Brownstonelit's Blog

12/16/10
I woke with my hands balled into a fist and teeth clenched… something in a dream.
Something about being taken, being shown… something did not happen the way I thought. They were clarifying something for me. It felt like it was behind a grocery store- wooden pallets and garbage cans…metal doors… loading docks. Several men and a women.

I was there and yet only as voyeur. What was happening- what was it they were trying to share?

Tomorrow is December 17th, 2010. What is it that will happen? What information will I receive? What is the huge shift in the focus of this case? We all know what happened the last time Charley gave me a date… remember? That’s when I found out Roxanne’s last name and Jessica was introduced to me! Perhaps Grim is ready to confess all… or maybe someone else who can no longer live with what they have done. The hours will continue to tick away and in just another 24, we may finally know why he continues to hold up the four fingers and mark the calendars.
Can you hear it, Grim?
Tick… tick… tick… tick…

12/14/10

I feel as though I should be looking in other directions for answers and yet my compass continues to point in the same direction as before…

Surrounded by photos of those I love and cherish… those who have moved on, I ask them to guide me. On Sunday Charley holds up 4 fingers… he keeps repeating the number 4- over and over. Now, all this could be in representation of the “4 in flannel”… or it could be his way of reminding me of the date, December 17th when he tells me there will be a big shift in this case.

He also tells me what I thought about this case on Thanksgiving is correct- that I am right on. He tells me that Jessica is tied to an attorney- that she may have been pregnant. That Charley may have known that along with everything else. He reminds me that December 21st is also significant… he begs that I must be patient. That all is working out, that I must wait while final details are being worked out elsewhere.

Route 44…
Does this have something to do with the railroad? The hut, the lockbox or the state agent that used to live out there??? I must look into his history and divine if there is something I missed there. Hazel’s journal may hold information I need. I will review that again and see what else comes through.

I am still awed at the fact that Grim felt he had the right to try and remove Charley’s wedding ring. That he did so at the request of G and the four in flannel- in an attempt to set up the affair/suicide theory. So they could cover their tracks and get rid of any trail that might lead to them back to the bodies of Jessica and Roxanne.

They bait- he follows. First they demand the evidence and when he refuses, they begin to beat him. The shooter begins to wave his gun back and forth in bravado…threatening to play his favorite game with Charley’s head; Russian Roulette. Charley realizes things are not what he thought and G laughs at his ignorance. The shooter cocks the trigger and places it near Charley temple. “Tell us- tell us, damn it… or I pull the trigger and splatter your brains across the asphalt” he yells into the night. “Don’t be a fool Covington- she never loved you, you fool. Give it to us… now. We know you have it!” the shooter employs as he rubs the barrel of the gun just above Charley’s right ear. “There are two bullets… really want to play this game with me?” he asks and spins the barrel one more time for effect.

Charley looks into G’s eyes. There is nothing there- he asks her to explain what went wrong. Why she was doing this- he has an ad in his wallet for a two bedroom house not far from there. He promises her he was going to leave- he asks her to give him more time… just a little more time. The shooter hits him in the back of the head with the butt of the gun.

“Shut up and listen…” he spits into Charley’s ear. G speaks, asking again where the MOT is. The shooter waves his gun again for punctuation and Charley brushes him aside as inconsequential- as though he should stop playing with sharp objects and go sit in his room and think about what he has done. This is between him and G- nobody else. He moves towards G to gauge her insincerity, but then everything changes. G nods her head to the others. They grab him from behind and force him up against the car hood and the front right tire. She gets in his face- demanding cooperation. Telling him he meant nothing to her. That he was a stupid man who got his shorts and his heart confused. That he never had a chance with her- that it was all just a game to get him where they wanted him…alone… late at night…on an empty road…without help. They demanded he give them the MOT. Told him what they would do if he did not comply.

