Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 18

Sam rose out of bed the next morning, ready to act as an FBI agent. In fact, he missed the thrill of the hunt for criminals and was determined not to let this one stay hidden again.

After a shower and breakfast, Sam dressed in a suit like in the old days. After grabbing a small notepad and pen and shoving them in his suit pocket, Sam strutted out his front door.

Sam used his GPS and drove down Interstate I-4 toward Orlando.

Later that morning, Sam arrived at Allan's house and parked behind Becky's Sienna. Sam left his car and noticed the front yard was freshly mowed.

Sam heard a lawnmower in the backyard as he walked to the front door. Then he stood on the front stoop, his heart racing in anticipation of meeting Allan. Sam had this gut feeling he would leave with some sound evidence.

Inside Allan's living room were a few boxes filled with some of Allan's clothes. They were ready to be dropped off at Goodwill later in the day. Becky and Marty spent the whole morning cleaning Allan's house. She dropped Nancy and Michal off at her parents' home in St. Petersburg for a week to avoid getting in the way.

The doorbell rang, and it was quiet inside the house. The doorbell rang again.

Becky walked into the living room wearing cleaning gloves and had a rag in hand, walked over, and opened the front door.

Outside stood Sam. "Hello. I'm Sam Woods, a retired FBI agent from Daytona Beach. May I speak to Allan Stein, please?"

Becky looked worried by his sudden and strange request. "May I ask why?"

"I need to ask him some important questions about his book, A Killer's Tale."

"I'm Becky Adams, Allan's daughter, and I think that might be impossible. My father passed away from cancer just before the book was published," Becky said while a tear ran down her cheek.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss. But I must talk to you."

A Ford Crown Victoria drove slowly past the house. Inside that car was old lady Meredith Grayson, who interestedly eyed Allan's house. Meredith was the snoop of the neighborhood.

Becky hesitated. "I'm sorry, but you're a complete stranger," she said and started to close the door.

Sam quickly removed his wallet and showed his retired FBI identification card and Florida driver's license. "I'm really a retired FBI agent," he said. "And I really need to talk with you," he added with pleading eyes.

Becky glanced at his card and felt Sam wasn't a threat, telling the truth. "Please come inside, Mister Woods," Becky offered, a little curious about Sam's interest in her father's book.

Sam stepped inside the house and followed Becky to the sofa, where they sat.

"Would you like something to drink? Some tea? A beer?"

"Tea would be nice, as the drive down from Daytona made me thirsty."

Becky smiled and got up from the sofa.

Sam watched while Becky walked out of the room, heading to the kitchen.

"When did you retire from the FBI?" Becky said from the kitchen.

"I retired ten years ago after a forty-year career," he said while he scanned the living room. Sam noticed old family pictures of Allan, Marty, Becky, Beverly, and the kids hanging on the wall across from the sofa.

Sam got up and walked over to the pictures, looked at them, and studied Allan. Then, he removed his notepad and pen from his suit pocket.

"Why would a retired FBI agent drive from Daytona Beach to talk with my father about his book?" Becky wondered while walking into the room with two glasses of tea.

Sam still looked at the pictures on the wall. "Is that Allan?" he asked while Becky placed the glasses on the coffee table.

"Yes, it was taken ten years ago before mom passed away," Becky said while sitting on the sofa.

Sam walked over to Becky, sat down on the sofa, and looked at the two glasses of tea. "Thank you," Sam said, grabbing the glass closer to him.

Becky smiled while Sam took a drink of tea.

"Back in the sixties, I was the FBI agent on the October Slayer case and didn't catch the killer. So years later, your father's book comes with facts that only the killer and myself knew," Sam stated, then placed his glass on the table.

Becky looked concerned with Sam. "What are you implying?"

"You're father might have unknowingly dug up information that could lead me to the killer's identity. I would like to know the people he consulted with so I can talk to them."

Becky looked uneasy with where this was heading. "I really don't know how I can help."

"His book mentioned a wooden chest the killer used to hide evidence. I would like to know where he discovered that information. So, would it be possible to go through his old files on his computer? Or maybe his desk?"

Becky got extremely uncomfortable with his requests. "Listen! I'm trying to cope with his passing. Dad was a career Army criminal investigator. If he discovered the identity of October Slayer killer, he'd be in jail right now. So, I think it's best if you leave," Becky said while her temper flared up.

Sam wrote down his home and cell phone numbers on a piece of paper on his notepad. He ripped off the paper and handed it to her. "Thank you for your time. Please call me if you run across anything strange."

Becky walked Sam to the door and opened it.

