Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 21

Sam rose before sunrise and prepared for his flight back to Florida.

His flight to Atlanta for his connecting flight to Florida was smooth, giving Sam time to plan his next move.

Sam had two hours to kill in the Atlanta airport, so he strolled around and walked up to the lounge doorway. Sam stared at all the booze bottles on the shelves behind the bar. The bottles of booze started to call “Sam, come party with us.”

Sam inched his way into the lounge with a strong urge for a drink of booze. He turned around, rushed away, fighting those evil urges, and spotted a Starbucks nearby.

After getting a cup of coffee from Starbucks, Sam sat down at a table. While sipping his coffee, his cell phone rang. The caller ID was a name he did not recognize.

“Sam Woods,” he answered the call.

“Sam, my name is Joe Vaughn. You emailed asking if I was stationed with Allan Stein in Fort Benning. It was during the sixties. How can I help you?” Joe replied from Sam’s cell phone.

“Like my email stated, I’m a retired FBI agent, and I must talk with you about Allan’s book called A Killer’s Tale.”

There were a few seconds of silence. “Are you that FBI agent on the real October Slayer case?” Joe curiously replied.

Sam hesitated. “Yes, I was.”

“I live in Birmingham, Alabama. But I’m leaving for a three-day European vacation in Germany and Italy. So you better get up here quick,” Joe said.

“I can be there tomorrow evening.”

“That’s good. Please call me as soon as you get into town. I’ll provide directions to where we can meet at a restaurant.”

“I will,” Sam replied, disconnecting the call and saving Joe’s phone number.

Sam got up, walked to his gate, and waited for his flight.

The flight back to Daytona Beach was smooth, and Sam drove to Cindy’s house.

He knocked on her front door. Cindy opened it up and smiled when she saw Sam. “How was your trip?” she asked while Sam stepped inside.

“It was good. I learned that after the last girl was murdered, some other creep kidnapped her baby daughter,” Sam told her while they walked through the living room.

“Oh, my God. I can’t imagine her family’s horror,” she replied while they walked to the dining room.

“It’s a crazy sick world.”

Cindy nodded in agreement.

Sam looked around, and nobody else was in her house.

“Where’s Kristen?” he said while he saw the birthday decorations in the dining room.

“They should be here any minute.”

Sam cringed when he remembered his layover in Atlanta. “Ah, please don’t kill me, but I need to drive to Birmingham, Alabama, first thing in the morning. I found an Army buddy of that author, and I need to talk to him before he goes to Europe for vacation.”

“Can’t you do that over the phone?”

“I work better in person. Look for body signs to see if they’re lying.”

Cindy looked upset but decided to let it go. “I’m starting to worry about you gallivanting around the country and the possibility of meeting face-to-face with this killer.” She looked worried.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be alright, and I’ll probably spend the night up there, so I won’t be driving back exhausted,” Sam said with a comforting tone while they walked into the living room.

Cindy’s doorbell rang. She opened the door, and Kristen stood outside with Kathy, Cindy’s daughter, and Kevin, her husband.

“Happy eighth birthday,” Cindy said with open arms.

Kristen ran into the house and gave Cindy a hug.

Kristen saw Sam, and her eyes lit up with joy. “Hi, Mister Woods,” she said, then ran over and embraced him.

“Happy birthday, Kristen,” Sam said, then kissed her forehead.

She looked up at Sam with a gleam in her eyes. “Are you coming to my play? I want you to come to play.”

“Of course I’ll be at your play. I promise!” Sam said, then kissed her forehead.

Kristen had a huge grin.

Kathy and Kevin walked into the house with more greetings, hugs, and handshakes.

Kristen’s birthday party began a few minutes later.

The party was a blast for Kirsten, but Sam’s thoughts drifted to what his next meeting would reveal.

The party was over, and everybody went home.

Sam got up at four-thirty in the morning.

It took him thirty minutes to get ready for his trip to Alabama.

Sam sat at his computer and went to the Mapquest website to get directions from Daytona Beach to Birmingham.

Sam printed them out, grabbed his small overnight bag, which he stuffed with a change of clothes, and then headed out the door.

