Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 25

It was two in the morning and dark in Hoo Hoo Park.

The parking lot was empty except for Bo’s Impala. He salivated in his car, waiting for Billy to show up with his cash.

Car headlights shone inside from his rear window. Bo smiled, knowing it was Billy.

Billy parked his brown Malibu next to Bo’s Impala. He got out, rushed to Bo’s car, and sat in the passenger seat.

“Why can’t that jerk leave things alone?” Billy immediately blurted out when he sat down. “Are you sure you didn’t tell Woods anything?”

“I didn’t. You can trust me. He doesn’t have a clue about our connection. Like I said earlier, with my help, he’ll never learn the truth. I’ll have him chasing his tail to where he’ll get tired and quit,” Bo said confidently.

“Okay, let me get your money out of my car,” Billy said, then opened the door and got out.

Bo looked excited while watching Billy rush over to the passenger door of his car.

Billy hid his hands behind his back while rushing to Bo’s car. He stood by Bo’s driver’s door and motioned him to roll down his window.

Bo rolled down his window and was really looking forward to all that cash. “I’ll get a really hot escort,” Bo thought to himself while licking his lips in anticipation of a hot brunette with gigantic, jiggly breasts.

Billy tossed a gay nudie magazine into Bo’s lap with his left hand wearing a latex glove.

Bo picked up the magazine, looked at the cover, and got confused for a second.

“Here’s your payment,” Billy said the second his right hand in a lat, ex glove appeared, with a Glock with a silencer. This pistol Billy had never registered this pistol. Ten years ago, from an old KKK member, ten years in dire need of cash.

Bo looked, expecting an envelope full of cash. By the time Bo realized Billy had a pistol aimed at his head, it was too late. The bullet penetrated his forehead. Blood and brains splattered the inside of his car. Bo’s dead body slumped over the console.

Billy removed his hanky from his pocket and carefully opened the driver’s door. “Sorry, Bo, I can’t take any chances with a dumb ass helping Woods,” he said. He unbuckled Bo’s belt, unzipped his pants, and then lowered them down to his ankles.

Billy removed Bo’s wallet, rushed over to the passenger door, and carefully wiped the outside and inside of the door clean of any possible prints.

Billy returned to his Malibu, got inside his car, and drove away.

While Billy drove out of the park, he didn’t notice the two individuals lurking in the shadows of the dark woods. They witnessed the whole murder.

Billy drove off and headed north back to Curtis.

Later that night, Billy returned and hid the Glock and Bo’s wallet under his spare tire.

Billy rushed inside his house, to his computer in his den, and powered it up. When it was ready, he opened a Word file and started typing.

Billy rose at five that morning, also rising early after getting a few hours of sleep. He packed some clothes in a suitcase. After that, he called his office and left a message on Judy’s phone stating he stayed home for a few days and didn’t want to be disturbed.

He left his house with his suitcase, got into his Malibu, and drove away.

Billy parked his Malibu at Motel 6, where Sam stayed. He saw a car with Florida tags and knew it belonged to Sam.

Sam rose up at seven that morning and checked out of his motel.

He had breakfast at the Waffle House at 8:00 and waited for Bo.

Billy stayed in his car, watching the Waffle House.

That morning, at nine, Bo never showed up, so Sam left. He was disappointed but also glad since he wanted to work alone.

Sam got in his car at the Motel 6 and drove away.

Billy followed in Sam’s car.

Sam hit the road and headed south down Interstate I-55 with his usual five miles over the speed limit.

Meanwhile, on his way south, Billy stopped off and dropped a letter in a mailbox in Jackson.

He got back in his car and headed south on I-55.

Later, Sam headed east on I-10.

Billy soon headed east on I-10.

Later that afternoon, Sam drove south down I- 95.

“I’m at greater risk of being killed on America’s Interstate than chasing killers,” Sam said. At the same time, numerous cars whizzed past him twenty miles over the speed limit.

Billy headed south on I-95. He normally speeds, but this time, he was a poster child for safe driving and kept it to the speed limit. Getting pulled over for speeding would have evidence he was in Florida.

