Brownstonelit's Blog

2/10/10

I have spent the better part of the last few days transcribing the session of Friday and relive the event each time with greater understanding of what has transpired. People, places…names, numbers and initials have begun to have a life of their own. I am piecing things together now that did not seem to fit before, but now show clear segues to one another. And each day, sometimes hourly other intuitions flower and unfold before me. I continue to be mindful that not everyone sees this for what it is. Grateful to some extent that they do not, as this continues to be a work in progress and comments one way or another at this point would seem grossly premature.

While information garnered did not come in your typical fashion, it remains information none the less and must be substantiated to reach the benchmark necessary to warrant validation. Therefore, I am hesitant under such rigorous recent scrutiny to place anything in print. Yet, if that become the margin by which I process, then while I am left more socially palatable, I am also left unfaithful to my craft and the task at hand. To those then who might take religious umbrage with such methods, I merely answer:

What is the definition of praying? Take your answer and extrapolate from there…

Until later then

2/7/10

Preface: She knew nothing about the case prior to this meeting. She had instructed me not to share anything with her. No names, dates, premises or locations- nothing that would taint or compromise her reading. She had stressed that from our very first meeting back in December at the Cold Case Research and Investigation Institute/Moores Ford Bridge award ceremony. She wanted no information ahead of time and bid me call her after the holidays. I complied and late in January I called to set a date.
I am going to record what took place during my interview with the psychic detective on Friday. This report may seem disjointed at points, but this is the fashion in which it occurred and I want to try and remain as close to the experience as possible.
We were to meet at a designated coffee house in midtown Atlanta at 10:00 in the morning. As fate would have it, it was raining like a son-of-a-bitch; a fact at the time that registered more as annoyance with me, than grossly appropriate. In hindsight now, I realize the weather couldn’t have been any other way. It was perfect. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had told me Charley had arranged it that way. Two days and two blogs earlier I had openly begged Charley to talk to me, so there was no way I could not be there when fate had finally led me to someone who might be able to speak for him. I just hoped what she had to tell me would be enough to fill the metaphorical coffee cup from my title.
I wanted to know if the rumors about his affair had been true. That it all had started and ended with an innocent cup of coffee the way I had guesstimated in my teaser. Had he really decided on the spur of the moment to leave his wife and kids and commit suicide? Or were my suspicions about all the inconsistencies in everything I had read thus far, correct? I needed to know if I was right about the significance of the rain that night. If I could confirm my timeline theory based on the omission about the windshield wipers… if he could help us identify who it was at the front right tire when the first witness drove by. Whether or not he pulled the trigger at his chin and how it was they found traces of nitrate on his right hand. Was I correct about which shot was fired first? Was there really blood on the right side of the window, or had it been staged that way? (You’ve read the previous blogs. You know the suspicions I have written about. The many theories I have promoted thus far in my investigation of this case. Use them as control specimens for this experiment.) I wanted to ask how Charley’s body got moved from where it should have fallen– to where the second set of witnesses found it several minutes after the first witness had driven by. I wanted to know if I was on the right track to discovering who else might have been involved that night. And most of all, I needed to know if I was doing the right thing by everyone, but especially his daughter by asking all those questions to begin with.
I can tell you now that I received all of the information above at the hands of a woman so gracious with her soul, it made me re-access the generosity of my own. An individual so compassionate and gifted that I awed in her presence and hoped she would be kind in her appraisal of whatever elements of my own soul bled in kind before her. Things and secrets I could not hide from her. For the first time I understood what it was to be naked from the inside out… and I worried I was not worthy enough to sit across from her.
The drive in from Athens on 316 went fairly well, until I got within a mile of merging with 85 south. Then of course, Murphy’s Law set in along with a horrendous bank of fog and rain that tormented me through equal parts. I called her at approximately 9:50 a.m. to tell her that I would be about ten to fifteen minutes more. She granted me leniency and gave me a heads up on the parking accommodations.
Inside my trunk lay a large clear plastic storage container. It was filled with a myriad of personal papers, print media clippings, photos; letters and telegrams I thought might be useful. The rain continued to pour while I hedged my bets thinking about the secret weapon in the plastic baggie, (his bloodied wallet), and wondered if it would be my best ticket to solving the mystery of his death. I went through the rest of my checklist mentally. My personal files, plus another binder that held the GBI crime lab report, the indictments (506F and 514F) for F and both C’s, Jr. and Sr. sequentially-check. The register book from the Carson McLane Funeral Home and Charley’s 8×10 tinted photo–the one I have been talking to now for months-check. Beyond that I had belly full of butterflies and a pot full of questions I had no idea if I would be able to ask.
The rain continued to accost me as I set the bin to the curb, grabbed my book bag with laptop and my purse. Once inside I told the waiter I was meeting someone and he immediately escorted me across the room and down a slender alcove filled with heavy wood, chocolate perfume and Mediterranean ambience. Introductions made, menus dispersed, she set about explaining what was about to take place.
As she spoke it became increasingly clear there had been no real need for my computer; only my leather notebook, a pen and an open mind. I quietly assured myself everything else I needed factually had already been etched into my brain and everything else she was about to afford me would be etched upon my heart. She motioned towards the bin on the floor. I explained I was just trying to be prepared. She smiled again and I was uncertain as to whether or not I should be embarrassed. Had it been out of place to bring so much? In my defense I told her, having never interviewed an entity before I brought everything I thought might spike a reaction. Psychic/medium and writer in place… all we needed now was a visit from Charley. Had I known from the start how the rest of the morning would go, I would have known I only needed to bring one thing. The thing that started an avalanche of information that damn near buried us all for the next two and a half hours… the initial G.

