Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda (21 page)

“In the 1980s he was convicted of killing a couple of people for not paying off their bets. After a long court trial they put him in prison for life and he’s still there.

While he was in prison they used him as a witness against the rest of the mafia, but who am I? I didn’t know about the mafia back then either. Francis would be about my age now, late sixties.”

“Do you know what prison they put him in?” Lee said.

“I heard they just moved him into the state prison in Pennsylvania.”

“Did you know if Bert was an enforcer for the mafia?” Lee said.

“I never knew Bert, but after the murder I heard some rumors that he was an enforcer, and he wasn’t liked by a lot of people in Bridgetown. He was supposed to have beaten up a couple of women at a brothel one night when he was drunk, but as I said, they were just rumors.”

After talking with Tommy for quite some time, Lee got the impression he had learned all he could from him.

Tommy said, “Oh, one more thing. Since your ads have been running in the papers it gives us something to talk about in the mornings here at the coffee shop. Let me know when the book comes out. I’d like to read it.”

“I will. And thanks again for all the information.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lee watched as Tommy picked up his coffee cup and walked over to the table where three other men his age were sitting. He pulled out a chair, sat down with them, and they began to talk.

Lee and Miranda walked out, got into their car, and went back to the mansion.

                                
CHAPTER 40

Present Day

H
uman dramas and love stories have entwined themselves around our hearts, and imaginations since the beginning of time. The letters as Lee read them revealed the struggles of a woman trapped in an era where women knew their place and men ruled with an iron fist, unquestioned in their motives or actions.

Back at the mansion Miranda was working the computer to find out if Tommy was who he said he was.

“Tell me what you think of this. I think we need to develop Bridgetown eyes.”

“What kind of eyes?” Miranda said.

“There seems to be a lot of Bridgetown eyes and tell-tale heart syndrome around here,” Lee said.

“Now what does all that mean?”

“We should start looking at Bridgetown, the way the people who have lived here since the early 1960s look at the town. They all seem to have the same plague. The tell-tale heart syndrome, you know, suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. They all seem to be hiding dark secrets concerning this murder. They all seem to want to free themselves by contacting us. They all seem to think that, once they tell us their story, the haunting will go away. They think it’ll free their minds to move on to other things and free their consciences so they can begin to sleep at night,” Lee said.

“I’ve lived here all my life, and I don’t think I have either of those things, a tell-tale-heart syndrome or Bridgetown eyes. You think if we develop them, we’ll see what we’ve been missing so far?”

“Well, maybe,” Lee said. “Right now it looks like there were a lot of people associated with this event. For example all the men and women we’ve met in the last three days.

It’s unbelievable that this level of interest is still here, and they are all so sincere. Maybe, just maybe, we’re developing Bridgetown eyes and aren’t aware of it yet.”

“I don’t know it sounds pretty crazy to me.”

“Crazy or not, the people are coming out of the woodwork to tell us their stories.” Lee said.

“Tommy seems to be who he said he was,” Miranda said.

“Did you pull anything out of that computer about Francis Como?” Lee said. He stood, then walked to the living room window, the snow had stopped, but not before it covered the ground with a thin coat.             

“Whew, you won’t believe what I found out about him. He’s still alive, by the way. According to the newspapers he struck a deal with the D.A. to testify against the other mafia leaders so they could put them away. He was the only witness to the murders they’d committed. He testified that he was ordered by Joe Russo to murder a guy who wouldn’t pay up a bet he lost. Francis told in explicit detail how he shot the guy in the stomach, then while the guy was dying on his own garage floor, Francis walked over to the guy’s workbench, picked up a chainsaw, and fired it up. He cut the guy’s legs off while the man was still alive. He said the man begged for mercy and he, Francis, said he just laughed at him. He then expressed how much he enjoyed murdering the man and watching him die a slow, painful death. He said it just gave him a rush. He’s serving in the Pennsylvania State Pen for the criminally insane.”

“I was thinking maybe we could go visit this Francis but it would probably be a waste of my time,” Lee said.

Her phone chimed.

“Hello, this is Miranda.” She hit the speaker-phone button.

“Hello, my name is Randy Johnson from Bridgetown. I’m a friend of Harry Winston, the retired Bridgetown policeman you talked to a few days ago. I’m also friends with Detective Jones, who was one of the detectives who worked the Bert Grayson murder. I’d like to know what you’ve learned so far.”

“I’d like to ask you a question,” Miranda said. “What would you like to tell me?”

“Okay, here it is. Detective Jones told me that the police always hold one thing back from the public on a murder case, one piece of information that only the police have knowledge of. The piece of information they held back in this case is, there was a one-legged man with Bert the night he left the hot dog diner. He’s the man they think killed Bert. He fled the state after the murder and settled in Ohio, and that’s where he died.”

“Excuse me, Randy,” Miranda said, “are you saying they thought this guy killed Bert and they didn’t go to Ohio to question him or bring him back to New York?”

“Well, I don’t know, I wasn’t told that information.”

“Well, didn’t you wonder about it when Jones dropped this little clue in your lap?”

“No, I figured the detectives knew what they were doing.”

“Okay, go on with what you were saying.”

“My second wife’s grandmother ran a brothel in Bridgetown and she said she knew who killed Bert. One night when Bert came to the brothel he roughed up my second wife’s grandmother while he was drunk, and she said it was this one-legged man who was in love with the grandmother and killed Bert for revenge for roughing her up that night. The one-legged man lost his leg in World War II when he stepped on a land mine. He was a white man.”