Sam didn’t know that Billy’s car was five miles behind his car. Billy was on the hunt, and Sam was his prey.

Later that evening, Sam pulled into his house’s driveway. The garage door opened, Sam pulled into the garage, and then the door closed.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Billy pulled his Malibu across the street from Sam’s house.

After seeing the lights were on in Sam’s house, Billy drove away happy.

Inside Sam’s house, he immediately got on his computer. He made reservations for a direct flight from Orlando to Los Angeles. He was lucky to reserve a flight seat first thing in the morning.

After Sam called Wendy and gave her the information, he got ready for bed and fell asleep.

Elsewhere in Daytona, Billy parked his car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. He crawled in the backseat with a blanket and went to sleep.

Sam rose early in the morning and packed an overnight bag for this short trip to Los Angeles.

Billy rose early and waited in his Malibu down the street from Sam’s house.

Sam drove south on Interstate I-95.

An hour later, he headed west on 528, the Beachline, to the Orlando International Airport.

While Sam drove down the Beachline, he called Cindy to let her know he was heading to the airport. It was a short call since Cindy wasn’t interested in talking. Sam knew he would have to make it up to her somehow, and it would have to be the trip to North Carolina.

Billy tailed Sam’s car down the Beachline.

Sam drove down the airport roads and headed to the parking lot. Billy trailed Sam’s car.

Billy drove back from the airport a little while later when he realized Sam was flying off somewhere.

“Where the hell is he going?” Billy asked himself as he turned down the exit out of the airport and headed east down the Beachline.

While Sam checked in for his flight, Billy returned to Daytona Beach.

Seven hours later, Sam arrived at the Los Angeles airport. Afterward, he left the t with his overnight bag in hand.

He saw a man in a suit holding a “Sam Wood” sign and others waiting for friends and family.

Sam walked up to him. “I’m Sam Woods.”

“I need to see some identification, especially since you’re claiming you’re retired FBI,” the man said with a serious look.

Sam removed his wallet and showed him his Florida’s driver’s license and retired FBI identification card.

The man looked satisfied. “Do you have any luggage, sir?”

“No, just this bag.”

“Very well. Please follow me,” the man said while he walked away.

Sam followed the man.

Meanwhile, in Jackson, Mississippi, Andy Berry, the Chief of Police for the Jackson police department, was at his desk reviewing boring budget reports.

His administrative assistant walked into his office with a letter in hand.

“This arrived earlier. You might want to read it,” she said, then handed Andy the letter.

She walked out of Andy’s office.

Andy glanced at the letter.

“To Whom It May Concern. I can’t reveal my identity because I was at Hoo Hoo Park. But it was early morning, and I saw two cars in the park. Two old men having sex in a car with Mississippi tags. The passenger was an old man. He got out and walked over to his car with Florida tags. He walked up to the Mississippi car with a pistol in his hand. The Mississippi man cried out, “Don’t kill me, Sam.” Then, the Florida man shot the Mississippi man. I was scared of being killed. I can’t come forward because I was in the park having sex with another man. I’m married,” the letter stated.

Andy got up from his desk and walked out of his office.

Andy walked through the Detective’s office and approached Detective Blaine Salt, who was working at his desk. A copy of A Killer’s Tale was next to a stack of case files.

“Blaine, this letter arrived. Looks like the killer of that retired FBI agent might be from Florida. His name is Sam,” Andy told him, then handed Blaine the letter.

Andy walked back to his office while Blaine read the letter.

“Great, there’s probably fifty thousand Sam’s in Florida,” Blaine said while placing the letter in the file folder for Bo’s murder.

Blaine got up with his coffee cup and headed to the break room.

Meanwhile, back in Daytona Beach, Billy went to the Daytona Beach International Speedway to kill some time before going to the beach to check out the girls.

Back in Los Angeles, Wendy and Sam sat in her backyard.

She lived in an affluent and exclusive neighborhood of Hollywood Hills.

Sam had just finished telling her about Allan’s book and the October Slayer case. He had his notepad in hand and was ready to jot down any new information she provided.

