3/28/10
Dining with the devil…
It has been a crazy week. Husband still on the mend and a family crisis partially under my belt and I am still reeling from recent research events of a week ago. It feels almost surreal in the way all this continues to unfold, one clue and one confirmation at a time. Numerology figures rather significantly into this if you follow such. Note; murder was committed in 1966. Daughter was only 6 in 1966. The fourth horseman of Revelation 6 is Death. Charley and Hazel were married 19 years. Hazel lived for 19 years after his death. Charley was 44 when he died. It has been 44 years since his death. If one were patient and knowledgeable enough to do an in depth numerical study of this – I imagine the resulting patterns might stagger the mind. What’s more, master numbers continue to figure into reception of clues and confirmations. I will try to relay some of what has transpired, but will continue to play the better part close to my chest as things are now beginning to move at accelerated rates.
Warned ahead of time that no one I would meet throughout my trip would be by chance, I kept mindful of all introductions made and hoped they would prove fruitful. Thus far, we had been in town less than two minutes and I had agreed to an interview with the caller who claimed to have the original case file, including crime scene photos. Having scheduled that, I moved forward settling into our room and getting interview materials ready. The long drive hadn’t left me a lot of time in between obligations. Once lodging was secured, there was little more than an hour before the next meeting so we headed into town to get our bearings and a quick lunch. As it turned out, there was a place just a couple of blocks from the Historical Society building. It was a diner J had found a year ago on her last “fishing” trip. Pressed for time and a decent review we committed to a light lunch to tide us over till later that night. As we entered, I tried to bear in mind the warning. Half way through lunch while I was drooling over an antique type writer they had once used to type out daily menus, my husband pointed out a photo three feet to the left of it. It was a man in uniform. A law enforcement uniform. It was too obvious- I asked who it was. The waitress gave us a brief history of the diner. She said it was her grandfather, who had been in the police department at the time. I looked closer at the photo and asked what year it had been taken. Just then my phone received a text from my psychic detective. The waitress replied he would have been a lieutenant (Lt.) then as the photo had been taken back in the 60’s. My head began to swim. Tall, dark, handsome and in his fifties, this uniformed figure glared back at me in mock defiance. R had cautioned me. If you are wracking your brain over clues, then you are not on the right track. It will be an ah-ha moment. That’s how this thing works. Information will come to you when it is time- it will be as though someone had dropped it in your lap. I looked again at the photo. A lieutenant- the abbreviation is Lt.
Could this be Charley’s reference to LT from the first session? I noted the time and the direct line of vision to me from the photo across the counter and decided that R’s warning had been right on the mark. I had a sinking, but exhilarating feeling that nothing this weekend would be by chance-nothing! Everything that would happen to me in the next 48 hours must be looked at with the same discerning eye. I took a deep breath. It wasn’t my lap, but it was pretty darn close. Seven feet from it, to be exact! Suddenly I lost my appetite and left most of my salad wilting away on my plate. The waitress asked me if something was wrong. I lied and told her I was full, then waited patiently till we got outside before I mentioned my suspicions to J. It made me sad in a way. Although I relished the shot at another clue, these were really nice people who had no idea what was going through my mind. I kept a smile on my face as I studied the photo and returned my text message. The rest of my crew finished their lunch in good humor, unaware of what had just been imparted. I made a mental note to get more information about the diner at the Historical Society. There was only 12 minutes left to make it on time and I did not want to be late. While they took care of the bill, I used the restroom then headed towards the door. Focused so much on the upcoming meeting, I completely missed the last photo on the wall as I walked out. Thank God my husband and C did not- it bore the name of the man in the uniform and another man by the same sir name receiving some sort of an award. The boys mentioned it when they got in the car and asked if the name rang a bell for either of us. I said no, but the abbreviation for Lieutenant sure did!
I explained the man in the photo hit several of the high water marks of Charley’s reference. He was older than G by approximately 20 years. He had been affiliated with law enforcement. He had position, influence and some money. When I texted his name to R, it came back. “…animal references- tied to G”. I made a note in my binder then asked if J still had the funeral book with her. She nodded and motioned towards the rear of the vehicle. C took it from behind his seat and began to flip pages, searching for the registry. Most of the handwriting was difficult to read, but he finally found a match. Then out of the blue, J announced she had seen the same last name with a nick name in front of it-the nickname of “Red”. I was confused for a minute. Had the photo across from me at the counter been the photo of Charley’s LT, or the red headed man who he presented as being the go to guy- the man who helped the shooter do the cover up of his murder? While C searched for more names, I thought about the photo. Even though it had been in black and white this man could not have had red hair- the grain of ink had been too dark. The light changed, the car pulled out of its slip and my spirits waned. How was I to decipher all this properly if every time I got close, another truck load of misinformation got dumped into the mix? Just then my husband said, “Could it have been the other man?” The car grew silent. “What other man?” I asked. “The second man in the photo on the way out the door- the one you and J missed in your haste to get back on the road.” My heart jumped- another photo? I had been chasing the identity of the man with the red hair for several weeks. C looked again for the name starting with “Red” but could not find it. Frustrated, I begged him to look once more. I told him to check the very back pages where they had listed the floral arrangements. Bingo! There he was in ink.
“# (77) Wreath with white mums, red bow signed – from “Red __________ and family.”
Oddly enough it was just one page over from this entry…
# (90) Wreath with white mums, 2 glads, red carnations and bow signed from- “A Friend”. (G)
We pulled into the parking lot of the Historical Society as I tried to catch my breath.
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