Birdsongs (13 page)

    “OK Rachael. Thanks again,” Jerry Lee said sincerely.

Chapter 35

   Benny and Vernon decided to split up for the day. Benny would investigate the claims made by Danny Hill’s mother and Vernon would try to make contact with some of the late Ryan Mableton’s co-workers. Vernon hustled on over to Farrah’s apartment, the devastated fiancée, in search for Ryan’s boss’s number. Since the last time he had seen her she had lost weight, grown rings under her eyes, and he swore he could see time ticking in her movements. Farrah’s voice gave away the fact she was done, had mailed it in; the rope’s end was in sight. Her apartment’s appearance gave Vernon a shiver and an ache stabbed at his heart. The windows of the apartment were covered with a grungy, heavy material that reminded Vernon of horses and barns. The room was a strange and eerie dark, like a mid-day thunderstorm. The apocalypse will begin with this color, Vernon thought. The quiet, which held the room hostage, was sucking the life out of the air and Vernon felt if he spoke, his voice might echo in the hollowness. From the look in Farrah’s eyes, her soul was much the same, or worse. Two days later the pain was too great for Farrah and she relieved herself from her thoughts and covered the black room a deep red with seemingly infinite pieces of her tortured mind. If she had lived another day and been privy to the information that Vernon was about to uncover, she would have died from shock at any rate.

    Vernon’s inquiries led to his hypothesis that Ryan Mableton was a super lover of the flesh. Sodom and Gomorra, if it were possible, would have asked him for a few pointers. He was a hard worker, no pun intended. Although Ryan did not work twelve-hour days like he had Farrah believe. He worked ten and he was the leader of a club in the other two. It was an underground deal one could find out about through a guy who knew a guy that knew a guy. Similar to fight club, people got hurt.

    Melding the various stories, none of which Vernon believed to be gospel, he formulated a picture of an easily and usually aroused fellow who had an insatiable sex drive. Ryan had the unlucky fortune of taking to bed a girl who had a jealous admirer. Ryan told her admirer upon confrontation he was just in it for the vertical smile and there wasn’t any emotion attached to the deed. Ryan could tell his answer did not satisfy the man who came from nowhere. The mystery man said he’d be watching, shot him a bird, and disappeared once again into the night.

    Unbeknownst to Vernon at this early point in the investigation, the jilted coveter arranged for Ryan to be at the house the night of the murder. He left in Ryan’s van a picture, which was not him and a note saying it was. The rock in Ryan’s pants did the rest as expected. The killer’s thought process came from the school of, if I can’t have it, you can’t either. The crucifixion he employed came from Madonna’s school of shock your audience. The binoculars were a game and the bird was icing on the cake. It was a part of the game and just like someone giving you the finger, shooting or flicking you the bird, it meant screw you.

Chapter 36

    Danny’s mom was waiting on the front porch with sweet tea. Nodding and without speaking a word, Benny took the glass meant for him and began to swing next to Ms. Hill, their hips touching, in silence. They swung each hearing their own private and meaningful music of thoughts. A peaceful chord reverberated between the two.

    “He knew the killer,” Ms. Hill eventually said.

    “How do you know?” Benny asked.

    “Songs.”

    “Songs?”

    “Songs,” Ms. Hill said. “I was going through his bedroom and reading through some of his notebooks he wrote his songs in, and I listened to a bunch of his recordings. I found one tape and notebook in particular I think you will be quite interested in. Danny had three different songs about becoming famous. In his notebooks he always dated all of his songs and the three were all written within the last month. The song he wrote the night before his death was centered on a midnight meeting in which he would audition and showcase his talents for a mysterious man from a record company. He titled it
Poor Man’s Last Midnight
.” Ms. Hill sighed. “Little did he know it
was
his last midnight.”

    “Pretty ironic,” Benny added, sipping his tea and patting Ms. Hill on the knee as he would his own mother were she alive. “Do you mind if I take those notebooks and tapes with me for a couple of days?” Benny asked.

    “Not at all,” Ms. Hill answered. “I already have them in a bag for you in the kitchen. “Do you think you will catch this guy, Benny?”

    “I will,” Benny said confidently. “It just takes a little time. Time to put all the pieces together and time for him to make a mistake.”

