Murder Mystery Weekend
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The murder mystery weekend was held on the third floor of a large hotel overlooking the ocean. It was located in an exclusive area of Virginia Beach, where it overlooked the Atlantic Ocean and was only ten minute drive from Norfolk International Airport.
The guests arrived at the hotel on Friday afternoon, just after three o’clock when they checked into their rooms and met their hosts for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant.
At six p.m. there was a welcome cocktail party with hors d’oeuvres served by the staff in the lobby; followed by a formal sit-down meal with wine, beer and cocktails served throughout the evening in the large dining room.
At seven o’clock all guests were invited to attend the ‘Welcome Meeting’. This was a short introductory session conducted by the hosts which covered the format of the weekend’s activities: it would be an interactive weekend with each guest assuming their own character role for the entire duration of the weekend, so they had to assume that this was not real life but pretend.
They would play their roles to the fullest extent and take great pains not to reveal too much about themselves as they played their part.
There were eight separate characters available to choose from, two male and six female. Each guest received a brief description of their chosen character along with some background information and then asked if they could make any changes or additions to their character sheet if necessary.
There were no restrictions on how many times a guest could alter or change their character sheets and no penalties involved in doing so – they did not need to ask permission from anyone to do so, so long as they were careful to follow the rules of confidentiality that applied to all the other players throughout the entire weekend.
If they made too many alterations they risked being found out during one of the rounds of questioning on Monday morning, which is why it was better to keep them as simple and straightforward as possible. In the end, it was up to each guest to decide what they wanted to wear and what kind of character they wanted to portray.
The host introduced all the guests, who would form the basis of their weekend’s interaction. She explained that these guests would be playing various supporting roles in order to assist in solving the murder of the lead guest, who had died suddenly on Friday night after attending an event hosted by his former wife.
All the main characters knew something more than the others and had been gathered together over the last few weeks prior to the weekend’s events. They would be quizzed separately on Sunday morning following breakfast; however, each guest needed to remain in character until then even though they may have guessed or heard something already.
Their actions would reflect this so it was important to act accordingly without revealing anything too specific to other characters.
Each character would be given a separate meeting room throughout the weekend; their character names had been assigned by the hosts and each room had a number attached to it. The guests could use this code when communicating with each other in the evenings. It would be easier for each guest to remember and help maintain an air of secrecy around each guest’s character role.
The first three days of the weekend were based upon scenes from the script in chronological order, but the fourth day would consist entirely of questions to each guest relating to what they had seen or heard throughout the weekend. Guests needed to try to recall and answer all of their questions, including those that may sound like repeat questions.
Questions had been written specifically to test their memories and they needed to think back very carefully and be accurate. They were free to ask any questions they wished in return and this was encouraged, but the answers would also be tested during each guest’s individual interview.
In case there was any confusion, the hosts explained that each guest would be responsible for keeping notes of their character role and any details they thought relevant for future reference should they wish to do so. As they left the meeting room each guest received a folder containing all the information that would be required over the next four nights.
They could use this for reference during the evening or whenever they felt the urge to jot down a note. They would find the information useful for remembering their character and their responses. They would be allowed to leave the hotel on Saturday afternoon following breakfast.
However, as most of them would be leaving early that morning, the hosts had arranged for a bus to transport them all back to Norfolk International Airport on Sunday morning, where they could catch flights home at their convenience. The hosts hoped they would enjoy this experience and looked forward to seeing each guest again soon.
They all thanked the hosts for their hospitality and said goodbye to each other. Then they split into groups of two or three guests and headed off to begin their weekend of intrigue.
***
The guests walked past reception on their way to their rooms. Two men stood behind the desk talking quietly to one another while looking up at each person walking past, making sure they paid attention to every detail they provided.
A third man paced nervously, checking each door as they passed, ready to open it if someone needed help. He wore a suit and tie and had a name badge pinned to the lapel of his jacket. His hands shook slightly as he fumbled through his papers.
A woman came from the kitchen carrying coffee cups, which she placed on top of the desk near the front entrance. The guests took their drinks and sat down in chairs positioned around the perimeter of the room.
They chatted with each other about work and their lives outside of the company, but they kept the conversation as light and casual as possible so that nobody might notice anything unusual in their mannerisms and expressions.
Each guest had brought along reading material to pass the time during the evening’s events, but many had also brought a notebook and pen to record any thoughts or feelings that occurred to them and which might later prove useful in answering questions during the interviews.
