The Yellow Packard (32 page)

He was out the door before she could respond. Seething with rage, she grabbed a glass paperweight and threw it at the nearest wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Feel better?” Reese quietly asked.

“No,” she growled. “What’s going to happen to the Halls? What’s going to happen to all the other women who need to be working here? Women have instincts and intelligence this bureau could use! You know that!”

“Time doesn’t change attitudes very quickly,” he said. “We have to accept that, too. But I can assure you of this. I will tell everyone I know that you were the best partner I ever had.”

“Seriously?” she asked.

“No doubt.”

Chapter 58

I
t was four thirty when Helen Meeker returned the Packard to impound. By that time she’d contacted Carole Hall. The woman, who was very upset with the FBI for pulling Meeker from the case, assured the agent that neither she nor George had any interest in keeping the sedan. Then, after a soft thank-you, she hung up.

The life she’d loved was over. She’d figured in time it would be. Even though she was being sent packing, she felt good about her work. Yet, the fact that she’d never closed the case on Rose Hall’s kidnapping would, as Reese had warned so many weeks before, haunt her for the rest of her life.

“Here you go,” Meeker said, tossing the keys to the attendant. “It goes up at the next auction. The owner’s address is in the file on the seat. Send the money to her.”

“Got it,” Jinx Stally replied. Dressed in blue coveralls and wearing a Cubs baseball hat, his eyes moved from the woman to the car and back. He seemed to falter for a moment before clearing his throat and choking out, “We’ll miss you. I know what I think doesn’t matter a bit to old J. Edgar, but you were one of the best the FBI had.”

She glanced back to the sixty-year-old man, noted a bit of moisture in his clear blue eyes and a look of genuine affection etched into his wrinkled face. “Thanks, Jinx. And it might not mean anything to Hoover, but it sure does to me.”

Reese was waiting outside to take her back to her hotel room. She had a reservation on the 7:30 train back to Washington, so she needed to get moving. Pulling her coat closer to her body to fend off the strong, frigid lake wind, she nodded at Jinx, stepped outside the garage and into the fading sunset. Fighting tears, she had just about made her way to the passenger side of the agent’s car when it hit her. Opening the door, she looked across to the man and said, “I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”

Retracing her steps, she walked back through the garage door just before Jinx was about to close it. Hurrying as fast as her black pumps would allow, she moved to the Packard’s front passenger door, grabbed the handle, gave a twist, and felt the door spring open. Pulling it back, she looked at the familiar interior one more time.

Setting her purse on the seat, she searched through the contents. Below her billfold and gloves, almost hiding under an address book, was something she needed to return to its place. After fishing out the magnetic, toy Scotty dogs from her bag, she snapped her purse shut. She clutched the twin playthings in her fist for a few moments as she said a quick prayer then reached under the seat. Satisfied they had been returned to where Bobbs had found them, she closed the door, strolled back out to Reese’s car, got in, but said nothing. She was still as mute as a mime three blocks later.

“It’s the Hall case,” Reese finally announced. “That’s what got your goat and your tongue.”

She didn’t answer or look his way but instead studied street scenes outside her window. With snow spitting from the sky, stores displaying holiday decorations, and shoppers crowding the sidewalks, it looked like Christmas. It was the time of wonder and magic for children. It was a time of joy and cheer for adults. Yet if Rose was alive somewhere, would there be any wonder or cheer for her? And what would the holidays be like for her parents?

Pulling her arms over her chest, Helen looked toward Reese. The words she wanted to say caught in her throat. So, shaking her head, she turned her gaze back out the windshield to where the wipers were slowly dusting the snow from the glass.

“I won’t,” the man solemnly said as he pulled up to a red light.

She quickly looked into his eyes. She had to be sure that he meant what she hoped he did. “Won’t what?”

“I won’t quit working on the case,” he vowed as the light changed and he pulled forward. “And I’ll let you know if I find out anything. I promise.”

That wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something. At this moment, holding on to Reese’s promise of not giving up was all she had.

“And, Helen,” he added, “I am going to find a way to teach you how to have fun someday. Life is much more than work.”

