Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 24

Later that evening, Sam relaxed in his motel room and received a phone call from Pam Stone. She was too nervous about having him come over to her house since she was still afraid of Billy, so she offered to call Billy’s ex-wife to see if she would agree to meet him.

Thirty minutes later, Sam also got a phone call from Jerome Franklin. He agreed to talk with Sam as long as he drove to Biloxi. Sam agreed.

Sam turned on the motel room TV and flipped through the channels, stopping at HBO and watching the movie Mississippi Burning with Gene Hackman.

What a coincidence. Sam thought to himself while watching that movie. He was thirty-five miles from the location where those Civil Rights kids were murdered in June of 1964.

Sam’s cell phone rang.

“Joel Nelson, it’s Sam Woods,” he answered the call.

“Sam Woods. I couldn’t believe it when I got your email. It’s been, what, about thirty-eight years? So, what’s so important?” Joel answered from Sam’s cell phone.

“Yeah, about that,” Sam replied, getting mad. “A book came out called A Killer’s Tale.”

“I heard about that book but haven’t read it yet,” Joel replied.

“That book appears to be based on the October Slayer case. It also made it sound like the agent working with the lead FBI agent talked to someone else about the case. The possibility the killer or someone connected with the killer,” Sam said in a raised voice.

There were a few seconds of silence from his cell phone. “Wait, Sam, are you implying that I passed on information to the killer?” Joel replied, a little concerned.

“The book sure made it sound like that’s what happened,” Sam replied, raising his voice a little louder.

“No, Sam. I would never do that. Never!” Joel swore from the cell phone. There was a moment of silence. “Wait, do you remember Bo Smithson?”

Sam thought for a few seconds. “Oh yeah, the guy that took over the case after I went to Phoenix. From what I heard, he didn’t solve the case either.”

“I remember he never tried for some strange reason,” Joel responded.

“He was too stupid from what I remembered.”

“And Sam, I swear Bo Smithson always asked for updates on the case and how you were doing. I thought talking to a fellow agent would be okay. I never talked about the case outside our office,” Joel replied, sounding sincere.

“Okay, thanks, Joel,” Sam said, then quickly disconnected the call and half-trusted Joel.

Since it was late, Sam sent Peter a text message requesting more information, then returned to watching the rest of the Mississippi Burning movie.

Sam fell asleep during the movie, as playing an FBI agent wore him down.

An hour later, Sam was sound asleep in his motel room. Another movie played on the TV.

Someone unlocked the door to his room. The door slowly cracked open. Sam was still asleep.

A man in a black mask and gloves quietly tiptoed inside the room. He looked around and saw Sam sleeping, then spotted Sam’s keys on the dresser.

The man quietly walked to the dresser, removed some modeling clay from his pocket, grabbed Sam’s keys, and made impressions of all the keys suspected to be house keys.

Sam rolled over to his side and snored. The man stood ready to beat Sam if he woke up. Sam didn’t wake up and just snored louder.

The man quietly set the keys on the dresser, walked to the door, and left.

Sam continued to snore in his sleep.

Outside the motel, the man got into a Chevy Impala. The man removed his black ski mask, and it was Billy Stein.

He drove away.

In the morning, he would take the modeling clay to Billy’s father’s locksmith friend, an old KKK friend.

Sam woke up at six that morning. After a shave and a shower, he headed down the Biloxi.

Sam arrived in Biloxi around one-thirty in the afternoon. The area looked different from when he was down there for Fran Adams’s murder back in 1963.

Sam called Jerome and agreed to meet in Public Park.

After meeting and shaking hands, Sam and Jerome sat on a bench in the park.

Jerome still looked muscular and kept his head shaved.

“Betsy called me and said I should talk with you about what happened in sixty-one. She said you’re a retired FBI agent,” Jerome said while he looked off at the park. “I guess she’s right,” Jerome said.

“Did you rape those young girls?”

