Chapter 12 - THE WAREHOUSE ON RIVER ROAD|
Tyler Reese looked ready to leave immediately.
I caught his sleeve.
"Sit down."
"Ma'am—"
"Sit."
He obeyed.
He was nearly twice my size.
His forearms looked strong enough to lift a refrigerator.
But at that moment, he looked like a frightened boy.
I had seen that expression before.
Fifty-six years earlier, soldiers used to wear it while waiting for helicopters in the dark.
"You're not going to that warehouse alone," I said.
"He's threatening you."
"Yes."
"Then I have to do something."
"You do."
He stood.
I pointed at the chair.
"Something intelligent."
He sat down again.
I called Colonel Mercer.
Then I called Special Agent Chen.
Within minutes, both knew about the message.
Chen told Reese not to reply.
She asked him to preserve the message and provide his phone for appropriate examination.
She also made it very clear that nobody would be visiting an unknown location simply because a frightened man had demanded it.
Tyler looked frustrated.
I understood.
When someone threatens a person you care about, waiting can feel unbearable.
But impatience is not courage.
Sometimes it is simply another way to give danger exactly what it wants.
"Sergeant," I said, "your grandfather was a careful man."
He looked at me.
"Was he?"
"Very."
I smiled faintly.
"He wrote everything down."
Tyler looked at the letter in his hand.
"Yeah."
"Then honor him by using your head."
He nodded reluctantly.
Investigators checked the location.
The warehouse had once belonged to a medical distribution company.
It had closed years earlier.
The property records showed several changes of ownership.
One of the former owners was connected to a company associated with the Harlan family.
That was enough to make the location significant.
But not enough to tell us whether Voss was there.
While investigators pursued the lead, I spent the afternoon at home with Edward.
He sat beside my kitchen window.
The yellow maple leaves moved in the wind.
I made chicken soup.
He told me it needed more salt.
I told him he could cook his own dinner.
For a while, we were simply old friends.
Then he looked at me.
"Quinn, do you ever regret staying?"
I set down the ladle.
"Staying where?"
"In Vietnam."
I thought about the question.
I had been offered a transfer shortly before the evacuation.
A safer assignment.
A hospital farther from the fighting.
I had refused.
At twenty-five, I thought I understood duty.
At eighty-one, I understood it differently.
"I regret some things," I said.
He nodded.
"But not staying."
"Why?"
"Because I would have spent my whole life wondering what happened to the people I left behind."
Edward looked down.
"I did spend my life wondering."
I touched his shoulder.
"Then perhaps we've both been waiting for the same thing."
"What's that?"
"Permission to stop blaming ourselves."
His eyes filled.
Before he could answer, my telephone rang.
It was David Bennett.
His voice sounded excited.
"Captain Braddock, we found something."
"What?"
"My grandmother kept another letter."
"From Clara?"
"Yes."
I gripped the receiver.
"What does it say?"
"She wrote that the black case wasn't the only copy of the evidence."
I closed my eyes.
"Where is the other copy?"
David hesitated.
"She said it was with someone she trusted."
"Who?"
He read the name.
"Ruth Whitaker."
I sat down.
Samuel's wife.
The young woman who had waited for her husband to come home.
The woman who had been told he died honorably during an evacuation.
I hadn't spoken to Ruth in decades.
After the war, I had written her a letter.
She replied once.
Her handwriting was beautiful.
She thanked me for trying to save her husband.
Then she asked whether he had suffered.
I told her he had been unconscious during the final evacuation.
I had believed that was the truth.
Now the memory of that letter burned.
"David," I asked, "is Ruth still alive?"
He paused.
"Yes."
My breath caught.
"Where?"
"Columbus, Ohio."
I closed my eyes.
Ruth Whitaker was eighty years old.
She had never remarried.
She lived in a small brick house with a white fence and a garden of red roses.
And according to David, she still kept Samuel's photograph beside her bed.
I felt tears rise.
"Does she know we're looking for her?"
"Not yet."
I looked at Edward.
He was watching me.
"Then we need to tell her."
Before we could make arrangements, Colonel Mercer called.
His voice was tense.
"Captain, investigators have located Major Voss."
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"Is he under arrest?"
"He's being interviewed and the relevant authorities are determining what charges, if any, are supported."
I exhaled.
"Good."
"There's something else."
I waited.
"Voss says he wasn't the person who threatened you."
I looked toward the window.
"Do you believe him?"
"That remains to be established."
"Then what does he say?"
Mercer hesitated.
"He claims someone within the Harlan foundation instructed him to alter the memorial."
"Who?"
"Charles Harlan."
I remembered the name.
Frederick Harlan's grandson.
The president of the foundation.
"What did Charles want?"
Mercer's answer chilled me.
"He wanted the historical record to show that the evacuation never involved a disputed order."
I stared at the wall.
"Why?"
"Because the foundation is preparing a major exhibition celebrating Frederick Harlan's leadership."
I felt my anger rise.
The dead men had become obstacles.
Their suffering had become an inconvenience.
And somebody had decided that the easiest way to protect an old reputation was to change the names on a wall.
Then Mercer said something unexpected.
"Captain, Voss has also admitted that he sent Reese to confront you."
"I know."
"But he says he never expected Sergeant Reese to threaten you."
I looked at Edward.
"That's an interesting distinction."
"There's more."
I waited.
"Voss says Charles Harlan has been paying people to search for the missing documents."
My hand tightened around the receiver.
"How long?"
"At least several years."
I thought of Clara's spelling book.
Of Edward's black case.
Of Peter Reese's notebook.
Then I thought of Ruth Whitaker.
"Daniel," I said, "we need to find Ruth before anyone else does."
He was quiet.
"Why?"
I looked at Edward.
"Because she may have been keeping the final piece of this story for fifty-six years."
At that moment, Edward's phone rang.
He answered.
Then his face went white.
I watched his hand begin to shake.
"Who is it?" I whispered.
He looked at me.
"It's Ruth."
My heart stopped.
Edward listened.
Then he whispered, "Dear God."
I grabbed his arm.
"What happened?"
He lowered the phone.
His eyes filled.
"Quinn, she's been waiting for you."
May you like
He swallowed.
"She says Samuel left something for you before he died."
