Just Before Dawn Chatper 8 (standard:mystery, 5940 words)
Author: Sarah Spenser	Added: May 08 2005	Views/Reads: 3408/2587	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This chapter picks up from where Allison was put into the van.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

a smile, and his demeanor was always chipper. He strode into Mark's 
room and observed him for a minute before he spoke. “Hi, Mark. How are 
you doing today?” “I'm better, Dr. Kemp. How are you?” “Fine. Is there 
anything I can get you?” “One thing. Come closer and I'll tell you.” 
Phil obeyed and Mark knew that his plan would work. “I want to get out 
of this bed!” Mark pulled every IV he was attached to and got out of 
bed. “Now, Mark you're going to injure yourself even further. Please 
get back into bed.” “No!” Mark pushed Phil hard into the bed, causing 
him to lose his balance. “Now, Mark, please get back into bed.” Phil 
said calmly. “No!” Mark pushed him again causing him to fall and hit 
his head. Once he was unconscious, Mark switched his clothes for Phil's 
uniform. Now in a doctor's uniform, getting out of the hospital would 
be a piece of cake. He strolled leisurely past the nurses' station and 
exited the hospital. Once in the parking lot, Mark began to run. Time 
was of the essence, and the sooner he got there the better. 

“This is the gun that Martha Bernard found.” Connor said as he finished
updating Don on the case. Don wasn't too optimistic about lifting 
either a print or recovering the serial number. “Connor, I'm going to 
be straight with you. I don't know how much I can do with this. But 
I'll try to trace the serial number. The gun is a little rusty.” “That 
could be from age.” “Whoever did this was careful.” “I know. You have 
to have some knowledge to file the serial number off.” “Well, I'll call 
you when I have some information on it.” “Thanks, Don. I really 
appreciate it.” Connor left then promising to call in a few days. 

He phoned Grace while en route to the station. She agreed to join him
for lunch at Dino's. Grace decided to wear a pretty ankle length dress. 
It was gray with little splotches of color. She put on her silver 
earrings and her White Lace perfume. It was similar in scent to White 
Diamonds, but thankfully not as expensive. Just as she was leaving the 
phone rang. “Hello?” Grace said impatiently. “Hi, darling, how are 
you?” “I can't talk, honey. I'm heading out.” “Out? Out where?” now he 
was getting uneasy. He paced as she spoke, noting that tension was 
starting to rise within him. “Out to lunch with a ... friend.” “Okay, 
listen he's done it. I'm going to save her!” “That witch isn't worth 
your time! Just come home.” “No! I'm going I just wanted to let you 
know!” before she could respond, Grace heard a click. In a flash he was 
gone. As she drove to Dino's, Grace knew that he would do what he 
wanted, and no matter what she said she couldn't prevent the outcome. 

Connor arrived at Dino's a little bar and grill promptly at 12-30. He
tried Allison again while he waited for Grace, but again got answer. He 
was starting to get worried. He dialed Jack's number, no answer. Why 
wasn't one of them answering, then his mind raced. What if it had 
turned out to be a disaster? Jack could be arguing with her? Grace's 
form strolled into Dino's, he waved her over to the corner table. She 
sat across from him and wore her come hither smile. He knew she would 
get the wrong idea about lunch, but he had to do this for Allison's 
sake. “Hi, Connor. I was so thrilled when you called and asked me to 
lunch. I just ...” “Grace, before you get the wrong idea, I didn't ask 
you here so we could back together.” “Oh! You'd leave a pregnant woman 
alone?” “Oh get off it, Grace!. First of all, we don't even know if the 
baby is mine. After all, you did run around with every man in town who 
wasn't engaged or didn't have a girlfriend!. Second of all, I only 
asked you here to ask you about Allison.” A pang of anger tore through 
Grace. That damned Allison Shure again!. She was sorry that her lover 
had gone to save her. “She's suddenly more important than us?” Connor 
slammed his fist against the table in exasperation. “What the hell are 
you talking about, Grace? Where are you? Are you on this planet? We're 
over! Done! Like yesterday's news!. Allison is much more important to 
me than you!. She doesn't lie to me, she never had an affair with 
anyone, and she sure as hell doesn't make eyes at every man that gives 
her a flirtatious smile.” “Oh so I'm a tramp?” “You said it I didn't.” 
“Well, if you asked me here to help your current squeeze you can just 
forget it!” “Why? Because you don't want to see me move on?” “No 
because ...” but Grace couldn't stop the tears from falling. They were 
cascading down her face, ruining her makeup and she was making a 
complete fool out of herself. “I'm sorry, Grace, I didn't mean to make 
you cry. I'm just a little upset that's all. Can you tell me what you 
know about Jack Shure?” Grace gasped, if he knew about her and Jack, 
she would have no chance of winning him back. “Jack Shure? Who's that?” 
“Don't play dumb with me! Allison found a picture of you and Jack in an 
intimate embrace. What's the deal?” “I don't know what you're talking 
about.” Grace abruptly got up and ran out of the restaurant. Connor 
knew she was hiding something and quickly followed. He tailed her all 
the way to her house, and when she tried to dash inside, he stopped 
her. “You're not running away from me, Grace. What do you know about 
Jack>?” “I'm not discussing this with you!” “Why?” “Because I said so! 
Why do you have to be so pushy?” “Grace, just tell me what you're 
hiding.” “No, Connor! It's none of your business.” “It sure is! Jack's 
been treating Allison like yesterday's trash ever since she found that 
picture of you and him together. There's obviously something he doesn't 
want her knowing. Now what is it?” “Leave it dead and buried where it 
should've stayed! That was so long ago!” Grace keyed in and flung the 
front door opened. She tried to slam it on Connor but he probed too 
quick. He closed the door and then flopped wearily on the couch. “I'm 
not moving until you tell me the truth.” 