Sam looked at Becky with sadness in his eyes. "It's crucial that I find out who your father talked with for his book. It's especially important to me. So, I hope you change your mind," he said, then stepped outside.

"I'll think about it."

Sam gave her a little thank you smile and then walked away to his car, extremely disappointed.

Becky closed the door, rushed to the living room curtains, peeked outside to ensure Sam got in his car and left.

Marty walked into the living room, sweaty and dirty, with grass-stained sneakers. He noticed Becky peeking out the curtains. "Who came to the house?" he asked while wiping the sweat off his forehead using the bottom of his tee shirt.

"Some retired FBI agent who thinks Dad's book revealed clues to a killer he couldn't catch back in the sixties. He wanted to look through Dad's computer and desk."

"A retired FBI agent, that's interesting," Marty said while she watched Sam drive away down the street. "Wait, did you say a killer he couldn't catch in the sixties?"

"Yeah. He said he was an FBI agent who tried to catch the October Slayer," Becky said while she closed the curtains.

Marty looked impressed. "Wow, he's the real FBI agent, Robert Fillert, from your dad's book," he said. "Are you going to let him?"

"Are you kidding? I don't want some ex-FBI agent ferreting around Dad's personal items. Dad used his Army experience to fictionalize that old Slayer case," Becky said, still peeking out the curtain to make sure Sam didn't return. "Besides, I'm sure many of those facts were from Internet websites. You know, Dad just played detective with his own theories," she said, then looked down at Marty's shoes. "Take those shoes off; I just vacuumed the carpet," Becky scolded Marty when noticing the grass stains.

Marty quickly removed his shoes and held them in his hand.

Becky walked over and picked up the two tea glasses off the coffee table.

Becky walked away. Marty followed.

"We'll need to go to Home Depot and buy a bolt cutter for the padlock on that cabinet," Marty said as they left the living room and headed to the kitchen.

"Let's wait. I found a bunch of keys in Dad's computer desk," Becky said, setting the two tea glasses in the sink. "Go get cleaned up for dinner," she said while leaving the kitchen.

The front doorbell rang again.

"What the hell does he want now?" Becky said, irritated.

Marty watched as she stormed to the front door. Becky opened it and was about to give Sam a piece of her mind, but she saw Meredith Grayson standing outside.

"Hello, I'm Meredith Grayson, I live behind Allan's house. I believe you're his daughter? I've seen pictures of you before," she said sweetly.

"Ah, yes, I remember Dad mentioning you," Becky said and felt like a fool for almost cussing out this sweet old lady.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for Allan's passing. He was always nice to me," Meredith said.

"Well, thank you."

"If you need anything like I said, I'm at the house behind your father's," Meredith said, then smiled and walked to her car parked in their driveway.

Becky closed the door. "What a sweet lady," she said as she walked through the living room.

Marty followed Becky while she walked into the kitchen.

Sam drove his car down I-4. It was a nervous drive, as he was amongst all the drivers who insisted on driving fifteen miles over the speed limit to get to their destinations quicker.

Sam was disappointed that Allan passed away, meaning he lost a crucial player in discovering the October Slayer. But Sam was still determined to press on with his own investigation. While pondering his next move, his eyes widened with an idea. Sam opened his cell phone and broke one of his rules while on the road by making a cell phone call while driving.

"Hey, Sam. Two phone calls within one week. I'm honored," George said, answering the call.

"George, I need one more favor," Sam replied.

"Sounds like our old FBI days," George chuckled.

"I know. Listen, can you get me the name and address of Allan Stein's editor?" Sam asked.

"Didn't you talk to Allan?"

"No, he apparently died just before the book was published."

"I wonder why my contact didn't tell me that. Oh well. I'll see what I can do and will call you later," George said, then disconnected the phone call.

Sam closed his cell phone, and Allan's book filled his thoughts for the remainder of his drive home.

Later that day, Sam sat at his computer desk.

On the wall behind it hung a new map of the United States that Sam bought from Office Depot on the way back from St. Cloud.

Sam had a pin stuck in the five areas where the October Slayer murdered the girls.

A pin with a 1962 flag stuck in Oak Hill, Alabama, for Rhonda Moore.

A pin with a 1963 flag stuck in Biloxi, Mississippi, for Fran Adams.

A pin with a 1964 flag stuck in Somerset, Georgia, for Sandy Yoder.

A pin with a 1965 flag stuck in Downing, Tennessee, for Angie Gardner.

And the last pin, with a 1966 stuck in Garrison, Arkansas, was for Annette Watson.

Sam sat at his desk, staring at the map in deep thought while sipping his cup of coffee.

"Sam, where are you?" Cindy called from the hallway after she entered the house.

"I'm in my den."