He stalls- looking to G for understanding. How could she do this? How could she be one of them? G tells him she was pregnant- but then follows it by saying she had a miscarriage. But it never mattered- it wasn’t his kid anyway. Charley reels from the revelation and buckles under the shooters hold. They demand the MOT- Charley struggles, refuses to tell them anything- he calls their bluff. The shooter gets cocky- screams and yells. Charley still refuses to tell them anything. They threaten one more time, he calls their bluff again with silence and the shooter gets an itchy trigger finger- he threatens and then in his anger his finger slips forward and he blows Charley’s head off. As the victim slumps beside the front right tire, chaos ensues. Stunned- they all eye one another. The shooter kicks at Charley and when he does not move- they panic.

The shooter begins cursing and yelling at him in frustration. The other’s yell and fight- the shooter f___’d up- he screams obscenities at Charley for dying before they could get the information out of them they needed. He rummages through the car- searching frantically for the MOT. It is not there. It is not anywhere. They run their bloody fingers through their hair and plot. They make a call… they have a meeting. They hide evidence… they manipulate the scene with blessings by higher ups.

Then it begins… the rain and the cover up that has lasted 44 years.

The trail will lead to MOT…the trail will lead to MOT.
Merry Christmas Grim.

12/13/10

I sail into this week cautious of what lies ahead. I can feel the clouds brewing something and I am uncertain which way the winds will blow when this is all done. I know that Charley is helping and so I must trust that what will come to pass is for the greater good in this case. As to all things personal… I can only hope that the token snow and sentimental hours spent last evening are a positive reflection of what is to come. This is the time where I must direct my energies towards finding closure for Charley and putting all of his angst to rest so that he might move on. I still wait to hear from Hazel and hope that at some point, she will make known her understanding of things. I do not know how Jessica and Roxanne feel about moving forward…I hope that they are in a space where they can afford to accept my help. I understand if they are not ready and will learn to appreciate there is timing on both sides of the veil. I will write later of things I have learned and things I still question.

Until later then…

It is just before 5 and I just got back in from taking the dogs out for a walk with my husband. Suffice it to say- I am grateful! The clouds were dancing in the wind… snowflakes were hustling about the lamp posts, leaving their dust here and there and I could not have been more thankful for the nod from heaven.

Thank you for this small bit of magic!

12/12/10 at 12:21 P.M.

Don’t you just love synchronicity???

Angel Numbers denote all the number sequences above, 121, 210, 122, 1 and encourage me to support positive thoughts for manifestations of the highest possible rewards for my faith.

Last night sleep was fitful and I would have written myself into slumber, but I could not get past my own angst to do so and all within this bedroom were so tired and in need of uncompromised rest. Yet he came to visit… in a dream. Conversations and conclusions being shared- books being packaged for a long trip.

The sky is blanketed with clouds that, thick and low are tinged with the loveliest shade of charcoal gray and I am eager for the ambience they bring. Last night I sat and wondered what had happened to the magic of my childhood. Lost amongst my adult endeavors, I longed for the gift of innocence. While the cacophony of Christmas carols and colors ambushed from every conceivable angle…the rustle of theatre patrons both young and old played underscore as they scurried to and fro in aisles… I should have been in absolute delight and yet I could not rise above myself to find the joy.

So this is my Christmas this year? Lives once filled with the wants and needs of tiny folk that consumed your every momentum… weaving from their omnipotent joy the inner calm that makes this season bearable to those too old to remember how to fabricate the miracle of imagination. While downtown last eve, I watched freckled children and young parents eagerly rushing about- sweaters twisted and mittens dangling… I watched young lovers pace the streets with winter’s first blush abut their cheeks and envied their chaotic travels. So lost of late with all the rigors of holding fiscal walls together for the future, I have lost the art of living within the moment.

They encouraged me to stop in my steps and breathe deep.