Allison woke in a daze. She felt dizzy and wondered where she was. At
first, she thought she was in the hospital again, but then she realized 
that she was in a cabin. She looked around at the two men sitting by 
her. She remembered bits and pieces of the attack, and wondered where 
her father was. “Blake, she's waking up.” The driver of the van said. 
“Allison? Can you hear me?” she moaned and opened her eyes, pretending 
to still be a little dazed. Maybe the men would leave her alone so she 
could plan her escape. “What do you want? Where's my father? Did you 
hurt him?” “You'll soon find out.” “No I want to know now! Where is 
he?” she noticed that Blake was fiddling with his belt, moments later a 
gun appeared. “Now will you shut up?” Allison sprang off the couch and 
wrestled with Blake for the gun. The other man stepped into help Blake 
keep Allison under control. “Come on, stop fighting, Allison!. You know 
you're no match for two men.” “Speak for yourself!” she said picking up 
a chair and knocking the man unconscious. Now all she had to deal with 
was Blake. She twisted his arm behind his back until he yelped in pain. 
He let go of the gun and Allison took the opportunity. She looked 
ominously down the barrel at him. She put on her best evil smile and 
spoke in a cold low tone. “Now will you tell me where my father is?” 
“Don't shoot me! Please ... I'll ...” “Not so tough without your gun 
are you, Blake? What the hell is this all about? Why did your buddy 
knock me out and bring me here?” “The Buh ... Boss!” “I can wipe that 
smug little smile right off your face with one push of the trigger. 
Don't under estimate me!. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't 
hold my own with people like you. Now tell me who the boss is.” “I've 
never seen him.” “Come on, Blakey, you can do better than that.” “I 
swear, Allison I've never seen him. Only talked to him.” “Did he pay 
you to do this?” she inched closer with the gun, pointing it at Blake's 
head. “Yes. A couple of thousand.” “Okay, now we're getting somewhere 
what were your orders?” “To kidnap you and bring you here.” “Who's your 
buddy?” she asked pointing to the man still unconscious on the floor. 
“His name's Rocco Smithers. He was my cell mate. Block B of Fallwood 
Prison.” “When did you get out of jail, Blake?” “About 6 weeks ago.” 
“How did The Boss find you?” “He used to be in jail too.” “Do you know 
what happened to my father? Jack Shure.” “No, honest!” just then Rocco 
began to regain consciousness. As he went for his gun Allison clocked 
him over the head. “What the hell ...” “Freeze, Rocco!” “How do you 
know my name?” “Your partner told me.” “Blake what have you been 
telling her?” “Not much.” “You liar. Allison you give me that gun!” 
“Why so you can kill me? I don't think so.” Rocco got up and wrestled 
with Allison. She knew that the gun was her only way to keep the men in 
line, until she could make an escape. “Give me the gun!” “Like hell!” 
Allison's hand slipped and Rocco took the opportunity to grab the gun. 
Allison got hold of the trigger end and fought viciously. She dug her 
nails into Rocco's arm as Blake sat in stunned disbelief. “Give up, 
Rocco!” “To a woman never!” 

