Secret Keepers and Skinny Shadows: Lee and Miranda (23 page)

“So now we’re trying other avenues to get the information,” Lee said.

“I may have the resources to help with that. I’ll give you a call later or I’ll have someone give you the information,” Duncan said as he took a sip of coffee.

“Anyway, back to what I was saying. After talking with you on the phone about the letters, Miranda, I searched through the newspapers on the computer website. I came up with some information that seemed too buried where the police hoped it wouldn’t be noticed,” Duncan said, as he uncrossed his legs.

“Someone must have put pressure on the police to place another composite picture in the papers a year after the murder. In my way of thinking, if I didn’t want anyone to notice it, I would wait a year and place it in the paper, and have the paper bury it in the back pages.” Duncan paused and winked at Miranda.

“I said all that to say I think I came up with something that not many people are aware of or who paid any attention to. I came up with a second composite picture of a man who they say left the hot dog dinner with Bert Grayson the night of the murder.”

Duncan slipped his hand into his shirt pocket and came out with his leather wallet again. This time instead of money he took out a white folded paper. He handed it to Miranda. She looked at it and handed it to Lee.

“This is the first time I’ve seen this picture,” Miranda said. “He looks familiar, but I don’t know why. Does the picture ring a bell with you, Lee?”

Just as Lee was about to answer, Duncan interrupted them.

“Miranda, thank you so much for the coffee. It was incredible, just like you are, dear.”

Duncan stood from his chair, smiled at Miranda, then stuck out his hand to shake Lee’s. Lee looked him in the eye and shook his hand.

“Lee, it was a pleasure to meet you. You and Miranda make a perfect couple. Miranda, I see why you like this guy. Stop and see me when you’re in my end of the country. You’re always welcome.”

Miranda brought Duncan his overcoat and watched him as he put it on.

“I’ll miss you, Duncan. Hurry back to see me.”

“Duncan, it was great to meet you, Miranda is lucky to have a friend like you.”

Duncan turned around and looked at Miranda, then reached out his big paws, scooped her up in his arms, and hugged her tight for a couple of seconds.

“I’ll miss you as well, sweetie.”

Duncan hurried down the porch steps and into his waiting blue car.

Miranda and I stood at the opened door and watched as Duncan’s Bentley wove its way down the tree-lined driveway, passed through the tall gates, and merged into the traffic flowing south.

After closing the door they turned around and walked back into the kitchen. Lee walked over and picked up the composite picture.

“Why does he look so familiar?” And why doesn’t it look anything like the other composite picture?”

Lee stood at the kitchen counter with his hands on my hips.

“What are you thinking, Lee?”

Lee was about to speak when his phone jingled.

“Hello, this is Lee.”

“This is Rose May from the Bridgetown School offices. I have the information you said you were wanting. It’s the school log of the children who attended the fifth-grade class in February 1962. If you could give me a fax number, I’ll be glad to fax it to you.” Miranda scribbled down the fax number and handed it to Lee.

Lee read her the number. “Thank you so much for that information.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sending it now. Lee, I hope you have a great day and I’m glad I could help. If you need anything else, please call me.”

Miranda’s fax machine started to spit out paper. They had the list.

“Lee, do you think they got a call from Duncan? What could he have said to make them change their minds?”

“Isn’t that just like a woman?” You get what you want, then you want to question it to death.”

They stood together looking at the boy’s names on the list.

“I’ll run each one and see who they’re related to,” Miranda said.

Miranda was running information on the third boy on the list when she stopped and said, “Look at this name.” She pointed to the name Charles Curry.

“Do you think he’s still around?” Lee said.

“I don’t know, but it would be worth its weight in gold to find out. I’ll check the listings in the white pages.”

A few moments later she found it. “Yes, here’s one, Charles Curry, and he lives in Bridgetown.”

“Instead of calling him, why don’t we stop by and visit him. That way he won’t have time to make up anything or run away,” Lee said.

“Do you think we should bring the police in on this now?”

“I think we can wait a bit longer, Miranda, then bring in the FBI, not this police department.”

                           
CHAPTER 43

Present Day

L
ee followed the GPS directions to the south side of town. “Why are the houses so tall and skinny? Each house can’t be any wider than twenty feet. They look like houses from a cartoon book, not real homes,” Lee said.

“I think most of the places we are passing were built in the 1800s. The workers tore apart the railroad box cars and used the wood to build their houses, that would be my guess,” Miranda said.

“Oh, here we are. I’ll park behind that old faded red pickup truck,” Lee said.

They got out and looked at the two-story wood-sided house. It needed some work and a good paint job.

“Let me do all the talking,” Lee said.

“Okay, it’s all yours. I won’t say anything until you give me a sign.”

Lee, followed by Miranda, walked up on the front porch and knocked on the door.

After a few seconds the door flew open. There, filling the doorway, loomed a good-looking, slightly balding man. He looked from Lee to Miranda and said, “Yeah, what do you want?”

“Hello, I’m Miranda Witherspoon and this is Lee Perkins.”

Lee’s mouth dropped open as he rolled his eyes at Miranda with the look of
I thought I was going to do all the talking
. Lee stuck out his hand and received a limp handshake in return.

