Sticks and Stones Page 8

  The top folder was simply labeled STORK in capital letters and, after a quick scan through its contents, seemed to contain various reports and statements regarding the members of the Stork family. Leah hoped this might fill in some of the blanks she still had in her head. She already knew some of the stuff, mostly from remembering back when her pa was on the case, but also from her recent chat with Ethan.

  Right at the top of the file were pages and notes about Harry Stork, along with a copy of a photo Leah presumed had likely come from the DMV or somewhere like that. Harry Stork had a round face, wide nose, and full lips. His hair was black with signs of early graying around the sides.

  The report echoed what Ethan said, only it did so more formally. Harry Stork had a monogenetic twin brother named Tommy, and a pa named Noah. Harry’s ma, Sally-Anne Stork, was already dead when the report had been issued, June 20, 1974.

  His birthday fell on July 7, 1943. The report was disturbingly quiet about the first twenty or so years of his life, until August 10, 1964, when the army conscripted Harry and flew him to Vietnam to fight for his country. He returned near on exactly three years later with an honorable discharge. Due to, it said, psychological trauma.

  Leah had a yellow pad she was taking her own notes on as she read. That fact was put down on it.

  After he returned home, Harry’s medical records listed a series of visits to a psychiatrist named Dr. Edwin Freeman, who remained Harry’s doctor until 1971 when, for reasons unknown, Harry began seeing a new psychiatrist named Dr. Leanne Swift. Swift remained his doctor up to the date of the report, likely right up to his death, on July 22, 1974, a date Leah knew by heart. You couldn’t have grown up in her house while her pa chased the Stickman and not have memorized that date.

  Leah couldn’t find any long-term hospital stints or anything like that from his records, so whatever “psychological trauma” Harry suffered from must have been somewhat in control, or at least his doctors thought so.

  For most of his life following his army discharge, Harry was on a 300-milligram dose of a drug called chlorpromazine. After switching doctors, Leah noted his prescription was raised to 500 milligrams. Leah had never heard of the drug before. It went down as another note on her yellow pad.

  On November 1, 1967, just three months after coming home, Harry started his own company, a medical waste management corporation called Stork Sanitation and Waste Removal. From what Leah could glean, he continued this work up until this report was issued, with surprising success. Beneath the company’s name, Leah’s pa had written a list of Stork’s major clients, along with the dates they signed contracts with Harry’s company.

  Springhill Memorial Hospital, November 1967

  Searcy Hospital in Mount Vernon*, December 1967

  Providence Hospital (Mobile)*, February 1972

  University of South Alabama Children’s and Women’s, March 1972

  Mercy Medical in Daphne*, May 1974

  Well, he couldn’t have been too messed up to run such a company, Leah thought and wondered about the asterisks her pa had put by some of the names. Obviously, those were separated out for a reason.

  She came to a handful of pages that were copied straight out of Harry’s P&L books. It showed all the jobs Harry did since Stork Sanitation opened its doors, most of them being for the hospitals Leah’s pa had listed. There were others, maybe a half-dozen smaller places, including a dental office, but Stork didn’t work for these on a regular basis. Just one or two times each.

  Following the information taken from Stork Sanitation’s ledger book was a copy of the company’s legal documents, including the original filings for incorporation, name registration, certificate of formation, annual reports, all that sort of thing.

  Stork Sanitation and Waste Removal was incorporated in Alabama on October 25, 1967. Leah looked over the minutes from that filing. Something popped out at her: They listed Noah Stork as not only the registered agent for the company, but also the primary director. She flipped through the rest of the corporate documents, including the issuing of one hundred common shares—the total shares available—to Noah Stork. Harry Stork’s name appeared nowhere in any of the legal documents. She made a note of this as a puzzle to be solved later. Surprisingly, she didn’t find any notes by her pa about it.

  As far as police records go, Stork’s history couldn’t have been more spotless if someone went at it with a mop and a bucket of Mr. Clean. Not even a tussle with the cops showed up anywhere. The only thing Leah found was a two-word question her pa had posed at the bottom of a page of unrelated notes. It said: Juvie record? But nowhere was there any other indication that an attempt to find such records ever even happened.

