Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 17

After sleeping like a baby without nightmares, Sam woke up in the morning happy, knowing Peter would fulfill his request.

Sam waited on his back porch drinking coffee, his cordless phone on the table by his side.

There would be anxious glances at the phone, waiting for Peter’s call.

Two hours passed, and Sam was worried that they would reopen the case since Peter had not called with the news.

An hour later, Sam was on his fifth cup of coffee.

“Sam, where are you?” Cindy called from the front foyer.

“I’m on the back porch,” he called while drinking coffee.

Cindy entered the back porch. “Hey, I’m having a slow day, so do you want to go out to lunch? My treat.”

“I’m waiting on an important phone call,” Sam replied, staring at his phone and silently praying it would ring.

“You have thirty minutes, and then I’m leaving without you,” Cindy said, then walked back inside.

A few minutes later, Cindy reentered the porch with a cup of coffee. She sat down on the chair next to Sam.

“What’s with the important call?” she asked, then drank her coffee.

“I visited Peter Bronson at the Tampa office,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot,” Cindy replied, then drank her coffee. “How did the meeting go?”

“He’s going to ask his superiors to reopen the October Slayer case,” Sam replied and got worried Peter was taking so long to call.

“That would be nice,” Cindy replied, but she could really care less about an old murder case.

Sam’s cordless phone rang, and quickly grabbed it. “Sam,” he answered.

“Hey Sam, it’s me,” Peter responded.

Sam looked excited that his call finally came.

“Listen, I tried, but the guys up at the top won’t reopen the case based on a fiction book and a few items you believe came from the killer. They want more proof,” Peter said, indicating he was truly sorry.

“More proof? Just have some agents talk to the author of the book. That might get them some more proof,” Sam snapped back, a little pissed.

Cindy noticed and got concerned.

“They believe the author just fictionalized the real case. Sorry, Sam. They won’t budge on this one. Catching terrorists is their main concern and not an old unsolved murder case,” Peter replied.

Sam was disappointed but not yet defeated. “I understand. Thanks for trying.”

“Sorry, buddy, but I’m still up for some fishing,” Peter replied.

“Sure, how about tomorrow if you’re available?” Sam offered but still had the October Slayer on his mind.

“I believe I can do that. I’ll call you later to confirm,” Peter said.

Sam put the phone away on the table by his chair.

“That didn’t sound like good news,” Cindy said in a comforting tone.

“The FBI won’t reopen the case based on a book. They want more proof,” Sam said, then stood up and paced around his porch while he pondered. “Damn, I promised Gary back in sixty-five I would find the killer of his sister. I let him down,” Sam added while a guilty feeling became stronger.

“Well, certainly, he isn’t holding you to it from the grave,” she said to make him feel better.

“Maybe this author probably didn’t know he found important clues. Maybe I can talk to him, and he’ll tell me where he got that information. Since he’s retired Army CID, he wouldn’t mind talking to a retired FBI agent,” Sam said, and his eyes lit up excited thinking about doing a little investigating again.

Cindy got concerned with Sam. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I really, really don’t.”

“I’ll just spend a day talking with the author and get more information. Then maybe Peter can get them to reopen the case,” Sam smiled, feeling confident.

“Okay, but don’t let it interfere with our trip to North Carolina in a couple of weeks. I’m really looking forward to seeing the Biltmore Estates,” she said, worried Sam would get too hung up on this killer.

“I won’t honey. I promise,” Sam replied.

She looked at her watch. “We better head out to the restaurant for lunch,” she said.

They left the porch, and Sam locked up his house.

The drive to the restaurant, off International Speedway near the Daytona racetrack, was quiet. Sam’s mind was on Allan’s book, and he strongly desired to learn how the author knew about the officer bars and letters.

Fifteen minutes later, their lunch arrived, and they started eating.

“I thought we could go to the movies tonight. I would love to see the Wedding Crashers,” Cindy offered.

“Ah, sure,” Sam replied but was not paying attention. But when Sam heard the word movies, his eyes lit up with an idea.

“Excuse me, I need to make an important call,” Sam quickly blurted out, then got up.

Cindy was hurt while watching Sam rush out of the dining area.

Sam went outside the restaurant.

Outside the restaurant, Sam quickly made a phone call on his cell phone, then paced up and down the sidewalk.

“George Williamson,” George answered the call.

“George, it’s me, Sam Woods,” Sam said.

“Sam! How are you? What has it been, two years?” George asked, all excited about hearing from Sam.

“I believe it has. Listen, I need some help.”

“Are you okay?” George replied with an air of concern.

“Oh yeah, there’s this book that just came out.”

“A Killer’s Tale. I figured you would read it and realize it’s about that killer from the sixties,” George quickly responded.

“Yeah, it’s about the book.”

“How can I help?”

“Do you know anybody from Keystone Publishing Company?” Sam asked.

“No, but I have a good friend, a literary agent. Why?”

“I need to talk to the author of A Killer’s Tale. His name is Allan Stein, and I need his address.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with,” George said.

“Great, I really appreciate it.”

“I’m now curious. Why do you need to talk to the author of that book?”

“His book had details that nobody but the killer and myself knew.”

“Wow. That’s interesting. What kind of details?” George asked as his curiosity was piqued.

“In the book, the killer dropped some Army stripes into the FBI agent’s suit pocket when he was drunk at a bar. I got drunk at a bar and found some Army Warrant officer’s bars in my suit pocket,” Sam told him.

“That’s interesting,” George replied.