“Hi, are you Charles Curry?” Lee said.

“Yeah. It’s Chuck. Why do you want to know?”

“We’re doing investigative research on the murder of Bert Grayson and would like to ask you some questions,” Lee said. Through the opened door, Lee could see a middle-aged woman standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Her jeans bulged at the hips and flared out at the bottom. Her white blouse was tucked neatly into the bulging waist, with a brown leather belt holding it all together. She was tapping her foot to some music playing on the radio.

“Okay,” he said in a whisper, “but not here.” He craned his neck back over his right shoulder in the direction of the woman in the kitchen washing dishes. He was a big guy. His blue jeans were torn at the knee and faded in spots. His checked hunting shirt was hanging loose at the waist. The bottom button was open, revealing his hairy belly rolling over his belt. His glasses were taped together on the nosepiece. His voice had a soft tone. He turned his attention back to Lee, who could see he didn’t want the woman inside to hear him.

Lee whispered, “Where would you like to talk?”

“I’ll meet you at the Coffee Grind in Bridgetown in fifteen minutes. I have some things to finish up here first.”

“Fifteen minutes at the Coffee Grind. We’ll head over there now so we won’t miss you,” Lee said, as he craned his neck and stuck out his chin at Miranda, while shrugging.

Chuck closed the door. Lee and Miranda walked back to the car. After they got in and closed the doors, Lee said, “Why don’t we sit here a few minutes to see what this guy does?”

Miranda nodded.

Just then, Chuck came out of his house and walked to the third house from his to the north. He knocked on the door, an older woman opened it and stepped out on the porch, they chatted for a couple of minutes. Then the woman went back inside and closed the door. But Chuck didn’t leave. He stood on the porch for a couple of minutes then woman came back out and handed him a brown paper bag. He turned, walking away from his house and the woman went back inside closing the door.

They watched as Chuck got into an older green pickup truck and drove off.

“We better head over to the coffee shop. I wouldn’t want to be late for this meeting,” Lee said. “And great job letting me do all the talking.”

“I felt this time a woman’s touch was needed. That’s all there was to it.”

“Okay, okay, forget about it. Let’s get going to the Coffee Grind.”

“But, wasn’t that strange the way the whole thing went?”

“Yes,” Lee said. “It was almost as though he was expecting us. He certainly didn’t want the woman doing the dishes to hear. Maybe she is his wife and doesn’t know anything about it.”

The snow that had fallen was all but gone and the sky was clearing. A bus passed Lee’s car, splashing water and ice onto his windshield. A couple of kids were laughing and playing outside on the street. As Lee drove his car over the bridge with the railroad tracks below, the acrid smell of coal dust stung his nose.

Miranda waved her hand in front of her face. “I sure am glad I don’t live around that stink all the time. Do you think he’ll really show up? I mean, he wasn’t just trying to get rid of us?”

“We’ll know the answer to that in a few minutes. Anyway, we know where he lives, so that wouldn’t be too smart.”

They found a table in the Coffee Grind and were drinking coffee when Chuck walked in and made his way over to their table.

“Have a seat, Chuck. What can I get you?” Lee said.

“A regular cup of coffee would be good.”

Lee got up and ordered the coffee, then brought it back and placed it in front of Chuck.

“I know why you guys want to talk to me. I’ve been keeping this bottled up inside all these years, but I was always afraid to say anything.”

“Why? What were you afraid of?” Miranda said.

“I was afraid my Uncle Leslie would come after me if I ever said anything to anyone.”

Lee’s head snapped back to look at Miranda. She had caught the name as well.

“Everyone in the family knew you didn’t mess with him he was a powerful man in the city, and no one ever crossed him.”

“Chuck, was your Uncle Leslie named Leslie Darrell?” Lee said.

“Let me finish, then I think you will understand. It didn’t matter if what Uncle Leslie did was against the law he got away with it. When I saw your ads running in the newspaper, the thoughts drifted around in my head to contact you, but I was still afraid after all these years, if you can believe it.”

“Are you the one who sent us the anonymous letter with the obit in it?” Lee said.

“Yes, but I was still afraid my uncle could reach out from the grave and kill me.”

Lee looked at Miranda, then back to Chuck.

“Chuck, we know about the incident in the fifth grade with your uncle,” Lee said.

“But how did you find out about that?”

“Someone stopped by the house and told us about it,” Lee said.

“Wow, who would that be?”

“We wouldn’t give out any names to protect the people who did come forward,” Lee said. “Would you like to tell us in your own words what happened? Would you mind if we record what you’re going to say?”

“I don’t care after all this time, record it. It has to come out sooner or later. I just wish I had told my wife about it. I hate for her to hear it this way.”

“Why don’t you take a few minutes now and call her and tell her the story and then we can go on with this,” Lee said.

“Oh, yes, I guess I should,” he said as he got up and went behind the latticework wall to call his wife.

Ten minutes later he walked back to the table and sat down. “It’s done. She wasn’t happy that I didn’t tell her, but she said she understood. I told her not to worry, that I would handle everything. She said she loved me, and would see me tonight.”

