Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) Read online

  “You said he. Who’s he?”

  “Old man Wagner.”

  “Senator Wagner? The man who owns this cabin? He doesn’t seem that old.”

  “No, I’m talking about his father. Senator Wagner inherited this from his father. I’m about ninety-five percent positive the pictures in that photo album we were looking at last night were his. When he was a kid. Mr. Bass—he’s the next-door neighbor I met shortly after I got here—he told me all this. And, that old man Wagner lived here in the early nineties. He’s dead now. Died of a stroke quite a few years ago. Mr. Bass also said he was afraid of him. Now I know why.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s why I wanted to see you. I found something really disturbing. Do you want to see it now or after we eat?”

  Rachel glanced over at the Chinese food on the table. “I want to see it now. We can heat the food up in the microwave after if it gets cold.”

  28

  Jack and Rachel sat close together on the couch. He pulled the coffee table closer so they could easily see the scrapbook and journal.

  “So what are we looking at?” Rachel said.

  “I think we’re looking at a collection of trophies. You know how serial killers collect trophies? That’s what this is. I can’t think of any other conclusion that makes sense. Senator Wagner’s father was some kind of cold-blooded killer. I’m not sure why yet, but he had it in for World War II pilots, especially B-17 pilots. That’s what all these obituaries have in common. But it’s more than that. They actually all flew in the same bomb group, at the same airbase in England. I haven’t figured out the significance of that yet.”

  “You’ve read them all?”

  Jack nodded. “Several times, and I made some notes.”

  Rachel turned to the second one.

  “You can read them, if you want. I’m in no hurry.”

  “No, I know how thorough you are. I believe you.”

  “They all died in fire-related accidents,” Jack said. “Well, that’s what they were called. But I think every single one of those fires was deliberately set…by the old man.”

  “And he’s dead?”

  “For over ten years.”

  Rachel released an obvious sigh of relief. “Do you have any idea why? Why old man Wagner would want to kill all these pilots, and why he waited till they were so old?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far into this yet. But can you think of any other reason why someone would collect a bunch of obituaries like this?”

  Rachel turned a few more pages, glanced at the headlines. “It’s definitely very strange. More than strange, it’s downright creepy. So I guess that makes these, like, cold case files.”

  “I guess,” Jack said. “But they’re not even that yet, if you think about it. No one even knows these were murders. To this day, the family members all think their loved ones died in accidental fires. For that matter, it happened so long ago, I doubt they even think of these men very much anymore. Not even the police who served in the cities at the time know these men were killed intentionally. They wouldn’t even have cold case files opened on them. I mean, why would they?”

  She kept turning the pages, slowly, until she came to the last one. “You know what I think this is? I bet they’re revenge killings. Why else would someone track down all these pilots, men who all flew the same planes from the same airbase? And then kill them all either in a fire or an explosion?”

  “Yes! That’s what I was thinking,” Jack said. “But I wanted to see what you’d say.” He loved the look in her eyes. She was into this. He had half-wondered if she’d be upset with him for spending so much time on it. “We already know,” he continued, “old man Wagner was an orphan. Maybe this tells us why.”

  “Do you know what missions the—what is it?” She glanced down at one of the articles. “—the 379th bombardment group flew on? I’ll bet one of the towns they bombed was his hometown. Maybe the bombs killed his family.”

  “I haven’t had time to check, but I’m sure I can find out. From my book research, I’ve spent lots of time on World War II websites. You’d be amazed at the volume of details people have put on the internet. I bet with some digging, I can find out not only which cities the 379th bombed, but what missions all eight men have in common. Obviously, if these are revenge killings, then these guys all flew in the same mission that killed old man Wagner’s family. But we don’t have to do all that now. I can look into it after you leave.”

  Rachel sat back. “This is really something, Jack. What are you going to do with it? I mean, with this information? Everyone involved is already dead. Even the killer.”

  “I haven’t thought through that part, either. But it seems like way too big a thing to ignore. Seems like the families have a right to know.” They both just looked each other a few moments, as the implications involved began to settle in.

  Rachel spoke first. “I just thought of a scary thing.”

  “What?”

  “Do you think the son knew anything about it, or maybe was involved in some way?”

  Jack thought about it. “Well, it happened in the nineties, and I’m guessing the Senator is in his early-forties now, wouldn’t you say?” Rachel nodded. “These killings happened over five years, so that puts him in his late teens, maybe early twenties.”

  “College-age,” Rachel added.

  “Right. He certainly could have known, but there’s no proof he definitely did.”

  “His dad might’ve done all this while he was away at college,” she said. “What’s that?” she pointed to the journal sitting beside him.

  “Oh, I’m glad you reminded me. Maybe the answers we need are in here. Problem is, I can’t read it. It was in the safe with the scrapbook. I’m almost certain it’s the same handwriting that’s on the back of the photographs. I was wondering if you could take a look at it. Maybe translate some of it. At least enough to let us know what it’s about, see if it’s connected to the murders.” He handed it to her.