2/5/10
Drained… but more importantly, rejuvenated and reinvented. It has been a long fruitful day. I did meet with the psychic, but choose not to share any findings at this point. Suffice it to say, I am in awe… spent… and even more determined to help, knowing that I am following the path I am meant. I continue to pray for guidance and listen intently to what is presented. I fear if I write more tonight, I may say more tonight and I need to process this information carefully. I try to parse words and let you know that there are people who I must continue to search for. People whom I thought peripheral, but not so. I make the commitment to stop writing for the night and then there in the Register of Visitors from the Carson McLane Funeral Home I see it. The name.
Until later…

2/3/10

Kudos to my husband who has secured another contact whose tentacles may be able to reach deeper within the FBI files for what I need, I am feeling anxious to begin retrieving the fruits of other people’s labor on my behalf. Having now several well placed individuals within and out of the various agencies, whose navigational skill sets far exceed that of my own in such delicate matters; I shall continue to do due diligence in research areas that must be done at my level. Along with interviews and emails, I shall continue to canvass the materials already in my possession. Combing through sheet after sheet of onion skinned paper copy for more missing links in the chain mail of this case becomes a nightly ritual. These are the days that taunt and tease with little or no outside information trickling in. But I know there is great intervention taking place on my behalf and so I will persevere in silent vigil while the clock ticks away and leaves me wanting.
Talk to me Charley… talk to me. I’m here… I will listen.

2/2/10
I was hoping to have received more information yesterday, but my sources are still working diligently to secure contacts for me and it is both my duty and honor to wait upon them. After all, this is for Charley and today as much as I might wish to serve myself, I must be mindful that I also serve him who waits for release. Patience is a virtue I am well acquainted with when it comes to writing a story. A muse’s timing is not always in sync with my own and so I must forever wait at her coattails for her to impart whatever she wishes; knowing that fodder and wisdom alike are but one in the same to her and dispensed with the same expediency or lack there of. Today the sky has decided to cry and it bids me to stand at the edge of burgeoning puddles waiting… for what and for whom I am not certain just yet, but that is the beauty of intuition. It baits without reason and delivers without agenda. And that is the irony about writing a book or writing anything at all. Writers do not write. Rather we channel what is already floating amongst the cosmos. Plucking from the ether what is finally ripe and then with timid intellect and pointed pen splay it open for others to see. My muse does not always appear ready for work, with blue print in hand and dusty coveralls festooned with tools of my beloved trade. Some days she shows up with only rain coat and goulashes, wanting only to play in the rain. Pointing to the heavens and begging me to follow her lead, that I not miss the other things in life I will need to feed fledgling characters without tapping my reserves. Today could be one of those days where it is better to follow, than to lead. To listen to music, rather than to compose it. To read and not to write… to not speak, but listen to what quiet secrets the cosmos may wish to bestow.