“You did the right thing, Chuck. She needed to know,” Lee said.

Chuck nodded. “Well, I guess I should tell you the whole story just as it happened.”

Miranda set up the recorder and Chuck started to talk.

“It’s been bottled up for such a long time. Here’s the story. The night of the murder, loud noises woke me up from a sound sleep. I made my way out to the top of the stairs. I couldn’t figure out what was going on, why Uncle Leslie was there. I grabbed the banister and sat down, leaning my head between two rails.” Chuck paused and cleared his throat.

“I had a perfect view down into the kitchen. Uncle Leslie was having a loud, heated discussion with mom and dad. At first I didn’t know what I was seeing. Uncle Leslie had something red all over his hands and arms, and even on his head. It looked like blood, he was holding a knife that was covered with blood in his one hand. I mean, it was all over him. He had on a white shirt and black pants. The blood soaked his shirt. Uncle Leslie’s voice was angry, with a maniacal tone. To this day I could never get the tone of his voice out of my head. He was demanding that mom and dad give him money because he had to get out of town in a hurry. Dad asked him about work, and he said he’d call into the office tonight and tell them he’d be gone for a couple of weeks on business. Mom kept asking him, ‘Leslie, what did you do?’ He stared at mom for what seemed like hours, but it was only a couple of seconds.” Chuck paused and blew his nose.

“I got revenge, sis. I got revenge on the guy who beat up our mom that night in the brothel.’ My foot was getting numb, so I shifted my position. It was then that Uncle Leslie looked up. I must have bumped the railing, and it attracted his attention. You could have heard a pin drop. They stopped talking. Mom and Dad looked up. I could see mom starting to get up from her chair, so I jumped up, went back to my room, and got into bed. I could hear dad say, ‘Chuck you stay here.’

“Mom came up. I pretended to be asleep. She pulled my blankets up around my shoulders, kissed me on the head, closed the door and went back downstairs. In a couple of minutes they started to talk again. I fell asleep and that was all I ever heard about it until I was a teenager.” Chuck paused and took a sip of coffee.

“Uncle Leslie killed his first wife one night while having rough sex. He had most of the Bridgetown officials in his pocket and bribed the judge, so he got off with a light sentence of seven years but only spent four years in prison. After he got out of prison he finished his education and went back to work for the city as the finance director until he died a couple of months ago.”

“You were what? Eleven years old? That’s pretty young to remember in such detail what happened,” Lee said.

“Well, I was eleven going on twelve because of the way my birthday fell. At any rate, it was such a traumatic experience that I could never forget it.”

“I could only imagine. So you went to school the next day and told the class and teacher what happened?” Lee asked.

“I was still upset by what I saw and heard, but they didn’t believe me. The teacher told me to sit down and stop making up stories.” Lee and Miranda were hanging on his every word.

“So your mom and dad knew about this as well and didn’t say a word. Do you know what they did with the knife?” Lee asked.

“Well, in their defense, Uncle Leslie no doubt threatened them. As far as the knife, I picked that up on my way here. I have it in a paper bag in the truck. My mom gave it to her aunt to keep and she has hidden it all these years.”

“Wow, and no one went to the police? Why not?” Lee asked.

“We were all afraid of my uncle, and the police were in his back pocket. We had no choice until he died.” Chuck put his head in his hands, and was silent for a couple of minutes. Lee looked at Miranda. She shrugged.

“Chuck, are your mom and dad still alive?” Lee said.

“No, they both died in a car accident a couple of years ago. I always thought it was a strange accident.”

“What was strange about it?” Lee said.

“They had just had the brakes on their car replaced, and that night they were coming down the reservoir mountain road. It was a snowy and icy road that night. On one of the curves I guess the brakes didn’t work and they went through the guardrail and over the cliff and died when the car crashed at the bottom.” Lee and Miranda exchanged glances as he continued to talk.

“A friend of mine took the car to his junkyard, and a year later I ran into him here at the coffee shop and he told me had gone out to get a brake part from my mom and dad’s car and noticed that it looked like someone had cut the brake lines. The first person to pop into my mind was Uncle Leslie. I never said anything to anyone. By this time I was thinking he was a serial killer.”

“Why, when you were older, didn’t you tell the police what you knew?” Lee asked.

“I ran into Uncle Leslie after he got out of prison for murdering his first wife. It was then that he said he saw me at the staircase that night. He told me if I ever said anything to anyone he would take care of me the way he took care of Bert Grayson for beating up his mother. I had no reason not to believe he wouldn’t do what he said he would do.”

“So how did your uncle know it was Bert Grayson who beat up your grandmother?”

“I guess my grandmother must have told him it was Bert who beat her up one night when he was drunk. Bert used to date my grandmother who ran a brothel in Bridgetown. Bert went in the brothel one night when he was pretty drunk got her alone in one of the rooms and blackened her eyes and knocked a couple of her front teeth out. She said it was her fault because Bert was jealous. He didn’t want her seeing other men. Uncle Leslie was getting revenge for her. My dad told me he was the one who sent the composite picture to the newspapers a year after the murder hoping someone would recognize him, but I guess the police were in his back pocket, and maybe the police were as afraid of him as I was.”