  “Why don’t you pull out some of the loose photos from the photo album,” she said. “Let me take a look at them.”

  Jack did and handed them to her.

  She opened to the first page of the journal, set the back of one of the photos right beside the page. A few moments later, “Definitely the same handwriting.”

  “What’s the first page say, in the journal?”

  Rachel read for a few minutes, then turned through several of the pages. “I’d say this is definitely connected.”

  “Really?”

  “Let me read some more.”

  Jack waited, tried to be patient. A few long minutes went by. “Well…?”

  She looked up. “I think old Mr. Wagner was pretty clever.”

  “Why?”

  “I would say these are notes, things he was thinking about, plans he was sketching out as he set up each of these murders.”

  “That’s perfect then. It proves what we’re thinking?”

  “Not exactly. I need to read a lot more, see if he slips up anywhere.”

  “What do you mean, slips up?”

  “That’s just it. I realized, as I read a little more, he never really admits anything. It’s almost as if he’s writing in code.”

  “Why did you think it was connected, when you first started reading?”

  “I still think it is connected, totally connected. But I realized that’s just because I already know what the obituaries mean. If you read the words here, at face value, I’m not seeing anything that you could say definitely ties into these murders. But let me take this home. I’ll translate the whole thing. It might take me a few days to work it into my schedule, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. We’re in no hurry. This case has sat in silence for twenty years. What’s a few days?”

  “Like I said,” she continued, “maybe he’ll say something more specific in one of these entries, or slip up in some way.”

  “I hope he does. Thanks for doing this. I know how busy you
are.”

  “I am, but this is kind of fun. Like solving a mystery. I don’t know where all this is going, but I definitely want to find out more.”

  “While you’re doing that—in my spare time and not in any way that’s even close to obsessive—I’ll start seeing what I can find on the internet about the 379th bomb group connection.”

  She closed the journal and Jack closed the scrapbook. “Now, I definitely am hungry. Let’s heat up the Chinese.”

  They stood. Jack looked at the disheveled state of the living room. “Maybe I should put this all back the way it’s supposed to be. I doubt anyone would ever come in here besides me, but both Mr. Bass and the Senator have keys.”

  “You probably should, but how about we do it just before I go? After we eat, I’d still like to look over that old photo album together.”

  “Well, I found that on the bookshelf. We can still look at it even if I put this room back together. But if anyone walked in on this, it would be pretty hard to explain.”

  “Okay, you put the living room back together, and I’ll heat the Chinese.”

  Jack didn’t really think Bass or the Senator would come in here. But Rachel suggesting that the son might know about these murders, or somehow be involved, made him tense up.

  29

  Jack and Rachel enjoyed their Chinese take-out. All the conversation centered on this unraveling mystery in the living room. By the time they had finished eating, both realized what a big thing this really was.

  Rachel got up from the table and started cleaning the after-dinner mess. Jack had protested, but she insisted. “Do you want me to save this?” She pointed to Jack’s half-empty boxes.

  “Sure. Can’t let food that good go to waste. There’s plenty of room in that little fridge.”

  “I’ll definitely bring mine home,” she said. “I love cold Chinese food for breakfast.”

  “I can’t even imagine that.” He got up from the table to help.

  “The more I think about this, the crazier it feels,” she said. “It’s almost like being in the middle of one of those true-crime TV shows. Like Cold Case Files. Even the way you stumbled into this, finding all this stuff in a hidden safe under some floorboards. There could have been anything in that safe, but it turns out to be evidence of a decades-old series of unsolved, horrific murders.”

  “That part of it’s starting to get to me,” Jack said. “When I think about how these men were killed, the brutality of it. I mean, these poor men were war heroes. They deserved to die peaceful, natural deaths. Honorable deaths. And considering how long so many World War II veterans have lived, these guys all had many more years left to live on this earth. Instead, old man Wagner decides to hunt them down, one by one, and end their lives suddenly in this violent and, probably, very painful way.”

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about that, too.” Rachel brought a washcloth over and started wiping down the table. “If these truly were revenge killings, I can just imagine the Senator’s father feeling the need to confront these men, so he could pour out his hatred in person before setting in motion whatever fiery death he had planned.”

  “That’s a horrible thought,” Jack said. “Your last moments alive on earth having to deal with something like that, someone like that.”

  She stopped wiping the table and said, “Jack…do you think it could be possible old man Wagner came from Dresden?”

  “That would be wild, if he did.” No one said anything for a moment. “Even if that were true,” Jack said, “knowing the awful things that happened in those bombing raids in Dresden…it’s not like these pilots could have done anything about it. Every mission they flew was under orders. They didn’t have the option of saying no. Certainly had no say in what cities or targets were picked for bombing.”