In the struggle the gun fired. Allison gasped as the deafening shot
echoed through the walls of the cabin. Blake got to his feet, Allison 
and Rocco were both laying on the ground, a trickle of blood was coming 
from one of them. As he stumbled to get to them, Blake hoped The Boss 
would arrive soon. 

Mark fiddled with his lock pick. He had to gain entry into the house.
Maybe he could get a jump on them and save Allison. He had to, even 
though she didn't love him, he still had to try. He riffled through 
photos and old love letters. But didn't find what he was looking for. 
He swore as he paced around the house looking through and dumping their 
contents on to the floor. He laughed to himself thinking of the mission 
he was going to accomplish. But he still had no clue where he was 
headed. He looked in the man's drawers again, nothing. Then he looked 
at his phone records. The caller ID provided him with a wealth of 
information. On it was a number that started with the area code 704. He 
wondered what it was for and dialed it. He waited a moment before a 
cheerful voice answered. “Rustic Cabins, this is Lola may I help you?” 
Mark put on a thick accent and spoke in a low whisper. “Hello, Lola. I 
an Mark Helzinger. I'm looking for information on one of your rentals.” 
He thought as Lola asked rapid fire questions. Where would he take 
Allison. To some sort of cabin, if he knew his style at all. “I'm 
looking for a cabin on the outskirts of town.” “Our last one was 
rented.” “Oh, can you tell me to whom?” “I'm sorry, sir I can't do 
that. It's against company policy.” “Thank you.” Mark hung up, a few 
minutes later he found what he was looking for. Right by the phone, 
scribbled on a pad was a rental number for Rustic Cabins. “Hot damn!” 
Mark tore out of the house and jumped into his car. He drove like a man 
possessed, praying he would get there in time. 

Connor sat with Grace for a long time. Minutes passed, and neither of
them spoke, Grace didn't want to reveal the truth about Jack to him. If 
she did, she would be killed. “Well, are you going to tell me what's 
going on between you and Jack?” “Have you asked him yet?” “No, I'm 
asking you. I thought you'd give me something to work with.” “I can't! 
I promised him!” “Promised him what?” “Just leave it alone! I swore 
that I wouldn't tell another living soul!” “Come on, Grace!” “No!” 
“Grace, I'm never going to love you again. We're never going to get 
back together, so why don't you just tell me what's going on?” just 
then Connor's cell rang. He was hoping it was Allison. He was truly 
getting worried. “Allie?” “No, Connor it's Don. I got a faint trace of 
the serial number on the gun you recovered from the Bernard attic.” 
“I'll be right there.” Connor pushed off and looked at Grace. “This 
isn't over.” He left then, racing to the lab. He tried Allison again, 
and thought he would go and check on her when he was done with Don. He 
thought if something had happened to either her or Jack, someone 
would've called him. “Allie, it's me, honey. I'm really getting 
worried. Just give me a ring, let me know you're all right. I love 
you.” Connor hung up just as he pulled into parking lot of the 
forensics lab. Don was pacing waiting for Connor's arrival. “What have 
you got?” Connor asked as he sat across from Don. “Serial number 66456 
manufactured around 1962. I figure with that you can find who the owner 
is.” “Thanks, Don.” Connor left and drove to Jack's house. He pounded 
on the door, but got no answer. He went around the back of the house. 
He couldn't see anyone inside. Jack was recuperating from a hip injury, 
it's unlikely that he would go anywhere. Just as he was about to try 
the front door, his cell rang. “Connor Cassidy.” “Hi, Connor, Charlie 
here. I need you right away. Don just called me and told ,me that you 
have a serial number on that gun. I'd like to know why you didn't tell 
me yourself?” “I'm worried about Allison. I just wanted to check on 
her. I was headed back to the station.” “Connor, listen to me and 
listen good!. This is a very high profile case! I'm not going to have 
you screw it up by having you run after Allison!” “But, sir ...” “No 
buts, if you don't get back here in five minutes, you won't have a job 
to come back to!” with that, Charlie slammed down the phone. Connor 
tapped on the door, and then reluctantly got into his car. 

