The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 20

I'd spent most of the evening on the Internet verifying the information Darrell Woodson had provided me, much of it using my Dun and Bradstreet account to chase business entities, including Darrell's. What I found there and through my browser generally backed up Darrell's rendition of events – what discrepancies there were had more to do with the timeliness and completeness of the data recorded online than inconsistencies.

The morning traffic rush into downtown wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it might be—that it was a Friday and the weather was beautiful may have helped. I got there a little early, and as I stood at the bank of elevators to go to the third floor, I idly perused the building directory. I saw that half a dozen of the business names listed had "Woodson" somewhere in their titles. It was likely Darrell Woodson also had a stake in the building—it wouldn't make sense to have this many entities paying rent to someone else.

The Woodson Group corporate offices were open and spacious. Mainly glass and chrome, there were occasional fabric-covered walls. Hidden spotlights illuminated modern art in the nooks and crannies. The ambiance was not that of a cubicle farm by any means. The walls stood at odd angles, and groupings of couches and chairs, intermixed with small bar-height dining sets, broke up the spaces. Ceiling lights recessed into dark walnut panels augmented standalone fixtures to provide much of the lighting. The atmosphere was more comfortable and laid-back than most offices I've experienced.

Darrell came to the receptionist's desk to meet me, and I followed him into a small glass-walled conference room. It featured a fully stocked coffee bar, and I took advantage. We sat catty-corner from each other at the long oak-trimmed Formica table. I began by thanking Darrell again for the hospitality he and his wife had extended me the day before. "I'm learning a lot, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate this information," I said.

"It's not a one-way street, you know," Darrell said. "I'm happy that you've taken an interest in this, and for whatever there was between Theresa and me, she didn't deserve what we all think happened to her. Certainly, somebody needs to bring James Seaver to justice."

"I'm hoping Seaver doesn't see me coming," I replied, "and I can gather enough to put him away with no one else getting hurt."

"Absolutely," Darrell said. "Given how he's hamstrung the police and stalled the criminal cases around his fraud, you may be the only one still standing who can nail the defrocked doctor."

"You may be right," I said. "I don't think Seaver can hold everyone at bay forever. Eventually, the authorities will hold him accountable, but I think I can break down his defenses faster. You've supplied a lot of missing pieces that fit the story my witness told. I say 'told' in the past tense because at least two people beat that witness to death and left him in an alley downtown."

"Did James Seaver have something to do with that?" Darrell asked.

"I'm not sure how, but I am sure he was involved," I answered.

"Beaten to death, wow," Darrell said. "That someone would lose their life in such a brutal way... It takes this out of the realm of the speculative."

Darrell paused for a moment in reflection.

"I suppose all Seaver cares about is that there's one less person to testify against him. What a horrible measure of human life. But with all due respect to the victim, he's probably right; losing a witness doesn't seem like something that helps us."

"On the surface, you'd think not. But though sad, that witness' death could help resolve all of this," I said. "Before his murder a little over a month ago, he wrote several letters. In those letters, he described events that coincide with Terrence reporting his mother missing. If you think of the letters as a roadmap, they tell much of the story. By filling in the missing details, we can add much to the case against Seaver for killing Theresa."