Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 28

Marty and Becky woke up early with the kids the next morning. They sat down for breakfast at the kitchen table.

The phone rang.

“It better not be him,” Becky snarled, getting up from the table and heading to the phone. She picked up the phone. “Hello,” she answered and cringed in anticipation of hearing Billy’s voice.

“It’s me, Sam Woods. I had trouble last night. Someone broke into my girlfriend’s house and tied her naked, then left a number six on her stomach. I believe it was your uncle,” Sam said from her phone.

“Was she hurt?” she asked, concerned.

“He slapped her around a little, but she’s mainly shaken up,” he replied, then paused for a few seconds.

“Please be careful.”

“We will, and I’m so sorry about your girlfriend.”

“Call me if something strange happens.”

“I will,” Becky replied, then hung up.

Marty could sense something was wrong with that phone call.

“Nancy and Marty, please get dressed for school,” Becky told them.

The kids got up from the table and rushed out of the kitchen.

“Uncle Billy broke into Sam Woods’ girlfriend’s house. He tied her naked, then left the number six on her stomach,” Becky told Marty.

Marty thought about what she said. “Did you say there was a number six on her stomach?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The killer in your father’s book and the real October Slayer left a number on the girl’s dead stomach. The last girl killed was number five.”

“What a sicko!” Becky cursed, and then her eyes widened.

“Daddy’s house!” she cried out.

“What about his house?” Marty asked.

“I got this strange feeling Uncle Billy might have gone there,” she said.

Marty thought for a few seconds. “We better check it out, he replied.

Becky nodded in agreement.

An hour later, after the kids were dropped off at school, Marty called his boss requesting a vacation day.

Later that morning, Marty pulled their Sienna into Allan’s driveway.

“His house looks okay so far,” Becky said while they exited their mini-van and walked to the front door.

They saw the business card stuck in the door. Marty pulled it out and saw it was from the St. Cloud police department. He turned the card over and read the message written on the back.

“Someone broke into Father’s house last night,” Marty told Becky, then showed her the card.

Marty opened up the door, and they cautiously walked inside.

They stared in horror at the mess scattered across the living room.

“That bastard!” she cursed while staring at the mess scattered over the floor.

Becky removed Sam’s information from her pocket and called him.

In Sam’s kitchen, Cindy drank coffee and waited while Sam cooked scrambled eggs and bacon.

Sam soon had two plates ready, and he walked them over to the table. He set one plate down in front of Cindy and another in the chair next to her, and then his cell phone rang.

“Good morning, Becky,” Sam answered.

“Someone broke into Dad’s house. I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count,” Becky said from Sam’s cell phone.

“I think he’s looking for that wooden chest.”

“Well, I don’t know where it could be. We packed up everything Dad owned. Then Uncle Creepy opened the boxes and scattered everything on the living room floor.”

“I would love nothing better than to fry his ass.”

“Me too, and again, I’m sorry for what happened to your girlfriend. Please take care of yourself,” said Becky.

“Take care, Becky,” Sam said, then closed his cell phone.

Sam sat down at the table and sipped his coffee.

“Who was on the phone?” Cindy asked.

“The daughter of the guy that wrote that book. Someone broke into her father’s house and made a mess while looking for a wooden chest,” he said, then ate some eggs.

“Why the interest in a chest?”

“The book stated it contained evidence and items from the five girls that were killed. Evidence that would tell me who the October Slayer was,” Sam told her, disappointed.

“Do you think he found that chest?”

“No, I think it and the evidence are gone forever. Only the dead author knows,” Sam replied, still looking determined.

“Well, I think it’s time you stop this foolishness. If you don’t, he might come back and make sure you don’t continue,” Cindy said. Cindy looked frightened when she realized that it could have been that killer that tied her up.

“Okay. I’ll stop my investigation,” Sam replied, then ate some more eggs. But the thought of Billy getting away with murder was boiling his blood. But he also didn’t want to lose Cindy, so he decided it was time to give up and forget about the October Slayer.

“I would also love it if you called an alarm company and got one installed in your house,” she said, finishing her coffee.

“I promise, I’ll call the company,” Sam replied, then finished his coffee.

They had a quiet morning, and then around one in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door.

Sam went into the living room and opened the front door.

Outside stood Detective Salt and a Daytona Beach police officer, Jerry Winston.

“I’m Officer Winston, and this is Detective Blaine Salt from the Jackson, Mississippi, police department. Are you Sam Woods?” Jerry asked Sam.