At the station he had to endure Charlie's wrath once again. Finally,
they began to run the serial number through the registry. The computer 
took forever, about five minutes, but to him, five minutes seemed like 
an eternity. All he could think about was Allison as the feeling of 
dread washed over him again. It perplexed him that Jack didn't answer 
the door, but Allison's car was in the driveway. That was really odd, 
he was lost in thought when Charlie tapped him on the shoulder. “Did 
you hear what I said?” “No, sir what was the question?” “I asked if 
you've found a trace yet?” “No, sir not yet.” “What the hell's taking 
so long?” Charlie asked slamming his fist on the desk. “The computer's 
still searching.” A moment later, the computer came back with a match. 
“Benjamin Sams.” “Sams? Did you say Benjamin Sams?” Charlie asked 
incredulously. “Yes why?” “Sams was a notorious serial killer back in 
the sixties. He practically tore this town apart.” “Were you here in 
the sixties?” “I was a rookie cop then, Connor. But I worked the Sams 
case. He was relentless, targeted women in their twenties. Can we prove 
that the gun killed Bernard?” “I'm not sure, sir. I don't know, we're 
not even sure if that was the  gun that killed Martha. All we know is 
that an old gun previously registered to Benjamin Sams was found in the 
Bernard attic.” “I don't need a synopsis, Connor! Do your job!” 

Connor was escorted into Albert Bernard's sitting room. The mansion was
absolutely gorgeous, antiques everywhere, paintings on the walls, and 
photos of a young Martha were plastered everywhere. He greeted Celia 
warmly as she poured him a cup of coffee. She was nice enough, and he 
liked her charm. “I heard that Mrs. Bernard found a gun in the attic 
this morning.” “Yes, I'm here to talk to Mr. Bernard about who that gun 
belongs to.” “He should be out in a minute. He's just coming back from 
the tanning salon.” “Thank you, Celia.” “Mr. Cassidy, would you mind if 
I ask you a question?” “Not at all, go ahead.” “Would you tell me who 
the gun was previously registered to?” “I'm sorry, Cilia I can't. 
That's official police business.” Just then, Al Bernard came strolling 
in. He was wearing a designer suit, and Connor thought it was a little 
dressy for a tanning salon. But then again, these were the Bernard's 
after all. Connor rose to shake Mr. Bernard's hand. “Mr. Bernard, it's 
a pleasure to see you.” “Thanks, Detective.” “Oh call me Connor.” “No 
need to be formal, Connor, call me Al. Everyone else does, except 
Celia.” Celia smiled in Al's direction. “I could never get used to it. 
Would you two like anything before I leave?” “No thank you.” Celia 
exited the room closing the door behind her. “So, Connor, how's my 
daughter's case coming along?” “That's what I wanted to talk to you 
about. Mrs. Bernard told you about the gun she found in the attic.” 
“Yes, do you think it's the murder weapon that killed my little girl?” 
“I'm not sure yet. When we ran it through the database, we found that 
it was previously registered to a Benjamin Sams.” “Sams? Should I know 
the name?” Al's green eyes rose, he ran a hand through his blond hair 
nervously. “I don't know. That's why I'm here. Benjamin Sams was a 
known serial killer in the sixties. He killed women in their twenties. 
Don't you think it's strange that the gun was found in your attic?” “If 
you think that my Martha had anything to do with a lowlife like that, 
then I suggest you leave the premises.” “No, Mr. Bernard, I didn't mean 
anything of the kind. I was just curious.” “Was this Sams character 
ever caught?” “Once, but he escaped after only doing a year of his life 
sentence.” “How'd he do that?” “He slipped out of one of the air vents, 
and has been on the run ever since.” “Well, I might as well tell you 
the truth. I was partners with Sams before I got involved with Alan 
Parks. Actually, Sams, Parks and I were supposed to be partners. But 
Ben starting getting shady.” “Can you explain?” “Well, all of a sudden, 
he stopped hanging out with Alan and I and became sort of a loner. 
Pretty soon, Alan discovered that half of our money was missing from 
our little firm. You see, Connor, back then Parks, Sams and Bernard was 
a small firm.” “So you thought that Ben was embezzling?” 