Once everyone was seated, the man who had previously paced around the lobby stopped moving and stared straight ahead. He put his hand to his forehead and began mumbling under his breath.
“Shit…shit…shit…”
He rubbed his temples for several minutes before sitting down and pulling a chair out close to the edge of the room. He leaned forward onto his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs, and stared at nothing. Then his eyes flicked sideways to take in the group of people sitting around the table.
The two men standing behind the counter nodded toward the group and spoke to each other in low voices. Then they looked down and continued writing notes on their clipboards.
Several people turned toward him. Some glanced at each other, trying to read their body language for clues. One of them pointed to the man. “What’s his problem?”
Another guest replied: “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The first guest shrugged, looking perplexed, unable to understand how or why this guy was behaving strangely.
The man finally sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at one of the women. She smiled reassuringly. He blinked repeatedly and then slowly shook his head, still staring at her.
One of the others said, “You don’t think he’s ill, do you?”
“No,” replied another guest. “But I know what I’d say if I saw someone like that.”
Their friend laughed and slapped his shoulder lightly.
The man’s eyes returned to normal after several seconds. He looked around the room and then focused on a guest sitting across from him. He seemed confused but relaxed.
A few of the guests got up from their seats to stretch or make themselves comfortable. Others remained in their seats and tried not to seem overly curious or concerned by what they had just witnessed. But they all wondered what the hell had happened.
When everyone had finished making adjustments, the host approached the desk. “Excuse me. Could you please ask our friend to have a seat? It is now eight o’clock and we will be starting shortly.”
Both men working at the desk looked up. One nodded and gestured toward the front of the building. The other picked up the phone, dialed a number, and waited until the other man hung up and replaced the receiver on the cradle. Both men stood at ease in case someone arrived at the front entrance in need of assistance.
Once the man in question sat back down, the host called for a waiter to bring some coffee. The guests accepted the cups, thanking the man in the suit. He smiled back and returned to his previous position, leaning against the wall and waiting for everyone else to finish settling in. Once everyone was served, the host addressed the guests once again.
“Thank you very much for joining us tonight. You are welcome to go upstairs and get settled in your rooms. Then when you return to the dining room, we can begin the investigation properly.”
Some of them rose from their seats.
The host said, “Before that, let us give everyone a chance to use the restroom and freshen up if necessary. We’ll wait downstairs in the lobby for an hour after you have all gone up.”
Everyone agreed with the arrangement, saying they were eager to get started.
The host led them upstairs, where most of the guests went to their rooms, changing into clean clothes and applying makeup. They made sure to pack any toiletries and medications in their luggage before leaving their rooms because they knew they would not be returning for a while.
When all of these preparations had been completed, they headed back downstairs. In addition to the host, there were now four men in suits who stood at attention by the door at the back of the lobby.
They gathered in front of the dining room, where they took turns introducing themselves, explaining their positions, and assuring their friends and colleagues that everything was going to be fine. One of the men explained: “I’m Richard, a detective with the NYPD.
This is Tom, my partner; Bill, a member of the Secret Service; and George, our resident historian, and expert on ancient artifacts.”
George nodded to indicate that he was pleased to meet everyone. He said: “I have a degree in archaeology and spent six years as a curator at the Metropolitan Museum.” He grinned and added, “I also worked for a brief period on excavations in Greece.”
Bill asked, “How did you end up here?”
George answered with a smile: “That’s one of the more intriguing questions about myself.”
Tom said, “Well, we should probably get moving if we’re to arrive at the scene of the crime in time to conduct our investigation properly.”
Bill said, “Yes. Let’s go.”
The group followed him through the lobby, past the check-in counter, and out the front entrance, heading toward the alley. A cab waited for them, idling nearby at the curb. As soon as they climbed inside and pulled away from the curb, they saw the flashing lights of police cruisers approaching behind them.
The driver honked, signaling them to move forward.
“What the hell is happening?” George asked, glancing back.
Bill said nothing but gave the other three men a knowing nod.
As if on cue, two patrol cars came alongside the taxi and stopped next to the vehicle. Their officers exited their vehicles and joined them near the corner.
One officer waved for them to follow him. The rest of the group got out of their cab and walked beside their fellow law enforcement official toward the rear of the building. He pointed to a spot on the alley. “Here.”
