Confession Page 22

  Sam smiled. “Let’s head back to shore,” Sam said then pulled up the anchor and started up the boat.

  He drove the boat back to the loading dock and was chomping at the bit to start his investigation.

  Chapter 18

  Sam rose out of bed the next morning ready to act like an FBI agent again. In fact, he missed the thrill of the hunt for criminals and he was not going to let this one to stay hidden again.

  After a shower and breakfast, he dressed in a suit like he did during his FBI days. He grabbed a small note pad and pen and shoved them in his suit pocket. He strutted out his front door.

  Sam used his GPS and drove down Interstate I-4 toward Orlando.

  Later that morning, Sam arrived at Allan’s house and parked his car behind Becky’s Sienna. He got out of his car and noticed the front yard was freshly mowed.

  He heard a lawnmower in the backyard while he walked to the front door. He stood on the front stoop and his heart raced a little in anticipation of meeting Allan. He had this gut feeling he would leave with some good evidence.

  Inside Allan’s living room were a few boxes filled with some of Allan’s clothes. They were ready to be dropped off at Goodwill later in the day. Becky and Marty spent the whole morning cleaning Allan’s house. She dropped Nancy and Michal off at her parent’s home in St. Petersburg for a week so they wouldn’t get in the way.

  The doorbell rang, and it was quiet inside the house. The doorbell rang again.

  Becky walked into the living room and wore cleaning gloves and had a rag in hand. She walked to the front door and opened it.

  Outside stood Sam. “Hello. I'm Sam Woods, a retired FBI agent from Daytona Beach, may I speak to Allan Stein please?”

  Becky looked at little worried with his sudden and strange request. “May I ask why?”

  “I need to ask him some important questions about his book, A Killer's Tale.”

  “I’m Becky Adams, Allan’s daughter, and I think that might be impossible. My father passed away from cancer just before the book was published,” Becky said while a tear ran down her cheek.

  Sam's eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. But it’s important that I talk with you.”

  A Ford Crown Victoria drove slowly past the house. Inside that car was old lady Meredith Grayson who eyed Allan’s house with interest. She was a bit of a snoop of the neighborhood.

  Becky hesitated. “I’m sorry, but you’re a complete stranger,” she said and started to close the door.

  Sam quickly removed his wallet and showed his retired FBI identification card and Florida driver’s license. “I’m really a retired FBI agent,” he said. “And I really need to talk with you,” he added with pleading eyes.

  She glanced at his card and felt he wasn’t a threat and telling the truth. “Please come inside, Mister Woods,” Becky offered, as she was now a little curious with Sam’s interest in her father’s book.

  Sam stepped inside the house and followed Becky to the couch where they sat down.

  “Would you like something to drink? Some tea? A beer?”

  “Tea would be nice, as the drive down from Daytona made me thirsty.”

  Becky smiled while she got up from the couch.

  Sam watched while she walked out of the room and headed to the kitchen.

  “When did you retire from the FBI?” Becky said from the kitchen.

  “I retired ten years ago after a forty year career,” he said while he scanned the living room. He saw some old family pictures with Allan, Marty, Becky, Beverly and the kids that hung on the wall across from the couch.

  He got up and walked over to the pictures.

  He looked at them and studied Allan. He removed his note pad and pen from his suit pocket.

  “Now, why would a retired FBI agent drive all the way from Daytona Beach to talk with my father about his book?” Becky asked while she walked into the room with two glasses of tea.

  Sam still looked at the pictures on the wall. “Is that Allan?” he asked while Becky placed the glasses on the coffee table.

  “Yes, it was taken ten years ago before mom passed away,” Becky said while she sat down on the couch.

  Sam walked over Becky and sat down on the couch. He looked at the two glasses of tea. “Thank you,” he said and grabbed the glass closer to him.

  Becky smiled while Sam took a drink of tea.

  “Back in the sixties, I was the FBI agent on the October Slayer case and didn't catch the killer. So years later, your father’s book comes along with facts that only the killer and myself knew,” Sam said while he set his glass back on the table.

  Becky looked concerned with Sam. “What are you implying?”

  “You're father might have unknowingly dug up information that could lead me to the killer's identity. I would like to know the people he consulted with, so I can talk with them.”

  Becky looked uneasy with where this was heading. “I really don't know how I can help.”

  “His book mentioned a wooden chest the killer used to hide evidence. I would like to know where he discovered that information. So, would it be possible to go through his old files on his computer? Or maybe his desk?”

  Becky got extremely uncomfortable with his requests. “Listen! I'm trying to cope with his passing. Dad was a career Army criminal investigator. If he discovered the identity of October Slayer killer, he'd be in jail right now. So I think it's best if you leave,” Becky said while her temper flared up.

  Sam wrote down his home and cell phone numbers on a piece of paper on his note pad. He ripped off the paper and handed it to her. “Thank you for your time. Please call me if you run across anything strange.”

  Becky walked Sam to the door and opened it.

  Sam looked at Becky with sadness in his eyes. “It’s really important that I find out who your father talked with for his book. It’s especially important to me. So I hope you change your mind,” he said when he stepped outside of the house.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Sam gave her a little thank you smile then walked away to his car. He was extremely disappointed.

