at Kate’s apartment. Donna explained how the police had secured Kate’s apartment until just a few hours before they arrived, and John and Peggy also shared whatever information they could, but none of them believed that Kate would have willingly gone into a swimming pool with her allergy to Chlorine. They also were concerned that Kate couldn’t tolerate cigarette smoke, and yet there were several cigarette-butts in that dish on the end table. As Bill sat starring at the floor, he finally told Susan and the children about that threat he’d received, and the corrupt doctor organization the FBI had been investigating. Terrified by all this, they talked about it for a good hour before Bill finally decided to call Joel Wilson at the FBI. Joel was shocked and asked Bill to meet with a Mr. Donald Anderson, their investigator in Minneapolis.
Taking another sip of coffee, he recalled how this tragedy was a torturous ordeal for the entire family and how he’d gone to Anderson’s office almost daily, only to pace the floor and stare at the huge Catholic Basilica on Hennepin Avenue from his second floor office window. Anderson was an elderly gray haired man that was obviously suffering from some type of burnout before Bill ever met him.
“I prefer to work from my office,” Anderson had told him. “But I’ll assign a very capable private investigator to do the leg work on your daughter’s death.” Later, that investigator told Bill how a young lady had pulled Kate out of the pool and ran to the apartment store to get help before finally giving CPR. “I guess she almost saved Kate’s life,” he explained.
Bill also remembered how concerned he was that Kate was found in the shallow end of the pool, in that she was a very capable swimmer.
“My Agent looked through all the police records and the only reason he could find as to why they were investigating things further was because they were concerned about those abrasions on her head, and now that they’ve checked everything out properly, they’ve closed the case,” Anderson told Bill.
Then as Bill sat thinking about all this, he remembered how Donna was throwing some things out from the apartment when she found this weird man with long hair crouched inside the dumpster. He’d obviously been going through Kate’s things, and quickly climbed out without saying a word, as he leaned casually against a tree smoking a cigarette. Later, Donna pointed him out to Bill just as he was climbing into a red Corvette, with California license. Bill recalled how he was short and thin with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, probably weighing less than a hundred and fifty pounds. After he left, Donna recovered his crushed cigarette, which matched identically with the one found in Kate’s ash tray. Later Bill gave the man’s description, the cigarettes, and the car’s license number to Anderson, who said they’d find this guy and check him out - but they never did. So why did the police close the case? - Bill had asked himself over and over. And thing’s still aren’t right, he whispered to himself, as he thoughtfully took another sip of coffee. Then as he thought about how the family went their separate ways after their tragedy, tears once again filled his eyes - a reoccurrence that had been happening far too frequently, clearly rekindling the deep loss that was always there now.
Then as usual, his thoughts jumped to another traumatic time, when Susan and he were sitting down to dinner, and the phone rang.
“Hello, is this Doctor Warner - are you the father of Peggy Downey?”
“Yes I’m Doctor Warner,” Bill replied, again sensing something wasn’t right.
“Doctor Warner, my name’s Doctor Kilbride. Your daughter Peggy has been in a car accident, and we have her at the Brakenridge Hospital in Austin, Texas. She’s in ICU, and we’ve stabilized both her and her unborn child.”
Once again Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Although things were touch and go for a while, she’s now in no immediate danger, but you need to know she did have a serious concussion. At this time we don’t feel she’ll require surgery, and her prognosis should be for a normal recovery.” As he continued he explained, “She has no recall of the past or the accident, but we expect things will clear up in a few weeks. In fact, she would most likely not even recognize you if you were here right now.”
“Oh my God,” Bill said. “Doctor, we’ll make arrangements to get down there right away,” as he turned to explain to Susan.
With that, Susan just dropped her fork and covered her face with both hands, unable to respond.
“Doctor Warner, since your daughter’s not in any eminent danger you shouldn’t have to race down here right away!”
“Oh no, we’ll definitely get there as quick as possible,” Bill responded, “In fact we’ll leave as soon as we’re packed.”
As Bill hung up the phone he recalled how he turned to Susan and yelled, “If that God damned Lanin had anything to do with this, I’m driving to North Dakota and kill that bastard.”
“My God Bill, how much more of this can we take?” Susan had shouted.
* * * * *
In that these accidents were more than a coincidence, Bill had talked with the FBI, demanding tighter security measures for his family. Then later that evening, after leaving the hospital, he remembered turning onto Westgate Drive near Peggy’s home, when he heard an explosion that shattered the glass on Susan’s side of the car. He recalled the odor of gunpowder as he struggled to wipe the dust particles of glass from his eyes, and slamming his foot on the brake he instinctively hunched forward to protect himself.
“What in the hell was that?” He’d screamed - his eyes still not able to see clearly. Then after blinking several times he could finally make out what looked like a small bullet hole in Susan’s window. At first he thought a car had hit them but there was no impact, and as he stared at the hole it slowly became larger with each piece of glass that fell. Finally his eyes cleared enough so he could see the blood covering the side of Susan’s head and as her body slumped forward he screamed her name. Fumbling to get his seat belt off - his hands were shaking so badly that it took several attempts before he was finally free. Then after checking Susan, he whispered, that bastard killed her, finally screaming at the top of his voice, “I’ll get you - you son-of-a-bitch.”
Just then the FBI security car that had been following them screeched to a halt and it took both men to hold Bill back. Finally one of the agents ran up the steep wooded embankment where Bill had been pointing.
“You’ve got to get him,” he’d shouted. “He shot Susan in the face - and I think he killed her,” he screamed, hopelessly fighting to get away from the agent who was restraining him.
After the agent stared at the spattered blood and pieces of flesh on Bill’s shirt, he finally let go and ran to the car. Checking for a pulse, he turned toward Bill. “Bill, she’s dead,” he whispered, as Bill pushed him aside and grabbed Susan in his arms. Touching her, he remembered that hopeless feeling, and then he realized that everything important had now been taken away. “How could I have been so stupid to feel that my family wouldn’t get hurt,” he remembered shouting at the top of his lungs. “I risked my family’s lives to save a hospital, when life and death means nothing to these money grabbing bastards. They’d sell their soul for a buck,” he’d sobbed, pulling Susan tightly into his arms.
Bill also remembered how it took several days before he was again aware of his surroundings after Susan’s murder, and how his life had become a maze of confusing thoughts - mostly revenge. Over and over he’d thought of how he’d like to get his fingers around Lanin’s throat and choke the life right out of that bastard. In fact, that same intense uncontrollable hatred had automatically taken over almost every time he thought about Susan or Kate. And now - even after more than a year - he still couldn’t sleep.
Damn this cruel world, he muttered to himself.
But Susan wasn’t a damning person, and his bitterness would usually fade after he thought about the positive influence she’d been. Bill had accepted a few consulting jobs since he’d rescued the Sister Hospital from a hostile takeover, but his real hope was to still try and expose this greed that was now plaguing