“That’s an interesting comment. Why would you say, he was a white man?”

“No specific reason. I just said he was white for clarification.”

“What was the man’s name?” Miranda said.

“I don’t know, but my second wife knows his name.”

“What was the grandmother’s name?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“You mean,” Miranda said, “you were married to this woman and didn’t know the name of her grandmother?”

“My ex-wife and I didn’t communicate a lot. That is probably one of the reasons we got a divorce.”

“Okay, what is your second wife’s last name?”

“Davidson was her last name.”

“Okay, I should be able to find her,” Miranda said.

“If I come up with more information to tell you, I’ll give you a call back. Bye.”

Miranda and Lee looked at each other wondering what just happened.

“Now wasn’t that the strangest phone call,” Lee said. “The list of murderers keeps growing. These people have to be making this stuff up.”

After some time on the computer, Miranda said, “I ran a list of brothels that were operating in Bridgetown at the time of the murder, and from the information there was only three.”

“Who were the owners?”

“Washington was one. She grew up in Bridgetown and after a bad divorce started the brothel to make a living. She kept five women working all the time. It was a twenty-four-hour operation. It was a rough place. The police were called there often because the men would get violent and beat up on the workers. It operated for ten years, then the police closed it down in 1968. The women all left town, probably going to bigger cities for work. I couldn’t find the owners of the other two.”

“Can you find anything on this Randy Johnson and his second wife?”

“Yes, he’s a retired railroad engineer. His second wife was Janet Davidson, and I ran the background on her grandmother. Her maiden name was Wilson.”

“We’ve had several women who were beat up by Bert. Or was it the same person who was beat up, but different people reporting it to us?”

His phone chirped.

“Hello, this is Lee.” He pressed the speaker-phone button.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m not going to give you my name. I don’t want it associated with this murder. We’re too well known in Bridgetown. My husband didn’t want me to call.”

“You don’t have to give me your name. Just tell me what you called to say.”

“Okay, I knew Bert Grayson’s son. I went to school with him.”

“Wait, did you say he had a son? What was his son’s name?” Lee said.

“His name was John. He lived in the Grace Hill area with his mother.”

“What was his mother’s name?”

“I don’t know, I just knew John. Anyway, he was big like Bert and looked a lot like his father. He was a couple of years older than me. I was thirteen at the time of the murder. He would walk me home after school to make sure I got home safe, and he wouldn’t let anyone bother me.”

“Why would anyone bother you?”

“The area of town I lived in was a rough neighborhood.”

“Was that the same area Bert was murdered in?”

“Yes, I lived down the street from where his body was found.”

“Okay, go on with what you have to tell me.”

“Shortly after the murder, my mother and I went to the indoor carnival in the Hill district of Bridgetown. We were about to get on the Ferris wheel. My mom stopped in her tracks, backed up, then she said. Come on, we have to go home. She was upset. She went right from the carnival to the police station in Bridgetown. She told them the guy running the Ferris wheel is the same guy she saw Bert leave the dinner with the night he was murdered. She used to date Bert Grayson.”

“What did the police do?”

“Nothing. My mom was so upset and hysterical they didn’t believe her story. As I said, I’m not giving you my name. I called because this has preyed on my mind since your ad started to run in the newspaper. Bye.”

Miranda turned toward Lee.

“I’d like to think these people were making this up except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Miranda said.

“The police chief, if you remember, told us about every one of these people. Of course, he didn’t tell us their names, or the people who contacted them after the murder. If you think back to what he told us, he said they investigated what these people said and everything they said turned out to be false or misleading information. At least that was the police version from the chief of police.”

“All of these people can’t be making this stuff up. That means Winslow knew what he was talking about when he said Bert had a son,” Miranda said.

“So you think these people are telling the truth?” Lee said. “They’re contacting us because their parents went to the police and they dismissed the information as unimportant or untrue. So were the police protecting someone involved with this group of people? Remember the anonymous letter we got the other day? When you think about it, the police didn’t seem to believe anything anyone told them.”

“Our secret keepers are breaking apart at the seams. At least that’s what it looks and sounds like to me,” Miranda said.

“So, do we go back to Lilly? It looks like the evidence is swinging in her favor, but it still nags at me that several times in her letters she said it was her fault Bert was murdered and that she could have prevented it. Maybe that’s why she spent so much time in the mental hospital. Maybe it was from guilt and not from fear of George. Maybe that was her cover up after killing Bert. Maybe that’s why George stopped beating her; he was afraid of her. I don’t know, there are a lot of nagging questions yet to be answered.”

Miranda stood, stretched, and smiled at Lee.

“Why don’t we call it a night, Lee? Tomorrow is another day. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Sounds good to me. Would you like some company tonight to keep you safe and warm?”

“No, but thanks for the offer. Maybe some other night. I will say you’re good at taking rejection.”

“Let’s just say I’m a patient person.” he walked over and gave her a hug planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Good night, Kid. Sleep tight.”

There was a loud knock on the door.

“I’ll get it. Stay here,” Lee said.

On the way to the door he went to the living room window and peeked around the curtain. At the end of the driveway he saw dim taillights of a car or truck turning onto the main street from the driveway. He couldn’t see anyone on the porch.

He opened the door and there was a small package setting in on the porch. He carried it to Miranda.

“It’s addressed to you from the FBI. From the weight of it, it’s probably the gun.”

He set the package on the kitchen counter.

As she opened it a note was on top, huh listen to this. “They could only pull a couple of prints from it. One was from the guy who found it and the other was not in the database.”

“Well, at least now we know,” Lee said.