Sam arrived at the outskirts of Birmingham nine hours later. He pulled into a gas station just off Interstate I-65 and filled his car with gas.

After that, Sam pulled over to the side of the building and made a cell phone call.

“Hello,” Joe answered the call.

“It’s me, Sam Woods. I’m at a Chevron station off exit two fifty-eight just off Interstate sixty-five,” Sam said into his cell phone.

“I know where it’s located. Wait for me there. It should take me about twenty minutes,” Joe said, then disconnected his phone call.

Sam waited inside his car.

Twenty minutes later a silver Cadillac Seville SLS pulled into the service station.

Sam watched the Cadillac and saw Joe Vaughn, a bald and overweight man, driving. Like many military veterans, they were once fit and trim while on active duty. But when they retired, the flab spread like wildfire.

Joe parked near Sam’s car, got out, and walked to Sam’s window.

“Are you Sam Woods?” Joe asked after Sam rolled down his window.

“I am. Are you Joe Vaughan?

Joe nodded in agreement, and then they shook hands. “Follow me,” Joe said, then got back inside his car.

Sam followed Joe to a restaurant a half-mile down the road. They parked, walked into the restaurant, and were seated immediately.

Sam and Joe got down to business when the waitress walked away with their drink order. Sam had his notepad ready. He told Joe about Allan’s passing and then mentioned the items that only the killer and Sam knew about.

“I’ve read Allan’s books and loved them all. But A Killer’s Tale was by far the best. It’s his only book where the killer got away,” Joe said, then looked sad. “I’m sorry to hear he passed away. I liked Allan, as did everybody in our office then.”

They got quiet while the waitress brought some ice water and sweet tea. She took their meal orders and left.

“And it’s very interesting about those items,” Joe said then sipped his water. “But I remember he was fascinated with the October Slayer case back then,” he said, then paused. “His story also mentioned that the killer got a new Ford from his brother every October. I remember Allan would go on these camping trips with his brother Billy. Then in, oh, around,” Joe said while trying to recall. “Ah yes, Allan returned to Fort Benning around October sixty-two with a brand new sixty-three Chevy Impala. He said his father decreed that he would get a new Chevy each year,” Joe said, then took another sip of water. “But you know the story did mention something to that effect.”

“Yes, with Ford’s instead of Chevy’s,” Sam said while jotting down that information on his pad.

“And his book also mentioned the killer having a tattoo on his bicep. I never saw any tattoos on Allan so he must have made that part up. I thought I would throw that out there.”

Sam jotted that information down on his notepad. “What about his brother Billy?”

“I never met him, but Allan always talked highly about his little brother. He mentioned that his brother was the deputy sheriff in his hometown in the early sixties. I got the impression Allan and Billy were extremely tight.”

Sam got interested in that information. “The book had the killer as a sheriff and in the Army Reserves,” Sam said.

“I think Allan mentioned his little brother was in the Army reserves for a brief period,” Joe replied.

They got quiet when the waitress brought their meals. She left, and they resumed talking while they ate.

“Just like in his book, I remember, oh around sixty-one, I heard Billy arrested some black man and sent him to jail for rape. Allan commented how proud he was of helping Billy send the bastard to prison. Then he bragged he found a new career direction.”

“What kind of new direction?” Sam curiously asked.

“I remembered he started reading many detective magazines and murder books in sixty-two. Then he talked about writing his murder mystery books when he retired from the Army.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Joe thought for a few seconds. “Sixty-three. That’s when I went to Germany for five years and then spent the rest of my career at Fort Brag. I heard through the CID rumor mill that Allan went to Vietnam in the ’70s,” Joe said, then sipped his tea. “So, do you have any prime suspects?”

“Not yet. I believe the killer hid evidence in a wooden chest and hopefully, that will identify the killer.”

“Just like his book. Allan probably made up that part. You know, his theory to the killer’s behavior,” Joe said, cutting off Sam’s sentence.

“Everybody seems to believe that,” Sam said while jotted down some more information about Joe. “So, did you retire from the Army?”

“After twenty-four years. I retired as a Warrant officer five.”

They talked while they finished their meals and left the restaurant.

After they ate, they stood outside the restaurant by their cars in the parking lot.

