Secrets of the Righteous Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for H. B. Berlow

  Secrets of the Righteous

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Quote

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  A word from the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  Like a vaudeville show,

  two large men entered on cue. The first one was younger, maybe in his mid thirties, built like a war horse but with a look of total anger and chaos, eyes that seemed to stare rather than see. There was something bullish about him, as though he were a runaway train, rolling over anybody and anything in its path. The man behind him was a good ten to fifteen years older than me, as big but seeming more like a large sack of flour with the same pale whiteness, looking like he had just awoken from a sound sleep. His steps fell heavy as he walked.

  “This the guy?” blurted the younger man.

  Roché pointed to the first and then the second man.

  “Detective Rackler and Detective Sells, this is Officer Witherspoon from the Arkansas City…”

  “I know who he is.” Rackler’s words cut like a bayonet through a soft body, making my outstretched hand seem useless. “I told the chief we don’t need him.”

  Praise for H. B. Berlow

  “H.B. Berlow writes with an extraordinary imagination expressed in a provocative crime thriller containing unforgettable characters.”

  ~Dr. Bruce Lindsay,

  Police commissioner (ret.),

  Rochester, New Hampshire

  Secrets of the Righteous

  by

  H. B. Berlow

  The Ark City Confidential Chronicles, Book 2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Secrets of the Righteous

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Hugh Berlow and Shelia Hammer Family Revocable Trust

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2090-8

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2091-5

  The Ark City Confidential Chronicles, Book 2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To George and Gloria Berlow,

  also known as Ma and Dad.

  Acknowledgments

  Continued thanks to

  Larry Hammer and Dixie McGuire

  for the stories and their support.

  “For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.”

  ~Luke 8:17, The Bible, King James Version

  Part One

  Family Reunions

  Chapter One

  Ever since she was used as a shield by the late Jake Hickey, Miss Elizabeth Handy didn’t quite fancy being the wife of a policeman. She may have still had her youthful crush on me but she no longer considered being my spouse as the best option for her. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t at all upset by it. A ghost from the past returned in a vicious way and turned my quiet world on its ear. At this point I knew there was nothing I could give her to make for a long and joyful life. She deserved better. I deserved what I got.

  Beth took Frank Appleby up on his proposal of marriage a scant four months after they became a regular item in the local newspaper’s “Around Town” column. Truth be told it was really nothing more than gossip from a few cackling ladies who were privy to all the goings-on, casually mentioning it to Sandy Clevenger, the Arkansas City Traveler’s long-time secretary, who would put her meager literary skills to use. Sandy enjoyed discussing Black Mask stories with me and fancied herself an amateur sleuth. I indulged her because her extensive knowledge on just about everything relating to the city had been invaluable to me. Beth actually broke the news to me even before asking Janet Vogel to be her maid of honor.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Baron?”

  I smiled at her like a big brother would, beaming with pride.

  “Mind? I’m happy for you, Beth. Frank is a good man.”

  I wasn’t much for speeches or philosophical insights. It was all she really needed to hear.

  I was fairly confident Dr. Louis Brenz, Doctie as he was known to so many, might have been the only one who knew I was Eric Kimble from the North Side of Chicago and not the beloved Baron Witherspoon from right here in Arkansas City. There was nothing to fear because he was only interested in what was best for the people of Ark City. Besides, what I had become was the type of Baron Witherspoon this city needed, a beat cop with compassion and caring and a no-nonsense attitude. Nothing more. Doctie felt his primary job was to attend to his patients’ well-being. To that end, my regular checkups with him were more about the physical, such as the scarring on my face, than anything to do with my mind. He’d tried awful hard to get me right in the head using his training in osteopathy. He figured he was responsible for me seeing as how he brought me into this world. I still had the dreams, probably always would. It was all part of the bargain of being Baron Witherspoon.

  Councilman Hallett dropped his title when he declined to run for re-election. If I were a betting man, I would have put the finger on him for most of the graft and corruption in the city. Seeing as how he hadn’t been convicted of anything much less charged, his departure from public service was to be considered a victory. I always pegged him for orches
trating Heather Devore’s murder in hopes of pinning it on Jake Hickey. Well, Hickey was dead, and the scuttlebutt was Hallett had been “encouraged” to retire by forces more powerful than he had ever dared to be. At this point, it felt like a storm had passed and there was no need to worry about the next one until it arrived. It was something Big Ray Vernon wasn’t about to wait for. His long-time dream of being a cop didn’t settle too well with the notion of being scared of just about everything. The high school hired him as a history teacher just so he could be assistant coach of the basketball team. I never did quite thank him enough for putting an end to Jake Hickey. I guess me not talking him out of leaving the force was thanks enough.