  Leah looked to Chris. “I need you to do something for me. You know—with your weird ‘expertise’?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Okay ... what expertise is that?”

  “You know. That thing you can do with juvie records.”

  “You mean, like actually find them?” he asked.

  “Yeah ... and, somehow, uncover all the details. I have no idea how you do it. From what I know, juvie records are s’posed to be sealed except in situations where—”

  Chris stopped her. “Nothing’s really ever sealed. Folk just make a half-ass attempt at making them hard to find.”

  Leah raised her eyebrows. “Obviously not. I’ve seen you do what you do too many times. I’m just sayin’ that’s the way they’re s’posed to be. I have no idea how you get your information.”

  Chris paused for a sip of his coffee. “And you don’t want to know, either,” he said, with a wicked little grin.

  “I’m sure I don’t. Anyway, here.” She handed him a report on Harry Stork.

  “Harry Stork? You think he might have a blemish or two from his childhood?”

  “Well, if you look here”—she pointed to her pa’s note—“my pa left a note about potential juvie records.” She started flipping through the rest of the documents in the folder on top of the stack. “But I can’t see anywhere he actually got the information.”

  “Does it matter?” Chris asked. “I mean, with him being dead and all.”

  Leah shrugged. “I can’t answer that, yet. Obviously, it mattered to my pa. I just want to cover my bases.”

  “Maybe your pa already found out and it’s just not in the file. Ask Ethan about it.”

  “Ethan already told me, twice: ‘Everything’s in the files’.”

  Chris laughed. “Well, there you go.”

  “Just humor me, okay?”

  “Sure. I’m on it.”

  Just as Leah was about to dive back into her STORK folder, the phone rang. She decided Chris had done enough answering. “Alvin Police, Detective Teal,” she said, raising the receiver.

  “Detective Teal. It’s Chuck. From Mobile?”

  She widened her eyes at Chris to get his attention. “Yeah . . . Chuck. How’re you?”

  “Fine, fine. Just wanted to get back to y’all about the Polaroids you sent down here Tuesday night? The partial finger and the boot print?”

  “Right. Find anythin’ interesting?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you where we stand right now. We ran the print through AFIS, and so far haven’t found a match.”

  “AFIS is your print database, right?” Leah asked. “How far does it go back?”

  “The FBI’s been usin’ it for well on ten years now. We’ve had it for a few. We have some other ways of comparing matches, too. We’re still workin’ on it, it’s just goin’ to take some time.”

  “What about the boot?” Leah asked.

  “You might’ve gotten lucky with the boot,” Chuck said. “It’s not so common. From what we can tell, you’re lookin’ at a size nine ‘jump boot’.”

  “What’s a ‘jump boot’?” Leah asked.

  “A type of combat boot, normally worn by paratroopers and airborne units. Some special forces, too. They’re designed by the Cove Shoe Company, one of their divisions, the Corcoran and Matterhorn Company
, to be precise. They have the exclusive contract with the Department of Defense to artifice and supply them.”

  “Okay, so we’re lookin’ at someone in the military?”

  “Likely, or someone who got them from someone in the military. Likely someone with parachute skills. They’re traditionally worn with dress uniforms.”

  Leah wrote down everything he said. “Got it, Chuck. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it for now. I’ll let you know if we find a match on the print, but I’m not holding my breath.” There was a pause, and then Chuck seemed to stumble. “Um . . . actually . . . Leah? Would it be possible for me to speak with Ethan for a moment?”

  That was an odd request. Chuck had been working as her forensics liaison goin’ on six years now, ever since the last one, Markus, had left Mobile. Never once had he asked to speak to Ethan until now. Leah thought she knew why, but she decided to play it out just to prove she was right.

  Putting Chuck on hold, Leah went and quietly rapped on Ethan’s door.

  “Come in!” he yelled from behind his desk.