“I didn’t read any of Allan’s books. I had disassociated myself from that family long ago,” Wendy said while sipping tea. “So, I haven’t thought about Billy in decades. Thank God!” Wendy said, then paused. “When Sarah called, I was hesitant at first. But she said Gertie wanted me to talk with you. So here you are.”

“What was your marriage to Billy like?”

Wendy paused, then sighed. “Billy was extremely popular in high school, and I was madly in love with him, as were most girls in my class. But I won, and we got married after we graduated.”

“Was he the Sheriff at the time?” Sam asked.

“He was a deputy at first. Then, when the Sheriff retired, Billy’s father pushed to have Billy run for office. He won, but I believe his father had a lot of influence with votes.”

“Allan’s book had the Sheriff raping a young black girl.”

She looked disgusted after hearing that. “It was about a year after he became Sheriff; I walked in on him molesting a young black girl in our house. Then months later, I heard rumors he was doing it quite often.”

“I can imagine it was difficult to say anything back then.”

“You bet. His father, Alvin, was heavenly involved with the Klan, and they would have killed me if I opened my mouth. So, after he raped those two black girls and arrested Jerome for it, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I started to plan my escape from the hell I married into,” she said and looked so happy to be free of him.

“When did that occur?”

“Let’s see. His father passed away in sixty-nine from a heart attack. Then Allan went to Vietnam in seventy, giving me a year’s lead time. Plus, I was praying he would be killed over there. So I left in seventy-one.”

“What was Allan like?”

“I couldn’t stand him. But he sure loved Billy, and they were protective of each other. I remember Allan visiting from the Army to help frame Jerome. Their conservations sickened me.”

Sam found that interesting while he jotted it down on his pad.

“Did you know Bo Smithson? He went to your high school.”

“Yeah, I remember Bo. He wasn’t very bright. His Uncle got him a job with the FBI. I also remember Bo and Billy sitting around the house discussing FBI cases.”

“The October Slayer case?”

“Oh yeah. Bo shared information about the FBI agent on the case.”

“That would be me,” Sam said and looked pissed. “I’m sorry,” Wendy replied, feeling bad for Sam. “No wonder the killer knew so much about me.”

“If I was a betting woman. I’d say Billy was the killer. And Allan helped him cover his tracks with Bo helping,” Wendy said, feeling confident.

“It’s starting to sound like Allan confessed his brother’s sins with his book,” Sam replied.

Wendy nodded in agreement, and then Sam looked curious. “Did Billy, by chance, have a tattoo? A skull tattoo by chance, with letters that didn’t make up a word?”

Wendy thought for a second. “The jerk had a tattoo of a naked lady on each of his shins,” she replied, then looked disgusted with remembering that awful sight.

Sam jotted down that information.

An hour later, Wendy had her man drive Sam to a hotel at the Los Angeles airport.

Sam got a room, found a restaurant, and ate dinner.

Afterward, he went to his room. While relaxing, he reviewed all the information he had gathered so far. His cell phone rang.

“Hey, Peter,” he answered.

“Hey, Sam. I just heard Bo Smithson was found shot in his car in a park in Jackson, Mississippi. This park was also known as a place where guys go to meet with other guys in the dark,” Peter said. You know, for discreet man-to-man pleasuring.”

Sam looked shocked. “I spoke with him the other day at his house. He offered to help me and didn’t show up that morning, so I left Jackson.”

“It appears to be a robbery since his wallet was missing,” Peter said.

“I learned that in the sixties, Bo would pass on information to the author’s brother, Billy Stein. He would tell Billy what was going on with the October Slayer case. Maybe Billy Stein found out I talked with Bo and killed him. He did get a phone call from someone when I was at his house,” Sam said.

“If that’s the case, I want you to stop your investigation before someone else gets killed. Like you.”

Sam thought about Peter’s suggestion for a few seconds.

“I can’t, Peter. This guy needs to spend a few minutes in the electric chair, and I’ll make sure he gets his juice.”

“Okay, call me if you find some good evidence,” Peter replied, then disconnected his end.