“Yeah, and we confronted him on it. He denied it, got all hot under the
collar, and then the next day he disappeared with all our money. About 
a month later, Alan found his girlfriend Lila Sacs dead.” “How did she 
die?” “Shot in the head, at point blank range. Lila was a knock out, 
gorgeous legs that went on for miles, strawberry blond hair, and dark 
green eyes to melt into. Alan was devastated, he started drinking to 
escape the pain. Soon after, I threw him out of Bernard and Parks. But 
after a month or two, I convinced him to get sober and join me at the 
firm. It was growing by this point, and he needed an outlet to escape. 
It wasn't until another woman who looked strikingly similar to Lila 
turned up dead that we began to see a pattern. A year later, Sams was 
dubbed the Blond Stalker.” “So up until then he had only killed blond 
women?” “That's about the size of it. I never knew he was still in 
town, I thought he split months ago. It wasn't until the police started 
to focus on him that I knew of his whereabouts.” “Do you think he 
killed Martha?” “Highly unlikely, that partnership was a decade before 
Martha was born. But if he did, I'll make sure he pays.” Connor's phone 
rang, interrupting the flow of their conversation. “Excuse me. Connor 
Cassidy.” “Connor, it's Don. I ran a ballistics test on the gun. The 22 
recovered from Martha's body was definitely fired from the gun found in 
the attic. I also had Chief Chattum bring over the crime scene photos. 
I gave them to my buddy Carl Myers, the blood spatter expert.” “What 
did he say?” “He concluded that Martha was standing when she was shot. 
He said that the blood trail  and the way the blood spattered around 
her indicated that. So our assailant broke in, and struggled with 
Martha, and then shot her while she was standing.” “Thanks, Don. I'll 
get on it.” “What did you find out?” Al asked as soon as Connor shut 
off his phone. “Something's come up in Martha's case. I have to get 
going.” “Well, what about Sams?” “Thank you for the information. I'll 
let you know as soon as we know anything.” 

Once back at the station, Connor looked up Benjamin Sams again. His rap
sheet was about as long as his arm, with a string of arrests in 1963, 
1964 and 1965. Apparently, 1965 was when Ben was convicted of his 
crimes and sentenced to life in prison. But he escaped after only 
serving a year of his life sentence. After that, the trail went cold. 
Sams was never heard from again. Over the years, the police had tried 
to reopen the investigation, but they found nothing. It appeared that 
Ben had dropped off the face of the Earth. Connor pulled up Lila Sacs's 
picture on the computer. She was striking, just like Al had described. 
Her luminous smile added a certain candor and cheer to her making more 
affable. Connor wanted to solve this case more than anything, but where 
would he start looking for Ben Sams? He hadn't been heard from 1965, 
and as far as he knew, there were no aliases. He wondered what Sams had 
done since his escape, he wouldn't be stupid enough to stay in the 
United States. He probably would have fled to Mexico or somewhere 
exotic. He looked up the prison that Ben served in. It was Fallwood 
Prison right on the outskirts of town. As Connor dove there, he tried 
Allison again. He was getting more worried by the second and could 
barely concentrate on the task at hand. The warden was a tall lanky 
woman named Sylvia Sullivan. She was in her mid-fifties and had 
straight brown hair, and almond eyes. Her demeanor projected a no 
nonsense attitude, and he knew that Sylvia wasn't going to be easy to 
interview. “Right this way, Detective.” She said gruffly pointing to 
her office. Connor sat across from her, and put on his best smile. 
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Ms. Sullivan.” “Cut the 
chit chat, let's get right to the point.” “You're certainly direct.” 
“In my game you have to be. What do you want to know?” “I want to know 
about an inmate that you housed several years ago. His name's Ben 
Sams.” “Sams, I wasn't here when Sams was here, but my friend Rita 
Stakwood was. She said he was a real handful, till the night he snuck 
out that air vent. He had a rowdy cell mate. The two of them were as 
thick as thieves. Listen to me, they were thieves the scum of the Earth 
if you ask my opinion.” “Who was his cell mate?” “Let me see.” Connor 
waited while Sylvia typed into a computer. She had the answer within 
seconds. Her eyes focused on Connor again. “Blake Palmer. He just got 
out of here a few weeks ago.” “What was he in for?” “Armed robbery.” 
“Thanks, Ms. Sullivan, you've very helpful.” “You're welcome, Flat 
Foot.” Connor called Charlie from his cell and asked him to run Blake's 
name through the computer. “Palmer you said?” Charlie asked as he read 
all the names that came up under Palmer. “Yes, Charlie.” Connor said 
impatiently. “Blake A. Palmer, served time for armed robbery, pistol 
whipping the  clerk, and was released six weeks ago. Got a job working 
at a construction company.” “Does it have the place of employment?” 
“Mac's Shack.” “Thanks, Charlie.” Connor hung up and thought about 
Blake. If he had any connection to Ben Sams at all he had to find out. 
He wondered if Don could lift a print off the gun. He phoned and spoke 
quickly. “Sure, I'll have my partner get right on it. I don't know if 
we can lift a latent print off it, Connor, but we will certainly try.” 
“Thanks, if you do, we can run the print through the national 
registry.” 