2/1/10
Continued…
Sometimes in the course of researching events, I am blessed with experiences I might never have had under other circumstances. Introductions made that would have never taken place, without tenacity of intent and a penchant for resolution. Throughout this project, I try to convince myself that I am following Charley’s journey and that I am merely along for the ride, but not so. I can’t seem to divorce myself from the fact that I collectively empathize with its victims as a partner in marriage, a mother and someone’s child–so all compassionate humanity demands that I pay attention to the landmarks shown me and in doing so, aids me in my many introductions.

Introductions to wonderful people who respond with generous spirit for whatever cause deems most important at the time. Dedicated and knowledgeable people who understand the pain of not knowing a truth, and have the power to change other people’s lives with their insight and access to information I have not. Or at the very least, these people have the power to help those victimized by this tragedy change the perception of their lives and as Anne River Siddons says… “Perception is everything, my darling,” and she is right. I have thought a lot about her words of late, as I have spent some time recently in the Outer Banks. Perception is everything, my darling… or so it seems. My perception of this case will be far different than those who suffered by its intimate hand. I cannot comprehend the devastation of Hazel or the trauma of her children. Nor can I completely empathize with the impact this made on those more peripheral; such as other agents, extended family and friends. Or even from those whose hands I am depending on now to point my way to resolution. Each of us will walk away from this project with a different sense of being. Altered by a man most of us will never have the chance to meet. But the beauty will be that we will have the opportunity to reinvent our own lives, based upon the discovery of his death. Charley will touch more people through this book, than perhaps he might have in his life and I owe it to him to do this right. Thus, I ask for guidance.
The break from current landscape was good for my spirit. I don’t visit places like tourists who trample underfoot what should be relished, or who glance with casual eye what should be savored. Rather, I immerse myself and breathe in as much as possible so that I might find a new world to visit internally when the one I live and work in becomes tarnished by the mundane. I made a mental scrapbook filled with white tipped waves that agitated outside the Ferry like an overloaded washing machine. The island’s shoreline, an undulating coverlet of sand that repeatedly tried to slip away from tawny fingers of wheat like stalks that fought to pull them back into place to keep warm from the winter winds. Ah yes… I do not visit where I go; I live where I go and then move when time bids I return to where I hang my hat. I am not the accidental tourist, but the citizen who cannot always stay. The Outer Banks, even in biting wind and uncharitable welcome brought peace to this wandering soul. Not because of what it was, but because of what it wasn’t.

2/1/10

Spent several days out of town digesting information and retrieving more…
I am grateful to those who have responded to my queries and continue to research on my behalf. I will keep their names sacred until otherwise directed, but know this that your help is valued, your budding friendships cherished and your guidance indispensable.
The facts of the case continue to baffle. This is why I need the court transcripts between Hazel and the American Casualty and Life Insurance Company. In order to decipher the words behind the words of this story. Witness testimonies and photos are beyond necessary for me, as I am a visual person and need the physicality of evidence. The information contained within them will help answer certain questions I still have about what I feel are unsettling logistics of the crime scene. I need to hear their words and see what they saw that night. What time did the first responders make it to the scene? Who and how many not recorded in the print media? I need to pin-point the exact time that the rain began and how far it was from Charley’s home to his office as they speculated he went there first to clear his office of things (the adult tapes)and gather his gun. But first and most paramount, I need the exact positioning of the body at final rest. It is key to everything.