Jerome hesitated while his eyes welled up. “No, sir. I would never do such a horrible crime like that. Nor would I commit any crime! Sheriff Stein framed me. The black community knew he was molesting young black girls back then. But since he was connected with the local Klan, everybody was scared of him. And they were more frightened of his father. But then some of us finally got sick of it and wanted Billy dead.”

“Who?”

“Well, me, for one. After I heard that he raped Betsy, I got pissed and confronted Billy one night in town when I had a few too many drinks,” Jerome gritted his teeth. His blood pressure started to rise remembering that day.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“I told him that I was going to get him arrested for raping Betsy and another young girl named Sandy,” Jerome said and paused for a few seconds. “Then I swung at him and missed him, then fell flat on my face. Then Sheriff Stein proceeded to beat the crap out of me with his nightstick. He arrested me and threw me in a jail cell. Then later, he drummed up the charges I raped Betsy and Sandy. Betsy refused to testify in court or lie, I should say. But Sandy was pressured with the threat of having her daddy hung from a tree,” Jerome said while his eyes welled up.

“I worked up in Atlanta for the bureau in the sixties. I heard many horror stories of the Klan and their activities in the South.”

“Betsy told me about that book, and you were the FBI agent on that old October Slayer case. So, do you think Billy could be that killer?”

“I’m leaning in that direction, but I need concrete evidence to get him arrested.”

“Well, if I were a betting man, I would say Billy could be that killer. He’s as mean as a snake,” Jerome said, and the hatred for Billy was visible in his eyes.

“I’m working hard to find some evidence.”

“He took away my chances of having a good life. I wanted to attend college. Now that I’m a convicted felon, I can only get crappy paying jobs as a dishwasher,” Jerome said, then paused for a few seconds. “I wish I could get my conviction expunged.”

Sam looked at Jerome and thought he might try to accomplish that, but he didn’t want to give him false hope. “Well, Mister Franklin, I really appreciate your assistance. You’ve provided some good information,” Sam said while he stood up.

“You can pay me back by sending Billy Stein to jail,” Jerome said while they shook hands.

“I’ll do my best.”

They walked away in separate directions.

While Sam walked through the park back to his car, his cell phone rang.

“Hey, Peter,” he answered.

“Bo Smithson lives at seventy-five ninety-eight Garrison Avenue in Jackson, Mississippi. He apparently grew up in Curtis, Mississippi,” Peter told him from the cell phone.

“Thanks. I’ll think I’ll pay that dumbass a visit,” Sam said while he disconnected his call.

Thirty minutes later, Sam was in his car and headed north to Jackson, Mississippi.

It was early in the evening.

Bo Smithson was overweight and bald, sitting in his den of his five thousand square foot three hundred and fifty thousand dollar home. He drank scotch while watching the TV show CSI: Las Vegas. Bo never married since he wasn’t attractive but found love with escorts and other illegal sexual activities.

His doorbell rang. Bo looked bothered and ignored it, as the show had him intrigued. The doorbell rang again and kept ringing continuously. Bo got irritated and knew that if he didn’t go to the door, it would probably continue for hours.

Bo got up with his glass of scotch and walked out of the den to the front door, opening it. Bo’s mouth dropped open, and he got nervous seeing Sam outside.

“Hello, Bo. Remember me? Sam Woods?” Sam said while looking at Bo. “Retired and fat,” Sam thought.

“Ah, yeah. Sam Woods. How the hell are you?”

“Are you going to invite me inside your beautiful home?”

“Ah, sure. Please come inside.”

Sam walked inside his home, and Bo closed the door.

Sam looked around the living room, which was furnished with expensive furniture. “I can’t afford a house like this on my FBI pension. How can you?”

“Good investments while I was in the bureau. So, what brings you here?” Bo asked but knew the answer.

“I’m doing my own investigation into that old October Slayer case.”

“Oh yeah. The one you couldn’t solve and caused you to have a huge drinking problem,” Bo taunted Sam.

“The author of the book called A Killer’s Tale is based on The October Slayer, written by Allan Stein, who grew up in Curtis, Mississippi. And his book had details only the killer and myself knew.”