They continued to walk along the narrow space between buildings until they reached a small opening in a chain link fence. At this point, they could see that the alley was indeed quite narrow, with an old brick building on each side of it, separated by a short gap.
A few trash bins filled with garbage and discarded items were lined up on the far wall of one building, which faced a fire hydrant on the other wall. To their left, across from them, was an open doorway leading to what appeared to be a cellar.
The officer who had directed them to the scene turned around and began talking into his radio. The rest of the detectives gathered behind him on the sidewalk and listened to what he said over a hand-held transceiver.
The other officer signaled a uniformed officer to approach them. The younger man looked at his superior and shrugged before stepping aside.
“Detective,” the sergeant greeted Bill. “It’s good to see you here. I’d like you to escort me and my team back to the site. Then you may continue on to join your fellow detectives.”
“Yes sir,” Bill replied, saluting.
A few minutes later, once they had returned to the area near the entrance of the alley, the sergeant spoke into his transceiver again. He was clearly frustrated at having been interrupted in the middle of an important phone call.
He told whoever was on the other end of the line, “There’s nothing suspicious to report at this time. We’re taking statements from the witnesses and gathering evidence, but so far we haven’t found anything that seems related to the case.”
The officer who had directed them here then approached them, asking: “Do you need any help with your investigation?”
“No, thank you, Officer. Everything is proceeding without incident. If we require additional assistance, we’ll make arrangements to contact you.”
The three detectives thanked the sergeant and turned away from him, following Bill down the alley. They walked past the fire hydrant and into the open space between the buildings, where they passed beneath an abandoned wooden staircase that led up to what remained of an old stone building, which had probably been torn down many years ago.
Their guide took a key out of his pocket and inserted it into a metal door. He used the key to unlock the lock, opened the door, and motioned for them to enter. Inside the dark space, a light suddenly illuminated their faces with its warm glow.
It came from a flashlight resting on a shelf mounted on the wall. The group proceeded to climb the stairs and entered a long corridor, which ended abruptly at the bottom of another flight of steps leading up to the ceiling of the building above.
At the top of the second set of stairs was a large door made of heavy steel. Its size allowed the group to step easily in one direction or the other. Bill led the way with his flashlight shining directly on the doorknob. He turned the handle and pushed against it with his shoulder.
With a loud screech, the door swung open, revealing a room full of stacked cardboard boxes. One was knocked over on its side, causing several others to fall onto it as well. Several more fell off the stack as soon as it began to topple, landing on the floor. Tom stepped carefully around the clutter and examined one box after another while the rest of the group watched their movements closely.
After examining each container, Tom picked up some pieces of broken paper with what appeared to have been printed words on them—probably documents that had fallen out of one of the boxes. Bill asked, “Where are these records kept? Do you know?”
Tom shook his head and pointed toward the back of the warehouse. “This was all dumped in one pile. We should probably check there.”
“Good idea,” Bill said. As they climbed through the mess, George followed closely behind Bill, watching his every move.
They reached what appeared to be a dead end in the maze of cardboard containers; however, just when they were about to turn around, their guide stopped them by grabbing each of their arms. In a low voice he whispered, “Don’t look too close.”
George glanced at the young detective and saw his eyes fixated on something beyond him.
Bill was looking at a small hole in the corner of the wall. It was covered over by a thin layer of dust and debris. Bill touched his finger to the tip of the object and pulled it back quickly. When George looked closely, he could see blood on the tip of the finger.
He realized that they must have disturbed what appeared to be the entrance to a secret room or tunnel. He turned to look at his partner and nodded slightly, indicating that he wanted to follow him into the opening.
As soon as he did, he saw why they had needed to cover it up: A large wooden door lay on the floor, which they had apparently overlooked. Once again, Bill had used his flashlight to examine what was behind it.
He moved away from his friends and knelt down next to it, examining the mechanism that controlled it. It was made out of heavy wood—possibly oak—and seemed to have been constructed so that it would open only from the outside, allowing it to function like a normal door if required.
“We’d better leave it alone for now,” George suggested, pointing at the wooden door.
Bill nodded, stood up, and motioned for them to follow him. “Come on. There’s more to see.”
They continued down the corridor until they arrived at a metal gate, which blocked their passage. They opened it and entered the empty space beyond, passing under the ceiling and continuing down a narrow set of metal stairs, which led down to the first floor.