  Most of the town was abuzz over the wedding. It seems like vagrants and ornery young men kept themselves in check for a bit while the festivities were being planned. I knew I would be invited, not because I saved Beth and her dad so much as being an old friend. Even so, a thought crossed my mind I might be out of place, my facial scars not the best thing to present to folks at an occasion which celebrated beauty. I often thought I had a pinkish white spider web hiding everything that could identify me as a human being. Such were the results of struggling in barbed wire in the war. Then I had to be reminded by Mrs. Handy herself I was basically one of the family. It choked me up more than she realized.

  The First Baptist Church was a simply stated brick building constructed in 1927, a little less than eight years ago. The Handys had been attending well before then; it was their faith that got them through the most difficult times in their lives, one of which involved me. I still felt awkward being there. It was hard enough coming to grips with being the “new” Baron Witherspoon I hadn’t considered any kind of relationship with my maker. It had never been much of a subject of conversation for tough Irish kids on the North Side of Chicago, despite Dion O’Banion being a churchgoing kind of guy himself. Always wondered what his final reward turned out to be.

  On the day of the wedding, I stood at the back just inside the vestibule. The sermon was stuff about loving and honoring and cherishing, all of which I felt Frank Appleby was more than capable.

  As the service ended, a rather tall young woman assisted Beth with her train. She had hair the color of new wheat as the sunset shines through it. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen her earlier. She appeared dipped in gold. I was smiling at Beth and Frank’s happiness as the woman passed. Our eyes met briefly. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt kind of breathless. An entirely new sensation for me.

  The reception was held at Mr. and Mrs. Appleby’s home on account of them having much more room and more land. While Mr. Handy’s haberdashery was quite successful, Mr. Appleby was the bank vice-president. They could afford to feed the entire town which is practically what they did. Tables and benches were set up in and around the barn. Fried chicken with all the trimmings turned it into a festive affair. Several boys showed off their yo-yo skills while a couple of girls were chasing a boy rolling an inner tube around with a stick. Nothing stronger than lemonade was served. A few older gentlemen, along with Mr. Appleby, talked politics or business or whatever serious subjects were on their mind. Meanwhile Mr. Handy discussed hats with a few of the wives. Everyone wore their Sunday best. My shirt and tie felt tight around my neck, kind of like a noose. I wasn’t used to dressing up so fancy.

  The golden-haired woman stood by Beth’s side along with the other bridesmaids and wedding party in a reception line. I made my way slowly toward them, head hanging down like a schoolboy. I almost didn’t want to look up knowing I would probably say something stupid. Strange how I could look straight into the eyes of the likes of Jake Hickey but a sweet young woman got me to shaking. I was more like Baron Witherspoon now.

  I shook Frank’s hand firmly and gave him a pat on the arm. Beth reached toward me for a warm hug. She had a small tear in her eye. I wondered if it was because of the day or what I had done for her. I was still looking at her when she said, “Baron, this is my cousin, Natalie Dixon.” Because of the introduction, I was forced to look directly at her. She looked back at me without a sliver of fear or apprehension. Her green eyes sparkled like precious jewels. I held her hand lightly.

  “I’ve heard so much about you, Officer Witherspoon.” Her tone was gracious and inviting.

  “No need to stand on ceremony. You can call me Baron.” There was an awkward pause as I could tell she was the type to stand on ceremony. “You don’t live around here, do you?”

  “I live in Emporia. Went to school up there many years ago. I’m a teacher now.”

  “That sounds nice.” As I figured, it was a dumb thing to say. Meaningless words to fill in the space. Outside of a few gals I had a few drinks and a few laughs with, I had never been around such a genteel woman as Natalie Dixon. I hoped I’d have another chance to speak more intelligently with her if I could figure out how.

  I walked to the table with all the food and was so close to grabbing a drumstick when Lee Jones came toward me with strong strides. He was in his mid-twenties and had been on the force about six months. Like many of the new guys, he was eager but largely unprepared for the kind of violence we’d experienced just last year. He would probably do well with drunks and hobos.

