19.3 Thistledown

“Linda Linz,” she uttered, “it’s a wild guess,” she reached for the bag to pick some photos, “I can’t prove it and it may never be known unless she confesses. FBI is going through this, putting pieces together. Hope, they’ll find out.

“Let me show you! These B&W photographs were ordered by Paul Clancy, produced by Mr Quinn, because their first assassin was the Colombian who uses a high dose of nicotine to kill. This Colombian, Curtis, is colour-blind. Monochromacy – total colour-blindness. Black and white photos would help him to know textures better. 

“Cindy Lockwood and Laura Hudson, two who signed witness, were in the camera case that belonged to Paul Clancy.

“Somewhere down the line, they managed to get Linda on board. She was desperately in need for money. She agreed to execute the nicotine doses, at least she did on two, Savon Martin and Cindy Lockwood, that leads to death. And she knew they were fatal.

“Linda tied him down in bed in a usual bondage practice that Savon Martin loved her to perform. Gagged him and administered the nicotine. First, stabbed in the neck, then to his arm and finally, in the groin – the killer blow. She took the will and the album, left the scene with Paul Clancy on her tail.

“No proof,” Natalia continued, “FBI is finding out from Paul Clancy. I believe Curtis entered the room and set the scene for a suicidal alchemy. Placed the pillows and his body in Fowler’s position, strewn the needles and syringes. He stayed until Savon deceased. Then left.”

“Why there are no black and white photographs of Savon and Sidney?” enquired Thomas Cyril.

“Because they know them. Paul Clancy asked for the witnesses. Jadon Quinn knows who they are besides Noth Wellinois. They can ask only Jadon Quinn.

“These photographs, taken of Cindy Lockwood’s closet in her room. And these from Linda Linz’s closet in Corpus Christi home but first, let me tell you about Laura Hudson.

“Linda was gone. Curtis had to kill Laura on his own. It was easy. Laura Hudson goes to the park and sits there to laze. He approached from behind with a nicotine plunger, a very thin needle. A quick stab in the nape. She died almost immediately. If she didn’t, he will administer another dose; 21^st November 1983.”

“With a single shot?”

“A tiny little drop could kill,” she continued, “In the case of Cindy Lockwood, she didn’t die instantly. She was stabbed while getting out of the car. She drowsed a little unconscious. Linda and Curtis ushered her to the house. I believe Linda delivered the shot.

“Cindy Lockwood is a nurse. Her husband died in Vietnam. Two daughters living away and Mark, her son, in the military. He told me she never changes her nurse dress in the room. She does it in this other closet,” Natalia showed the photographs, “That night, she changed to her nightdress in the room and left the nurse uniform in the closet here.

“See! It’s hung to the opposite side from all other clothes. That is because Linda placed it there. She’s a left-hander. And you can see Linda’s closet, clothes hung the other way.

“Mark sent me this photo. A bruise they found on Cindy Lockwood’s nape, deep down in the nape, while she rested in the coffin. They’d not find it if they did not look for it in an autopsy. A hematoma that occurred after placing her body in the casket; a blood clot. They found nicotine in her blood. In the case of Laura Hudson, they found nothing. The stab on Cindy is from the rear, on the left nape, a left-handed assault. I bet Laura’s would be on the right nape.”

“And the killer blow!”

“In the genitalia.”

“Viola!” he was absorbed, “I think we can break this case. If we could, we might as well have a retrial and under a forced heirship, which is not normal practice, but at least, win back the house for Mr Wellinois. He has been manipulated by his uncles.”

“Yes,” agreed Natalia, “He doesn’t know to read or write. His second cousin, George, is a friend of Clancy. And Clancy was a classmate of Jadon Quinn. They got it all planned and hired this Colombian who actually lasted six years working for him.”

“Where is he?” asked Thomas Cyril.

“His whereabouts unknown. I think he’s gone to Colombia. An FBI wanted man. He may never be found.”

“Military is involved there!” he made a case.

“That maybe the reason,” thought Natalia, “They have a fifty-fifty chance to get involved or leave it.”

“You may be right. An armed conflict and we are involved. I met Noth Wellinois at the court in Charleston. I want to help him. Have you met him?”

“I did. I recorded a conversation. I lost the tape. Paul Clancy threw it into the sea. Noth took Curtis in his car to Whiting to repair a boat, he was told. Linda took these photos of his car at Forsythe Park.” She reached for another set of prints, “These are duplicates. Originals are with FBI. You can still notice a crease in the middle. It was folded.

“After Linda killed Savon Martin, Linda drove to Chicago in his car, a Renault 5, a small ‘Le Car’, but Paul Clancy stopped her and brought her back. She had to go through police enquiries. After those interviews, he took her to Corpus Christi. She stayed at a motel owned by Franklin Crape. Paul Clancy could not find the will in her possession but these photographs. He folded them and put into his pocket. All ended in his camera case.

“She managed to escape and went to New York to continue with modelling. Clancy was on her tail. Linda posted ‘Nicotine Overdose’ on Virago in Chicago for two reasons; to scare him off her back and make it sound like murder involved behind Savon Martin’s death.

“Only that Jeff Lonnell didn’t publish the whole article as it was. These are the copies…”

“Why isn’t she arrested?” asked Thomas Cyril.

“She’s got strong lawyers. Money too. FBI knows all this. There is no escape for her. Jadon Quinn will also be found guilty.”

“Natalia,” he demanded, “Bring Wellinois to me. Convince him that we can be of better help to him. He is in grave danger. We can get back the house. It belongs to him. We have already wired to stop the sale of the house until this inquest is over.”

“I will try. He is a hard case to convince. People cheat him and he’s grown to live with mistrust.”

“Alright,” he said, “Let’s have lunch!”

“Mr Cyril!” she pushed, “Do you have any photo albums of Sidney Martin?”

“I have them,” he said, “videos too. We shall take a look after lunch. My father keeps a lakeside house few miles out of Chicago, in the Illinois suburbs. That’s where they go for leisure.”