“Yes, I am,” replied Sam, and got concerned.

“May we come in and talk?” Jerry said.

“Sure,” Sam replied and let them inside his house. They sat down on the sofa in the living room.

Blaine immediately whipped out his notepad and pen. In fact, Bo’s wallet was taped underneath the sofa right under Blaine’s butt cheeks. The Glock was taped under Jerry’s butt cheeks underneath the sofa.

“Did you find the guy that broke into my girlfriend’s house?” Sam asked.

“I’m not familiar with that case. The reason we’re here is because,” Jerry said.

“We had some information provided to our department concerning the murder of a retired FBI agent up in Jackson, Mississippi,” Blaine interrupted Jerry and told Sam while Cindy walked into the room.

She heard everything Blaine said and walked over to stand by Sam.

“What does this have to do with me?” Sam asked, getting worried.

“We first had an anonymous letter stating an individual saw an old man shoot Bo Smithson a few days ago. The man drove off in a car with Florida tags. Then we got an anonymous phone call stating that a Sam Woods was drunk here in Daytona Beach and bragged about shooting Mister Smithson,” Jerry told Sam with a serious look.

Sam was shocked by Blaine’s accusation. “Listen, I’m also a retired FBI agent and once worked with Bo. I was up at his house a couple of days ago because I’m investigating an unsolved murder case. It’s called the October Slayer. A newly published book, A Killer’s Tale, makes me believe I can find that killer,” Sam told them.

Jerry’s eyes lit up when he heard Sam’s response. “I read that book,” he said, then thought about Sam’s reaction. “Wait, are you that FBI agent?” he added.

“Yes,” Sam replied, then looked Jerry in his eyes. “Listen, I didn’t kill Bo. He was going to help me with my investigation. He didn’t show up the following morning, so I left town. I believe the brother of the author, Billy Stein, could be the October Slayer. I also believe Bo passed on information about that case back in the sixties to Billy to help him elude capture,” Sam added.

Blaine thought about Sam’s last comment. Then his eyes widened. “I remember that part of the book. But the guy’s name was Homer.”

“That’s correct. Allan, the author, didn’t use our real names. In reality, Bo talked with my partner Joel Nelson or Carl in the book. He confirmed that a few days ago,” Sam said.

“Maybe I can talk with Joel Nelson?” Blaine asked.

Sam opened his cell phone and looked at his calls for the past weeks. “His number is five, five, five, one, zero, nine, five.”

Blaine jotted down the number on his pad.

“Again, I didn’t kill him. I would bet money that Billy Stein killed Bo,” Sam said sincerely.

Blaine shoved his notepad into his pocket.

“Okay. But right now, you’re our only suspect, so please don’t leave the Daytona Beach area.”

“I’ll stay around here,” Sam replied, looking really worried that he might not be able to get out of this one.

Jerry and Blaine stood up. “Oh, I need your cell phone number,” he added.

“Five, five, five, eighteen oh four,” Sam replied. Blaine jotted that down, then put his pad away.

Sam walked them to the door and let them out.

Cindy glared at Sam. “I told you to stop this foolishness.

Now you’re a suspect in killing a fellow retired FBI agent,” she said then her eyes welled up.

“They don’t have any evidence on me,” Sam told her.

Cindy didn’t believe his response.

She cried, rushing out of the living room.

Outside and down the street from Sam’s house, Billy sat in his Malibu. He watched while Jerry and Blaine got into the Daytona Beach patrol car.

Billy got a satisfied smirk while he watched them back down the driveway and drove away.

For the rest of the day, Sam and Cindy spent their time alone in different rooms. Sam called an alarm company and made an appointment for a salesman to come out in two days.

Sam paced around his den, trying to figure out how to escape this mess.

In St. Cloud, Marty and Becky spend the rest of the day repacking all of Allan’s items into some new boxes.

The sun dropped below the horizon, and darkness fell upon Florida.

In Daytona Beach, Sam and Cindy had a nice quiet dinner.

In Kissimmee, Becky, Michael, and Nancy watched a Disney movie while Marty reread A Killer’s Tale. But this time, he jotted down notes for his own

investigation.

Three hours had passed.

Sam watched TV in his den while Cindy sat on the sofa watching TV. They haven’t spoken to each other since Jerry and Blaine left.

In Kissimmee, Becky just put Nancy and Michael to bed.

