The Day Steam Died Part 22

"Thank you, Detective. I feel so much better now." Ann slammed the phone down. "The nerve of that jerk," Ann fumed. "He has the sensitivity of a scorpion."

She wasn't well, Ann thought to herself, but cancer? She never mentioned going to the doctor. No! Marie wouldn't commit suicide even if she knew she had cancer.

She paced around her desk, unable to get over the detective's cruel detachment about her friend. Out of sheer defiant anger, she opened Marie's desk drawer, pulled out a cigarette from her pack of Winston's, and lit it. Smoke curled up the length of the cigarette and drifted into her nose and eyes, stinging them.

More deep drags.

Her irritated lungs spit the burning smoke back up and out her nose, triggering a coughing spasm she hadn't experienced since she had whooping cough as a child. She jammed the cigarette in the ashtray on Marie's desk and ground it into dust. After she coughed out all the smoke in her lungs, Ann ceremoniously raised the ashtray over her head and smashed it to pieces in the trashcan. She was seething and not satisfied with Detective Connell's refusal to investigate further. Marie wouldn't commit suicide-there had to be another reason for her death.

She pulled the suicide note out of her purse. Detective Connell had given it back to her since Marie's death was ruled a suicide. She read it over again for umpteenth time. These weren't Marie's words. She would have been more caring and used more loving expressions in speaking of the children. Ann stopped reading and clamped her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my G.o.d," she said. The note's lower case 'o' had an open break at the bottom of the letter. She checked the spare typewriter and the spreadsheet machine. They weren't damaged nor was hers. Marie's typewriter at home was perfect-it was old but had no damaged lower case 'o' key.

She dumped everything out of her pocket book onto Marie's desk. Sorting through her car keys, house keys, checkbook, and makeup compact, she found Detective Connell's card he'd left with her. It took two tries to get the number dialed correctly she was in such a hurry.

"Detective Connell speaking, how can I help you?"

"This is Ann Blackmon again. I'm sorry about hanging up on you. The cancer was a big shock. n.o.body knew she was sick. But I have some information I think you should have concerning Marie Short's death."

"I'm listening."

"The lower case 'o' on Marie's typewriter isn't damaged like the 'o' on her suicide note. Her home typewriter isn't damaged. I've checked the typewriters in this office and they aren't damaged either."

"What is your point, Mrs. Blackmon?"

"My point is she didn't type that letter, Detective."

"She could have typed it at the library, anywhere. If she didn't, then who did? Mrs. Blackmon, I understand you're upset. But look at the facts: She was dying of cancer and took the easy way out. Being alone, she made it easier on everyone. She died of a prescription overdose. It happens all the time. Please save yourself some grief and get on with your life. You were a good friend to her. Let that be enough."

"But, Detective, how could she know she had cancer? Marie never went to the doctor."

"Again, I'm sorry for your loss, but that doesn't change anything. The case is closed."

Too furious to respond to Connell, Ann hung up on him again. The only typewriter she hadn't checked was Joey's. Could Joey have typed the note and left it in her typewriter to make it look like suicide? Their relationship was volatile, but why would he want Marie dead? If Detective Connell wouldn't investigate, then she would do it herself.

Chapter 48.

"Bankstowne did not roll up its sidewalks or quit. It rolled up its sleeves and went to work to make sure the proud tradition of Bankstowne lived on."

Spring 1966 Seventy-five degree breezes brought new life to Winston-Salem. A grove of fruitless pear trees formed a canopy of white around the sterile tin box of S & T Distributing Company. Pink dogwoods thrived nestled beneath in the shade of the mature trees. Throughout the city blankets of flowers, tall ones, short ones, hues of red, blue and yellow formed a montage of color unequaled by any artist's brush. Winter's death was gone, chased away by the fragrance-laden burst of spring.

Ann seldom spent much time in the warehouse while Jerry was alive. They talked and made plans for the future while he waited for the box cars to be loaded. Then he was gone. Hanging off the side of the lead car, he signaled to the mainline train that arrived to take the precious cargo to its destination in New York.

"What a relief to breathe in the sweet scent of the new season," Ann chirped to Ronnie. "Isn't this weather beautiful?"

"Yeah, for now. In a few weeks it'll be too hot to breathe in here with all the dust flying around."

"Oh, come on. Don't be such a pessimist."

"Easy for you to say. You ain't got to be out here in it all day."