Print media and reports state the body lay in front of the 1966 Ford he was driving. And that’s great, but I need to know what direction his body was positioned. Was the head of the body pointing to the right or to the left side of the car? Was his body in front of the car, but laying face down parallel to or away from the car? I need to know exactly how far from the bumper of the car and how many feet/inches this side or the other of center hood? You see, I can’t seem to wrap my head around how he ended up in front of the car, if in fact the second shot was considered the fatal shot. The crime lab report states they had scrapings of blood from the top right window of the car. Now it does not say windshield; though I suspect that is what they meant. Otherwise I imagine the word ‘passenger’ would have prefaced the location. Even still, if you fire a second shot, considered to be fatal at the upper right hand corner of a 1966 Ford windshield, then how do you make the transition to the front of the vehicle several feet away? Would you not slump to the ground at the very site the shot was fired? In which case the body would have been off the road and into the muddy shoulder as the car was purported as having been pulled off the road and to the right.
Even more confounding is the fact that they were able to retrieve blood to begin with in the pouring rain. One witness said they saw a man squatting at the front right tire? Could this have been the possible location of Charley after the first shot through his chin? Or perhaps some one else at the front right tire positioned as though fixing it; waiting for the traffic to clear to stage the body? An unnamed woman said she saw a man running from the scene into the woods. Maybe the body was not even there at this point as several vehicles were reported as being seen. One being a truck by the first witness early on. Why would I speculate so? Because the body at one point had to have been in a sitting position and out of the direct path of the rain long enough for blood to have flowed undiluted down the back. There was blood found in between the plastic covers of the wallet photos in his leather wallet. Therefore; blood had to have run down his back and pooled above the jutting right hind pocket area, directly below the fatal wound which was up behind the right ear. Occam’s razor theory applied again…There is no other natural way for it to get there than by sheer gravity. So when was he in a sitting position, out of the direct force of the rain?
Again, I am not a detective. I do not watch reruns of every CSI show known to mankind, nor do I profess to have any training other than being a parent. I am just trying to ask the questions that come to my mind when I find gaps in logical thinking. I am hoping to receive some information from two different sources today. I wait anxiously for later this week when I will finally meet with my two experts from CCIRI.
Till later then…

1/29/10
The internet is a wonderful thing!
Through research on the web, I was able to canvas various pieces on ATF history and find an author of a book entitled, In the Cross Fire: A Political History of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms
Book by William J. Vizzard; Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1997.
Vizzard is a retired ATF agent who now resides in California. Through his most expeditious response and generosity, he has led me to another retired ATF agent in North Carolina who was a young aspiring agent in the Bureau at the time Charley was killed. Several phone calls later, I was speaking with a terrific man who has extended his hand to help with whatever contacts he thinks will be of use to bring us closer to the inside workings of this case. Unfortunately, too many of these men are now dead. But he did know BH, Special Investigator in the case and  PH, Charley’s partner who was there that night at the crime scene. I am traveling these next two days in North Carolina’s outer banks for other reasons, but hopeful that by the beginning of the week I will have received a myriad of new threads to follow. Ingratiating myself now to those who served and continue to serve this great nation through the ATF Bureau, I rely upon their generous spirits to help funnel my efforts into the most appropriate directions to find some sort of order to the chaotic paper trail of this case. Everyday new possibilities continue to present themselves in uncanny bouts of synchronicity and I am grateful for its guidance. Still looking for more information about the Fraternal Order of the Eagles in Valdosta and its members at that time. Also tracing the mystery comment about a man named HS and why was it JF was so adamant throughout his indictment process, that he be given access to information about those who would be testifying against him; names, addresses…where to find them and how the opposing attorney’s withheld this information based on the fact that they had reason to believe their lives would have been placed in danger had F had this information prior to trial. Very telling tid bits in the fine print of these documents when read in hindsight. According to these documents:
506 F.2d 759
UNITED STATES of America, Plaintiff-Appellee,
v.
Edward Wray CROCKETT, Jr., Edward Wray Crockett, III,
Pleasant Henry Partin, Marcus Randolph Martin, and
Edwin Eugene Brown, Defendants-Appellants.
No. 73-4011.
United States Court of Appeals, Fifth Circuit.
Jan. 17, 1975, Rehearing Denied March 4, 1975.

And…

514 F.2d 64
UNITED STATES of America, Plaintiff-Appellee,
v.
Edward Wray CROCKETT, Jr., David Keen Crockett, and Jewell
L. Futch, Defendants-Appellants.
No. 73-4013.
United States Court of Appeals,
Fifth Circuit.
June 5, 1975.
Organized crime that involved the obstruction of law by local law enforcement (Futch) can be quantifiably traced at least back as far as 1964. If you search the origins of the Fraternal Order of Eagles in Valdosta, (see link below);
Content of this newsletter and all past issues of
DELK NEWS QUARTERLY
reflects information from our database available at:

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The database currently contains ca. 98,203 individuals including:
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© Fabian Doles April 30, 2004
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Who was Roger Delk: A Brief Biography of our common ancestor

you see some of the founding family names of the Valdosta chapter; among them is the name, FUTCH.