“If I can help you with anything, please feel free to call me,” Joe said while he shook Sam’s hand.

“I will,” Sam replied, then got inside his car.

They left the restaurant and headed off in different directions.

Sam drove into the hotel’s parking lot and then got a room for the night.

Later that night, Sam relaxed in his room while he reviewed his notes.

He opened his cell phone and called. “General Woods,” Charles answered the call.

“Hey, son.”

“Dad, two phone calls within a month. Do you need some more help?”

“Ah, yes.”

“I’m all ears,” Charles replied with a chuckle.

“Can you verify some service time for three men?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“The first one is John Watson, Marine Corps stationed in Hawaii from sixty-one to sixty-six. Then he went to Vietnam around sixty-six. He was from Curtis, Mississippi and retired as a Colonel. And the other guy is Joe Vaughn. Army stationed in Fort Benning from sixty- one until sixty-three. He was CID. The third one is Billy Stein, who was in the Army Reserves, probably in the early sixties. He was from Curtis, Mississippi.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with.” Then, the cell phone hung up for a few seconds. “How’s your investigation going?” Charles asked, concerned.

“I’m making some progress; don’t. Don’t worry; I’m not hitting the bottle.”

“That’s good. Do you have any suspects yet?”

“The author’s brother looks a little suspicious, but I’ll have to do more digging.”

“Well, I hope you find this person and put this behind you forever.”

“Me too, son and thanks for all your help,” Sam

said.

“Love you, Dad,” Charles responded.

“Love you too, son,” Sam replied and disconnected their call.

Sam glanced at his notes, and his eyes lit up with an idea. “Here comes the hard part,” he said while he opened up his cell phone and made a call.

“Hey, honey, how did your talk go up in Birmingham?” Cindy answered the call.

“Good. I got some more good information.”

“Figure out who the killer is yet?”

“I’m leaning on the brother of the author.”

“That’s interesting.”

Sam hesitated, as he did not want to tell her this, but knew he had to proceed. “Speaking of which, I’m going to make a trip to Mississippi tomorrow and see what I can dig up on this brother,” Sam said, then cringed while waiting for her response.

There was a long pause of silence. “Sam, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, if he is, in fact, the killer, you might not make it home alive,” she said and sounded worried.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I’m always in a public place.”

There was another long pause of silence. “Why don’t you just forget this whole investigation? Please!” she pleaded.

Sam thought about her request. “I can’t, honey. I still have the vision of Gary’s eyes ingrained in my head when I promised him that I would find the killer. It still haunts me,” he said while his eyes welled up.

There was another long pause of silence. “Okay,” she replied, then disconnected the call.

Sam knew he was in trouble with Cindy and thought she’d cool off in a few days.

Sam looked at his notes again, thought about his next move, and left the room.

Sam walked to the front desk and asked the clerk for directions to the nearest Wal-Mart.

After the clerk provided assistance, Sam left the hotel and got in his car.

He drove to Wal-Mart, which was three miles away.

Sam returned from Wal-Mart, where he bought a Garman GPS. He read the instructions and plugged in some cities he wanted to visit.

Sam was sound asleep an hour later and tossed and turned with another nightmare.

Sam’s nightmare.

Sam slept in his hotel room. There was a loud knock on his hotel room door.

Sam got out of bed and slowly staggered to the door. He opened it, but nobody was there. He closed it, and he slowly staggered back to his bed.

He crawled into bed and tried to go back to sleep.

“Why haven’t you found my killer?” Angie’s voice echoed in his hotel room.

Sam shot up in bed in a panic. “I’m trying! I promise!” Sam cried out.

Sam looked at the other side of the bed. Angie’s dead body shot up from under the covers. “He really hurt me!” Angie’s clammy face said to Sam.

“I’m so sorry, Angie!” Sam cried out. “Please forgive me!”

“Find my killer! Please!” Angie pleaded with Sam. Her body slowly disappeared.

Back to reality.

“I’ll find your killer!” Sam screamed while he shot up in bed. He looked around and saw it was 3:41 a.m., then realized it was another nightmare. Sam lay back down and stared at the ceiling, afraid to fall asleep.