A Shadow Fell (23 page)

             
             
             
             
             
             
             
55

             
Very
fortunate that was,
coming across
the young couple on the trail in the state park. If not for that bit of luck I would most likely have been run to ground within a
couple of days
(although, at the time, I had no idea the
police
were that close
behind
me). Finding Eldon Walker’s pickup served me well for a couple of reasons. Certainly it gave me a way of putting distance between myself and that god-forsaken mountain
, b
ut it also gave me an identity. If Walker’s truck had been found abandoned the law would have very quickly associated Walker to the murders. Whether they would have been looking for him as the perpetrator or as a victim wouldn’t have mattered – either way there would have been an exhaustive search undertaken to locate him. As it was, nobody was looking for the loner from Nebraska.

             
I was, however, a little worried that the young couple on the trail would remember the truck well enough to give a good description of it. So I drove it as
far as I dared and sold it to the owner of a
little
used car
operation in
Lexington, Kentucky. Then I made my way to another car dealer and bought an old junker to replace it. With the money I made on the switch I had enough to
get out to California.

             
Eldon Walker’s middle name was Robert so I decided to go by the name Bob Walker just in case somebody who knew him might cross my path some day
and be interested enough to check me out
. It was a common enough name to be easily
accepted
and my identification supported the slight change.

             
I moved around California finding work on farms and
ranches
for a few months and eventually found myself in San Luis Obispo. I took a liking to the place. The weather was almost always perfect and the flow of life seemed pretty easy. There were a lot of places to get casual work without much hassle and I
found a tiny house
to rent in the poorest part of town that suited me well enough and
, best of all,
fit my modest budget.

             
Time passed slowly. Life was uncomplicated but
stripped
of
meaning and, therefore, enjoyment.
The hardest part of my existence was knowing I could never see Callie again.
It was the reason not
a day went by that I didn’t
lament
my actions in Virginia.
Not for a moment
, however,
did my resolve falter that Henderson
had
deserved every moment of his horrible de
mise
– it was only my involvement, and the ensuing effect on my own life, that I
truly
regretted.

5 years later…

             
The ensuing years passed without much happening that was memorable in any way. I lived a rather sad, lonely life, devoid of human contact beyond what was required to do my job. I had been fortunate in finding work with
a plumbing contractor, a small operation that employed three or four
tradesman
. The owner was a Hungarian
guy named Janos Karoli. I’d been with him for about two years, running the office and doing whatever gofer work was required. Karoli was a
big bear of a guy with an intimidating manner but he
treated me okay. He paid me more than I was worth because
, despite his outwardly gruff
appearance, he
felt sorry for me
;
I was an older guy with no family, no assets, and not much of a future.

             
My placid life changed quickly and without warning o
ne day
when Janos
sent me to pick up some office supplies. I took the company truck
,
drove downtown
, and found a parking spot
about half a block from the store. I was walking down the shaded street, not thinking about anything in part
icular, when I glanced up at a middle-aged
couple coming toward me. They were
holding hands
, chatting happily and, like me, not paying any particular attention to their surroundings.

             
As I neared them
it was like a cold jolt of electricity suddenly surged through every fibre of my body.

             
I knew
the guy
. He
was an agent I had worked with briefly at the Bureau many years before on a drug operation.

             
His name was Blackmore. Harvey Blackmore.

             
Because a thick m
orning fog, common along the California coast at certain times of the year
,
hadn’
t yet burned off
I was
n’t
wearing
the
sunglasses
or cap I normally would have been. T
here was no way to effectively hide my identity without being obvious about it.
I could only hope that my full beard and the fact that my hair was worn much longer now and had greyed considerably would save me.
I looked straight ahead and hoped for the best.

             
As I pas
sed
him I saw his reflection in an angled shop window
in front of me
. At first I thought I had gotten lucky. He walked past me.

             
But then
he stopped
. He turned and stared after
my retreating back. I wait
ed
for the inevitable shout to stop. He watched me for several long seconds. I saw his wife stop too, wondering what had captured his attention. Time
came to a shadowy halt.

             
Then he turned back, and he and his wife continued on their way.

             
I
breathed
a sigh of relief. I had been spared.

             
But how long
, I wondered laconically,
would it be until the next incident? When would someone from my past spot me enjoying a
cup of
coffee at a sidewalk café
, or
bump into me at a
ballgame
?

             
There was no way to
discern
the answer to those questions
,
of course
, and n
ot knowing if or when my freedom would
come to an abrupt
end
was the
price I would
always
pay for the sins of my past.

             
Coming to terms with the man I had become was not easy for me either. I was never able to look at myself in a mirror without seeing a tiny speck of the insanity that had once raged in my eyes.