Chapter 59

I
wish there was better news,” the gray-headed doctor sadly told the two anxious parents. “There is just nothing more that can be done.”

Nate Coffman looked from the physician to his thirty-year-old wife, Beverly. She was a small woman graced with great strength. He’d always figured she could support the entire world on her five-foot-tall, ninety-pound frame. But he could see in her almost black eyes that this was too much.

“Are you sure?” Nate’s question hung in the air like a foul odor.

The kindly physician pushed his finger through his thinning hair and glanced out a slightly ajar door to the waiting room. There, sitting on a chair playing with a doll, was an energetic blond-headed girl. She appeared healthy, but she was a time bomb waiting to explode. And when she did, her life would be snuffed out in less time than it took to sneeze. Turning his gaze back to the couple, he crossed his arms and leaned up against his desk.

“Nate, I brought you into the world thirty-one years go,” the doctor began, his tone almost fatherly. “I nursed you through whooping cough, the measles, and a half-dozen other illnesses. I fixed your broken right arm, twice. In spite of all that and a number of other things, you grew up into the strapping man that sits before me today. But as much as it breaks my heart to admit it, I can’t do anything for your little girl.”

Walking over behind his desk, the physician eased down into his chair. After making sure both parents were looking directly at him, he continued, “Two months ago when Angel fell off the monkey bars and hit her head on the concrete, I thought it was nothing more than a concussion. That’s all it looked like then. Even when she experienced that mild seizure two days later, it still didn’t concern me that much. I figured she’d get over it. But the second one sent me scrambling.”

“It was my fault,” Beverly moaned. “I shouldn’t have let her play on those monkey bars. She is simply too young for an activity like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dr. Hutton quickly snapped. “Kids are going to play and they’re going to fall. That’s the way they are. What happened didn’t create that mass in her head. It only stirred it up a bit sooner. It was like a monster hiding in the shadows waiting to leap out. There is nothing you could have done about it!”

“But surely,” Nate argued, “there is someone out there that could remove it.”

“I’ve shown you the x-rays,” the doctor sadly explained. “There is no one in Chicago that can do that kind of surgery. Heaven knows I’ve made calls. There’s a guy in London who is experimenting with a procedure that might work a few years from now, but he’s not ready to try it on humans. Beyond the scores of telephone calls, I’ve written many, many letters, and I’ve gone through every medical journal I could find. I put out the word begging for someone—anyone—who was willing to try to untangle that ungodly mass from her brain. A few neurosurgeons who have done exploratory surgery in this area have visited with me, but when they see the x-rays they all say the same thing. The operation would kill her.”

Beverly pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. She then looked back to Dr. Hutton and forced out a question she didn’t want to ask, “How long?”

“She’ll make it through Christmas,” he assured her, his sad eyes looking toward one of the room’s bookshelves. “But as the tumor grows, the seizures will get worse. I could get her some medication that will reduce the pain and might buy her a bit of time, but it is very expensive.”

“I’ll get the money,” Nate assured him. After wringing his hands he gently reached over and caressed his wife’s shoulder. “I can take some extra flights. I think the supervisors at American can get me a bit more work. And we have some stuff we can sell. I own a nice, almost new Mercury; I can get some good money for it.”

“But, honey,” Beverly protested, her eyes meeting his with an expression of hopelessness, “we need a car. What if we have to get Angel to the hospital in a hurry? We can’t wait on a cab.”

“I’ll buy a good-running, older car,” he explained.

“Nate,” Dr. Hutton cut in, his tone that of a pastor comforting a wounded member of his flock. “That is all well and good, but is having the medicine as important as you being with your daughter in her last few weeks or months?” He paused, rubbed his forehead in frustration, and added, “I can’t answer that for you, but please think about that when you’re scheduling additional flight duty. Being home with Angel and Beverly might be more important than anything else.”

The father nodded and glanced toward the waiting room at his little girl. She was playing with a doll. She looked perfectly healthy, as if nothing were wrong. “I know. But selling things we don’t really need is not going to hurt anything or anyone. There is someone at the airline that wants my car right now. He’s already told me what he’d give me for it. And I have a camera and a few other things I can pawn. You just order the medicine for Angel.”