“So then, why are you seeing me?”

Sam looked around the living room. “Mind if I sit down? I’m exhausted from the long drive from Biloxi.” Sam said while walking over to the sofa and then down. I discovered Allan Stein had passed away. And since you’re also from Curtis, Mississippi, I was wondering if you knew his brother, Billy?”

Sam eyed the mahogany bookcase on the other wall of the living room while Bo sat on the sofa.

“I knew of Billy just like everybody did in Curtis. I loved Chevy’s and would buy my cars from his family’s dealership. Do you suspect he’s the killer?” Bo curiously asked.

“It could head in that direction. Why did you ask that?”

“Well, you asked about Billy,” Bo responded.

“Yes, I did.”

Then Bo looked like he was scheming. “I know what, why don’t we hook up together. I can help with your little investigation. I mean, you must be doing an investigation since you’re up here in Mississippi asking about certain people,” Bo said.

Then he saw Sam’s stare and wasn’t sure he would accept his offer. “I mean, I find it fascinating you’re apparently looking for that October Slayer. It’s about time that scumbag gets sent to jail,” Bo said and silently prayed Sam would accept.

Sam thought about Bo’s offer for a few seconds. “I don’t know. After I went to Phoenix, I heard you didn’t try to solve the case. Plus, that book had the agent’s partner talking to the killer and passing on information to a fellow agent. Then that agent talked to the brother of the killer.”

Bo looked guilty. “I would never do that. I’ll be a valuable and trusted partner. Promise!” Bo replied and faked a look, saying he was serious.

Sam thought about Bo’s response for a few seconds.

“Okay, but you have to pay for our own expenses,” Sam said, thinking he could trick Bo, since he’s stupid, to get evidence of Billy.

“That’s no problem.”

They shook hands to seal the deal.

Bo’s phone in the kitchen rang. “Please excuse me.”

Bo got up from the sofa and walked toward his kitchen.

When the coast was clear, Sam got off the sofa and rushed to the bookcase.

He glanced at the books and saw copies of Allan’s books, including A Killer’s Tale. Then, I saw a book of interest. He grabbed it, saw it was a 1960 Curtis High School yearbook, and flipped through some pages.

In the kitchen, Bo picked up his ringing phone. “Hello.”

“Bo, it’s me, Billy.”

Bo made sure Sam wasn’t close by. “He’s here,” Bo quietly replied on the phone.

“Who’s there?” Billy replied from the phone.

“Sam Woods,” Bo quietly responded.

Sam found Billy’s senior picture in the living room. On the same page, he found Bo’s senior picture. Sam closed the book and placed it back.

He looked at the drawers and opened one.

In the kitchen, Bo still talked on the phone. “He thinks you’re the killer,” Bo quietly said while he watched the entrance to the kitchen.

“Shit!” Billy yelled from the phone.

Sam found a photo album in one of the drawers in the living room. He opened it and flipped through the pages, finding some old pictures of Bo and Billy fishing in a lake from a boat.

Sam quickly placed the album back and then headed to the kitchen.

“What do you want me to do?” Bo quietly asked.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Sam asked from the kitchen doorway. Bo got startled and jumped with a little scream.

“Why are you screaming like a girl?” Billy asked.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall to the left,” Bo replied to Sam while looking nervous.

“Where is he now?” Billy asked while Bo saw Sam standing in his kitchen doorway.

“Answer me, dumbass,” Billy yelled from the phone.

Bo stared at Sam, who stared back. It was a nervous moment for Bo, who didn’t know what to do.

“Thanks,” Sam finally spoke and walked away.

“Dip shit, are you there?” Billy yelled from the phone.

“Yes, he was in the kitchen,” Bo quietly responded.

“That bastard. He came to my dealership earlier and pretended to be that FBI character in Allan’s book,” Billy replied.

“I struck a deal with Sam.”

“What the hell do you mean you struck a deal with him?” Billy yelled.

“I offered to work with him.”

“You what?” Billy screamed.

“Cool down. This could work in your favor.”