Sam remembered another important phone call and quickly punched in the number.

“Hey baby, I’m in my hotel room in LA,” Sam said when Cindy answered his call.

“When’s your flight?” she asked from his cell phone.

“Seven in the morning, so I should be home around three tomorrow afternoon.”

“Kristen’s play starts at eight.”

“I’ll have plenty of time.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cindy responded, then disconnected the end of the call. Sam got an idea. He got up off the bed and then rushed out of his room.

Sam rushed to the lobby, using the hotel’s free computer. He went to Yahoo, looked up an address, printed it out, and rushed back to his room.

Meanwhile, back in Daytona Beach, Sam’s neighborhood was quiet.

A shadowy figure crept into Sam’s backyard. It was Billy, wearing gloves and a black ski mask, trying a couple of keys into the back door’s lock. One of the keys unlocked the door.

Billy slipped inside Sam’s house, entered Sam’s kitchen, found the trash, and dumped the other keys into the trash.

He pocketed the key that unlocked the door, left the kitchen, and went down the hallway.

Billy entered Sam’s den and immediately walked up to his computer desk, turning on Sam’s computer.

While the computer was booting up, Billy rummaged through the desk drawers. He found the five case files for the October Slayer, set them on top of the desk, and sat down.

Billy flipped through each folder and enjoyed the photos, then returned the folders to the drawer.

Billy walked out of Sam’s den and went into the garage.

He searched the garage and found some Duct tape. Then he left the garage and went back inside Sam’s house.

Billy walked into Sam’s living room and went over to the sofa.

He turned the sofa over on its back, removed Bo’s wallet from his pants pocket, and duct-taped it under it.

Billy removed the Glock from his pants pocket and duck-taped it under the sofa.

He placed the sofa upright, walked out of the living room, and entered the den, heading straight to the computer.

Billy started searching through Sam’s computer files. Billy spent the next thirty minutes going through Sam’s computer.

He found nothing beneficial except for Sam’s flight information to Los Angeles. “Who the hell did he see in Los Angeles?”

Billy opened a White Pages website and typed Bo’s name in Jackson, Mississippi. Bo’s address appeared. He made a PDF copy of that search and placed it on the computer’s desktop.

Billy typed in a URL for an illegal website on naked underage girls. He went through the site and downloaded some sample pics and video clips.

Billy closed that website and then typed another URL for naked underage girls.

Billy went through the site and downloaded some sample pics and video clips.

Billy closed that website and did the same thing for numerous other types of illegal porn sites.

Billy left the den and walked into the kitchen.

He opened up Sam’s refrigerator and found a microwave fried chicken dinner, and put it in the microwave. While it cooked, Billy drank one of Sam’s beers.

Later, he sat down at the kitchen table and ate his meal.

After eating, Billy went inside the bathroom, stripped naked, went into Sam’s bathroom, and took a shower.

After his shower, he went naked into Sam’s bedroom.

He walked over to the bedside table and reset Sam’s alarm for four that morning so he would leave when it was dark.

He got naked under Sam’s covers and fell asleep.

Sam rose up early the next morning and took the hotel shuttle bus to the airport.

Back in Daytona Beach, Billy was long gone from Sam’s house. He made sure he didn’t leave any trace he was inside.

Billy stopped off at a CVS store, parked by the payphone, and then called.

“Jackson police department, how may I direct your call?” a female officer answered.

“Ah yes, I want to remain anonymous, but I saw on the Internet news that you found a retired FBI agent that was murdered in your city,” Billy replied and tried to disguise his voice.

“Yes, we did. Do you have any information about the case?”

“All I know is, I was in a bar last night in Daytona Beach, Florida. And this old man was drunk. He said his name was Sam Woods. He bragged how he shot some homo up in a park in Jackson, Mississippi, the other day,” Billy replied in his disguised voice, then hung up the phone.

Billy walked back to his car with a smirk.

Back in the detectives’ area of the Jackson police department.

Detective Salt worked at his desk. A female officer brought him the information Billy provided.

Sam’s flight took off from Los Angeles two hours later and returned to Orlando.