Vacation only days away, I continue to paddle amidst rolling waves of change that threaten to capsize my small boat of assurance and I grow weary of treading water as I work so hard to reach the solid shoreline of the New Year. Yesterday’s plea went out to Charley and the cosmos in earnest. I cherish my husband and stable of furred friends as constant companions and while I treasure their commitment and comradely existence, I remain stalemated by posturing; my future hanging in the balance of others evolutionary ledgers. Minus grown children, proximate siblings and deceased parents, the circle about my tree feels broken and even though I am newly reconnected to my parents through Charley… I yearn for the tangibility of an earthly hug from them all. Bring it back Santa. Whatever it was that was hidden in the bottom of my stocking that made me smile… whatever brightly packaged serotonin that was once tucked underneath my tree… whatever inspiration sleigh bells and twinkling lights once spoke to me…let me find it there again this year for I am in need of their magic.

With heavy heart I called out to the stars that hung above my decorated door last night asking for a new way to believe. Asked that they help me find the joy of purpose and the reward of patience and faith that I have not lost another year to mindless folly. Once again the angels heard my prayer, brought no doubt by courier of my dearest friend.

Thank you Charley…

Like metaphorical snow flakes from the heavens, new information has drifted down, that I might have more to ponder. Though I was close on the dates, I believe now that Jessica died on or closer to July 11th, 1966. Both she and Roxanne worked at the same club together and served these 4 men in flannel their drinks. But there is more…
December 17th will indeed a day of interest and this case is in for another twist. Another twist that will perhaps explain further why Grim was so adamant about trying to get Charley’s wedding ring off his finger the night he was murdered. That helps explains the blood splatters on his curled fingers in the crime scene photos. Too much blood painted on your sleeves and your hands, Grim? Was your raincoat not large or long enough to hide your sins? Silly fool… Is that why you had to leave the scene and return later? Just like your counterpart? You both had to flee…one to take a bath… the other a shower… but both to rinse away the blood of an innocent man? Do not think that the darkness on that road that night granted you protection. Eyes from another realm can see all your miss-steps and broadcasts them from the heavens. What was the real reason you wanted his ring so bad? Was it for G as token of your affections- or for your trophy chest? Was it to try and promulgate the theory that Charley was leaving home- was this for that, that you wrung his fingers to and fro in an effort to remove his fidelity? Was the tiny ad for another place of residence another part of your planting? Did you really think that he would give to G in death what he would not give to her in life??? A home… a hearth… a wedding ring?

Hazel? Would you like to weigh in on this?

12/11/10

The sky outside my window is a restless kind of gray- teasing and tempting precipitation of some sort and I shall so welcome whatever spoils it brings. Last night I did indeed attend the Moore’s Ford Bridge Christmas party and was both honored and humbled at the same time by people whose kind hearts and generous souls have offered up much more than I for the cause. As I explained to them, we each come to this world with gifts the universe begs of us to share. Mine is an inherent thesaurus, laced with ink and motivated by instinct. For others… it is their keen sense of injustice and their emotional obligation to set things right.

I applaud their efforts and ask only that whatever gifts the gods have seen fit to bestow upon me, are used with intelligent navigation and with soulful contemplation. With so many social errands and seasonal obligations I ask only this…

Do not forget me Charley. There is still much I need to learn… much to find and much still to confirm and disseminate to others. Do not loose the thread dear friend. Tell me what Jessica’s relationship was to the insurance agent… when she told you she thought she might be pregnant. Who the lawyer was and who is Maxwell? Tell me what lies in Moultrie on Route 44…and does this have to do with the shack? The lockbox documents? The train??? Or the 4 in flannel???

It has been an odd year filled with challenges and changes that have swirled about my family as so much a chattel in the wind. A graduation, a wedding, a heart attack, a loss of career, a gaining of a new one through education, loosing and finding valued friends…a mixture of additions and deletions that have caused both great pause and great relief upon my heart. All understood as part of an evolutionary plan for my success and yet not easily digested. You have been as saving grace; granting tolerance when there should have been none- gaining grace when I have fallen short. I have found and lost you a hundred times each day and yet still you remain constant as the Northern Star when called upon. Your faith in my abilities strengthens my belief that we may yet find vindication for your efforts to connect from your world to mine. Would that I could with supreme intellect divine what it is you say when you are not speaking and yet derelict of such prowess- you must make amends and spoon-feed that which I am unable to discern for myself just yet.