“How the fuck can this work in my favor?” Billy yelled.

“I’ll be on the inside and can manipulate his investigation to throw him off you. Send him on a wild goose chase that will lead nowhere. Plus, if he finds any evidence, I’ll give it to you.”

There was a moment of silence. “I need to get my hands on that wooden chest that Allan hid somewhere. So, how much will this cost me?”

Bo thought for a few seconds. “Well, I think fifty thousand dollars would be fair. After all, he could accidentally discover some other information about our prior business arrangement,” Bo said with a smirk, knowing he had Billy just where he wanted him for once in his life.

There was a moment of silence, and then Bo heard the toilet flush down the hall. “Okay, we’ll meet tonight, and I’ll have the money,” Billy said, then there were a few seconds of silence. “But if you fuck me over, I’ll make sure it’s known that you love sex with underage boys,” Billy threatened.

“Have I fucked you over for the past forty-three years?”

“No.”

“Good, I want my money tonight,” Bo demanded.

There were a few seconds of silence. “Okay, we’ll meet at Hoo Park, north of Jackson, at two in the morning. You should be familiar with that place,” Billy said.

“Fucking funny,” Bo snapped back.

“It’s that place, or the deal is off.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you at two at Hoo Hoo Park, in Jackson,” Bo said, then hung up the phone.

Bo left the kitchen and headed to the living room, nervous when he didn’t see Sam.

Bo turned around just as Sam entered the room.

“Well, it’s getting late, and I better get to my motel room.”

Bo walked Sam to the front door.

“So, will we start first thing in the morning?” Bo asked, looking excited.

“Sure. Meet me at eight in the morning at the Waffle House in front of my motel. It’s the Motel 6 off Moore’s Avenue.”

“Great. But why don’t you quickly fill me in on the information you’ve uncovered.”

Sam thought for a few seconds. “No, I’ll update you tomorrow morning. You better be there by eight, as I have a long drive home and want to be on the road before nine.”

“Okay, eight in the morning,” Bo said, then opened the door for Sam.

He watched while Sam walked to his car in the driveway and then closed his door.

“I’ll squeeze more money out of Billy as things progress,” Bo sang while doing a victory dance around the living room.

Sam arrived at his motel room and got ready for bed. He just got under the covers when his cell phone rang.

“Sam Woods,” he answered.

“Mister Woods, I’m Wendy Graham. An old friend of mine, Pam Woods, called me. She told me about your interest in Billy, my ex-husband. If you want to talk, I live in Los Angeles,” Wendy responded from Sam’s cell phone.

“Wendy. I’m so glad you called. I would love to talk with you about Billy. I can come to Los Angeles whenever you like. The sooner, the better.”

“How about the day after tomorrow? I’m going to New York with my husband in a couple of days for a week.”

“Perfect,” Sam said.

“Call me with your flight information, and I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up. Then we’ll meet,” Wendy said.

“I will, and thanks to Wendy,” Sam replied.

“We’ll talk later,” Wendy said, then disconnected her end of the call.

Sam did a little victory dance, then remembered his deal with Bo. After thinking for a few seconds, Sam decided to tell Bo that they’d start together in a few days.

Sam rested on the bed and closed his eyes. His eyes opened in a panic when he forgot something, and he quickly made another phone call.

“It’s late, Sam. Why are you calling?” Cindy answered, a little groggy as he woke her up.

“Listen, honey, I have to fly out to Los Angeles,” Sam cringed.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in Jackson, Mississippi.”

“When are you going out there?”

“I’ll drive back to Daytona, get a change of clothes, and then head to the Orlando airport the day after tomorrow .”

“Kristen’s play is in a few days.”

“I know, I’ll make it there in time.”

“I think you’ll be cutting it too close.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it, I promise.”

“You better,” Cindy replied, irritated, then disconnected her end of the call.

Sam got ready for bed and was asleep in ten minutes.

Meanwhile, Becky fell asleep watching old home videos with Allan in Kissimmee, Florida. Marty was halfway through reading Allan’s book for the second time.