  “Chief sent me for you.” He was panting, out of breath, with sweat pouring down his rather pale face.

  “What for?”

  “There’s something—Well, he said he would tell you.”

  Lee acted like he’d seen a ghost. I knew not to press him because Chief Richardson was a tall and mean looking man who knew how to impress the younger guys with his demeanor. I made a few quick apologies and left, disappointed about not getting any of Mrs. Appleby’s chicken.

  Lee’s pace was more eager than mine. We made the twenty-minute walk back to the station in ten. I knocked lightly, went into the Chief’s office, and stood at attention. I wasn’t sure if Chief Richardson had been in the military but knew you always had to follow protocol around this man.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong came across something on the county road as they were driving into church this morning.” He started right in without any kind of introduction to the situation. “They came in and reported it and I sent Morton and Jones out to look into it.”

  It sounded like some kind of campfire story, so mysterious and without any detail. Based on the look on Lee Jones’ face, I figured it was no story.

  “Morton sent the kid back. I need you to go out there and handle this.”

  “Why me, sir?” The whole thing had me confused, especially not knowing what the situation actually was. Chief Richardson looked directly at me much in the same way my sergeant did back in France when the situation was dire.

  “You’ve got the kind of intelligence needed for this. The way you handled the Hickey thing proves you’re what I need. We’ve only got but one plainclothesman, and he’s not—well, he’s not you.”

  All I could do was say, “Yes, sir” and go with Lee Jones to a lonely county road where Dave Morton had been waiting.

  Chapter Two

  I truly felt bad for Dave Morton. By the time I got out there, I figure he had been standing on a dusty county road for about an hour in the heat. But he knew Lee wasn’t going to be very comfortable just waiting around and wondering what was underneath a bloody sheet.

  “How’s the shoulder?” I asked, referencing the bullet wound he got from the late Jake Hickey. Dave was a good ten years younger than me but had the kind of maturity the newer guys lacked. I guess part of that came from getting shot by a Chicago gangster.

  “It’s really cutting into my tennis game,” he said with a smile. After fellow officer George McAllister had betrayed us to Hickey by helping him escape, Dave Morton was the one cop I trusted completely. He had smarts and gumption. Reminded me a lot of a younger me. “How was the wedding?”

  “Just fine, as far as weddings go. Unfortunately, Lee came to get me right as I was about to eat.”

  “The Handys like you. I’m sure they’ll save you
something.”

  I looked at the road where a clump lay just off to the side. It was covered with a white sheet and had reddish brown stains on it, most likely dried blood.

  “What’s the story?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Armstrongs told us what they’d seen and the chief sent us out here. When Lee and I got here, I figured we’d need more people, a doctor maybe.”

  I looked down at the clump, then to Dave, and back to Lee.

  “Anybody look at it?” Dave and Lee both nodded negatively. I knew this is what the chief was referring to.

  I leaned down and pulled the sheet back. It was the body of a man who looked like he had run into several of Max Baer’s jabs. The right side of the head was swollen and there was a large spot of dried blood. It was clumpy and matted down the hair. Looked like the man had been beaten by some kind of club. Lee viewed the body curiously and, surprisingly, without any sense of disgust.

  “That’s Carl Bottomley,” he blurted out. “He’s a bit of a mutt.” I wasn’t aware of the expression as it related to a human being. Lee saw my furrowed brow and understood my confusion. “His wife and kids left him a long time ago. I’m the same age as his oldest boy. He works at the mill and kind of just goes on about by himself.”

  I continued pulling the sheet down and saw his body had maybe ten or so stab wounds in the chest and belly. I hadn’t seen anything as gruesome since the war. These didn’t appear as deep as bayonets but they were sharp.

  “How you figure a guy gets killed so violently?” Dave said out loud exactly what I was just thinking. A loner like Lee described would not be a likely victim, certainly not if he didn’t get out much.

  The sheet had far more blood stains toward the bottom so I kept removing it. What I saw next was something I couldn’t prepare for even if you had told me in advance.

  His pants had been removed and it appeared his private parts had been cut off. The ground underneath was stained deeper than the red clay of Oklahoma. He was pretty much lying in a pool of blood. I wasn’t sure how much the human body contained but by the pale look of his face I figured it had all pretty much just run out.