This was the life she had come to accept, at least for now. Unsure what her future would be, Ann quietly planned how she would change the monotony of her lot in this new life. The dock doors creaked, slowly disappearing into the overhead. As soon as they were up, forklifts darted around like water bugs on a pond, loading box cars with Sam's cash crop of contraband cigarettes.

"You had best stay out of the way," Ronnie said on his way out to the loading platform. He took his job seriously, making sure the operators were careful not to burst any of the boxes open. Joey was harsh with him and the crew, docking their pay when cartons were damaged.

"I'll be fine. don't worry about me." Ronnie was already beyond the range of her soft voice, barking orders of his crew.

Ann wanted to snoop around. In all the years she'd worked there, she'd never been inside the office tucked away in the far corner of the warehouse. It was Joey's domain and no one was allowed inside-not even Ronnie. She was sure it would be locked while Joey was in Washington on business with Sam.

There must be a way to get in there, she thought, dodging forklifts as she worked her way toward Joey's office. Tightly closed Venetian blinds hid his office from view in addition to burglar bars that protected the only window.

Ann tried the door handle. As she suspected, the door was locked. Above the door handle was a deadbolt lock. There was no other entrance.

Frustrated, Ann headed back to the front office. She'd put off clearing out Marie's desk long enough. It would be a good time to do that dreaded ch.o.r.e while things were slow in the office.

The side drawers were filled with old files from years past. Those could be interesting, maybe evidence. Ann started putting anything that looked official into an empty box she brought in from the warehouse. It was an official shipping container, complete with the stamped number of cartons of cigarettes it contained and its destination: New York City.

Marie's middle drawer, a catch-all for pens, paperclips, note pads, an open pack of cigarettes, and a romance novel she read during lunch. Little sc.r.a.ps of paper with notes scribbled on them were scattered around: Pick up milk and bread, remember coffee. Get keys made and order new lock.

Ann studied the last note then stretched her arm to the back of the drawer. It was shallow, and the top of her hand sc.r.a.ped against something sharp. The object scratched her knuckle, but she continued to feel around until her fingers touched something cold and jagged. She withdrew her arm, and a handful of dusty keys lay in the palm of her hand. She recognized the front door key and the key for the office door into the warehouse. Four remaining keys were exactly alike, probably for the loading dock doors.

A smear of blood seeped from the sc.r.a.ped knuckle. A wrinkled Band-Aid was among the odd a.s.sortment she'd scooped up from the drawer. With her wound properly bandaged, Ann turned her hand palm up and carefully examined the underside of the desk. Near the back of the drawer, again she felt the jagged teeth of a key taped to the bottom of the drawer. She pried it loose and examined it. This key was from a different lock manufacturer than the others and unlike the others whose edges of the teeth were smooth.

An Acme Lock Company logo was stamped on the handle. Ann's body tingled with fear and excitement. She realized what she'd found.

"What are you doing?"

Ann jumped at the sound of Ronnie's voice and wrapped her hand around the key before sticking her hand behind her back. "Oh, just cleaning our Marie's desk." Ann struggled to sound calm.

"Well, we're going to need some more boxes by next week. Marie always ordered our boxes. I guess that's going to be your job now, at least until Joey hires somebody new. Can you order'em? Marie always kept a copy of the invoices, if you can find one to tell you how many to order. Be sure we get'em in a couple of days. It takes a full day for us to put'em together and stamp'em."

"Yes, of course. I'm sure she has the vendor's list here somewhere. Oh, Ronnie, did Joey tell you he was going to hire someone to take Marie's place?"

"Not exactly. That's what he's doing in Washington. Mr. Sam is pretty particular about who works here. He might send somebody down from Washington. Who knows? Joey don't tell me nothing. Sometimes I hear him on the phone if he leaves the door open. But that don't happen very often. I never seen n.o.body so secretive about everything. Anyway, thought you needed to know about the boxes."

"Thank you. Oh, Ronnie, you mentioned once before that they had a big argument while I was off. What was that about?"

"I'm not sure. Every time she talked to Joey, it ended in an argument. She came out on the dock that morning. It was a Friday, I think. We were really busy loading up some cars and she wanted to talk to him about something. I think she wanted to leave early and Joey told her she couldn't leave. It was noisy so I'm not exactly sure what they were arguing about, but when they started yelling, I put as much distance between me and them as I could."

