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.Dr.Peter Trent, our pastor, told the story of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s troubled life that led to his writing the poem that became the Christmas carol “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” The carol typified the spirit of the season with its message of peace on earth, good will to men.Thinking about Arnold’s murder, I knew somebody out there had missed the message.I was even more determined to track him down and bring him to account.When the lights came on in the sanctuary, everybody began to bundle up for the trek out into the frigid night.I finally had the chance to put my question to John Jernigan.“You must know a lot of local hams,” I said.“Do you by chance know one who drives a Cadillac Escalade?”He cocked his head as he pulled on a heavy jacket.“No, can’t say that I do.Of course, I haven’t been back into it for all that long.Who’re you looking for?”I chuckled.“I’m not sure.Just taking a shot in hopes of hitting something.The investigators found evidence that a handheld transceiver like the ones used by ham operators was used to trigger the bomb that did in my Jeep.They wanted to know if I knew any hams.I told them I hadn’t run into one since I made a phone call home from Vietnam.”“Then you used somebody with the Military Amateur Radio Service.Some of those GI’s did miraculous things setting up stations in combat zones.They cannibalized stuff to put it all together so people could make calls to their kinfolks back home.”“Yeah.That was back in the days when making an overseas call was a big deal.Were you involved in the Amateur Radio Service?”“Sure was.Got a cigarette lighter to prove it.”He pulled a Zippo lighter from his pocket and showed it to me.I saw a round symbol with a globe and the letters “MARS.” Around the circle it read “Military Amateur Radio Service.”My breathing quickened as it hit me.“Do you know a CPA named Gordon Franklin?”“Sure.” He grinned.“He was a MARS operator in Vietnam.Did you run into him over there?”Before I could answer, Jill tugged at my sleeve.“Let’s go, Greg, so they can lock up the church.”I turned to Jernigan.“Thanks, John.See you Sunday.”When we got outside, Jill asked, “What were you and John palavering about?”“Remember the paperweight on Gordon Franklin’s desk that had M-A-R-S on it? It stands for Military Amateur Radio Service.One of the Protect Our Preds is a ham radio operator.You know what Buddy Ebsen said about the bomb maker.Franklin’s a short guy.It could have been Franklin instead of Frank that Arnold Wechsel’s neighbor heard him saying in an angry voice on his cell phone.”“Why in the world would Gordon Franklin want us out of the way, not to mention Arnold?”“That’s what we need to find out.”“Aren’t you sort of jumping to conclusions?”“I’ll have to admit it’s a long shot, nothing more than a hunch at this stage.But put all of it together and who knows? Sometimes hunches pay off.”“Okay.Then I suppose you want to find what kind of car Franklin drives?”“Exactly.”I pulled out my cell phone and punched in Phil Adamson’s number.I got a drowsy sounding “Hello.”“Phil, it’s Greg McKenzie.”“Damn.” After a pause, he said, “Do you know what time it is? Who’s dead now?”I glanced at my watch.“It’s Christmas morning, Phil.Merry Christmas.I need a favor.”“Christ a’mighty, Greg.Can’t it wait till daylight?”“We may have found the car bomber, and he could be the man we’re looking for.”“Slow down.Do you have any evidence, or is this more speculation?”“You’re always getting technical.”“I have laws to follow.”“Consider this one the law of preservation.”“What’s happened?”“We don’t have a case ready for the grand jury, but we have enough to warrant some serious probing.”I told him briefly the reasons behind my suspicions, then asked if he could find out what kind of car Franklin drove.“If he has a Cadillac Escalade, I need to have a talk with that gentleman.”“Go to bed, Greg.I’ll check it out in the morning.”Chapter 32We slept late on Christmas morning.Both of our parents had died years ago, and neither of us had siblings or aunts and uncles to visit.Jill had discovered a couple of younger generation cousins as the result of an investigation we had worked back in the spring.She kept in touch with Molly Harrison, who had taken back her maiden name after the tragic end of the case.Interested in maintaining family ties, Jill invited her over for Christmas dinner, but she had already made other plans.When we rolled out of bed, I suggested we check under the Christmas tree and see what Santa had brought.She gave me a knowing grin.“What have you done, Greg? I thought we made a pact not to buy each other gifts.”“I got a new Grand Cherokee.”“All right.Let’s check it out.”We went downstairs in our PJ’s.With the drapes closed and a thick overcast outside, the living room resembled nighttime.I switched on the tree lights and lit the logs in the fireplace.When I turned around, Jill sat on the floor in front of the tree, holding the small package.I grinned.“Open it.”She peeled off the wrapping and lifted the lid off the box.She caught her breath.“Greg, you shouldn’t have.”“You don’t like it?”“I love it, but it was so—““So what? It’ll look great on you.That’s all that counts.”I sat beside her and she reached around, pulled me toward her, gave me a monstrous kiss.“I love you,” she said.“And I love you, babe.”With a gentle movement, I laid her back on the carpet.I felt the warmth from the fire on my back and saw the reflection of the flames dancing in her eyes.“When was the last time you made love in front of a Christmas tree?” I asked.“I don’t think we ever did that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]