    “Do you think he’s still in town?”

    “He is. I’m sure of it. Probably looking for his next victim.”

    “You think he’ll kill again?” Ms. Hill asked with fear.

    “Absolutely,” Benny quickly answered. “I see some weeds under your oak there and peeping out of the cracks of the walkway,” Benny said pointing towards the yard. He stopped the swing with his foot, put his glass of tea down, and said, “Let’s go take care of those. Danny wouldn’t have that.”

    “OK Mr. James,” Ms. Hill said with a smile. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 37

   Benny had been wrestling with the idea of bringing up Red with Rachael. For some reason he felt responsible for Red, like a father figure. He felt as if he could trust Rachael as a woman but Benny wondered if Red’s story would be too juicy for her to resist as a journalist. Benny decided his opinion of Rachael teetered on her response to the situation he was going to present to her.

    As busy as Benny was he rarely took his boat out of the marina. He invited Rachael for a picnic to his favorite island and Jimmy Buffett filled the background as the two sped through the evening air as fast as the big lug would go. The massive boat bounced in a wake and Benny laughed deeply as he watched Rachael bouncing in all the right ways.

    Settled on the island, Benny was curt with Rachael as he said, “Can I talk to you off the record?”

    Insulted, Rachael said, “My personal dealings with you are strictly and completely off the record.”

    “OK,” Benny said shaking off his rough start apologetically. “What I meant was I wanted to tell you a secret.”

    “Oh?” Rachael played with her sweet Mississippi drawl.

    “Do you remember the Baker Foods baby?”

    “Benny,” Rachael sighed. “That story was in just about every journalism textbook I owned in college.”

    “I think the missing Baker baby is living in my house right now.” Benny mused as Rachael’s face melted in misunderstanding and disbelief.

    Benny explained to Rachael the tale step by step. Rachael listened and was spellbound by the unlikely events and coincidences. Without hesitation, she asked Benny, “Where was the newspaper from that he showed you?”

    “I didn’t look,” Benny said as he felt a rare embarrassment from the overlooked detail.

    “We need to find out where the paper comes from and see what the town folks know about a boy named Red.”

    “You’re part detective,” Benny winked with his comment as he digested the new information sluggishly.

    “I’m mostly detective, Mr. James,” Rachael said with a wink of her own and a tricky smile.

Chapter 38

   Benny had investigated and dealt with sizeable companies in the past but he had never dealt with a giant the likes of Baker Foods. He spent a few minutes shy of an hour looking through all of their various phone numbers in the phone book and on the Internet. They had countless departments, regions, and offices around the country. Benny wrote down six numbers he believed to be possible avenues to the top. A man whose mental capacities Benny thought subpar answered his first call. Benny decided the main headquarters, which would house the senior Baker, would not have such an incompetent boob answering the phone. He crossed it off his list. Defying Murphy’s Law, Benny acquired his lead from his second call.

    The lady’s voice who answered shot a picture of the principal’s secretary in
Ferris Bueller’s
Day Off
straight to Benny’s brain. She was audibly speed-chewing and smacking her gum.

    “Baker Foods,” she said as she converted a three-syllable word into five.

    “Good morning ma’am,” Benny said with apprehension. “My name is Benny James. How are you this morning?”

    “I haven’t quit yet,” she quipped with a giggle.

    “I’ve got a weird one for you this morning,” Benny cautioned.

    “Try me,” she said losing the giggle.

    “Are you still looking for the Baker baby?”

    “We haven’t had one of these calls in a while,” she said, with a here we go again attitude.

    “I get the feeling that I’m not the first person to claim that he has solved this missing person riddle.”

    “Nope,” she said. “And I am afraid and know too well that you won’t be the last.”

    “Does your company have a procedure in place that will provide me with an opportunity to substantiate my claim?”

    “Thanks to the thousands of calls in the last twenty five years we do. Would you like that number?”

    “Please.”

    She gave him the number that was well memorized and she hung up the phone without giving it another thought.

    Benny dialed the number and another gem of a human answered. She was mailing Benny one half of a paternity test that he would need to collect a sample for and mail back. It was no charge as was the senior Baker’s policy. He had spent a small fortune looking for his son. All Benny had to do now to solve the mystery of Red was to wait for the mail, or so he thought.