Once again they had left the flashlight on and it gave off a powerful beam that illuminated almost everything in their path, revealing an enormous area. Their guide shone his light on what appeared to be a row of filing cabinets, stacked on either side of a narrow aisle.
“Let’s get started on the records,” Bill suggested. He walked slowly down the aisle, examining each file carefully, stopping occasionally to flip it open and read whatever was inside. His companions followed him, using the light of the flashlights to illuminate the contents of each box.
It took them only ten minutes to go through an entire stack; then they returned to where they had left Bill at the beginning. He was leaning against one of the shelves, reading one document after another.
“How many files can this warehouse hold?” Bill wondered aloud.
“I don’t think we’ll ever find out,” George said. He was standing near one of the stacks, looking at what appeared to be photographs of houses or other buildings. He held two of the prints in his hand but didn’t seem interested in examining them further.
As soon as Bill finished checking each file, he passed it to the other men. They flipped open every piece of paper, examining them closely, before passing it along to George. The pile of files grew steadily, reaching upward to the height of their heads.
“Do you remember anything else you saw besides that tunnel?” George asked.
Bill looked up from the last folder he had been examining. “Yes. I noticed that some of these papers had numbers written on their edges.”
George leaned over and read what appeared to be a list of names underneath the numbers. “What kind of names are these?” he asked. “The same style as the ones we found in that other building?”
Bill nodded, “Yes. This is the same handwriting and it looks like most of the documents here are the same size and shape. These must be records from a government agency. And I’m sure those other documents were part of a similar operation.”
George examined the list of names, wondering who they might belong to. He thought for a moment but couldn’t remember any of the names; however, he knew that Tom had seen something different from what they had. “You remember what Tom told us,” he prompted his partner.
“He said it was a list of names that he found in that other place, right?” Bill responded.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“That sounds familiar,” Bill remarked. Suddenly he remembered what Tom had mentioned earlier that morning. They had been sitting around in the kitchen eating breakfast and Tom had brought out a newspaper. “Hey guys!” he shouted excitedly, waving it in front of them.
“Check this out! Check out this story about the fire that killed all those kids in New York.” He pointed to a photo that depicted a huge column of smoke rising above the rooftops of the city. The caption under the picture read: ‘Firefighters Battling Blaze That Killed More Than 100 Children’.
A wave of emotion washed over George’s face when he read the article. “God…those poor kids,” he muttered softly to himself as he recalled how terrible it had felt to lose so many children in such a senseless manner. Then he glanced at Bill, who was still staring at the photo with great interest. When he realized that his friend hadn’t heard him, he repeated what he had just read.
“Didn’t they find anything unusual in that place?” Bill asked.
Tom nodded slowly. “Sure did. They discovered this big old safe hidden behind the wall in the cellar.”
“And what was in it?” Bill asked, eager to hear what Tom had seen.
“Well, the first thing they found was a bunch of money. Some bills and some coins. But there wasn’t much of it. It didn’t take them long to discover that the combination on the safe had been changed recently and they weren’t able to unlock it. So they put a padlock on it and left it behind. After that, they found a bunch of documents in a locked briefcase.”
George leaned forward and peered at the photograph of the dead children. For a moment, he was unable to speak because of the pain in his chest; however, he finally managed to ask, “What kind of documents were they?”
“Oh…just reports that had been taken from various sources in town. Nothing too interesting. Most of the documents were about the deaths of local children. One report even talked about a kid who had drowned in a pond nearby.”
“Sounds like you found out more than we have,” Bill remarked.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. They exchanged nervous glances and quickly stood up. “Come in,” Bill called as he moved to stand beside George.
The three men watched as the woman from earlier entered the room and approached them with a worried expression on her face. She was carrying a small bundle of clothes that she handed to George. “I was going through some things in my closet and I came across some clothing that belonged to my late husband,” she explained to George.
“When I opened it up, this stuff fell out of the pocket and landed on top of the desk.” She turned to Bill, holding out a pair of pants. “See, look here.” Bill took the pants from her hands, noticing a faint impression on the back of the leg where they had been folded inside the briefcase.
He held up the pant leg and showed his friends the impression. “This was pressed against this side of the case,” he explained. The imprint had not only been made by the briefcase itself, but also by the contents it contained.
George took the pants and inspected them, then looked up at the woman who was standing next to him. “Is there any way we can get in touch with your late husband?” he asked.