  He slid the chairs back under the dinette table. “I was reading through one interview in my Dresden research. One of the British pilots who bombed the city, talking years later. He said how terrible he felt when he heard the target was Dresden. He’d visited there with his parents as a teenager. Said it was one of the most beautiful towns he’d ever seen. He flew on the second raid. By the time his squadron flew over the city, most of it was already on fire. He couldn’t believe the sight. Said it reminded him of what the Lake of Fire in the Bible must be like. And he knew, it wasn’t a military town. With most of his missions, he at least knew they were bombing things that supported the Nazi war effort. But Dresden didn’t have anything like that. He said he cried when he heard about the tens of thousands of civilians they had killed.”

  Rachel didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “War is so horrible. I’ll bet those bomber pilots old man Wagner killed felt the same way. They probably tried to explain that to him when he came there to kill them. And I’m equally sure it didn’t make any difference to him. It’s so senseless.”

  The kitchen was all back together. Jack reached for her hand. “C’mon, let’s head outside for a little while before we finish looking through that old photo album. It’s so nice out right now. Think we could both use some fresh air.”

  She took his hand. They walked past the porch into the clearing. “Want to take a walk?” she said. “Or want to sit on those nice chairs by the fire pit?”

  Jack could tell her preference easily. “How about the chairs? A walk would be nice, but the only paths I found so far are all pretty much through the trees. You don’t get any view of the lake.”

  “You’re leading the way.” She smiled.

  They headed for the adirondack chairs. Jack took the one on the left. It was funny. Neither had ever done anything intentionally, but Rachel always ended up on Jack’s right side, whether sitting or taking a walk. The chairs were just wide enough apart to comfortably hold hands.

  “This is so nice,” she said. “I hope it works out for you to get this cabin. I could really get used to this.”

  Jack wanted to say, me too. He hadn’t said anything to her yet, but the discovery under the floorboards was giving him second thoughts about making an offer on this place. Talk about being creeped out. Professor Thornton’s cabin had only involved one murder. This one turned out to be the hideout for a serial killer. “What do you think I ought to do about all this? I mean, about the scrapbook and journal? About them being criminal evidence?”

  He heard her sigh. She was trying to change the topic. He had spoiled the moment.

  She turned to look at him. “Are you saying, do I think you ought to go to the police?”

  He nodded. “I don’t see how I can avoid it. Do you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s definitely a big deal. I get that. But who would you go to? From what we know so far, none of the murders took place here in Culpepper. Most were in different states. This might be an FBI situation. Don’t they handle cases that cross state lines?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. But you might be right. Of course, we might find out more incriminating info after you translate that journal into English.”

  “Like whether or not the son was involved in what his father was doing.”

  “Even if he wasn’t directly involved,” Jack said, “I think it matters even if he knew about it and didn’t say anything. If he spoke up, he could have stopped his father’s madness. If that turns out to be true, that could be a huge deal. I mean the guy’s a State Senator. He’s in the local news all the time. I’ve heard reporters ask him about whether he plans to run for anything bigger, like the U.S. Senate or maybe Attorney General.”

  “What does he say?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t say. At least, I’ve never heard him give a straight answer. But he always gives this coy smile, and you can tell that’s his goal. If not something bigger.”

  “You mean like being President some day?”

  Jack nodded. “He’s an ambitious guy.”

  “He’s also not a native born American,” she said. “That shuts the door on becoming President. That’s why Arnold Schwarzenegger could never go any higher than bei
ng Governor of California.”

  “Okay, Governor them. Either way, like I said, he’s an ambitious man. Guys like that care about their reputations. Bigtime. He’s not going to want any of this to come out.” Jack shuddered as he thought about it. In fact, he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  “Maybe you should just talk with Joe about it,” Rachel said. “You know, Joe Boyd.”

  He liked the idea. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  30

  The following day, Jack sat in his car in the Culpepper Police Department parking lot, wrestling about whether or not he should go inside. Last night, it was a settled issue. Rachel had agreed this was too big a thing to ignore. As they’d sat together on the couch looking over more photos from old man Wagner’s youth, they’d talked about how different it was seeing these pictures now than it had been just the day before.

  The first day, their hearts were full of sympathy for this poor orphan boy, growing up all alone in a dark and dreary communist land. Last night, it was more like watching the formative years of a soon-to-be serial killer unfold. Picking up from where they’d left off, it was apparent that as a young man Wagner had joined some kind of para-military organization. From about the age of fifteen onward, he mostly wore a uniform.

  They also remarked at how much his facial expressions had changed as he grew from a child into a young man. Gone were the innocent, almost fearful glances toward the camera; the look of a child longing to be loved and cared for. As a teenager, Wagner’s face looked stern and hard in almost every photograph. Always serious. Rachel pointed out his eyes. She’d even used the word fierce when describing them. Jack had instantly remembered Mr. Bass’ words: Had this fierce look in his eyes.

  As it turned out, Bass had feared old man Wagner with good reason. He wondered what Bass would think when he learned the truth about what had really been going on during that time, and the true nature of the man who’d been living next door all those years.