Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (24 page)

Jack slid closer, so he could see. They both started to read silently several paragraphs to the left of a photo of a much younger Burke Wagner. Jack guessed he was in his late twenties.

Rachel found it first. She pointed to the paragraph as she read aloud. “Burke moved here from Germany with his father in 1992. They lived in Columbia, South Carolina for a year then moved to Culpepper, Georgia, so Burke could start attending Culpepper University.” She looked at Jack. “You think he changed his name here or in Columbia?”

“I’m guessing Columbia. They were there for a year, and I’m thinking he would’ve wanted the name changed as soon as possible. Certainly before he started applying to attend college anywhere.”

She went back out to Google and searched some more. “This probably won’t work. But I thought we could check and see if you can find out that information online. Sometimes, it’s crazy the information you can get from these government websites.”

Jack watched a few minutes until they both stared at the same information on screen. He read it aloud. “You have to apply at the courthouse in person.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Columbia’s not that far,” Jack said. “I can be there and back the same day.”

“You thinking about going there tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t you like to get this thing resolved?”

“Yes. It’s just…I can’t go with you tomorrow. I’ve got a major test.”

“I’d really love for you to go with me. It would be fun getting away on a day trip, driving my BMW through all those winding, country roads.”

“You’re making it worse. I can’t skip this test.”

“Is that the only reason you wouldn’t want to go?”

“Yeah, why?”

Should he even mention it? “Nothing. I’m glad.”

“Why? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…I wondered if you might be thinking this thing is starting to take up too much time.”

She thought a moment. See, he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Well, it is a distraction. I mean, all the time we’re spending on this is time you could be spending on your dissertation. But it kind of feels like we’re too far gone at this point, don’t you think?”

“I do. I’d hate to have to pull out of this when it seems like we’re so close to the bottom.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“What was that for?”

“For being you. For getting sucked into things like this with me, rather than getting mad at me for getting off track.”

“Well, in a way, it’s not totally off track. Your doctoral dissertation is on the bombing of Dresden. This whole mystery thing is rooted in the Dresden bombing. All of these B-17 pilots were killed because they flew on that bombing mission.” She thought a moment. “You know what this kind of reminds me of? It’s like those urban construction projects when they’re digging down for the foundation, and they uncover some archaeological artifact. They’ve got to stop everything they’re doing and figure out what this thing is. It’s a shame we can’t think of a way you could work this whole thing into your dissertation project.”

That would be nice. But it didn’t seem likely. “Can you scroll back to where the courthouse address is? I’ll need to write that down to put it into my GPS for tomorrow.”

After Jack wrote the info down, she said, “You text me tomorrow as soon as you find out, either way. Even if I’m in class, unless I’m in the middle of that test, I’ll step out into the hall and call you back.”

Jack smiled. “I will.”

“What if it turns out to be him? What if they really did change their name from Hausen to Wagner?”

“Oh, I’m fully expecting it to be true. There’s no doubt in my mind that the serial killer is old man Wagner, and that the good senator isn’t so good after all.”

It was the following morning. Vandergraf was sitting in a golf cart with the Senator. Last night, he had tried for hours to reach him. Finally, the Senator sent a text just before Vandergraf had gone to bed:
Tee-time 8am. Talk in between holes. Have to sharpen my game. Playing 18 holes with Mr. B after lunch
.

Turned out, the Senator had been spending some quality time last night with a multibillionaire donor—nicknamed Mr. B.—whom he had been courting for months. He’d turned off his cell phone.

Now, Vandergraf and the Senator were out on the course doing a warm-up round, so the Senator wouldn’t look so bad when he got with Mr. B. after lunch for another eighteen holes.

Looking at the scenery now, Vandergraf had to admit—it was a beautiful morning for golf with one exception. It was barely 9:00am and the air was already damp. Southern humidity is a terrible thing. He wished Senator Wagner wasn’t such a stickler for style, insisting they wore long pants like touring pros. Vandergraf thought Wagner might think better of the idea if he could see the widening band of sweat on his rear end.

