Silver Arrow Ch. 13-16

"I've got the computer set up to show you what's on the card," I explained.

He passed it to me and I relayed it to Christie who looked after bringing the pictures up on the computer screen. I handed the mouse to Etchevarry and stepped back so that both he and Litchfield could have a good look.

Just as Christie and I had, they went through the pictures wordlessly the first time, before going back and slowly going through them again. I could hear them make comments now and then, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

The must have gone through the file four or five times before they stepped back from the computer screen.

"Well, there's no doubt it's the murder scene," Etchevarry said. "It's the motel room where they found her. When your wife was found, she was curled up like that and in the corner just as she looks in the last picture."

"I wish I'd known what was in that envelope, Detective. I would have used gloves to handle it and maybe you could have gotten some fingerprints off it or the other items."

He nodded. "Not your fault, Mr. Hansen. You had no way of knowing what was in the envelope. Anyway, we're going to take all this with us to our forensic lab. We may get lucky and be able to lift some DNA off the glue strip. This might be our first break in the case."

"Why now?" I asked. "It's been almost a year since the murder. Why now?"

He shook his head. "Don't know. Maybe he's trying to taunt us. Maybe he wants to see more about this case on the news. If he does, he's going to be disappointed. We're going to keep this to ourselves and I'm asking you to do the same thing. You never know. He might get frustrated and try taunting us again if he thinks he can get away with it."

"Yeah ... I understand. We won't say anything to anyone," I promised, looking over to Christie. I could see her nodding agreement as well.

"Sometimes these guys can't resist being the smart ass," Litchfield said. "They just have to let us know they are so much smarter than us. That's when we have to hope they get too cocky and make a mistake."

"Do you think I'll hear from him again?"

"Could be, if he thinks he's being ignored. When you go to the mailbox, use a pair of gloves just in case he sends another letter. Any evidence at all will be a help."

"Sure, no problem," I said, turning to Christie. Once again she was in agreement.

The detectives left after thanking us for contacting them and promised they would give us any information that they could retrieve from the envelope and its contents. I doubted that, but said nothing. I was hoping that they might be right and that the killer would send another letter. Or better yet, they'd get some DNA off one or more of the three pieces.

I didn't forget about the letter or the pictures. I had saved them on our computer and stuck them in a file where no one but Christie or me would look for them. I had scanned the brief typed letter and put it in the same file. The more I looked at it, the more I wondered what exactly the message was about. Why couldn't Diane accept the truth? What truth ... or the truth about what? I hated cryptic messages and this one fell into that category.

It also stirred up bad memories, and I didn't need that. I thought it might interfere with my growing relationship with Christie; an old ghost that wouldn't go away.

I heard nothing back from the detectives and assumed they had learned nothing from the photographs. So it was quite a surprise a couple of months later when I got a call from Detective Etchevarry.

"Mr. Hansen, were you aware that your late wife had a brother. A step-brother, actually."

"Uhhm ... yeah ... I guess I was. I've never met him though and I don't know anything about him. I can't even remember his name."

"His name is Toby Gottman. He's a service technician for a machinery company based in Cincinnati. He was in Minneapolis until about four years ago when he transferred to the new territory. He travels in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana and Missouri."

"Oh ... okay ... so ... how does he fit into the picture."

"We were doing a follow up on all the people staying at the motel the night your wife was murdered. When we checked the records, he was one of five people who stayed at the motel on a regular basis. Every four to six weeks on average. When we looked a little closer at the five, we discovered the relationship to your wife. It was too big a coincidence to be ignored."

"Yeah ... I can see that. Have you talked to Diane's parents? They would be the best ones to get information on him."

"Already done. Apparently, he and your wife didn't get along. A couple of times she told her mother that she thought her step-brother was spying on her. She also thought he was going through her things in the bedroom, but she never caught him at it according to Mrs. Gottman."

"If I remember correctly," I said, "he was Mr. Gottman's son from a previous marriage. Both he and Diane's mother were widowed and met at one of those group things that help people get over their loss."

"That's right. Her step father's first wife was killed in a mysterious accident that was never really solved. Apparently she fell down the cellar stairs and broke her neck. The son discovered the body. The husband was at work at the time. Your wife's father died of a stroke on the job about a month later. That's how they came to be in the recovery sessions at the same time."

"What do you make of this?" I asked him.

"Nothing yet, but we've contacted Toby Gottman and asked him to come in when he's in Louisville next. We're trying to keep it friendly and non-confrontational so that he won't see it as a threat. We just want to talk to him at this stage."