Would that I could produce such unaided, you could now be free to move forward in your escalation. So forgiveness is the order of the day. R presents that are posturing to take your leave and in my selfishness I am reluctant to let you go. I desire not to keep you any longer than designed and hope that I have been more ballast, than anchor- more joy than ill wind in your path back to Julie… still, I am not without regret that your path will lead away when the time is right. So what of this season my friend? What can I give back to you? Holding on by financial shoestrings this year- I have nothing glamorous as Christmas present to offer you in return than my dedication to your cause, yet still bold and crass enough to ask additionally for one more present from you.

Tell me what I need to know Charley… the hours grow thin and I must be able to put this all to rest before the beginning of the new cycle. The next nine years should be celebration and not filled with eternal regrets.

Neither for you… nor for me. Send a message through R and I will listen in kind.

12/10/10

I did receive my GRPA award the other night for a program I developed at the theatre and I am hoping that the mayor and commissioners will not soon forget it in this season of budgeting- but I have little hope as it seems all around me suffers from the endings now becoming the final signature of the nine year. Today however is a busy day and should help to refocus my energies. I have work, research on this and then after a book signing later this evening and a Christmas party to attend with the Moore’s Ford Bridge folks to celebrate my new novel and then on the ‘morrow, two more celebratory events to attend. The sky is rich with that blue construction paper color of my youth and begs to be sketched in with winter scenes of white chalk. Perhaps some snow flurries will grace the heavens in this next day or two… I remain hopeful as I so need the magic of the season to settle in my bones and calm this impending restlessness.

So many things have been happening of late that tell me change is abounding everywhere in my life and I should take stock of where I am on many levels to increase stability. Charley baits from afar and teases with information he knows I cannot find segue to without more…the course of my job remains an enigma for want of a better description… and my world is slightly off its axis in terms of everything else. There is a disconnect or a stalling that permeates the cold air- Mercury is in retrograde and that always seems to toy with my congruity and sense of balance. As patient as a small child before a lit Christmas tree at midnight on Christmas Eve, I stand still with open arms ready to receive more information on my many questions, especially on this latest note. (Yes… that was an oxymoron and absolute sarcasm! I am desperate and impatient for more information as Charley has become the ballast in my life these days and to go so many without corroboration leaves me in an intellectual wobble.)

Do you recall the day that I received great information about “it”, Elizabeth, the lock box, the train and about the red card that was tucked away in Charley’s wallet?

Well… the name on the red card in his wallet bore the same last name as Jessica. And… if she had confided in Charley about her possible condition, then this makes imminently more sense that he would be alarmed when the young woman suddenly went missing. You see- Charley was crazy about his kids- any kids. He and Hazel had in fact lost two prior to J and so this would have been a sacred matter for Charley. And because the potential father may have been an attorney… well, it certainly explains a few more things. Though I cannot just yet tie one to the other- it is rather incriminating that an attorney who knew Charley’s case very well later on- was the same person who confessed to me that he was shown evidence eight years after, proving that Charley’s death was indeed a homicide. Why this individual decided to remain quiet about such was painted with altruistic intentions. Now in this light- I wonder if maybe the reasons go much deeper. Maybe there was an association to this case that was hidden from me. Perhaps he may have been the liaison between Jessica and death… or maybe he knew of another attorney who was the potential patriarch. Hmmmmmm…. it does beg one to wonder and it certainly meets the high stakes required for an agent of the law- especially when promoted to higher rank- to have obfuscated the facts and hidden evidence.

