“I’ll have to call you later, Olivia. I must go now, I have an appointment.” He placed the phone gently in the cradle. Then picking it up again, called the desk and ordered The Washington Times and the Post to be delivered to his room along with The New York Times. Then he dialed Lyle Ramsey’s private number. “Lyle, this is Brad, we may have a problem; I want you to find out who claimed Kelshaw’s body and arranged for its transport back to DC.”
“Someone claimed the body?” Lyle asked incredulously.
“Yes, and I want to know who. Use your contacts in Seattle Police Department to find out,” he demanded.
“I will, certainly, Brad,” Lyle was disturbed. “I thought all this was over,” he said as he hung up and buzzed Connie Porter. “Connie, I want you to get the police chief on the phone for me. I need to speak with him. Tell him it’s urgent.”
In less than a minute Lyle’s phone buzzed, “Captain Martin is on the line, Mr. Ramsey. The Chief is out of town until next week. Do you wish to speak with him?”
“Yes, thank you, Connie.” Lyle picked up the call, “Captain Martin, this is Lyle Ramsey of Ramsey and Carr. Perhaps you can help our firm with a little information.
We have had an inquiry about a crime victim who may have been without resources for a proper burial, whose name was George Kelshaw. We have a client and his wife who generously provide funds to a homeless shelter and have offered to give Mr. Kelshaw a decent burial, anonymously of course, if no one has claimed the body.”
“That’s very generous, Mr. Ramsey,” Captain Martin replied. “But, as it is the body was claimed and sent to the East Coast for burial.”
“But I thought he was a transient,” Lyle argued.
“Not really, Mr. Ramsey; his body was claimed by a gentleman from the U. S. State Department—I can give you his name, its right here on my desk,” the Captain paused looking through his rolodex. “Yes, here it is, a Mr. Evan Scott. He was a nice fellow, I spoke with him personally. “So I guess, Mr. Ramsey, you can tell the well-meaning folks that it has all been taken care of.”
This news was disconcerting. Ramsey didn’t want to appear too interested by asking more questions, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there could be an important loose-end not thought about. He immediately placed a call to Brad. “You are right; we may have a problem. The man who claimed the body was a person from the State Department, an Evan Scott. Do you know him?”
“No, Lyle, I don’t, but I will certainly find out who he is when I get back to Washington. You’re sure about this?”
“Yes, Brad I am sure. I believe I made a convincing inquiry on behalf of a Good Samaritan client who wanted to pay for a proper burial. I then spoke to the Police Captain with whom Evan Scott personally negotiated for the release of the body.
“In view of this turn of events, I think perhaps it would be best if nothing more was said or done about Kelshaw for the moment. Call me when you get back to Washington and we will talk about the situation regarding the contracts.”
“Yes, to err on the side of caution is most prudent; your point is well taken, Lyle; thank you for your efforts, I’ll call next week after I have done some investigating.”
Andrew checked his watch, it was 11:50; he had been told that General Coleman was still in the hotel and he bribed a bellman with a ten spot to give him the General’s room number.
Kincaid knocked loudly on the door of the VIP Suite. Brad was searching the papers for Kelshaw’s obituary to no avail; he threw the papers down to answer the knock. Opening the door Coleman was shocked when he saw Kincaid.
“Good morning, General. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop by for a little interview,” Andrew said glibly.
“What the hell do you want, Kincaid? Brad sputtered trying to shut the door, but Andrew had already wedged himself into the room.
“I’m serious, General.” Andrew stated sincerely. “I really do have some questions I would like you to answer.” He glanced around the room and noted the open suitcase on the bed indicating that Coleman was preparing to leave.
“I see you’re planning to depart our fair city, General. That must mean that you have concluded your business here. Was Charlene Thayer the only reason you came to Seattle or were there other reasons as well? Couldn’t be on military business since you are obviously alone and I assume are traveling commercial. No aide and so forth.”
Brad was angry at Kincaid’s intrusion. He knew Andrew was baiting him, but he decided to treat him as he would any other reporter who had invaded his privacy. He would not give way to his growing intense dislike of the journalist. “I’m a busy man, Kincaid! Why I came to Seattle is personal and is none of your business nor is it in any way connected to Charlene Thayer. With that said, ask whatever it is that you want to ask and get out!” he demanded.
“You’re an interesting study, Coleman; I’ve learned a little about you; for example, I know that you came from a coal mining town; from very humble roots actually, you were dirt poor, so to speak,” Andrew watched Brad’s face as he spoke and saw the General stiffen slightly and he knew he had touched a nerve… He continued, looking at his notes, “Let’s see, later you became a protégé of West Virginia Senator Mike Owens. In fact, he was your sponsor to West Point where I see you did well…”
Brad was watching Andrew, wondering what he wanted. He knew that Kincaid was not conducting a conventional interview. It was clearly a fishing expedition. What was he after? He broke in, “I’ll give you three minutes, Kincaid, and then I will have you forcibly removed from the premises,” he said firmly.
Andrew persisted, thumbing through his notes, “I’m getting there, General, bear with me a minute; I see that you married well; a very nice Philadelphia lady.” It was a flat statement. His eyes met Coleman’s. Did he see a flicker? Continuing, “She was a friend of Paul Thayer’s wasn’t she?”
“What are you after, Kincaid?”
“I told you, I wanted a short interview. A few more ques—”
“Bullshit,” Brad cut him off. “You’re after something and you’re down to two minutes.” Brad turned away and walked to the window watching the traffic below and looking at his watch.
“To get back to your story, tell me about your wife, Coleman? She’s stood by you all these years; she must be a special lady. How did she do while you were in Vietnam?”
Brad didn’t answer. He sensed the question had to do with Kincaid’s agenda and he waited.
“Come on, General,” Andrew was pushing. He knew Coleman was angry. “How did you do while you were in Vietnam? I’ve heard you did very well. You saw some combat with the 11th Cavalry, after that you were assigned to Germany. After a while you came back to the States and a couple of plum assignments came along; and now here you are Deputy Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. And you did well in other areas too, didn’t you?”
Now a cold fury had come over Brad. “What do you mean? Get to the point, Kincaid; remember what I told you about the power of the press not withstanding… don’t push too far!”
Andrew wound up for the pitch. “I just want to know, Coleman, if your lovely wife Olivia, knows about Lia Dupre’? And if so did she know Lia was a spy?”
Brad was visibly shaken; his face had become ashen and it took everything he had to control his rage and surprise. “I don’t know a Lia Dupre’ or anyone else named Lia. I don’t know where you get your information, Kincaid, but you need better sources.” Brad’s voice was low and he emphasized each word like a bullet striking its mark. “Now get out,” he said as he moved to the telephone to call the desk.