Hutton nodded.

“Now,” the mother said as she wearily rose from her chair, “if there is nothing else, I’d like to get home. I need to get the Christmas tree up and decorated and …” Unable to finish, she hurried out to her daughter.

Nate stood up and shook his head. He couldn’t believe the overpowering feeling of helplessness that had invaded his life. Tears ran down the rugged pilot’s cheeks as he stood in front of a man who’d brought him into the world. His clouded eyes moved from his wife back to the doctor. “What have you got to heal a broken heart?”

Chapter 60

W
hat brings you out in this weather?” Jinx Stally asked the stranger.

Dusting the snow from his topcoat, Nate Coffman replied, “Got to have a car and heard there was going to be a couple in your auction today.”

“I work on them,” Jinx explained, “and we only have one that is really dependable.” He pointed. “It’s that wild yellow Packard over there. It’s a 1936, but it’s solid. Doesn’t burn any oil at all. The weather is so bad, doubt many folks will make it out today, so you might get it cheap.”

“It’s a good runner?” Nate asked.

“Like new,” the mechanic assured him. “It’s the pick of the litter.”

“I’d like to take your word for it,” Nate said, as he yanked off his gloves. “But I still want to look at each of them. Can you tell me where the others are?”

“They’re back in the right corner of the building,” Jinx explained while pointing in the general direction. “The keys are in them, so start them up if you want. I wouldn’t bother trying that ‘33 Caddy. That one should be melted down.”

The pilot nodded as he ambled toward the vehicles. For fifteen minutes he looked them over and came to the conclusion that the old man was right. Only the Packard seemed worthy of a bid. With that in mind, he strolled back to the front of the building where the auction was starting.

It seemed that the half-dozen folks who braved the storm were much more interested in buying two 1939 Ford two-ton flatbed trucks than they were the cars. So, shockingly, his initial bid of a hundred dollars secured the Packard. As he walked up to give the clerk five twenties, Jinx waved and said, “You won’t be sorry.”

After signing the papers, Nate drove the car out of the garage and into the snowy Chicago streets. By the time he’d arrived at their home in Wilmette, he was convinced he’d gotten a great deal. In fact, he was so proud of the purchase, he left it in the driveway idling rather than pull it into the garage. A few seconds later, he had his wife and daughter wade out through the snow so he could show off the latest Coffman family vehicle.

“That sure is bright paint,” Beverly noted.

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh, “won’t be any problem finding it in a parking lot.”

Sweeping his daughter into his arms, he asked, “What do you think, Angel?”

“I love it, Daddy.”

“Well it’s yours, girl.”

“And, Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes, Angel.”

“Can we keep it till I’m old enough to drive it someday?”

Nate looked to Beverly. The tears in her eyes showed she had no answers. Looking back toward the car then toward his sweet daughter, he took a deep breath and choked out, “We’ll see.”

Chapter 61

W
hat’s wrong?” Nate asked, pulling himself from the bed.

His wife’s screams were so loud they sounded almost as if they were right beside him. But she wasn’t in her usual spot on their bed. Her calls were coming from down the hall in their daughter’s room. “Nate, come quick. Angel’s having a seizure!”

Without even flipping a light switch, his bare feet hit the cold wooden floor as he raced down the hall and ran through the door to his daughter’s room. Beverly was trying her best to keep Angel’s trembling body calm, but the girl’s eyes were rolled back in her head and her arms and legs were jerking in every direction. He’d seen seizures before, but none as severe as this one.

As Nate touched his daughter’s forehead, he noted her ragged, shallow breathing. She looked as if she were drowning.

“We have to get her to the hospital,” Beverly whispered. “She can barely breathe!”

“Wrap her up in a blanket,” he ordered. “I’ll throw on some clothes and get the car out and warmed up.”

After hurriedly tossing on pants, a wrinkled dress shirt, shoes, and a topcoat, Nate raced to the garage. Opening the door, he was rudely greeted by a fierce north wind and a blanket of snow. While he’d slept, blizzard conditions had come to Chicago. Looking beyond the front yard, he noted that the streets were already packed by at least half a foot of the white powder. No one had predicted this.