He still hadn’t talked to the Senator about the phone call from Officer Campbell yesterday afternoon. He’d tried to as soon as they headed out to the first tee, but the Senator had stopped him. “Is this life or death?”

Vandergraf didn’t know what to say. “Potentially,” he’d said.

“If it’s only
potentially
, then I want to finish my morning coffee before you
potentially
ruin my morning.”

Wagner sipped his coffee nice and slow.

They were approaching the fourth hole, a dogleg to the right, bending at the two-hundred-yard mark. Vandergraf had figured Wagner should have added at least three more strokes to his score that morning. He’d caught him kicking his ball to a better lie that many times. Vandergraf enjoyed the comments Wagner made after the dirty deeds. “Didn’t think I’d pull that shot off,” he’d say, wiping his brow. Or, “That’s what they call shotmaking, my boy.”

Vandergraf watched the Senator sip his tall mug again, hoping it was the last one. Had to be close. It was Vandergraf’s turn to tee off. He’d made par on the last hole, beating the Senator by a stroke. He yanked the head cover off his driver and slid it out of his bag.

“I hate doglegs,” Wagner muttered, still enjoying the shade in the golf cart.

Vandergraf knew Wagner’s best drive wasn’t quite two-hundred yards and usually sliced to the right. On this hole, anything less than the Senator’s best swing would put him in the woods. Hard to fake a lost ball. Vandergraf had a suggestion that would help the Senator avoid this, but Wagner didn’t respond well to golf advice. Vandergraf kept his mouth shut, put his ball on the tee, went through his pre-shot routine and let her fly.

“Nice Harold,” Wagner said, watching the ball soar off the tee.

It wasn’t nice, Vandergraf thought. It was perfect. “It’ll do,” he said, feigning humility. The ball sailed right down the middle of the fairway over three hundred yards, bounced and rolled toward a perfect approach shot to the green. He’d never have hit like that when he first started working for the Senator. Opting instead to intentionally play a few notches below Wagner’s game on every hole.

He glanced at the Senator still sitting in the cart, to see if he’d give him the green light to start talking about the real reason he’d come out here.

Not yet.

Wagner got up, walked to the back of the golf cart and pulled out his driver. True to form, he walked up to the tee, did that little pitter-patter with his feet and butt-wiggle dance of his, and swung the driver. They stood and watched as the ball sliced to the right. He swore as the ball careened into the trees about a-hundred and seventy-five yards away.

“I don’t know, Senator. I think you can play out of that one,” Vandergraf said.

Wagner, recovering his poise, replied, “I’m sure of it. I think it hit a tree. Maybe it took a nice bounce in my favor.”

As they rode along in the cart, enjoying the breeze, Wagner was finally ready. “So, Harold, tell me about this potentially ruinous development that was so urgent you had to drive all the way out here this morning?”

“Well, I know you don’t like a long build-up, so I guess I’ll just jump in. Are you aware of any journal your father might have written before he died, that he might have left out at the cabin?”

Wagner’s face instantly grew serious. He pulled the golf cart over and hit the break. “What did you say?”

“That’s what Officer Campbell called about. That history professor who’s renting out your cabin, he showed up at the police station again yesterday afternoon. This time with his girlfriend. Campbell’s not in the inner loop, so he’s not able to sit in on the meetings they had with the detective. But he was able to pick up some important details from things he overheard in the hallway. The detective mentioned to his partner that this couple was coming in any minute, and said something about her having finished translating this journal. A few minutes later, in comes this couple and Campbell says she’s holding a small, well-worn leather book in her hand, along with an old scrapbook. Then all of them go into this meeting. The doors are closed, so he can’t hear anything else. But after it was over, unlike the last time when it was clear the police were talking about not pursuing this any further, this time they’re all chummy. The professor, his girlfriend and the police. Campbell got the impression they were encouraging him to look into something else they had discussed in the meeting and to get back with them soon. As you know, I don’t know what any of this is about. But it seems things are heating up, and I’m thinking we should be doing a little more than just observing.”