Most interesting is that a few short years later, as you read the indictment you see that F was in deed part and parcel to this illegal hotbed of conspirators. His participation and subsequent indictment serves as just another link in the chain that weighs this case down. Suffice it to say, the more I research, the more I feel less inclined to think Charley killed himself; but shy of more definitive information and confirmation… I must continue to bear an open mind to any and all possibilities. Hopeful still that I am able to retrieve court transcripts from the hearing between Charley’s wife and the insurance company she had to sue to get his life insurance.

Until later then…

1/25/10
Writing a novel such as this some days becomes more about the process than the end product. It is a world of continual enlightenment and illusion and fascinates this meager mind so, that little else seeps in for hours at a time. Having spent an evening over the weekend with J, I have learned even more about some of the more elusive hours both before and after the shooting. Things that I do not wish to display here just yet; but know that these occurrences in and of themselves, should have warranted so much more from the investigation than was met. Things like, house keys having been taken off the key ring and no-one claims to know where they are, but 3 weeks after his death and questions start being asked… the family goes to the grocery store and comes home to find muddy footprints through the house and coffee grounds strewn about the room! Or how a funeral home could allow someone outside the family to place articles within the pockets of the deceased… some one not his wife and not tell her about it till after the burial? Or how about the fact that three of the witnesses who saw the body on the road, say the crime scene photos show the body in another position? Or how about the pathologists report where they say they had blood scrapings from the top right window of the car. Scrapings of blood from a metal roof and a glass windshield, that somehow survived the horrendous rain storm that ensued that night? The witnesses all claimed it was raining around 10:00 when they drove past his car. One said they saw a man squatting at the right tire area in the rain. If Charley left at 5 till 9 and it takes 45 minutes to get to that location, and the rain began around 10:00 P.M…. how the devil do you drive for 45 minutes to an area, shoot yourself twice in the head through pouring rain, relocate your body at least twice and still have enough dried blood available to be scraped from a glass window sometime after 11:00P.M. ?

Please, even fresh bird ________ won’t stick in that kind of weather, unless it had hours before to dry there first. Even then, the odds of it staying intact on a glass surface under normal rains are ridiculous, but records show they received 3 inches of rain in a two hour period that night. The fact that the windshield wipers were not on, tells us that the incident took place right before it rained… or that the perpetrators didn’t think about that minor detail when they were staging … as no one was driving the car!

It is a shame that so many of the players went to their graves silent, as there are so many shadows that could be brought to light if only… I shall continue in my search of archives and wait to see if another contact has been able to commit to helping me. Occasionally this blog may deal mostly in cryptic format, so as to protect the identity and/or information given by certain people who are aiding in my research. Today is for returning my attentions to the local AT&T (ATF) office that once resided in Valdosta and/or where those records now reside. I will let you know the status of my efforts.
Till tomorrow then…

1/23/10
Casual conversations lead to more suspicions…
Friday I spent copious amounts of time at my desk studying both report and a series of other leads in an effort to work through some inconsistencies triggered by the report that continue to plague this case. Since I had retrieved my information so speedily from the GBI Headquarters in Atlanta, I admit to being hopeful for information in kind to come from the FBI office in Atlanta. Suffice it to say, the receptionist was most congenial. The Duty Office on desk that day… well, let’s just say he’s not much of a morning person. But the gentleman he finally routed me to was another kind soul like the receptionist and so I took what advice was given and tried my hand at the FBI web site.
There I was, eager to pursue with great enthusiasm anything else that could be gleaned about my project and that is where I began to hit brick walls. Once you get on the site, navigation becomes a bear. I went to the tab for Researchers and tried to follow… for four hours I tried to follow. Then, my husband tried later that night… for four more hours. Ultimately, we learned this. One being, it is not as easy to navigate as they would have you think. Thus, the apparent necessity for the tab which reads: Hire a Researcher. And two, that even though they have an inordinate amount of information about everything know to mankind, including pre-Civil War and onward … it seems to stop right around 1966 in regards to the Alcohol, Tobacco and Tax Bureau through the Treasury Department. I was able to find one reference, but could not get to it via the vehicle provided. My husband thought he found several… Once again, stymied by links that took him everywhere but where he wanted. But not to worry. Odds are that the FBI has no more weight to it than what the GBI had. The real paper work I would like to get my eyes on is in Valdosta. Coroner’s report by C, police report by F and the AT&T’s report by H and or L.