  She opened the door and popped her head in as the blinds hanging down the back side rustled. “Chuck from Mobile forensics wants to talk to you.” She almost didn’t add the rest, but something made her say it. “Pretty sure it’s got somethin’ to do with handwriting analysis on the super-secret letters.” She gave Ethan a patronizing little smile.

  He shook his head. “For Christ’s sake, Leah. Just come in here. Take a seat while I take the call.”

  “Ethan Montgomery,” he said, after taking Chuck off hold.

  Leah listened to Ethan’s side of the call, a pause after each sentence he said as he listened for Chuck to respond. “Uh-huh. Yep. Got it. That’s what I figured. Yeah, I know, it’s gonna be another tough ride I’m thinkin’. All right, Chuck. How’s the wife? Kids? Yeah? Excited ’bout the Fourth? Yeah, no . . . not me. I don’t really change my routine much for holidays. Me and Betty just . . . you know, hang out. Yeah, we should. One of these days. All right. Take care.”

  Ethan hung up the call. “Now, you need to promise me one thing,” he said, pointing a thick finger at Leah. “You all but forget what you know about Chuck, you understand me? By no means, and I mean absolutely none, do you tell even Chris that you’ve got a hunch Chuck’s one of the secret circle.”

  “Why? Why’s it such a big deal?”

  “I can’t explain it to you without telling you too much. But it goes far beyond this case.”

  “Why don’t you try.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  Leah wondered what sort of reaction she was going to get when she came in and actually told Ethan she needed the names of what he called the “secret circle.” She had a hunch she was in store for a pretty big argument.

  “So,” she asked. “Am I allowed to know?”

  “To know what?” Ethan said gruffly.

  “ ’Bout the handwriting analysis. I’m assuming that’s what you were just talkin’ about, other than the crap about your family and kids and holidays and getting together.”

  Without looking up at her, Ethan answered. “It’s a match. The same person wrote this letter who wrote the other nine.”

  “For certain?” Leah asked. Disappointment twisted inside her stomach. “This still doesn’t mean it’s the same guy doing the killin’s,” she said. “Could be different people back then writing the notes and slaughtering folk.”

  Ethan took a big breath and spread his palms on his desk. “Sure, Leah, anything’s possible. Just don’t let your bias toward wanting your pa’s legacy to remain intact act out in how you investigate this case, okay?”

  She just stared at him without replying.

  “I said, okay?”

  “What, you want me to promise that, too?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yep, I do. And I know you keep your promises.”

  She looked at his bookcase full of law books and thought this over. “Fine,” she said after a while. “I’ll do my best to keep my pa’s memory out of my work.”

  “Thank you. Now please go back to your desk. You exhaust me.”

  With a huff Leah got up and left Ethan’s office, making sure to gently close the door on her way out. She had no idea what had made her so upset. Was it the secrecy? The fact that she wasn’t let in? Or was it the idea that her pa may have messed up after all this time? Or was it just . . . everything? As she sat back in her chair, Chris asked her what was going on.

  “What did Chuck have to say?”

  She brought him up to speed.

  “Well, I reckon that’s great,” he said when she finished. “I see on this report that Harry Stork was drafted for ’Nam.”

  Frowning, Leah shook her head. “Yeah, for the army. Nothin’ in the file ’bout him bein’ a paratrooper, though.”

  “Still . . .” Chris said, not wanting to give it up. “Seems like a coincidence.”

  A stone turned in Leah’s stomach at the use of the word. One thing she hated was coincidences.

  Setting all of Harry Stork’s paperwork aside, she came to a single page with the date June 2, 1974, written at the top and the name Noah Stork written beneath it. The handwriting didn’t belong to her pa. Leah guessed it was Officer Peter Strident. Below Noah Stork’s name, Strident had written his address, which, at the time, was a remote part of Alvin, to say the least.

  On clear days, from the rail bridge above Finley’s Crossing, you could see the Nashoba hills rising bald from the fan of trees that thickened as it spread out, covering miles upon miles of Alvin until finally coming up hard against the southern edge of the Anikawa. It was known as the Lusa Forest, a name, Leah suspected, that it had been given long before any white person ever stepped foot in North America.