"Okay. I doubt he'll contact me. As far as I know, he doesn't even know where I live. If by some fluke he does, I won't let him know I talked to you."

"Thanks. That's exactly what I was hoping you'd do. I shouldn't be telling you all this, but you've been good about making sure I get anything that would help and you haven't been talking to anyone about the case, so I feel I can trust you. I hope my trust isn't misplaced."

"No ... I won't do anything to interfere with your investigation. I was wondering though if you'd found any more about the pictures and letter that was sent to me?"

"Not much. But we're still working on it. We haven't quit trying to find the guilty party, Mr. Hansen."

"I know and I'm grateful. I'd like it all to be solved some day soon for no other reason than I can put it behind me and my family."

"I want the same thing, so ... we'll be talking."

When I hung up and wondered just how big a risk Detective Etchevarry was taking giving me all this information. I was pleased that he was and equally pleased that he was taking me into his confidence. I had no intention of betraying that privilege.

Silver Arrow had grown to the point where we (the drivers) were now almost sixty strong with forty-five modern coaches. That's right, coaches ... not buses. In our minds there was a distinct difference. A coach was a highway bus, built for long distances and comfort. The new ones had all sorts of conveniences for both the passengers and the driver. DVD players, quality headphones to listen to a choice of music or the comments of the tour guide, better quality washrooms, and a softer, quieter ride. As the man in front, it was a pleasure to drive them.

It was approaching late fall and the Thanksgiving-Christmas season once more. I had planned to take our happy little bunch to Washington to see the capital, the White House, the Smithsonian and several other famous places. It would be partly a vacation and partly an educational experience for my children. When I discussed the idea with Christie, she was all in favor of it since she'd never been there before. I had been several times while working for Silver Arrow, so I knew my way around.

I arranged my one week vacation around Thanksgiving and we loaded up the Dodge and headed for the east coast and our nation's capital. It was a six hundred mile drive, so we split it into two days each way, with four days in the city. We saw it all. I worried that Bill and particularly Sandy would find it a bit boring, but that wasn't the case. There was always something that captured their interest.

Bill thought the Smithsonian was the be-all and end-all of the trip. He could have spent the entire four days there if we'd let him. Sandy cried when she went to the Vietnam Veterans' Wall. She kept asking over and over again, "why did they have to die?" Debbie was also struck by the emotion the memorial created in her as we all were. It was hard not to come away without a tear in your eye for the terrible loss that it represented.

Debbie was old enough to relate to all the history and familiar sights that the district contained. She told me afterward that what affected her the most was that everything she had read about or seen in books or on TV seemed so much more real when you were there in person. It made her realize how important being there was. She said she would have a much better understanding now when she was studying civics and history.

Christie and I recognized that the trip had been more important to the children than to us. They would each take something from it that would last a very long time. It made the whole vacation worthwhile.

We rented two rooms, with Debbie being the "adult" in one room with Bill and Sandy, while Christie and I had our privacy in another. We had an adjoining door that we used during the daytime, so I was somewhat like a two room suite. To save embarrassment, Bill used our bathroom when he had his shower. He didn't want to be around when the girls got dressed or undressed.

We no longer made any pretense that Christie and I were just friends. Since the day Debbie had caught me sneaking upstairs into the kitchen, she knew what was going on and it didn't take long before Bill did as well. The thing that made it easy for us was their acceptance that Christie was now part of our home, not just a guest. Sandy was happy with the arrangement. She had someone to talk to besides her "bossy sister," and as time went on, we behaved more and more like a family unit. Christie was sleeping with me in the master bedroom, just as Diane had.

What hadn't happened yet was any attempt on my part to make the arrangement formal. I had not asked Christie to marry me, even though I was pretty sure it was what she wanted. To her credit, she never pushed or even brought the subject up. I felt no pressure to make a quick decision. What did bother me was my own reluctance to take that last step. Why was I hesitating? I thought I knew. The issue of Diane's death and her mysterious "other life" was still in the background.

So life went on through the holiday season and into the new year. Our family unit was happy enough. Christie's billing business was doing well and she now had her computer assistance business operating at a profit. The household income was more than enough to meet our financial obligations, plus some spare to put away for vacations or the proverbial "rainy day." I was the "Jolly Coachman," happy in my work and with my new family. There was very little that I could ask for to make it perfect.

To Be Continued