The Road to Justice/Sins of the Son combo pack - A John Fowler Novel (John Fowler (Books 1 & 2)) (11 page)

             
“
Hello, may I speak to Agent Cosby?
”
 
He listened and answered. 
“
This is agent Luke McDonald with the Secret Service.
             

John Fowler

Chapter 21

             
As John drove down the interstate toward the small town where Tom Bradley resided, he had to admit, Jessica knew how to take care of him.  When he got off of the plane, John hadn
’
t even thought about how to get to the Bradley residence.  Jessica had reserved a car for John and had the rental company preprogram the navigation system for him.  As great as that was, Jessica had made sure he had satellite radio.  Eighties music was blaring out of the speakers and John was singing along at the top of his lungs. 

John was smiling and thinking about life.  Not two days ago
,
he contemplated picking up a bottle and taking a drink.  Today, he didn
’
t even think about a drink until the flight stewardess asked him if he would like something on the plane.  He always thought he had been close before to breaking down and drinking.  He never knew how wrong he was about that until he got on the plane.

             
John hated flying.  When the stewardess came by with her cart, it was all John could do not to grab the entire bottle off of her cart.  He settled for a soda, but he kept one eye on the cart as it went by.  John gave an involuntary shudder as he thought about the flight.  It wasn
’
t that the flight was bumpy or bad, but that it was so unnatural.  John shook his head and took in the countryside.  He had gotten very lucky.  The road had every chance of being covered in snow, but it wasn
’
t.  Snow covered the fields and trees, but the road was clear.   John chuckled to himself.

             
John had grown up in Western Kentucky.  This amount of snow would actually have been enough to close down county schools for several days.  It amazed him at
how little snow bothered things here.  Of course there was a huge difference in the type of snow that fell in each region.  Here when it snowed, it snowed.  Back in Kentucky it might be freezing rain, sleet, or just flat out ice.  In the northeast, the drivers here were used to driving in snow
.  W
hen it snowed in Western Kentucky . . . you would think people had never seen the stuff.  John was glad he didn
’
t drive very much in New York, and he had honestly been worried about this drive in Vermont, but it had actually been very nice. 
             

             
Sam, of course, had loved the snow.  He thought she was slightly deranged because of it, but he had to admit New York City was be
autiful at night right after a freshly fallen
snow.  As John looked around the countryside, he thought about how beautiful the scenery was.  It looked like something right out of a Christmas card or one of those 1000 pieces puzzles Sam use
d
to love to work on. 

The GPS interrupted his thoughts.  He turned onto a two lane road.  Deep down he was beginning to feel dread welling
up
in his stomach.  He always hated to talk to spouses of those that had lost loved ones, and he had no idea how he would personally react to this one.  This would be the first interview he conducted since Sam
’
s death. 

             
As he drove down the road noticing the similarities between his former home and Vermont, he thought about his parents.  He loved his parents, but he hadn
’
t been able to face them.   He thought about the look on his Mom
’
s face when he had told her that she had raised a killer.  She had known he hadn
’
t actually killed Sam, but John had never explained to her what he had meant. 

Deep down John knew he had to see his parents soon.  He had to tell them what had happened, Sam would want him to.  Sam loved his parents.  She had always said she had wished her parents had been more like his.  The one thing that John regretted the most since Sam
’
s death was his distancing himself from them.  He knew they
would listen to him, tell him it wasn
’
t his fault, but until now he wasn
’
t ready to hear that.  He didn
’
t even know if he was now.  He did know he was the closest he had been in three years to talk to them about what had happened.  Once again John
’
s GPS interrupted his thoughts. 

He drove through the little town until he came upon the Bradley residence.  As he pulled up in the drive, John steadied himself.  He had no idea what to expect.  He opened the car door and started up the walk.

John walked up to the door and knocked.  A couple of seconds later, the door opened.

             
“
Mrs. Bradley?
”
John asked, extending his hand,
“
I
’
m John Fowler, consultant to the FBI.
”
 
Mrs. Bradley shook John
’
s hand.

             
“
Please, call me Joan.
”
 
She stepped back to let John into the house. 
“
Welcome, and please come in.
”
 
John stepped through the doorway and walked into the house.  John looked around.  To be a doctor
’
s house, it was quite modest.  Joan motioned for him to continue into the living room and offered him a seat.  John sat down on the couch.