             
Going about my business in the office supply store I was preoccupied with thoughts the sight of Blackmore had
stirred up in my mind
.
Running into him had been a very close call. I hoped he wasn’t still close by. I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to see me again. Another look might be enough to convince him my resemblance to Jack Parmenter was something that needed to be checked out.
I took my purchases and
stepped out of
the
store
. The fog had
started to
lift; I squinted
into sunshine
and
headed for my truck
.
             
Blackmore was nowhere in sight.

             
Janos had asked me to make one more stop while I was out. It was customary for him to treat me and the rest of the guys to lunch every Friday.
I pointed the truck down Marsh Street, heading for a pizza place we used regularly.

             
I pulled into the little parking lot adjacent to
Franco’s Pizzeria.
I went in and ordered a beer to wait out the twenty minutes i
t
would take
for my
pizzas
to be ready
and
used the
interval
to ponder my future. Was it time to move on? Maybe seeing Black
more
had been an omen.

             
“Your order’s up, Bob,” Franco called.

             
I finished off
my
beer and paid the bill. “Thanks, Franco. You take care.”

             
“You too, my friend.”

             
I walked outside, went twenty feet down the sidewalk, then turned into the parking lot.

             
Two cops, with guns drawn and aimed at me, stood behind the hood of my truck. Before I could even come to a stop two more cops
appeared out of nowhere behind me and yelled at me to freeze.

             
Contrary to my earlier hope, Harvey Blackmore had recognized me after all.
It had been my
bad
luck that, six months away from retirement,
he
had decided to take his wife out to the west coast as a thirtieth wedding anniversary present.

             
             
             
             
             
             
             
56

             
My arrest went down without incident.
I allowed myself to be roughly forced to the ground and cuffed.
There was no way I was going to make matters worse than they already were by
giving these guys a lot of grief
.

             
             
As I was being taken to a
San Luis Obispo Police Department vehicle Blackmore approached me. “I’m sorry, Jack
,” he said
.
“
This is not the kind of thing I take any pleasure in.”

             
I gave him an understanding nod. “I know, Harv.”

             
He leaned in close to me and in a hushed voice said, “Keep your lips zipped
tonight
. The Los Angeles office
is
sending people up in the morning.”

             
I was
driven
to the Walnut Street station house
to
await the
arrival of FBI agents.

             
I had a fair bit of time to go over in my mind how I would handle the interrogation that was coming. I decided I would very simply tell the truth – with one exception. I couldn’t see that admitting I had snuffed the life out of Eldon Walker was going to do anybody any good. The fact was Walker was shot twice by Con and nothing I could have done for him subsequently would have saved his life. I may have cut short his existence by an hour or two but I honestly couldn’t consider myself to have murdered him. My decision to deny responsibility for Walker’s death was reinforced by the fact that there was absolutely no way the law could prove differently.
My story would be that
,
although
I profited from his death after the fact
, I did not kill him
.

             
As to
Henderson, there wasn’t much point in trying to sugar-coat what had happened there. It had been a brutal
torture and assassination and the law had undoubtedly uncovered all the evidence to show it. I couldn’t possibly come up with any kind of story that would mitigate the facts and to deny having done it would be preposterous. Why else would I have run, changed my identity, and remained hidden for the past five years?

             
In the morning I was given a breakfast consisting of a
b
oiled egg, a single piece of toast, and a cup coffee
. The egg had the consistency of a lacrosse ball, the toast was burnt and cold, and the coffee was the worst I had
ever
tried to choke down
.
That was the high point of my day. From there things we
re predictably not much fun
.

             
Two senior agents from the Los Angeles office conducted my initial interrogation while Blackmore attended as a courtesy. While Harvey had shown some degree of empathy during my arrest, the L.A. guys were strictly by-the-book.
Special Agents Karaganis and Shaw were
very similar
in looks and comportment. Both were tall, competent, and professional.

             
“You’ve been advised of your rights?” Special Agent Karaganis asked
after introductions were completed.

             
“Yes,” I replied.

             
“And you have elected not to
have legal counsel present
during
this interview?”

             
“That’s correct.”

             
“Do you now wish to make a statement regarding your involvement in the deaths of Reuben Henderson, Conrad Edgerton, and Eldon Walker in West Virginia in 1990?”

             
“Sure
,” I said resignedly
.
“
Where do you want me to start?”

             
“
Why don’t you start by
telling
us
what your relationship was with
Mr.
Edgerton.”

             
“Okay,” I replied.

             
I talked for hours. Except for the odd question to clarify a point here and there, the agents listened without interruption.