Page 40
Story: Long Road Home
“Whatever it is, we’re gonna handle it. Right?” He climbed into the driver’s seat. “Now tell me who he is.” He squeezed his fingers into a fist on his knee.
“He was in Vegas.” She paused, as though she needed to in order to continue. “With that mystery solving group. Intellectus.”
“In the old church,” Jax said. “That they turned into a kind of library?”
“Yes,” Maizie said, her voice now connected to the car speakers. “His name is Stan Tilley. He was in Vietnam. At one point he was in the same team in the Marine Corps as Malcom Banbury.”
“They knew each other?” He had an old friend who worked in military intelligence, who might be able to pull up old records. Find out if the relationship was friendly, or full of animosity.
“After the Marines, Tilley dropped off the map. Rumors in an autobiography on a senator that’s been extensively pirated on the internet claims they were part of a secret groupthat let the government pump them with drugs. They were sent out on missions during the Cold War, and unofficially credited with a few dozen high-profile assassinations.”
“So he’s a killer.” And yet, he hadn’t killed Kenna.
He’d been taking pictures of her for the real killer. Which made Tilley the accomplice. Maybe even the mentor.
“And he can tell us where the Walker is.”
Chapter Twelve
Sunday, 7:30 p.m.
Door County, Wisconsin
Kenna shut off her car. “One second.” She pulled the earbuds from their case and stuck them in both ears, leaving the sound low and ambient so she didn’t miss anything.
It wasn’t worth the risk for someone to come up behind her and catch her unawares.
She didn’t get out of the car, but closed her eyes for a minute. “Can you hear me?”
“I can,” Maizie said. “And this might be crazy, but is it at all possible that Marion Wells is the killer Forrest is writing her book about?”
“You tell me.” Kenna’s head still pounded from getting knocked out. This had been a long day, to say the least, but she wanted to find Stan Tilley, which was why she’d driven all over town after Maizie called to tell her why that witness sketch looked familiar.
All she remembered about him was an older man, heavyset, asleep in a tall-backed chair. In a church that had been converted to a sort of library and meeting house, for the mystery solving group Intellectus. The fact he’d known her father was a new piece of information.
Of course, he did.
Sometimes it seemed like nearly everyone had known him. Or read one of his overly sensational novels, or watched a movie based on one. It was a wonder she ever met anyone who didn’t know who she was, as his daughter or in her own right. But when she did—like with Marion, who must live with her head in the sand—she preferred to remain anonymous. Shame about the part where Marion was a stone-cold killer with no conscience.
“I can’t believe she actually had her husband’s head under her bed.” Kenna shook her head, not quite able to grasp the fact there had been yet more to this case than she realized.
“You’re drifting, I think. Don’t you need to sleep?”
“This is the last motel,” Kenna said. “I’ll just go in, flash his picture, and then head home. How have you been sleeping?”
“I usually have music playing all night, and I leave the lamp on. Sometimes I wake up and think I’m back…” Maizie’s voice trailed off. “Then I see where I am.”
“That’s good.” Kenna had done something similar for a while. Then again, the light had been on this morning when she woke up, so maybe she still did it. “So what have you got on the case file number Pastor Bruce gave me, the police ID’ing the head, the witness sketch, or anything else?”
Maizie sighed. “I’m looking. And Jax hasn’t heard back from his boss yet about his request.”
“It’s a Sunday.”
If she could find Stan Tilley and get him in custody, Jax wouldn’t have to come to Wisconsin. She could ask Stan all the questions Jax wanted answers to, and he could at the most just maybe come here and transport Stan back to California. Then again, there were plenty of people who could do that.
He didn’t need to put himself in the line of fire.
She wanted to call his boss and feel the guy out. See if ASAC Clarke was leaning toward Jax staying in California, waiting for the Walker to make his move, or if he was amenable to Jax following up on the Stan Tilley lead and coming out here.
“He was in Vegas.” She paused, as though she needed to in order to continue. “With that mystery solving group. Intellectus.”
“In the old church,” Jax said. “That they turned into a kind of library?”
“Yes,” Maizie said, her voice now connected to the car speakers. “His name is Stan Tilley. He was in Vietnam. At one point he was in the same team in the Marine Corps as Malcom Banbury.”
“They knew each other?” He had an old friend who worked in military intelligence, who might be able to pull up old records. Find out if the relationship was friendly, or full of animosity.
“After the Marines, Tilley dropped off the map. Rumors in an autobiography on a senator that’s been extensively pirated on the internet claims they were part of a secret groupthat let the government pump them with drugs. They were sent out on missions during the Cold War, and unofficially credited with a few dozen high-profile assassinations.”
“So he’s a killer.” And yet, he hadn’t killed Kenna.
He’d been taking pictures of her for the real killer. Which made Tilley the accomplice. Maybe even the mentor.
“And he can tell us where the Walker is.”
Chapter Twelve
Sunday, 7:30 p.m.
Door County, Wisconsin
Kenna shut off her car. “One second.” She pulled the earbuds from their case and stuck them in both ears, leaving the sound low and ambient so she didn’t miss anything.
It wasn’t worth the risk for someone to come up behind her and catch her unawares.
She didn’t get out of the car, but closed her eyes for a minute. “Can you hear me?”
“I can,” Maizie said. “And this might be crazy, but is it at all possible that Marion Wells is the killer Forrest is writing her book about?”
“You tell me.” Kenna’s head still pounded from getting knocked out. This had been a long day, to say the least, but she wanted to find Stan Tilley, which was why she’d driven all over town after Maizie called to tell her why that witness sketch looked familiar.
All she remembered about him was an older man, heavyset, asleep in a tall-backed chair. In a church that had been converted to a sort of library and meeting house, for the mystery solving group Intellectus. The fact he’d known her father was a new piece of information.
Of course, he did.
Sometimes it seemed like nearly everyone had known him. Or read one of his overly sensational novels, or watched a movie based on one. It was a wonder she ever met anyone who didn’t know who she was, as his daughter or in her own right. But when she did—like with Marion, who must live with her head in the sand—she preferred to remain anonymous. Shame about the part where Marion was a stone-cold killer with no conscience.
“I can’t believe she actually had her husband’s head under her bed.” Kenna shook her head, not quite able to grasp the fact there had been yet more to this case than she realized.
“You’re drifting, I think. Don’t you need to sleep?”
“This is the last motel,” Kenna said. “I’ll just go in, flash his picture, and then head home. How have you been sleeping?”
“I usually have music playing all night, and I leave the lamp on. Sometimes I wake up and think I’m back…” Maizie’s voice trailed off. “Then I see where I am.”
“That’s good.” Kenna had done something similar for a while. Then again, the light had been on this morning when she woke up, so maybe she still did it. “So what have you got on the case file number Pastor Bruce gave me, the police ID’ing the head, the witness sketch, or anything else?”
Maizie sighed. “I’m looking. And Jax hasn’t heard back from his boss yet about his request.”
“It’s a Sunday.”
If she could find Stan Tilley and get him in custody, Jax wouldn’t have to come to Wisconsin. She could ask Stan all the questions Jax wanted answers to, and he could at the most just maybe come here and transport Stan back to California. Then again, there were plenty of people who could do that.
He didn’t need to put himself in the line of fire.
She wanted to call his boss and feel the guy out. See if ASAC Clarke was leaning toward Jax staying in California, waiting for the Walker to make his move, or if he was amenable to Jax following up on the Stan Tilley lead and coming out here.
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