Cindy entered the den, walked over to Sam, noticed the map on the wall, and rolled her eyes.

"How did your meeting with that author go?"

"It didn't. He apparently died of cancer just before the book was published," Sam said with a disappointed tone.

"What's your plans now?" she asked but knew the answer.

"I guess I'll have to clean the rust off my detective skills," he said, then sipped his coffee.

"Want me to get some navel jelly from the garage?" Cindy jokingly replied.

Sam chuckled. "I might need some."

She looked at his coffee cup. "A cup of coffee would be nice right now."

"There's a fresh pot in the kitchen," Sam replied.

Cindy left the den.

Sam's cell phone rang, opened it, and saw the caller from the viewfinder. "Hey, George."

"I found Allan's editor. His name is Rodney Burnstein, and his office is at thirty-two ninety-eight Jumper Avenue in Jacksonville. His phone number is five, five, five, nine, eight, oh two."

Sam jotted down Rodney's address and phone number. "Thanks, George. I'll pay him a visit."

"Holler if you need anything else."

"I will, and thanks again," Sam said, disconnected the call, quickly punched in Rodney's phone number, and waited.

"Keystone Publishing. Rodney Burnstein," he answered the call.

"Yes, Mister Burnstein. I'm Sam Woods, a retired FBI agent. I was wondering if I could come up to your office from Daytona Beach? I must discuss Allan Stein's book, A Killer's Tale."

"A retired FBI agent? Why do you want to talk to me?" Rodney replied, a little concerned.

"It's best we wait until I see you in your office. According to his daughter, I tried to talk with Mister Stein, but he apparently passed away."

There were a few seconds of silence. "Okay. Can you be up here at ten tomorrow morning?" Rodney responded.

"Ten tomorrow morning will be great. I'll see you then," Sam said, then ended the call.

Sam sipped his coffee while he looked at the map. Then his eyes fell on Charles' picture on the wall, and he got another idea. Sam picked up his cell phone and punched in another number.

"Snap to attention, General Woods!" Sam barked out like a Drill Instructor.

"Dad! Good to hear from you. Why the call at work?" Charles replied from the phone.

"Charles, I need a huge, I mean huge favor."

"You need money?" Charles replied with a chuckle.

"No. But, I remember a certain son always begging for some in college."

Charles chuckled from the cell phone. "Those days are long gone. So, how's it going?"

"It's going good. Listen, I need some information," Sam said.

"What kind?"

"I need some information on a retired Army officer named Allan Stein. I'm really interested in where he was stationed from ninety-one to ninety-eight. He was also Army CID."

"Why do you need information on him?" Charles curiously asked.

Sam hesitated while he pondered if he should tell the truth. "I'm looking into that old October Slayer case."

There were a few seconds of silence from the cell phone. "Dad, does this have to do with the book that came out, A Killer's Tale? Some folks around the Pentagon have been discussing it and its similarity with the October Slayer."

"Ah, yeah."

"I was wondering how you would react. Did you talk with this Allan Stein guy?" Charles said.

"I can't. He's six feet under from cancer. I'm going nowhere, and it's a stretch, but I'm hoping something with his Army career might help."

"Why are you doing your own investigation?"

"His book details the case, but only the killer and I knew. I need to find out how Allan Stein discovered them. It might lead to the identity of that killer."

"Don't you have some contacts with the FBI?" "I tried. They won't reopen the case."

"I'm worried you might have those old haunting

memories if you pursue this," Charles said with a fatherly tone.

"If I don't pursue this, those haunting memories will never disappear," Sam pleaded.

There was a long period of silence from the cell phone. "I can call in some favors."

"Thanks, son, wait, I almost forgot. His last known address is forty-nine eighty-four Kiscoe Avenue, St Cloud, Florida. Email me any information if you dig up," Sam said.

"Okay, Dad."

Sam hesitated. "So, how's your mother?"

"Good. She and the girls are on a two-week cruise."

"I sure regret never taking her on one," Sam replied with remorse.

"How are things with you and Cindy?"

"Good, but I'm worried I'll screw this one up."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine. Unless you let this October Slayer case consume you again," Charles said.

"I won't let it. Thanks, son."

"Listen, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. And why don't you come up and visit soon."

"I will," Sam replied, then disconnected his phone call.

He picked up his book and opened to the section where Jimmy Nalla raped Melissa. "Now, how does this rape fit into all this?" he said while jotting down notes on his notepad.

Cindy entered the den. "Are you ready for some dinner?" she asked from the doorway.

"Sure, I am getting hungry," replied Sam while he stood up.

Cindy waited at the doorway for Sam, and then they left his house.