“No, unfortunately. He died several years ago.” She shrugged and added, “We were married for only four months before he passed away. We were both young. You know, kids and all.” Her voice trailed off as she gazed sadly at her deceased husband’s belongings.
As if reading his mind, Bill asked, “How did he die?”
“Heart attack. Right there on the couch.” She pointed to an area near the bottom of the stairs that led down into the basement. “He was just sitting there watching TV, and then suddenly…” Her voice drifted off and she shook her head, lost in memories.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming upstairs. Both George and Bill glanced at each other anxiously, fearful of having been caught rummaging through their neighbor’s possessions. However, when they saw who had entered the kitchen they breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey!” Jimmie said cheerfully as he bounded toward them. “Didn’t expect to see either one of you down here so soon.”
Jimmie and his brother Eddie worked at the hardware store, owned by George’s parents. Their mother had run the store until she had been killed in an accident while shopping in another town two years earlier, leaving behind five boys ranging in age from fifteen to eleven.
Since then, their father had taken over as manager of the shop. With their older brothers away in college, they had spent the day working at the store.
Jimmie and Eddie shared the same pale blue eyes and dark brown hair. They looked like two peas in a pod, and many people often mistook them for twins. Although they were only ten years old, Jimmie and Eddie had already begun taking an interest in girls.
“You guys need help unloading those boxes?” Jimmie inquired.
Both men nodded enthusiastically, looking relieved to have someone else around to handle the heavy lifting.
“I’ll get my brother Eddie to come along,” Jimmie promised. Eddie, who was taller than his brother, grabbed his backpack and hurried out the door.
A few minutes later, the boys returned with a third person in tow. Eddie looked embarrassed as he stepped aside and let the new arrival enter the room.
The new visitor was a skinny little boy whose bright red hair contrasted sharply with his pallid complexion. He seemed ill at ease as he walked over to Bill and gave him an awkward handshake. Bill smiled reassuringly at the youngster and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Eddie, everybody thinks I’m weird,” he said to him as they all began carrying the boxes downstairs.
When they reached the basement, Jimmie immediately took charge. “Okay, I’ll take care of the boxes while you put the files on the tables. And don’t forget to label the folders.” As they worked together, George and his friends noticed that Eddie kept glancing nervously at the walls.
He was afraid to go down into the basement, they realized; something had spooked him during their last visit.
Jimmie placed a stack of folders onto the table, making sure that a folder with the word ‘Murderer’ printed on it was prominently displayed. When he looked at his friends, he couldn’t conceal the excitement he felt as he whispered, “We’ve got the killer.”
His enthusiasm quickly drained away when he realized what he had just blurted out. He was hoping for more than just an arrest warrant. He wanted him dead. He was certain that the murderer would return to the scene of the crime once he knew they had discovered evidence implicating him. Jimmie didn’t want anything else happening to anyone else, especially his beloved friend, Bill.
George looked at his friend, worried about how much stress this case might be putting on him. “What are you going to do now?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, nothing really, I’m probably just being paranoid,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “I mean, the police are always after people they think are guilty, and they’re usually wrong.” He paused and then added, “It won’t hurt to take a look down in the basement.”
His friends watched in silence as he made his way down the steep steps and headed toward the area where they had found the skull. The rest of the boys followed close behind. As they descended the steep staircase, they could hear Eddie muttering, “Stop it! Stop it!
Don’t go down there, Jimmie, stop it!” His fear grew with every step they took. They could sense his terror as he continued to beg them not to go anywhere near the place where their friend had stumbled upon the murder weapon.
As soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, George turned his head away from Eddie as the young boy tried desperately to keep up with them. “I’m okay,” George reassured him. “You stay here.”
But Eddie wasn’t convinced. He had never seen his friend’s face so pale. A moment later, he caught sight of his brother Jimmie heading toward the wall. It appeared to make him nervous, as if he was trying to escape whatever lay hidden among the stacks of books and papers.
With trembling hands, Eddie pulled himself closer to the edge of the bookshelves. “No, no, please, not there,” he pleaded. But his words fell on deaf ears.
As soon as Jimmie reached the wall, he stopped suddenly. Then, without warning, he turned around and ran back upstairs. Eddie rushed after him. “Why did you run? You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s happening,” he begged.
“Just leave me alone, Eddie!” Jimmie replied frantically. “Go outside, or go to your mom’s house until we finish up here.”
Eddie stared at his older brother in shock. “That’s crazy, Jimmie,” he retorted, “it was just a joke.”