"Do you remember anything that was said?"

"Just that Joey was really mad and told her he would fire her if he could, and that one day her mouth would be the death of her if she wasn't careful. I don't think he meant anything by it. They yelled back and forth out here all the time. He made cracks like that when he got really mad at her."

"What could she have said to make him so mad?"

"Oh, you know, stuff like she could get him fired and Sam Johnson couldn't touch her, or she could get him and Sam Johnson sent to prison. I did hear her say she was fed up with the way Joey was treatin' her and was going to do something about it before she left."

"What did she mean by 'before she left'?"

"She said she wasn't going to be working here much longer and would deal with him before she left. That's all I know. 'Settling your hash, mister big shot, will be the last good thing I do before I leave this place,' was the last thing I heard her say before she stomped back to the office. Didn't she tell you she was sick?"

"No, she never mentioned it," Ann responded, thoughtfully processing everything Ronnie had just told her. "Did she say what was wrong?"

"Not really. One day when I went to order boxes, she was coughin a lot. She tried to hide it, but I could see something red in her handkerchief like she was coughin up blood. Staring me straight in the eyes she said, 'It's h.e.l.l gettin old, Ronnie. The one thing you enjoy the most in life is the very thing that's going to kill you.'

"She started coughin again. I went over got her a c.o.ke from the machine. I told her to try that, it might help her coughin."

"Thanks. Ronnie. That was really considerate of you. I'll get those boxes ordered today."

"I appreciate it. I don't mean no disrespect for Marie, but I'm glad to be working with you. She could really be hard to get along with sometimes. You know what I mean?"

"I do. Don't you worry, we'll get along just fine." Ronnie nodded his agreement and dragged his heels shuffling back out to the warehouse.

Ann continued going through the Marie's drawers in search of a vendor list. She pulled out a faded, dog-eared notebook then sat down and opened it. It was full of paid receipts for supplies from the c.o.ke and cracker machines to laundry bills. None filed in any kind of order. Tucked in the back off her bottom drawer was a stack of invoices from the Box Factory in Rowan County that hadn't been punched for filing.

Ann took the information from the invoice to place a phone order for five thousand cardboard containers to be delivered in three days. She leafed through the remaining sheets in the binder. They were wrinkled, the holes torn through and pulled out at the slightest touch. Near the back of the book was an invoice for the ring of keys hidden in the drawer. The order listed duplicate keys for all the doors including one she didn't recognize. The last entry on the invoice sent a lightning bolt racing through her body: Install new door lock and deadbolt for back office, no duplicate keys.

Her eyes riveted on the last line of the order. She pounded her clinched fist on the desk. A smothered squeal of "That's it" slipped between her clinched teeth. Marie had secretly made an extra key for Joey's office. That was her secret. She knew what was in Joey's office and must have let it slip out in the argument. Ann was pumped with nervous energy the rest of the day; she knew what she had to do.

Chapter 49.

"You established a historical district and set about returning the graceful old homes back to their original charm and beauty."

Payback Ann and Alice usually sat around the kitchen table and talked after dinner and having put the kids to bed. She shared the kind of day she had at the office. Alice told her what the kids were doing at school and about something fun they did that afternoon. But this evening was different.

"You seem distracted, edgy. What's the matter? You haven't said two words since dinner. Ann. Ann! Are you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry Momma. I need to go back out to the office for a little while. Will you listen for the kids? I won't be gone long. Please," Ann begged.

"It's awfully late, and I don't like you going by yourself. Just last week a woman was murdered in the parking lot of a drugstore."

"I heard about the murder, but our building is lit up like a baseball park. I'll be back in an hour."

"You've never had to work overtime before. What is so important that it can't wait until morning?"

"I was cleaning out Marie's desk today and found the key that might open the door to put Mr. Sam Johnson and his son in prison. I have to do it tonight because I don't know when Joey will be back from Washington. The information I need is in his office and I need to get in there tonight."

"Stop! Do you hear yourself? Have you lost your mind? What are you thinking? Are you willing to risk your life and your family for a grudge you've been carrying since high school? Grow up, Ann, and leave what's past in the past."

"Momma, I don't want to argue with you. You may have forgotten what happened, but I'm the one that was raped and humiliated. Tank and his father tore a hole in my soul that may never heal. He not only violated me but destroyed my youth and a relationship with someone I loved very deeply. They shouldn't go unpunished for what they did back then and what they're doing now. I'll be back as quick as I can." Ann grabbed her mother by the shoulders, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then hurried out the front door.

