Daddy's Gone a Hunting

78

On Thursday morning at seven o’clock, Lawrence Gordon received a call from Detective John Cruse, who explained that two fire marshals who were investigating the explosion at the Connelly complex would like to see him. “Something has come up that we need to talk to you about, sir,” Cruse said.

“It’s about Jamie, isn’t it? Do you know who took her life?”

“Mr. Gordon, we didn’t want to contact you sooner because we knew that what we would tell you would be very distressing to you and Mrs. Gordon, and we wanted to have as much information as possible. Fire Marshal Frank Ramsey and Fire Marshal Nathan Klein and I can be at your home in an hour. I’m not sure what your schedule is today, but can you wait for us?”

“Of course, come right over.” Lawrence had just finished showering and shaving. His bathroom was on the opposite side of their large bedroom and, with the door closed, Veronica had not heard the ring of his cell phone. That was another habit he had acquired in the nearly two years since Jamie had gone missing. Even after her body was found, he had continued to keep the cell phone close to him, waiting for the call that the police had tracked down her killer.

Now, hating to do it, he sat on the side of the bed and put his hand gently on Veronica’s face. She opened her eyes immediately. “Lawrence, is something wrong? Are you all right?”

Veronica often got up by the time he was dressed, put on a robe, and had coffee with him downstairs. But if she was asleep, he never woke her up. Too often, the fact that she was still sleeping meant that she had been awake most of the night.

“Sweetheart, I’m fine but Detective Cruse and two fire marshals are on their way here to talk to us. It’s about Jamie.”

Lawrence watched as his wife closed her eyes in pain. “You don’t have to talk to them,” he said. “I can handle it myself if you want.”

“No, I want to hear what they have to say. Do you think they’ve arrested someone?”

“I don’t know.”

They both dressed quickly. Instead of wearing his usual business suit, shirt, and tie, Lawrence put on casual slacks and a long-sleeved sports shirt. Veronica, her hands shaking, reached for the exercise clothes that were her usual morning choice. She went to the local gym faithfully every morning for a nine o’clock exercise class.

Dottie, their live-in housekeeper of many years, was in the kitchen. The coffee was ready and the table already set in the breakfast room. When she caught a glimpse of their faces, her cheerful “Good morning” died on her lips.

“Three investigators are coming,” Lawrence told her. “We think they may have information about Jamie.”

“You mean about who killed her?” Dottie asked, her voice quivering.

Dottie had worked for them since before Jamie was born. Her grief when they lost Jamie had been as deep as anyone who had not been the girl’s parent could have felt.

“We hope so. We don’t know,” Lawrence said quietly.

When Cruse, Ramsey, and Klein arrived a half hour later, they accepted the offer to have coffee, then sat across the table from Jamie’s parents. Cruse concisely repeated for both of them that Ramsey and Klein were fire marshals and the lead investigators of the explosion and fire at the Connelly complex.

“We have learned that a homeless man had been sleeping at night for probably several years in a van that was parked at the far rear of the Connelly property. It had been in a collision some years ago and left at the back of the parking lot. When the van was discovered to be filled with old newspapers, it was sent to the crime lab. While there, under further examination, Jamie’s notebook was found,” Cruse explained.

“Jamie’s notebook!” Veronica exclaimed.

“Yes. It has her name on it and is clearly the one she was using when she did the interviews of homeless people for the project she was working on. We were able to trace the identity of the homeless man who was living in the van through a family picture we found there. You may have seen it on the news. It showed a young couple with a baby.”

“We both saw it,” Veronica said numbly. “Did that man kill our daughter, and if so, have you arrested him?”

“His name was Clyde Hotchkiss. I must first tell you that he died yesterday morning at Bellevue Hospital.”

Lawrence and Veronica gasped and reached for each other’s hand.

Ramsey waited for a moment, then said, “He had been brought to the hospital when a passerby saw him collapsed on the street near the West Side Highway. He was dying of pneumonia and lived only a few more hours. We were notified because hospital personnel recognized him from the newscasts and contacted us. We were able to speak with him briefly.”

“What did he say?” Lawrence demanded. “What did he say?”

“We asked him about Jamie. He admitted that she got into the van and kept bothering him with questions. He admitted punching her once but claims she jumped out of the van and then he heard her cry, ‘Help me, help me!’ ”

“Did he try to help her?” Lawrence Gordon’s face was pale, his eyes glistening with tears.

“No, he did not. He died admitting only that he had punched her, and swearing that he did not kill her.”

“Do you believe him?”

The marshals looked at each other. “I’m not sure,” Frank Ramsey said.

“I don’t believe him,” Nathan Klein said flatly. “His wife and son, who had not seen him since he walked out on them nearly forty years ago, had also been contacted and had come to the hospital. They were there when we talked to him. His wife begged him to answer our questions, but I think he couldn’t admit to killing Jamie in front of her and his son. The information that we are giving you will be released at a police press conference at noon today.”

“Then he either killed her or ignored her cries for help. God damn his rotten soul to hell!” Lawrence Gordon’s face was contorted with grief and rage.

It was Jamie’s mother who said quietly, “The other day that psychic told me that we would have an answer about what happened to Jamie soon. Somehow I knew she was right. Well, we have an answer, I guess.”

Then, as Lawrence wrapped his arms around her, Veronica began to sob, “Oh, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie!”