I need to get more information. I am told of Route 44- I Googled it; it is in Moultrie near a road I believe bears the same last name as a former revenue agent involved peripherally with Charley’s case. I am told of a person named Maxwell; I do not know if this is first name or last, but I will find out. I am now given the date of December 21st as significant, in addition to the date of December 17th which I was given earlier as one to be mindful of.

My, oh my! This just gets more and more curious!

12/8/10

And so I waited… but not for long! The wonderful thing about Charley is he knows when I get to a bridge I cannot cross or when I feel as though I have left someone… or something behind undiscovered. He understands that I cannot leave things left undone. That I must follow my gut when I know there is more to a situation than has been presented.

Roxanne’s murder may have been an, “Oh, s____ moment!” A… “How did things get so out of hand” moment. But, Jessica… with a shovel??? What was that about?

You know… I always wondered what the impetus was that led to Jessica’s murder. It didn’t make sense for it to have been a random act, when all the players had most likely slept with her. This was a crime of passion. They damaged half of her face. That’s not random violence-it was personal vengence. Very personal and so the trigger must have been very personal too. Let’s extrapolate the facts, shall we? Someone sleeps with a myriad of men- but one… one ends up with a possible bill at the end of dinner- so to speak. The mental segue is easy… the implications for this man, in his station in life and public eye mind numbing. Could it be? There is a possibility that someone confided something to Charley early on. Something very, very personal. Something so scandalous that would have put this someone else in a very bad spot- both publicly and privately.

Some one else had been with Jessica too. Someone perhaps, outside the 4 in flannel. Someone who was not the law, but someone who knew the law. Someone who didn’t want the world to know… Jessica may have been pregnant!

12/7/10
Today is a day for good luck. Today I found a lady bug on the inside of my window- a sign of said good luck and so I shall sally forth into this day looking for only good things to happen. Tonight I will receive an award for developing a theatre program that has won state recognition and until then… I will watch what else unfolds in between. Today I have sent both the cosmos and those who continue to aid in my research a request that certain questions be answered.

Until then, I shall continue to go back through my notes and follow leads that will confirm what I believe happened in this case. I continue to look at all sessions that contain information about the “4 in flannel” to help fill in some of the holes about Jessica and Roxanne. Two of these men are still alive. The two that are dead, just might be ready to talk!

And so I wait…

12/6/10

Continuing in my pursuit of railroad transportation of illegal moonshine, it is interesting to see which rail lines run from Clyattville north and west of Valdosta back in 1966. You must understand that the rail system was some what disconnected back then. Segments ran from one juncture to another- then switched ownership and ran in other directions. Suffice it to say that even though it would have been beyond belligerent to be as bold as to run moonshine via railcar back then– you could manipulate such a feat considering the power this group of individuals possessed. Nothing was sacred. In fact, it was this disconnectedness that made it very possible that smaller segments could have been secured for such illegal errands and gone undetected by anyone of true authority. After all- who was going to tell the law… on the law??? And thus we have the total conundrum of this entire case. How do you go to the law to insist that unlawful things were happening, when it was the law who was puppeteering the events? Now I know that this begins to sound like a bad Kirk Douglas western… but it is fact. In 1966 the law was corrupt- every strain in that tiny little sandbox burg of it was corrupt and without apology for being so.

Ahhhhhhhhhh… those in position of authority- there’s the rub. What does one do? Thus brings to mind the, “Lucifer Effect” as charted by Phillip Zimbardo. Look it up my dears and educate yourselves as to how seemingly good people can come to do bad things. But even more than those phenomena- how bad people can commit such crimes and suffer absolute immunity of conscience. Hey… wait a minute. Maybe that should be the title of this book. “Immunity of Conscience”. Yea, I like the way that sounds. OK- so now duly copyrighted as appearing in print- I shall consider it. (Though I believe I have decided to go with Exercise of Evil as final choice- this looms as great alternative or segue to another novel in outline already.)