Chapter 39

   Chief Asshole summoned Vernon and Benny to a meeting. He was, technically, Benny’s boss at the moment. Chuckie was wearing a sweat suit for some reason and keeping with his outfit’s name, he was sweating rockets.

    Benny decided to hold his tongue for a few moments and let the other two men set the tone of the meeting. Vernon spoke first saying, “You did a great job in the interview Chuck.”

    “Thanks,” he said gratefully. Chuckie spoke for a moment and expounded upon his virgin media experience agreeing with Vernon that he was wonderful. When he was finished stroking his own ego he asked, “What now?”

    “We’re looking boss,” Vernon said as he cut his eyes at Benny nonverbally asking when he was going to pipe in.

    “Actually,” Benny began in a deep monotone. “We’re waiting on the crime lab to turn around some results. We have a strong lead Charles. Don’t call the Feds in—please, please. They’ll just play rock star and fuck everything up.”

    “I agree with Benny,” Vernon said cautiously. “We have a lot to go on. If we run out of leads we will let you know and at that point we will give you our blessing to call in the Feds.”

    “What about the media?” Chief Neighbors asked.

    “Do you want me to take care of that?” Benny asked.

    “Please do,” Chief Neighbors answered. As he stood up he eyed both men and said, “You have ten days until I request the help of the FBI.”

Chapter 40

   The home office of Baker Foods was in Atlanta, Georgia. The top three floors of the forty-story building rightly named the Baker Building housed the law offices which Robert Baker occupied. Robert “Bobby” Baker was a slick, near fifties Bill Clinton type. Everybody loved him, especially him. At a glance he was devilishly handsome, charismatic, and happy. As reality would have it, he was not as happy as he falsely put forth. The charisma he exhibited was a cover for his fear of slowing down. If you jump and scream and constantly move nobody can pin you down. And nobody did until Mr. Benny James came along.

    Bobby Baker made a pocketful of friends in Washington D.C. and they turned him on to power. When Bobby felt it for the first time it tingled through his insides and his veins like a new drug. It gave him a sensation similar to being horny as hell. As events unfolded through his dealings with powerful individuals, his favorite clique decided he should run for the opening Senate seat in Georgia. They figured he was a shoo-in, being a Baker and all. Being named Baker in the south was like being named Kennedy in the north.

    At his older brother’s request Bobby took care of all claims that professed to have knowledge of the whereabouts of the Baker baby. He sent out the tests, reviewed the results, and wrote the letters stating there was no match. In some cases he enlisted a detective by the name of Peter Banks. Peter was currently on Bobby’s secret payroll uncovering dirt on his opponents in the Senate race. When Peter arrived for a scheduled meeting with Bobby, the package being mailed to Benny was sitting on the edge of his desk ready to be mailed. At the close of the meeting, Bobby asked Peter if he would drop the box in the mailroom on his way out. Peter picked up the box and the addressee’s name jumped out at him.

    “I’m not being nosey and I wasn’t trying to read your package,” Peter began, “but do you know Benny James?”

    “Benny who?” Bobby asked confused.

    “Benny James. You’re sending him a package,” Peter said, playfully waving the box in front of him.

    “No, do you?” Bobby said, piping with interest.

    “Not personally but he’s kind of a legend in my field. Rumor has it he can solve any case.”

    “He called the main office yesterday saying that he knows the whereabouts of the Baker baby,” Bobby said with his mind reeling.

    “What?” Peter said stunned.

    “You heard me,” Bobby said, sitting down as his head thumped. “So from what you’ve said, he sounds like a standup guy who wouldn’t just make up stories and try to shake some money out of us?”

    “No,” Peter said, sitting back down again. “From what I’ve heard about him I don’t think he would.”

    “Can you imagine what this would mean to my campaign if we found William James Baker?” he said, selfishly not thinking for a moment of what it would mean to his brother Jack and his wife to find their son after two and a half decades. “It would be the feel good story of the year. We would get more positive publicity than we could ever dream of.” He paused, thinking, and Peter was silent. “Unpack that box Peter and ship it overnight. Put in the box a prepaid envelope that can be shipped back overnight to your address.”