Ten minutes later, Connor was at Mac's Shack, he had obtained directions
from Mac's receptionist. Mac was a plump man in his fifties. His greasy 
black hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a year, his dark eyes 
looked tired, and his beer belly hung over his jeans. “Hi, Mac, I'm 
Detective Connor Cassidy from the Cold Case Unit.” “Yeah and what's 
your point, bud? I've got a business to run.” “I wanted to talk to you 
about one of your employees.” “Okay you've got about ten minutes. The 
boys can handle this job by themselves.” Mac said looking over at his 
employees who were constructing some sort of bridge. Mac and Connor sat 
in Connor's car far from the din of machinery so they could talk. 
“Okay, Detective what's the man's name?” “Blake Palmer.” “Palmer, hmm 
let's see. He just got out of prison.” “Do you know what for?” “Yeah, 
armed robbery and pistol whipping someone.” “Why did you hire him?” 
“Hey, I don't check their backgrounds. I just hire men who want to 
work.” “Did you know about Blake's background when you hired him?” “No, 
he told me one day over a cup of java.” “You didn't think of firing 
him?” “No. The man put in a good day's work and worked hard. Harder 
than most of my men here.” “Do you know where I can find Blake?” “No, 
I'm sorry I don't. He said he was cutting out for a couple days.” “Did 
he say where?” “Some cabin in the woods. Said he needed a break from 
the biz.” “Thanks, Mac. You've been a big help.” “No problem.” Just as 
Connor was driving away his phone rang. “Connor Cassidy.” “Connor, it's 
Don. I wanted to call you first and tell you that we got one thumb 
print off the gun.” “Thanks, Don I'll be right there.” 

Within Minutes Connor was over at the lab and running the print through
the national database. Don looked bleary eyed and Connor thought that 
he would treat him to a cup of coffee. With anticipation, Connor stared 
at the computer screen, but searching the national database usually 
took hours. He knew it was going to be a while before he found a match, 
if he found a match. “Hey, Don how about some coffee.” “Sure, I'm 
tired, I could use some.” The two of them went to the coffee shop and 
brought two steaming cups of coffee back to the office. When they 
returned the computer screen displayed the results of the search. “Wow! 
That was fast!” Don exclaimed taking a sip of coffee. “Yeah, the 
fastest I've ever seen.” Connor clicked the results tab and scanned all 
three matches. “How can you come up with three matches for a print?” 
“What are the names?” Don asked intrigued. “One of them doesn't even 
make sense. There's a Ben Sams, Frank Roads, and Jack Shure.” “Who's 
the one that doesn't make sense?” “Jack Shure is Allison's father.” “Oh 
you're new girlfriend.” “But that doesn't even make sense! Jack is not 
a killer.” “Relax, Connor maybe the computer's wrong. It doesn't have 
eyes you know.” “I know, but that name just doesn't belong there.” 
“What about Frank Roads?” “Hmm, let's see what we have on him. Arrested 
in 67 for trying to outrun the police, arrested in 78 for illegal 
possession of a firearm, and convicted in 91 of assaulting a police 
officer.” “Doesn't sound like the killing type.” “No, let's see he has 
a wife Dawn. Let me go talk to her.” 

Dawn was more than willing to talk about her husband. She clearly adored
him, and described the incident in 91 with the police officer as a 
misunderstanding. “Frankie was a lamb, he wouldn't hurt anyone. The 
only thing was he didn't like to talk about his past much. He said it 
was too painful. I miss him so much.” “What happened to him?” “He died 
in a car accident in 94.” “I'm sorry.” “Would you like to see a 
picture?” “Sure.” Dawn rifled through her wallet until she found the 
photo she was looking for. “Pictures are all I have, we never had 
children. So these are my memories.” She handed the picture to Connor 
smiling all the while. Connor looked at the picture and gasped. “Oh my 
God! I can't believe it's ...” Connor went white and was rendered 
speechless as he stared at the face in the photograph. 


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