Martin placed a hand on the side of Nolan’s SUV to steady himself; he felt the blood rush from his head.
‘Are you okay, Grandpa?’ Nolan asked when he saw Martin falter.
Martin nodded to Nolan. ‘I remember that quite clearly, Detective.’
‘Good. Would it be possible for you to meet me down at the Washtenaw County Medical Examiner’s Office later today?’
‘Certainly. But why?’
‘We may have found your friend, sir. I realize that it’s been a long time, but I would appreciate your help in identifying the body. Are you sure you’re up to this, Mr Kilkenny?’
‘Johann was my friend. I owe it to him. Would two-thirty be soon enough, Detective?’
‘That’ll be fine, sir.’
‘I’m going to hand you over to my grandson, Nolan Kilkenny. Would you kindly tell him the particulars about where we’re going?’
Martin handed the phone to Nolan, opened the passenger door of the black Mercedes, and sat with his head bowed. Nolan jotted down the detective’s instructions in his planner and ended the call.
‘Grandpa, are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Johann Wolff is dead, Nolan. My friend is dead. They found his body.’ And with that, Martin Kilkenny released the tears that he’d been holding back for more than fifty years.
23
Ypsilanti, Michigan
At two-thirty Nolan and his grandfather met Detective Ptashnik in the lobby of a nondescript municipal building on Ypsilanti’s East Side that housed, among other things, the offices of the Washtenaw County Medical Examiner.
‘Thank you for coming down so quickly,’ Ptashnik said, greeting them as he extended his hand.
‘It’s not a problem,’ Martin assured the detective.
‘If you’ll both follow me, we’ll be meeting with Dr Porter back in the morgue. She’s expecting us.’
They followed Ptashnik through a painted steel door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and down an antiseptic corridor dimly lit with cool fluorescent lights.
Martin broke the silence. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Detective.’
‘Go right ahead.’
‘After all this time, how did you come to the conclusion that this might be my friend Johann?’
‘We found some ID with the remains.’
‘And where did you find him?’
‘In the base of a demolished smokestack not fifty yards from where, according to the report you filed, you last saw him.’
Martin paled slightly, horrified at the thought of Wolff’s body lying buried for years just outside his shop in West Engineering.
The short walk ended at the entrance to the medical examiner’s office suite.
‘Hey, Martha,’ Ptashnik shouted in a friendly voice, poking his head into the reception area. ‘I’ve got a pair of visitors that I’m taking back to see Bev.’
‘She’s expecting you.’
‘Thanks.’
Ptashnik led them through a pair of doors clad in stainless-steel protective plates. The room was brightly lit, cold and sterile. The only splash of color amid the whites and muted grays was the strawberry-blond tresses of the woman waiting inside.
‘Dr Beverly Porter,’ Ptashnik said, ‘I’d like to introduce Martin and Nolan Kilkenny.’
‘A pleasure, gentlemen, though not under the best of circumstances.’
‘Dr Porter, the disappearance of my friend has been like an old wound that refuses to completely heal.’
‘I hope this will bring you some closure, sir.’
Porter led them into a procedure room where a shrouded figure lay beneath a halo of task lights on a stainless-steel table.
‘A word of warning, gentlemen. The body is not in the best of condition.’
‘Body?’ Nolan questioned. ‘There’s more than just a skeleton left after all this time?’
‘The section of tunnel where the body was found acted like a vault, keeping the space inside cool and dry for over fifty years. The environment inside was ideal for preservation. Still, what you are about to see may be a bit of a shock,’ Porter explained.
Nolan and Martin both nodded, mentally preparing themselves for an unholy sight. Porter picked up the edge of the cloth and respectfully exposed the head of the corpse. What they saw looked much like an Egyptian mummy – a figure all flesh and bone with the skin shriveled, dark and stiff. Wisps of light brown hair still clung to the head, a subtle reminder that this was once a living person.
Nolan exhaled quietly. In combat, he’d seen more than his share of mangled bodies and gruesome remains – the images in his memory far worse than what he now beheld.
‘May I?’ Martin asked, indicating that he’d like a closer look.
Porter stepped back to give him room. Martin gazed down at the withered face and compared what he saw with his memories.
‘It’s Johann,’ he said with a mix of sadness and relief.
‘Are you sure?’ Ptashnik asked.
‘Aye, as sure as I can be.’
Martin took out a handkerchief, dabbed at a stray tear, and blew his nose. ‘How did he die?’
‘He was murdered,’ Ptashnik said with absolute certainty. ‘His killer nearly decapitated him.’
‘Who the hell would want to do a thing like that?’ Martin asked angrily. ‘Was he robbed?’
‘That was our initial thought, but then we found that he still had his briefcase and a wallet with ten bucks in it.’
‘If it wasn’t for money, then why?’
‘Grandpa, what about the rumors?’ Nolan asked.
‘Rumors?’ Ptashnik repeated.
‘After Johann disappeared, there was talk about how perhaps the government found out he’d done something during the war and deported him or imprisoned him or simply had him killed. Others said maybe some dark past was catching up with him, and he ran away. It was all a load of hooey; the government cleared him of any wrongdoing before they let him in the country.’
‘Detective, you said that Wolff’s briefcase was buried with him. Can we see it?’ Nolan requested.
‘Why?’
‘A few weeks ago a physicist I’m working with – a guy named Ted Sandstrom – inherited a collection of letters written by Johann Wolff. Some of the material contained in those letters deals with Wolff’s theoretical research. The man who bequeathed these letters, a physicist named Raphaele Paramo, believed that they might help Sandstrom solve a technological problem he’s encountered in his own work. After reading the letters, Sandstrom agrees that the answer he’s looking for may be somewhere in Wolff’s research. Until today, I haven’t found any information that could lead me to Wolff or his research. I’m hoping that there might be something in his briefcase that will help.’
‘Since you two are the closest thing we have to a next of kin, I don’t see any harm,’ Ptashnik answered. ‘Where are his personal effects, Bev?’
‘They’re boxed and waiting to go to the state police crime lab. I know this isn’t a great time to ask, but who’ll be taking care of the arrangements? I’ll be finished with Mr Wolff by the weekend.’
‘I’ll take care of everything,’ Martin volunteered. ‘The funeral parlor in Dexter will be giving you a call. Thank