Chapter 50.

"By building a shopping center, you brought new shops and stores. You didn't let Bankstowne die as so many predicted."

The break-in The evening breeze swayed the surrounding trees casting dancing shadows and sp.a.w.ning dust devils in the secured building's parking lot. A dozen flood lights cast broad shafts of light that bleached the gray walls a stark white. Ann parked under the protective tree line shadows on the edge of the parking lot. She'd studied the revolving cameras before leaving work that afternoon. There was a fifteen second gap in the overlapping sweeps of the two cameras on the front corners of the building.

She wrapped a black scarf over her face and watched the cameras movement waiting for the exact time to move. "Wait, wait, wait, now!"

Ann sprinted for the front door, seeming to outrun her multiple shadows cast by the lights. She inserted the key and swung the door open all in one quick motion.

Once inside, she located the security alarm keypad. Only ten seconds to disarm the security system or she would have a lot of explaining to do. Her heart refused to stop hammering against her chest from fear, not just poor athletic condition.

With the security system disarmed, Ann carefully picked her way through the office toward the warehouse door, following the oval beam of her flashlight scurrying across the floor. The sound of the key opening the warehouse door lock echoed through the empty building. Ann stepped into the warehouse. Her second step caught her left foot on an unseen object that threw her to the floor. The flashlight bounced and rolled across the floor, sending flickering shards of light in all directions before it stopped and blinked off. The brunt of her free-falling body was absorbed by outstretched arms before she slammed onto the wooden flat that had tripped her.

"Dammit!" Writhing in pain, Ann rolled off the flat onto her back and cradled the stabbing pain in her right wrist. "Great, where did my flashlight land?"

Disoriented by the fall, Ann waited until her eyes adjusted to the blackness. With the help of the red Exit light, she was able to get her bearings and located her flashlight. Using her good left arm, she dragged her body over the rough cement floor to retrieve the flashlight. A deep sigh of relief accompanied the beam of light when she tapped it on the floor.

A cursory self-examination revealed a b.l.o.o.d.y knee behind her torn jeans, sc.r.a.pes and splinters on the heels of her hands, and a wrist that felt like it was broken.

Her injuries made her trek across the building to Joey's office door more difficult. Ann mustered all her courage and forced the new key into the lock. A sharp twist opened the dead bolt. Seconds later she was inside.

Her flashlight danced around Joey's office. This must be what Ft. Knox security looks like she thought. There were monitors covering every inch of the building, inside and out. She felt violated.

A typewriter, copy machine, and FAX machine surrounded Joey's desk. Paperwork was neatly stacked in piles sorted by task. A small desk lamp was light enough for Ann to examine those papers.

"Jesus, I don't believe it," Ann blurted out. The lower case letter 'o' in his daily work report and a list of things he wanted to discuss with Sam jumped off the page at her. "Oh my G.o.d, this type matches the broken letter that was on the suicide note." A feeling of nausea overcame her on already shaky legs. She had to sit down.

"I knew it, I knew it," she continued talking as if someone was with her. "I knew Marie wouldn't take her own life no matter how sick she was. d.a.m.n you." She punched the copy machine on to let it warm up while she scanned the rest of the office. She had to hurry before the damaged flashlight died.

A bank of monitors blinked when they changed angles of surveillance. Her car wasn't visible. She prayed her dash to the building wasn't caught on tape. The control board was a maze of dials and switches. Next to the control board were shelves full of dated video ca.s.settes.

Her failing flashlight raced across the racks of video tapes until it stopped on January 3, 1966. Ann yanked the ca.s.sette and shoved it into the VCR. She fast forwarded to the scene of the two reporter's visit. The rear license tag on their car was grainy. A magnifying gla.s.s from Joey's desk enlarged the numbers enough for her to record them: NCS-1221. She ran the tape again to get a better look at the reporters. The image was too grainy to clearly see their faces. That allayed her fears of being identified if her break-in was caught on tape. Tomorrow she would track the shadowy reporters down with their tag number.

The copier's green start light came on. A smile crossed Ann's face when the machine spit out a crisp copy of Joey's work sheet with his signature and agenda with the damaged lower case 'o' in the text. "I've got you now, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d."