Confession (25 page)

“There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen,” Sam replied.

She walked out of the den.

Sam’s cell phone rang.  He opened it up and saw the caller from the viewfinder.  “Hey George,” he answered.

“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 then disconnected the call.  He quickly punched in Rodney’s phone number, and waited a few seconds.

“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 you
r office from Daytona Beach.  I need to
talk about Allan Stein’s book, A Killer’s Tale.”

“A retired FBI agent?  Why do you want to talk with me?” Rodney replied a little concerned.

“It’s best we wait until I see you in your office.  I tried to talk with Mister Stein, but he apparently passed away according to his daughter.”

There was 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 disconnected his phone 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.   He 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 during the time from ninety sixty-one through ninety sixty-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 t
he truth.  “I'm looking into that
old October Slayer case.”

There was 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 talking about it and the 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?”

“Well, his book has details about the case that only the killer and myself knew.  I need to find out how this Allan Stein discovered them.  It m
ight 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 really worried you might have those old haunting memories if you pursue this,” Charles said with a fatherly tone in his voice.

“If I don’t pursue this, those haunting memories will never go away,” 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 mother?”

“Good.  She and the girls are on a two week cruise.”

“I sure regret never taking her on one,” Sam replied with a tone of 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 and thanks son.”

“Listen, I'll get back with you as soon as I can.  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 he jotted down some notes on his note pad.

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.

They left his house.

L
ater that night, Becky and Marty continued to clean Allan’s house.

During the cleaning of Allan’s desk, Marty discreetly looked at the papers
Becky placed in a garbage bag.  He searched
for any evidence Allan used for his book.  He found nothing that might lead to the identity of the real October Slayer.  But he wasn’t going to give up yet.  He wanted to conduct his own investigation.

So Marty headed into the garage. 

It was dark inside the attic above the garage while Marty removed the access panel.

He stood on a ladder and used a flashlight to search for a w
ooden chest inside the attic. 
He discovered the attic had nothing but cobwebs and spiders.

Inside the den, numerous packing boxes were stacked along the wall.

Becky stood at the locked cabinet and tried to unlock it with a bunch of keys she found in Allan’s desk.

Marty entered the den.  “I didn’t find a wooden chest in the attic,” he said while he walked up to Becky.

Becky looked
irritated
with Marty.  “I can't believe you searched for one,” she said while she tried to unlock the pad lock with a key, and it did not work.

“Do you want me to run down to Home Depot and get some bolt cutters?” Marty offered.

“I have one last key to try,” Becky said then she stuck the key into the lock and it worked.  She cracked open one of the cabinet doors.  “I hope the Army doesn't bust down the doors and arrest me for seeing their secrets,” she said jokingly.

Marty chuckled while she opened up the cabinet.

They both peeked inside and saw Allan’s Army uniforms on hangers, Army hats, a duffel bag, an old 35mm camera and some boxes of old photography developing chemicals.

“It doesn’t look like Army secrets to me,” Marty said while he looked the items over.

“I can’t understand why he kept it locked and didn’t want the kids to get inside,” Becky said.

“Maybe he didn’t want them playing with the chemicals,” Marty replied while he
looked
inside the duffel bag. 

Becky nodded in agreement with his statement.

He opened up the duffel bag and turned it upside down.  All the contents dumped on the floor.

On the floor, they saw a pair of combat boots, numerous pairs of Army fatigues, numerous old pictures of Allan and Billy, a 38 revolver and five old issues of the Confidential Detective Cases magazine.

“I didn't know he had a gun?  Is it loaded?” Becky said while she stepped back a little leery.

Marty picked up the revolver and checked it out.  “No.”

“Uncle Billy's a gun freak, so it must be his.  Get rid of that thing!”  Becky demanded.

“I’ll see if a gun shop will buy it,” Marty said while he walked over and set the revolver on top of Allan’s desk.

Marty walked back to Becky just as she picked up the old photos.  One was of Billy, then twenty-two years old in 1963.  He wore his Sheriff’s uniform and stood by his Curtis, Mississippi police car with Allan by his side.  They both looked cocky an arrogant.