Jimmie shook his head in disgust and then headed downstairs again.
They spent hours combing through the stacks and piles of newspapers, magazines, and clippings. Most of them contained newspaper articles written about the murder victim. After a brief search, they also unearthed one particular clipping.
It was a photograph of a teenage girl lying on her back with her arms crossed under her breasts and her legs crossed tightly against her body. Her face was covered in blood and she was obviously dead. On the front page of the newspaper, it read: MURDERED AT HER OWN BIRTHDAY PARTY!
Eddie stared at the photo for several seconds before his eyes widened. “My God! That’s my sister. My beautiful little sister,” he cried out in anguish. “She looks just like Mommy used to. I’m sorry Jimmie, but that was my idea. She died because of me. I told her about the party; she came home early.” Eddie began sobbing uncontrollably as his brother wrapped his arm around his shoulder.
George glanced over at his friend and his heart went out to him. They all shared a common bond, but it was Jimmie who was bearing the brunt of the horror. While Eddie seemed unaffected by what had happened, his friend’s pain had grown exponentially since the discovery of the skull in the basement.
The police arrived to question Jimmie and the other boys. All except Eddie were released when they said that they had no involvement in the murder of Karen Johnson. But Eddie was questioned longer as detectives tried to get information regarding the whereabouts of Karen and Jimmie during the period between Christmas vacation and New Year’s Eve.
They were concerned that someone may have lured the teenager to their residence with an offer of a birthday party and then killed her there. The detectives wanted answers, but Eddie refused to cooperate. “If I tell them anything, they’ll come after you guys too,” he explained. “And we can’t let that happen, right, Jimmie?”
Jimmie nodded silently, unable to speak. George watched as his friend sat with his chin resting on his chest, staring blankly across the room. For the first time ever, he felt helpless. They both knew they couldn’t protect Jimmie from the consequences of their investigation into Karen’s disappearance any more than they could prevent Jimmie’s sister from dying in that basement.
And even though Jimmie didn’t understand exactly what had taken place, George could see how deeply troubled his friend was.
A few days later, a detective called Jimmie and asked him to accompany him to his house. George was worried sick about his friend, but he couldn’t help wondering what they might find in Jimmie’s room. He had been warned that he would be arrested and charged as an accessory to murder if he was found with any evidence of the crime.
When they got to his home, Jimmie’s parents weren’t at home and he invited the detective inside. The detective searched Jimmie’s bedroom and discovered only a couple of old photographs of Karen’s younger years. Nothing incriminating, he assured Jimmie. He then left the house and headed back to the precinct to write up his report.
Later that evening, while Eddie was helping Jimmie pack up his things to leave town, Jimmie’s father arrived home. With tears running down his cheeks, Mr. Anderson embraced Jimmie in his arms. His wife had passed away three years earlier in a car accident and Jimmie hadn’t spoken to his father since not that either one really cared about the other anyway.
Mr. Anderson then took Jimmie aside and whispered in his ear, “You mustn’t worry about Eddie or anyone else. This is something that none of us can control anymore. You just keep your head down and do whatever the police ask of you—and don’t say another word to them.” Jimmie stared silently in confusion.
But his father smiled reassuringly and added, “We’ll figure this whole thing out eventually, and then maybe you’ll be able to go back home, okay?” Jimmie nodded. Then he turned to his father and asked, “What happened? What did Eddie really do?”
Mr. Anderson looked deep into his son’s eyes as he answered, “It wasn’t Eddie. But I’ll explain everything someday, son. Just try your best to survive until then.”
Then he kissed his son on the forehead and handed him a small cardboard box. Jimmie opened the lid. Inside lay two letters, one addressed to his father and the other to him. The envelope was postmarked on December 26, 1958. As soon as he saw the date, Jimmie gasped. He quickly put the box in a closet and then walked straight out the front door and never returned.
Two weeks later, George received a phone call from a detective asking him if he knew where Jimmie and his family had gone. He told him that he was unaware of the circumstances of Jimmie’s departure and was surprised when the detective informed him that Jimmie had actually disappeared with Karen’s body.
It was evident that he believed Jimmie had murdered Karen and hidden her remains somewhere, perhaps buried in their backyard. George promised to check and see if they had left any clues at home, but he was certain Jimmie wouldn’t tell the police where he had hidden her body. He also realized that he and his friend had lost touch with each other.
The End