Marty sat in the living room and reviewed his notes, then his eyes widened with an idea. He shot up from the sofa and ran out of the living room.

Marty ran into Nancy’s room, where Becky had just kissed her forehead for the night.

“I need to run over to your dad’s house,” Marty said the second he met Becky at the door.

“Why?”

“I have a powerful hunch on where that wooden chest might be located,” he told her while they walked down the hallway.

She stopped and saw the determination in his eyes. “If you must,” she replied, knowing he would be thinking about this chest all night. “After this, we’ll forget about that stupid thing once and for all,” she said, then walked into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Marty ran down the hallway and into their bedroom.

After he got his wallet, car keys, and the key to Allan’s house, he ran to the front door.

Later that night, Marty entered Allan’s house.

He ran through the house and went inside the garage.

It was also a mess because Billy was rummaging through everything.

Marty grabbed the step ladder and placed it under the access panel to the attic, climbed up the ladder, and pushed up on the panel.

Marty climbed further up the ladder, removed a small flashlight from his pocket, and went inside the attic.

It’s dark inside the attic. Marty searched around with the flashlight.

He shined it on the far end of the attic, where he saw a wall of unpainted drywall.

“How did I miss that before?” he said.

Marty had an idea, so he climbed out of the attic and soon found a hammer in the garage amongst stuff scattered on the floor.

Marty climbed back into the attic and carefully crawled across the ceiling joints with the hammer and flashlight.

Marty crawled over to the unpainted drywall, set the flashlight down, and repeatedly beat the drywall until he made a hole.

Marty grabbed the drywall and pulled on a piece. The piece broke off, and he fell on his back on the joists. He got up and grabbed the flashlight, shining a beam of light into the hole in the drywall.

There was an old dusty wooden chest stashed behind the stud wall. It was locked with a padlock. “Bingo!” he said proudly of himself.

Marty spent the next ten minutes pulling away more drywall. He pulled enough away to reach inside the hole, grab the wooden chest, pull it out, and blow off some dust. He sneezed.

Marty carefully crawled across the ceiling and joists with the chest and headed to the access panel.

Marty carefully climbed down the ladder with the chest.

He set it on the garage floor and did a victory dance around the items on the floor while searching for some bolt cutters.

He found some bolt cutters and did a victory dance back to the chest.

After Marty cut the padlock off the chest, he quickly opened his cell phone and called.

“Becky! I found that wooden chest. It was hidden behind a wall your father built in the attic,” Marty said excitedly.

“You’re kidding me?” Becky replied, a little shocked by his cell phone.

“No, and I’m ready to open it up and see the evidence inside,” he told her. “I’ll take a picture with my cell phone,” he added.

“Good! We can finally let Uncle Slime Ball rot in prison. Email me the picture, and then I’ll call Sam Woods and email it to him,” Becky said excitedly.

“You got it, honey,” Marty said while he got his cell phone ready.

“Here it comes,” he said, then leaned down and slowly opened the creaky chest lid. He snapped a picture, looked inside the chest, and saw five magazines. They were old issues of the Confidential Detective Cases magazines.

“Hurry up and email me the picture,” Becky’s voice was heard from his cell phone.

“Ah, you won’t believe this. But the chest is completely empty,” Marty said disappointedly, as he didn’t want to tell her about the magazines.

“Fuck!” Becky yelled from his cell phone and quickly pulled his cell phone from his ear.

Marty looked in disbelief, as he never heard her use that word.

“I’m going to head home in a few minutes,” he told her.

“Okay.”

He closed his cell phone and shoved it in his pants pocket.

Marty saw a pair of pliers on the floor, walked over and grabbed them, walked back to the chest, used the pliers, and then grabbed the first magazine.

Marty set it on the floor and saw it was an August 1963 issue. Using the pliers, he flipped to where some pages were stuck together. He saw it was for an article on the murder of Rhonda Moore.

Marty did the same for the August 1964 issue, and the stuck pages were for the killing of Fran Adams. He did the same for the August 1965 issue, and the stuck pages were for the murder of Sandy Yoder.

Marty did the same for the August 1966 issue, and the stuck pages were for the murder of Angie Gardner.

Marty did the same for the August 1967 issue, and the stuck pages were for the murder of Annette Watson.

“Wierd! He got his rocks off reading the stories of those girls’ murders,” Marty said, then used the pliers and tossed the magazines into the trash. He didn’t want Becky to find them.