  Becky closed the door then she rushed over to the living room curtains. She peeked outside to make sure Sam got in his car and left.

  Marty walked into the living room, sweaty and dirty with grass stained sneakers. He saw Becky peeking out the curtains. “Who came to the house?” he asked while he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his tee shirt.

  “Some retired FBI agent, who thinks dad's book revealed clues to a killer he couldn't catch back in the sixties. He wanted to look through Dad's computer and desk.”

  “A retired FBI agent, that's interesting,” he said while she watched Sam drive away down the street. “Wait, did you say a killer he couldn’t catch in the sixties?”

  “Yeah. He said he was a FBI agent that tried to catch the October Slayer,” she said while she closed the curtains.

  Marty looked impressed. “Wow, he’s the real FBI agent, Robert Fillert, from your dad’s book,” he said. “Are you going to let him?”

  “Are you kidding? I don't want some ex-cop ferreting around dad's personal items. Dad used his Army experience to fictionalize that old Slayer case,” she said still peeking out the curtain to make sure Sam didn’t return. “Besides, I'm sure a lot of those facts were from Internet websites. You know, dad just played detective with his own theories,” she said then looked down at Marty’s shoes. “Take those shoes off, I just vacuumed the carpet,” she scolded him when she saw the grass stains.

  Marty quickly removed his shoes and held them in his hand.

  Becky walked over and picked up the two tea glasses off the coffee table.

  She walked away. Marty followed.

  “We’ll need to go to Home Depot and buy some bolt cutters for the pad lock to that cabinet,” Marty said while they walked out of the living room and headed to the kitchen.

  “Let’s wait, I found a bunch of keys in dad’s com
puter desk,” Becky said and set the two tea glasses in the sink. “Go get cleaned up for dinner, she said while she walked out of the kitchen.

  The front door bell rang again.

  “What the hell does he want now?” Becky said irritated.

  Marty watched while she stormed to the front door. She opened it up and was about to give Sam a piece of her mind. But she saw Meredith Grayson standing outside on the front stoop.

  “Hello, I’m Meredith Grayson, I live behind Allan’s house. I believe you’re his daughter? I’ve seen pictures of you before,” she said with a sweet tone.

  “Ah, yes, I remember dad mentioning you,” Becky said and felt like a fool for almost cussing out this sweet old lady.

  “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the passing of Allan. He was always nice to me,” Meredith said.

  “Well thank you.”

  “If you need anything, like I said, I’m at the house behind your father’s,” Meredith said then smiled and walked to her car parked in their driveway.

  Becky closed the door. “What a sweet lady,” she said while she walked away through the living room.

  Marty followed Becky while she walked into the kitchen.

  Sam drove his car down I-4. He was nervous being amongst all the drivers who insisted on driving fifteen miles over the speed limit to get to their destinations quicker.

  Sam was disappointed that Allan had passed away meaning he lost his key player into discovering the October Slayer. But he was still determined to press on with is own investigation. While he pondered his next move, his eyes widened with an idea. He opened up his cell phone and broke one of his rules while on the road, he made a cell phone call while driving.

  “Hey Sam. Two phone calls within one week. I’m honored,” George said answering the call.

  “George, I need one more favor,” Sam replied.

  “Sounds like our old FBI days,” George replied with a chuckle.

  “I know. Listen, can you get me the name and address of Allan Stein's editor?” Sam asked.

  “Didn’t you talk to Allan?”

  “No, he apparently died just before the book was published.”

  “I wonder why my contact didn’t tell me that, oh well. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you later,” George said then disconnected his end of the phone call.

  Sam closed his cell phone and Allan’s book filled his thoughts for the remainder of his drive home.

  Later that day, Sam sat at his computer desk.

  On the wall behind it, hung a new map of the United States that Sam bought from Office Dept on the way back from St. Cloud.

  Sam had a pin stuck in the five areas where the October Slayer murdered the girls. A pin with 1962 flag stuck in Oak Hill, Alabama for Rhonda Moore. A pin with 1963 flag stuck in Biloxi, Mississippi for Fran Adams. A pin with 1964 flag stuck in Somerset, Georgia for Sandy Yoder. A pin with 1965 flag stuck in Downing, Tennessee for Angie Gardner. And the last pin with 1966 stuck in Garrison, Arkansas for Annette Watson.

  Sam sat at his desk and stared at the map in deep thought, while he sipped his cup of coffee.

  “Sam, where are you?” Cindy called from the hallway after she entered the house.

  “I’m in my den.”

  Cindy entered and walked over to Sam.

  She saw the map on the wall and rolled her eyes. “How did your the meeting with that author go?”

  “It didn’t. He apparently died of cancer just before the book was published,” Sam said with a disappointed tone.

  “What's your plans now?” she asked but knew the answer.

  “I guess I'll have to clean the rust off my detective skills,” he said while he sipped more of his coffee.

  “Want me to get some navel jelly from the garage?” she jokingly replied.

  Sam chuckled. “I might need some.”

  She looked at his coffee cup. “A cup of coffee would be nice right now.”

  “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 your 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 the 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 might 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.

  Chapter 19

  Later 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 wooden 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.