The Senator’s face became very grave, but Vandergraf still couldn’t read how he was processing all this. “Was I wrong to interrupt your golf game with this?”

“Not only were you not wrong to interrupt me,” Wagner said, “had you known what this was really all about you would’ve said yes to my first question, not
potentially
.” Wagner whipped the golf cart around and started heading down the cart path toward the clubhouse, as fast as the cart would go.

So, the Senator considered this a life and death matter. He wished the Senator trusted him enough to stop playing these games and would simply tell him what this was all about. He felt like he’d earned that much by now.

Wagner’s eyes stayed locked on the path ahead. “I agree, this new development means we’re past the point of mere observing. It’s time to act, decisively. Do you know where Mr. Strickland is?”

Vandergraf almost smiled. “I’ve already called him, sir. In fact, I started paying his retainer yesterday. He was finishing up a delivery and planned to arrive back in town today. I told him not to leave again, that I suspected we would need him soon and to keep his cell phone charged and with him at all times.”

“Good. It’s time to put a stop to this little adventure our history professor has begun. We must keep this from going any further.” They approached a sharp curve. He slowed the cart down, brought it to a stop and looked at Vandergraf. “Strickland must retrieve that journal and the scrapbook and get them both to me immediately, no matter what it takes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Vandergraf nodded. “I do, sir.”

“No matter what it takes.”

After abruptly ending their round of golf, Vandergraf and the Senator got cleaned up in the locker room and headed toward their cars. Few words were spoken. Their cars were in separate sections of the parking lot. Vandergraf could tell the Senator was just about to say some parting words, so he decided to jump in and take a chance. If there was ever a time Wagner would open up and share his family secrets, this was it.

“Senator, before I call Strickland and set this new mission in motion, is there anything more about this situation you can tell me? I’m not asking to satisfy my curiosity. I feel if I really understood what we’re dealing with, I’d be able to make better decisions without having to constantly involve you like this.” They stopped walking. “I can handle whatever it is, sir. And I hope you know by now, you can trust me.”

Vandergraf already knew enough inside information about the Senator’s activities to send him to prison for a very long time. Vandergraf had also committed enough felonies and misdemeanors on the Senator’s behalf to ensure he’d be thrown in prison for just as long a time, if not longer.

The Senator stood there looking at him. Finally, he spoke. “I can’t tell you everything, but you’re right. As much as I am able to trust anyone, I trust you. The contents of those two items, the scrapbook and the journal, contain enough information to destroy my career, to destroy everything I’ve worked for since the day I graduated college. I would be ruined, and the hefty salary I’m able to pay you for your services would instantly dry up.”

Vandergraf had figured this much by himself. It was obvious just from observing Wagner’s reaction. “But why? What’s in them? Why do they matter so much?”

The Senator looked away then down at the ground, then back at Vandergraf. “You never met my father. In some ways, we are polar opposites. In some ways, I suppose, we are very much the same. He was a ruthless man fueled by a lifetime of rage. It’s a very long and complicated story, but the bottom line is…we came here from Germany not long after the Berlin Wall fell, so that my father could exact his revenge on the World War II pilots who destroyed his family. He was well on his way to achieving this goal when his health failed.”

“You told me once he had a massive stroke,” Vandergraf said.

“That’s what happened. I was here, attending the university. He wanted me to pick up where he left off. To complete his life’s work, as he called it. There’s just no way I could. For starters, I didn’t even believe in it. War is war. It’s a terrible thing. Inhumane and unthinkable things were done on both sides. By soldiers acting under orders. I wasn’t a Nazi, or even a communist. I’m a capitalist. I like money and power, and the things they can buy. But I told him I would do as he asked, just as soon as I finished college. He showed me this journal he had been keeping and a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings. He said he would hide them in the cabin for me, in case something happened to him. I think he knew he was dying.”

“Did he tell you where?”

“He did. I’m sure he did. But I wasn’t listening. It’s not like I was going to do anything with it. And sure enough, before I graduated he had another major stroke. He became a total invalid after that, couldn’t even talk. He stayed that way until he died.”