“I didn't know Uncle Billy was a deputy,” Becky said while she looked at the photo.

“Dad's book had the killer being a Sheriff,” Marty said.

“That man
will always make
my skin crawl,” Becky said while she dropped the pictures on the floor.

Marty picked up the detective magazines off the floor.  There were five issues from various years in the 1960s. 

Marty flipped through the pages of the 1963 issue.  Then he noticed some of the pages for an article were stuck together. 

He flipped through the pages of the 1964 issue.  He noticed some o
f the pages were stuck together.

He flipped through the pages of the 1965 issue.  He noticed that some pages were stuck together.  He picked at the stuck pages.  He then recal
led the part of the A Killer’s T
ale book where the killer masturbated into detective magazines.  He quickly dropped the magazines like they had some type of disease.

Becky noticed.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I need to wash my hands,” Marty said while he rushed out of the den.

Becky shrugged it off then walked over to the other side of the den. 

She grabbed an empty cardboard box. 

She walked back to cabinet with the box and started to pick up his Army items and dumped them into the box.

Marty walked back over and slipped on a pair of latex gloves.  He picked up the five magazines off the floor.

Becky saw him.  “Why the gloves?” she asked curiously.

“You really don’t want to know.  Trust me,” Marty said while he walked out of the den with the magazines to dump them in the garbage.

“What ever,” she said then continued to dump Allan’s Army items into the box.

They spent the whole night cleaning an
d packing up Allan’s belongings into boxes.

It was the next morning and Sam got up early and had a quick breakfast with a couple cups of coffee.  

After he showered and got dressed, he grabbed Allan’s book and
a file folder
. 

He headed out the
front
door.

Later
that day, Rodney Burnstein,
Allan’s
former editor,
at behind his desk while he reviewed a manuscript
from an envelope
.

There was a knock on the door.  It opened and a woman stepped inside.  “Mister Burnstein, there's a Mister Woods, a retired FBI agent, who said he had an appointment with you this morning.”

“Ah y
es,
please
let Mister Woods inside,” Rodney said while he put down the manuscript.

She left and a second later, Sam entered his office
with a file folder in hand
.

Rodney looked curious while he stood up and walked up to Sam.

“I’m Rodney Burnstein.  It’s a pleasure to meet you Mister Woods,” he said while they shook hands.

“If you don’t mind, do you have some identification?  I have to make sure you’re really a retired FBI agent.”

Sam removed his retired FBI credentials
and Florida driver’s license
from his wallet and showed it to Rodney.

“Please have a seat,” Rodney said while he walked Sam to a chair in front of his desk.

“May I get you something to drink?  Some coffee perhaps?” Rodney offered.

“No thank you,” said Sam while he put his identification back in his wallet and sat down.

Rodney walked over and sat down behind his desk.  “So, you said you wanted to see about Allan Stein’s book, A Killer’s Tale?” 

“Yes, when I was with the FBI back in the sixties, I was working on the October Slayer case.”

“I remember when that happened.  I was living up in Chicago at the time.  So what does Allan’s book have to do with that case?”

“First it was very similar to that case and second it mentioned events that only the killer and myself knew.”

“What events?  I read his manuscript,” Rodney curiously asked.

“Well, there was the part where the FBI agent was drunk in a bar and Jimmy, the killer, talked with him.  Then he dropped some sergeant’s stripes in the pocket of the agents suit.  Back then, I drank heavily and got drunk one night at a bar, the next morning, I found a pair of Army Warrant officers bars in the pocket of my suit.”

“That’s interesting but could be coincidence,” Rodney said.

“Then the killer sent me taunting letters.  Letters like these,” Sam said while he removed the letters from his file folder and showed them to Rodney.  “The book had the same exact words in its letters,” Sam said while he showed Rodney the applicable sections of the book.

