickly as possible, making sure no one thought he was with me.
My cell phone vibrated.
“Well, how did it go?” Gravy asked. “You did go, didn’t you?”
“It was just short of a public hanging,” I said.
He laughed. “I expect nothing less from the fearless Walker Holmes.”
“I’m walking over to Dare’s office. Let’s meet at Hopjacks for beers in an hour.”
When I got to Jackson Tower, Dare was out, but her secretary handed me two large books bound together with a rubber band. The yellow Post-it note under the band said, “Here are Bo and Jace’s high school yearbooks from Pensacola Catholic High. Check out the prom photos.”
I left Dare a thank-you note and said I would catch up with her later. When I got back to the office, I opened the two yearbooks. I saw that Wittman and Hines had the same senior prom date—Celeste Daniels, Stan’s little sister.
Two weeks after the Pensacola Catholic and Booker T. Washington proms the fifteen-year-old went missing and never returned home.
25
The Pensacola Insider once included the disappearance of Celeste Daniels in a cover story on cold cases involving missing person reports. The article said that according to police reports she was last seen on May 14, 1973, leaving Pensacola Catholic High School. Celeste stood five foot three and weighed a hundred and five pounds. She had worn a yellow tank top and hip hugger slacks with a floral print when she left school that day.
Her big brother Stan was supposed to give her a ride home, but ended up having to stay late for a student council meeting. No one could remember seeing anyone pick her up from school that day or seeing her walking home. Police never found her body.
The police reports gave us little more information than that. In the seventies, Pensacola probably only had one or two missing persons cases a year. The officers weren’t the most literate people in town, mostly high school graduates and guys with GEDs. Stan refused to cooperate with our reporter, saying he didn’t want to dredge up the past. Their parents had been dead for decades. Celeste Daniels’ story was a minor part of the cold cases article.
I texted Daniels, and he agreed to meet me for coffee Wednesday morning in my office before eight. With Hines and Wittman trying to derail the park, maybe he would be more cooperative with me. The old families of Pensacola only want to talk about their accomplishments and avoided discussions