  Back when these notes about Noah Stork had been made, that’s all it was. Just a mess of old-growth trees, densely packed hardwood all trying to choke out the rest. The only roads running through the forest would’ve been hard-packed logging roads, and even those would’ve been few and far between, each one cutting a path necessarily windy due to having to dodge timber much too big to ever consider chopping it down. Noah Stork would’ve lived in one of probably only a dozen or so homes in all those miles and miles of trees.

  The address Strident wrote down was 7 Rural Route 1, probably the main road through those parts back then.

  Things were different now. Two years or so ago, fueled by the rise in Alvin’s population, folks suddenly became more interested in the Lusa Forest. Slowly, the logging roads were overhauled and new roads were added, and the area became an almost popular place to build new homes. It was given the title Blue Jay Maples, despite the fact that there really weren’t many maple trees. The majority of the forest was by far made up of gigantic poplars and imposing oaks. Leah wasn’t even sure if the maples could grab third place.

  Quite a few places still existed in Alvin where one could build a home and still feel safe that nobody else was about to come along and squeeze a new house in right beside you, but none held the guarantee of that not happening like Blue Jay Maples.

  Those woods were best described as tangled and snarled and as thick as they were dense. When the kids were younger, Leah sometimes took them on hikes through the Lusa Forest, following trails that could’ve very well been first made over a hundred years earlier. Many followed the Taloa River as it splashed and spilled while winding and weaving southward from the Anikawa. Some of the biggest cypress Leah had ever seen clung onto the soft sloping banks of that constricted little river.

  After pulling the phone book from her bottom left drawer, Leah searched and found a current listing for a “Noah Stork.” Sure enough, his house number had gained in status to 749 and he now lived on a road called Woodpecker Wind, which meant she probably was right. He hadn’t moved, time had just moved everything around him. The area where his house stood now had an actual name, Blue Jay Maples, and consisted of many roads cutting twisted swaths through all those trees.


  Leah had only driven through the area twice, and both times she wound up lost. Nowadays, Blue Jay Maples was like a maze of new roads and, to make things worse, each one was named after a different type of bird.

  She wrote Noah Stork’s “new” address in the margin beside his old one. Then she looked for the same note in her Xeroxed stack so she’d have a record of it at home, too. Just to be safe. She actually came to Tommy’s report before she found the note and noticed he had the same address as his pa.

  “Huh,” Leah said.

  “Huh, what?” Chris asked.

  “Tommy Stork lived with his pa sometime.”

  “Is that relevant to somethin’?”

  “I don’t know yet.” At any rate writing the new address here was just as good as writing it on the note. The two stacks of folders didn’t have to be exactly the same. So she did and then carefully squared up that pile to make it easier to lug home.

  Strident’s notes from talking with Noah Stork were sparse. Leah realized they were just from a quick conversation they’d had after Strident arrived to bring Tommy Stork back to the station for questioning. As she’d already discovered, back then, Tommy lived in his pa’s house. The rest of the notes related to a few questions Strident asked Noah regarding Tommy’s whereabouts at certain times and whether or not Noah could provide some kind of alibi for his son, but Leah didn’t read anything too conclusive.

  Setting the notes down on top of the stuff she’d already gone through, Leah moved on, coming to a bunch of stuff relating to Tommy.

  Just like she’d found with Harry Stork, there was a copy of a photo of Tommy looking like it came from his driver’s license. She pulled Harry’s photo back out and compared the two. The resemblance was astonishing. Nobody would ever question whether or not they were twins. Same round face, same lips, same wide nose. Even their hair had the same streaks of gray in roughly the same places. The only real difference between the two photos was the scar slashed across Tommy’s face, starting just above his upper lip and tracing a crescent shape upon his left cheek before coming to a stop just below his eye. It wasn’t a nice scar, if there was such a thing. Leah set both pictures aside and moved on.