Rodney looked at the letters and what Allan wrote in his story.  “Allan knew how to dig up information and twist things around,” Rodney said while he handed Sam back the letters and book.  “Maybe someone else in the FBI knew about these letters and passed it onto Allan.”

“I’m positive nobody knew about them,” Sam said and looked dead serious.

“I don’t know how I can help you.”

“I was wondering if you could give me the list of individuals Allan consulted with?  Or copies of his research material?”

“I'm sorry.  I don't have that type of information.  Allan kept it
all
to himself.  I only had his final manuscript to review before we published it.”

“But his book had clues I believe will lead to the identity of the killer,” Sam insisted.

“If Allan thought he had discovered the identity of the October Slayer, killer, he would have turned it over to the proper law authorities.  He was after all retired Army CID, so I doubt he would let a killer
get
away.  So I'm sorry Mister Woods, you’re wasting your time.”

Sam stood up disappointed.  “Thank you, Mister Burnstein,” Sam said while he reached across his desk with his hand.

Rodney stood up.  “Have you read his other book, Murder At Night?” Rodney said while he shook Sam’s hand.

“No sir,” Sam replied.

“You should.  It’s also
a great read
.”

“I’ll give it a read,” Sam said but didn’t have any intentions on reading Allan’s other book.

“These books always bring out the whacko’s,” Rodney said quietly to himself while he watched Sam leave. 

While Sam drove back down I-95 to Daytona Beach, Becky and Marty relaxed at their house in Kissimmee after cleaning Allan’s house.

It was quiet inside the den while they enjoyed the
Nothing In Common
movie on their DVD player.  Michael and Nancy were still at their grandparents in St. Petersburg.

Becky snuggled next to Marty where the Tom Hanks’ character just received a phone call from his father, Jackie Gleason, stating his mother just left him. 

The movie continued then the doorbell rang.

“I wonder who that can be?” Marty said.

“I’m not expecting anybody,” she said while she got up.

Marty pulled her back down on the couch.  “I’ll get it,” he said then got up from the couch and walked out of the den.

Becky watched the movie where Tom Hanks visited his father’s apartment where there was loud music playing and a steak burning on the stove.

“Becky, you better come to the door,” Marty yelled from the living room.

Becky got up and walked out of the room.

She walked to the living room where Marty had the front door open.  He looked concerned while he glanced at Becky.  She had a gut feeling this was not going to be good.

Becky got to the front door and saw Billy outside
on the front stoop.  S
he instantly got pissed.  “What the hell are you doing here?” she yelled.

“Aren't you going to invite me inside?” Billy said with a smart-ass tone
and smirk
.

“Never!” Becky snapped back.

“Why did Allan write that book?” Billy asked and looked like he wanted to pound on someone.

“Why should you care?” she asked.

“How could he be so stupid?  He promised!” Billy said while he paced by the front door.

“What the hell is your problem?  If dad wanted to write a book, he didn’t need your permission,” she yelled at him.

Billy walked closer to the front door and tried to get inside.

“No!” Becky said then started to close the front door.

Billy stuck his shoe on the threshold and stopped her from completely closing the door.  “Listen, I really need to look through his house.  I can pay you ten thousand dollars.  Just think, ten thousand dollars!  That would be a great start on your kids college fund,” Billy said with a serious tone but he was not going to pay her a dime if he came up empty handed.

“Like I told you before, no!  And what is with you and that retired FBI agent?”

“FBI agent?   What agent?” Billy said then it dawned on him
a few seconds later
.  “Woods!  Damn him!”

“I’m going to call the police if you set another foot on my property or dad’s property,” Becky yelled.  She slammed the door in Billy’s face the second he moved his shoe away.

She rushed over to curtains and peeked out.  She watched while Billy got inside his
red on red 2005
Corvette and drove off down the street.

“Honey, maybe that ex-FBI agent's right about dad's book,” Marty said while Becky continued to peek out their curtains.

“Come on Marty, this was dad's version of solving that case.  Pure and simple!  So, I can't help it if some old man didn't do his job forty years ago,” she said
irritated
with him.