             
“
Thank you for seeing me.
”
 
John took a second to steady himself. 
“
I truly mean this, I am sorry for your loss.
”
 
Joan gave him a tight lip smiled and nodded for him to continue. 
“
Joan, I need you to think real hard, do you know of any connection your husband had to the others that were murdered, or the soldier wh
ose funeral they were attending?
”

             
Joan looked down.  John spoke very softly and encouragingly to her. 
“
Joan, take your time.  I lost my wife a few years ago, and I know how hard it is to think about your spouse in any capacity without feeling the grief.
”
 
Joan squeezed John
’
s hand, and looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

             
“
I gave the sheriff a couple of Christmas card
s
that I found,
”
replied Joan. 
“
I have no idea when he met any of them.  The other mourners I mean.  He never spoke about them, and he never hung up the Christmas cards they sent.  He just kept them in a box.  It wasn
’
t hidden in the attic or anything like that.  It was just in a box.  Everything I found I took down to the sheriff last week.
”
 
John nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. 

             
“
Ok, thank you
.  T
hat helps a lot.  Is it ok with you if I pick those items up and take them back to New York
with me?
”
 
Joan nodded. 
“
I don
’
t want to ask you a bunch of questions that the local PD already has.
”
 
Joan smiled appreciatively. 
“
Do you mind if I look around the house and see if I can find anything that might give me a lead?
”

             
“
Mr. Fowler, you have my permission to look anywhere on my property you want.
”
 
Tears glistened in Joan
’
s eyes. 
“
You might try his study, that
’
s where I found the letters.  I have already been through it, but you
’
re the professional, maybe you
’
ll find something I missed.  Would you like a glass of tea?
”

             
John smiled,
“
Thank you
,
Joan.  A glass of tea would be great.
”
 
Joan headed toward the kitchen and John headed toward the study.  John had little hope of finding anything.  He knew if Joan had been through the study and couldn
’
t find anything, unless there were secret panels or something of that nature, he probably wouldn
’
t have much luck.  John began searching Tom
’
s desk, bookshelf, and looked around for any hidden wall safes.  After three hours of thoroughly searching the study, and three glasses of ice tea, John asked permission to take Tom
’
s computer tower back to New York.  Joan agreed.  John walked back into the study and took one more look to make sure he hadn
’
t missed anything.  He couldn
’
t help the feeling that he had missed something.  As he glanced around, he realized he hadn
’
t checked the back of the study door.  He really didn
’
t expect to find a sign with the name of the murderer, but he would take anything at this point.  John closed the door to the study and looked at the back of the door.

             
John gave a low whistle.  Now while what he found wasn
’
t a smoking gun, it was a lead.  A small one, and possibly nothing but a wild goose chase, but it was the first lead he had found in a two week old case.  He walked back into the kitchen where he found Joan.  She was looking through some photo albums at the kitchen table.  John motioned to the seat beside her and she nodded. 

             
“
Joan, did you ever know of Tom living in Kentucky?
”

             
Joan looked stunned. 
“
Agent Fowler . . . how did you know?
”

             
John smiled inwardly at Joan
’
s astonishment.  It felt good to see one of his hunches had actually paid off.  It had been so long since he had one, he had been hesitant to even broach the topic.

John had
found
the
same familiar blue and white calendar that was hanging in John
’
s apartment with his favorite college basketball team on the back of Tom
’
s study door.  John thought Tom was close to John
’
s age, mid to late 30s.  Now while it was possible Tom never lived in Kentucky and was enough of a fan of the Cats to hang a current basketball calendar in his personal study, John doubted it.  Typically if someone was enough of a fan to hang a calendar at Tom
’
s age, there had to be a person
al connection to the team.  John
knew from experience if you had ever lived in Kentucky it was a tradition in many houses for one of two different college basketball calendars to hang.  It was a bit of a leap in logic, but it didn
’
t hurt to ask.

             
“
I think he did,
”
Joan said, looking a little ashamed. 
“
He never talked about it, but there were things he said every now or then . . .  Every year in March he watches college basketball
and roots for the Kentucky team like it
’
s
. . .
”

             
“
A religion?
”
 
John finished the thought for her.  Joan
’
s face lit up.

             
“
Yes!!
”
 
She was very excited now. 
“
Oh and if the games were close . . . he would pace the house like a man possessed.
”
 
Her eyes were sparkling talking about Tom.  John smiled inwardly.  After all he had been through with Sam; he knew telling these stories about Tom were therapeutic for her.

             
“
Was he a quiet man, or loud and boisterous . . . somewhere in between?
”
 
John asked.