Daddy's Gone a Hunting

57

At seven o’clock on Tuesday evening, Frank Ramsey turned off the television in the family room. He and Celia had watched the CBS local news at six o’clock and seen the anchor, Dana Tyler, show the viewers the picture that had been found in the van. Then Celia had gone into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. She was taking a roast chicken from the oven when Frank joined her there. He sniffed appreciatively. “I’m hungry and it looks as though we’re actually going to sit down quietly tonight,” he said.

“I hope so. It certainly hasn’t been that way since the fire.” She glanced at him. “I don’t think you have too much faith that the picture that was found in the van will be useful.”

Frank sampled the mashed potatoes. “Excellent,” he judged. “To be honest, I think I’m trying not to get my hopes up. That picture is the only thing we have that may lead us to whoever was in the van.” It did not even cross his mind to tell Celia about Jamie Gordon’s notebook. That information could not be shared on the outside, not even with her.

But Frank realized that ever since the notebook had been found, Jamie Gordon, the murdered student, had been constantly in his thoughts. He knew the hell that her parents had been living in since she first went missing and then when her body was found a year and a half ago. If this homeless guy was the one who did it to her, he wanted him to pay for it.

Ten years ago they had enlarged the kitchen to include a rounded dining alcove, which had become the place where they ate most of their meals. It had an Amish antique barn door that had been sanded, put on legs, and now served as their table. The built-in cushioned bench against one wall and high-backed chairs on the other side were inviting and comfortable and added to the sense of peace and relaxation at the end of the day. Early on in their marriage, they had both agreed that dinner was for conversation, not for watching television.

Together they put the serving dishes on the table and sat down. In the hope of getting some response to the picture, Frank laid his cell phone beside his plate. Less than a minute later, a call came in. He clicked it on. “Frank Ramsey,” he said.

“Marshal, this is Officer Carlita Cortez. I just answered a call about the family picture that has been distributed and I think it may be the real thing. I think you might want to speak to this woman.”

“Who is she?” Frank laid down the fork that had been halfway to his mouth.

“The caller is Mrs. Peggy Hotchkiss and she lives on Staten Island. She said that the picture she saw on the news is of her and her husband and their son. It was taken forty-one years ago. Her husband walked out on them a short time later. He was a Vietnam vet with serious psychological problems. She never could trace him but has always believed that he might have become a homeless man.”

Frank forgot that the dinner he had been so ready to eat was in front of him. “Put her through.”

Celia watched as her husband listened and his expression became increasingly intense. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Hotchkiss, I can’t tell you how important it is that you called. I can be at your house in less than an hour. You say you have all your husband’s military records there. Can you have them available for me to examine? Let me confirm your address.”

Frank Ramsey disconnected the call and looked at Celia. “If the picture was still in the possession of this woman’s husband, he is Clyde Hotchkiss, a Vietnam vet with a chestful of medals who came home badly damaged emotionally. She told me she’s been praying for forty years that she would find him. I just hope that, if it is the same guy, he doesn’t turn out to be an arsonist or worse.”

Having said that, Frank realized he had almost talked about Jamie Gordon’s notebook.

“Frank, you are going to wait ten minutes and eat the dinner I prepared for you,” Celia said firmly.

“I’m sorry, Ceil, I will,” he said, apologetically. “And, as I said before, the guy who was in the van might have come across this picture years ago. It might have nothing to do with him. But if it does, as a Vietnam vet, his fingerprints are on file with the military. We’ll be able to check them.”

Frank made a quick call to Nathan Klein and they agreed to meet in about an hour in the Staten Island home of Peggy Hotchkiss. Then, knowing how important it was to Celia, Frank began to eat the dinner that he had so looked forward to and now could not taste. He was already measuring in his mind how bad it would be for the anxious woman he had just spoken to about her long-missing husband, if this highly decorated Vietnam vet was both her husband and a killer.

To say nothing of the reaction of Jamie Gordon’s family. The closure that comes from an arrest also brings its own special heartbreak.

It was not the first time in his long career that Marshal Frank Ramsey had reflected on that fact.