Alas, I digress. November was a cosmically violent month for me with more unexpected changes than I believe I care to shoulder into the New Year- but there too, I am but traveler and not navigator these days, even unto my own world. Still, this past weekend has served my sense of balance well. I sold many books and met some wonderful people. In my sharing of segue from my first novel, The Danburg Diary (about Moore’s Ford Bridge Massacre 1946) into this next about Charley… I believe I have captured the imaginations of many who may begin to follow here now, his story. I caution them again:

Go back to the beginning my friends. You must start from the beginning a year ago now. This is not a tale in which one can simply plop down into the middle and comfortably move forward… it must be begun from the first and followed with keen memory, attention to detail and brutal diligence to understand the web being constructed. Because it is real- it comes without script or schedule. You see, that is the thing. I cannot suppose or fabricate these events. They are orchestrated from places I cannot go. Hindsight is my only compass and serves me better in my deciphering, but it is the addiction to the anticipation that captures and holds me captive. I fear many who will read my first book and then blindly venture here will not understand that the first book was constructed- this blog however constructs itself day by day as I wait for further instruction. It is not the Hallmark Channel rendition of murder where we find crime, then backfill. I am very much still with paint brush in hand, waiting on further canvass to create. This is raw and unbridled flow of information- based on others greed and disdain that has brought such literary footnotes before you. Many people bought the first book and I pray that they understand that one cannot tackle such as this without reflecting the horror that it is.

For here you have a man; a family man whose eyes may have wandered for want of something less familiar for a brief moment… but to serve up cold and cruel death as penalty for what Jimmy Carter once voiced as, “I lust with my eyes only” is abuse of the highest order… especially when we see that sex was both impetus and default in this murder. Lust is lust and as has been learned, the imagination breeches boundaries our conscious lives never could… or perhaps… never would admit to. Take Charley… a cup of coffee here and there. A smile, a look, and a nod to a pretty woman… and suddenly your life become the centerpiece of the 11 o’clock news. It is not my job to determine if in fact he strayed or not. It is however my duty to determine the reasons why they pushed to make that venue so believable and to defend whatever margin of innocence before both public and private court.

Charley’s fascination with a pair of brown eyes places his guilt neither here nor there- for it has nothing to do with this murder beyond convenience of segue. Charley was murdered because of the information brought by the MOT; by what he found when he began to investigate the disappearances of Jessica and Roxanne… when he got too close … when names and numbers began to make sense. When bloody shovels and compasses began to speak of the unspeakable. When blonde hair floated in the water and could no longer hide the bruises. When maids found bodies left for dead in downtown hotels. When those in charge began to feel the grip of justice begin to close around their throats- they reached out and went for his. When Charley presented physical evidence that sent chills down their spines- not for what they had done- but for what others would come to know about them if it got any further up the agency food chain…

Charley was baited, lured to Clyattville–Nankin Road that night and murdered because too many carrying badges could not conceive of their lives and immorality being gutted and splayed before the public domain. These men and one woman lived their lives comfortable and warm, tucked beneath a blanket of lies and their shallow guilt as they watched the grieving widow struggle to keep her children safe.

Do not forget the coffee grounds strewn about the kitchen floor in a message of obscenity, by the energy with the red fingernails. Do not forget that this same woman slept with the older energy and toyed with the younger. Do not forget the words of our victim who called her the black widow… and clutched his chest saying she had led him to his own slaughter. Do not forget how one man washed his hands of the blood that night, but his soul remains tainted forever. Do not forget the Grim Reaper who leads them all to their death and then smiles from behind his religious fervor as though pure as the driven slush.

In this season of forgiveness and peace, remember to cherish those beside you. Through it all, Charley has made his children the focus of his redemption- seeking their forgiveness for having left too soon. Through out this all, I too have done what I can to enable this redemption.

I’m listening Charley.
I’m still listening.
Whisper it in my ear.
Tell me more.
Tell me more.