“Then the killer in the book sent the FBI agent some taunting letters. The same thing happened to me; the letters in the book were word for word with the letters I received. I never told a soul about the letters or bars.”

“That’s really bizarre,” George said. “I’ll do my best to get you the address of this Allan Stein,” George promised.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“No sweat, I’ll call you as soon as I find out something,” George said.

Sam closed his cell phone and walked back into the restaurant.

Sam walked back to the table.

“What was so important?”

“I called a friend out in Hollywood,” Sam replied. “Trying to get an acting job?” Cindy replied jokingly.

“No, I’m trying to get the address of the author of that book,” Sam said, knowing he should not lie to Cindy.

Cindy got irritated with Sam. “I should have known.”

“It’s something I really have to do. I can’t let this go.”

Cindy was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay, but you better not let it interfere with some of our plans.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Sam’s cell phone rang. Cindy got bothered. “Sorry, honey,” Sam said, thinking George had already found Allan’s address. “Hey George,” Sam quickly answered without verifying the caller from the viewfinder.

“It’s me, Peter,” he said from Sam’s cell phone.

“Hey, Peter.”

“Still up for some fishing tomorrow? I’m taking the day off,” Peter said from the cell phone.

“Sure.”

“I’ll call you in the morning when I leave Tampa.”

“Sounds great,” Sam replied, then closed his cell phone.

He noticed that Cindy was upset. “It’s Peter from Tampa. He’s coming over here tomorrow, and we’re going fishing,” Sam told her to put her at ease.

“Oh,” she said, feeling better.

But it remained quiet during the remainder of their lunch. Sam had that book and the October Slayer on his mind, while Cindy was worried that his getting involved would start the drinking with the nightmares.

The next day, Peter drove over to Daytona Beach. They launched Sam’s Wellcraft boat into the Halifax River. Sam had a cooler with bottles of Coke for him and a six-pack of Budweiser for Peter.

Sam drove out into the river and dropped

anchor. They soon had their lines in the water and drinks opened.

“It feels so good to relax,” Peter said while he kicked back.

Sam smiled in agreement while he kicked back and relaxed.

“I’m sorry the boys upstairs won’t reopen the case,” Peter said while he sipped on his Budweiser.

“Oh well, that’s how it goes,” Sam replied. He wanted to say something else, but his cell phone rang. Sam looked at the viewfinder. “Excuse me,” he told Peter. “Hey there,” Sam answered the call.

“I have the address you need, and you’re in luck,” George Williamson answered from the cell phone.

“Good, can you text it to me?”

“In work, my friend,” George replied.

Sam waited a few seconds, and his cell phone buzzed. He looked at his inbox and saw a text message from George.

“Allan’s address is forty- nine eighty-four Kent Avenue, St Cloud, Florida. How convenient!” George’s text stated.

“Thanks,” Sam typed in a reply. He shoved his cell phone into his pants pocket with a smirk.

Peter glanced at Sam; his gut told him he was up to something. Peter pondered for a few seconds, and then his eyes lit up. “Are you doing your own investigation?”

Sam looked at Peter and knew he could not bullshit him. “Ah, yeah,” he said with guilt written all over his face.

“I should have known.”

“I tried to get the FBI to help. But they’re not interested. What do you expect me to do? I just can’t sit by and let a killer get away from those horrible crimes,” Sam said with a determined tone.

“You better be careful. After all, you’re not allowed to go shooting people now that you’re retired,” Peter said with a tone of authority. Then Peter got concerned. “You’re not going to carry a gun, are you?”

“I have a gun, but I won’t take it. I promise!”

“Good, now I’m worried you’ll start drinking again. After all, that’s why you got transferred to Phoenix.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t had a drink since I retired and don’t plan on starting up again.”

“Well, I’ll pray you don’t,” Peter said, then got a nibble on his line. “I got one!” he cried out. Peter fought with the fish, finally winning, and reeled in a nice redfish.

They quickly iced the fish and then relaxed as the boat rocked to the river’s waves.

“I bought that book. A Killer’s Tale, and I started to read it,” Peter said.

“It’s about time,” Sam replied while opening a fresh Coke bottle.

“I read the part where the young boy beat that redneck with a baseball bat to save his brother’s life,” Peter said.

“Sounds like the killer started out young,” Sam said.

“Sounds like the killer did it to save his younger brother’s life. Then maybe he liked the feeling,” Peter replied.

“Sounds plausible, but that doesn’t justify killing all those girls,” Sam said.

“I know,” Peter said, then put his fishing pole away. “Listen, I don’t think I can be of much help if you’re working on your own, but if you find some good evidence, I’ll push it forward,” Peter said.

“That’s fair,” Sam replied. Then, I thought for a few seconds. “There is one small little favor I need from you,” Sam said while he put his fishing pole away.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, a little leery.

“I need Joel Nelson’s address. He was my partner during the investigation of the October Slayer.”

“Joel Nelson,” Peter said while returning to his memory to see if he ever met the man. “I’ve never heard of him. How can he help?”

“Well, you’ll find out when you read further in the book, I think I might have a bone to pick with good old Joel.”

“Why’s that?” Peter curiously asked.

“The book has him talking with another agent about the case the FBI agent was working on.”

“Don’t believe everything you read, but I’ll see what I can find out,” Peter replied with a promising tone.

Sam smiled. “Let’s head back to shore,” Sam said, then pulled up the anchor and started the boat.

Sam drove the boat back to the loading dock and was chomping at the bit to start his investigation.