Tedmund and the Murdered Cheerleader

By John Mitton

TEDMUND AND THE MURDERED CHEERLEADER

Arriving in Tiryns, Tessa “Tess” O’Neil is on a mission to make amends for wrongs she committed as a teenager. In recovery from years of drug dependency, she decides to contact her former high school friends, the once cool kids of Aaron Burr High. She feels compelled to reveal the truth about the mysterious disappearance of a student, Walter Krol, which happened six years earlier.

On a trip to Tiryns for the Thanksgiving weekend, Ted Strickland and his boss Andrew Hunter discover the body of a slain woman on the side of a country road. She is dressed in a high school cheerleading uniform. Later, Ted realizes the body is that of Tessa “Tess” O’Neil, a former classmate of his. She was said to be the prettiest cheerleader in the history of Aaron Burr High.

Ted finds himself an unwitting player in the investigation of Tessa’s unfortunate demise. The once cool kids of Aaron Burr High, who had bullied and belittled him, now as adults are eerily friendly and, stranger still, eager to talk to him about old times.

“The past doesn’t stay in the past. It’s about to impale itself on the present,” Detective Ramirez observed after he and Lieutenant Paton were called in to assist the Tiryns PD on Tessa’s murder case.

Ted comes into conflict with his boss Andrew Hunter and takes a stand with Detective Ramirez.

Old secrets slowly leak out, and Ted finds himself not knowing whom he can trust.

Spoiler Alert: This book references events from Book One: Tedmund and the Murdered Heiress.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662440137

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I

Detective Pedro Ramirez reclined casually in his chair; his legs stretched out as he thumbed through a booklet on forensic investigation. A series of articles dealt with different techniques for the determination of the time of death. The subjects ranged from body temperature, rigor mortis, and stomach content. Lieutenant Donna Paton walked over and sat on the corner of his desk.

Wow, aren’t we comfortable, she said.

Sorry, Lieutenant, Ramirez replied as he sat up straight and pulled his legs back. Just catching up on some reading.

At least it’s work related. She smiled and then asked, How do you feel about a special assignment?

Ramirez stared into Paton’s eyes. He was still relatively new as a detective. This could be a loaded question. A negative response might give the impression he lacked eagerness. Inwardly, Ramirez mulled it over and decided to give an optimistic, if not somewhat ambiguous, reply.

I’m always open to learning something new, Ramirez answered.

I’ll take that as a possible yes, Paton beamed. The NYPD has been asked to assist in a murder investigation in Upstate New York. A place called Tiryns. It’s a small city, maybe 150,000 residents, not far from Albany. Tiryns is only two hours or so away. You may have to work through Thanksgiving. You’ll be able to get back to The Bronx for your meal but not much else. I will understand if you want to pass this up.

Why us? asked Ramirez. Why not the state police? Tiryns, it sounds familiar.

That’s Ted’s hometown, Detective Brown called out from his workstation by the wall. Sorry, Lieutenant, didn’t mean to interrupt. I couldn’t help but overhear.

Good memory, Brown, replied Ramirez. I wonder how little Teddy is doing?

Seemed all right when I saw him, Brown answered.

When did you last see him? Ramirez’s head turned in Brown’s direction.

Ramirez, focus, we’re not sending out invitations to some reunion. Paton’s voice had a twinge of exasperation.

I’m all ears, Lieutenant. Ramirez leaned forward.

To answer your questions, the department does assist smaller jurisdictions. We have the expertise and the resources. And from what I understand, the chief of police in Tiryns does not want state police involvement.

Ramirez followed Paton into her office. Once seated, she said, What we’ll do is drive up now, get the lay of the land so to speak, and return to New York. Tomorrow we’ll do the same. That way, we can salvage something of the Thanksgiving holiday. On Friday we’ll return, bring some clothing in case we have to stay a few days. Are you in?

Ramirez’s dark eyes narrowed. Should I pack a suit?

Yes. I think, for the most part, we’ll be in casual attire. Don’t wear jeans. I don’t want to give the impression we’re not taking this case seriously.

II

Earlier in the day, dispatch radioed police officer Arnie Jackson that a body had been found in a ditch by Barclay Lane, not far from the interstate. He acknowledged his orders to get there and secure the crime scene.

Jackson earned an associate’s degree in criminal justice and two years ago was hired on by the Tiryns Police Department. He had been stationed in the vicinity, nabbing speeding drivers who came off the highway. He loved this assignment. He liked seeing the faces of frightened motorists as they squirmed and made excuses. Sometimes, he’d play good cop and let them off with a warning. More often than not, he played bad cop and wrote them up a costly ticket.

It was Jackson’s first time as a responder to a homicide. He flicked on the siren and stomped his foot on the gas pedal; his adrenaline surged. Less than a mile from the off-ramp to Barclay Lane, he eyed two men standing beside a parked Buick convertible. He slowly stopped the patrol cruiser, put on his hat and sunglasses, and got out. Intuitively, he guardedly walked as he approached the possible witnesses or perpetrators.

The taller of the two was blond, square jawed, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His gray leather jacket opened to reveal a white collared shirt, which he left stylishly untucked, with the first three top buttons undone. His jeans looked new. The shorter guy had pitch-black hair in a clean tapered cut, wore ebony-framed glasses that accentuated his hazel eyes, and the bone structure of his face gave him strong handsome contours. Younger than the blond guy and better looking, he kept his blue windbreaker zipped up.

The police officer was in a quandary. Unsure on how to start the conversation, he hesitantly introduced himself, I’m Officer Jackson of the Tiryns Police Department. Are you the 911 callers who reported a body?

I called it in, answered the blond guy. A slight breeze wisped through his forelocks. He then indicated with his thumb, as if hitchhiking, and said, She’s over here.

Please show me, said Jackson.

The two men were still unidentified; Jackson let them lead. To turn his back on two unknowns, he logically reasoned, may lead to a perilous situation for him. When the men halted, Jackson came forward to better observe the body in the ditch. He didn’t want to get too close and contaminate the crime scene. Even from his distant vantage, the face of the victim seemed familiar.

We stayed away from the body. We didn’t want to disturb anything. She’s wearing an Aaron Burr High cheerleading uniform. The guy with the dark hair pointed out.

It seemed to Jackson the dark-haired guy knew more than he should. He became tense and wished backup would hurry and assume the investigation. He asked, How do you know that?

That’s my high school alma mater, he said. My name is Ted Strickland. Ted is short for Tedmund. I graduated five years ago.

Jackson’s shoulders slackened, but he remained vigilant and smiled. Ted Strickland. I didn’t recognize you. You’ve really changed and filled out a lot.

The officer then removed his sunglasses. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Arnie Jackson. I was on the football team.

Yes, I do. I remember you very well. Sorry, I just didn’t make the connection. This is Andrew Hunter. The blond guy nodded curtly and gave a weak smile. Ted continued, We’re on our way to my parents’ place for Thanksgiving.

This is my first trip to Tiryns. We pulled off the main road so I could lower the roof of my car. It was such a nice day. Ted decided that we should take a more scenic route, added Andrew.

Ted momentarily winced.

In the distance, sirens blared.

Look, Ted, Mr. Hunter, after we get statements, you’ll be able to go. This may take a half an hour to an hour, Jackson advised.

III

I don’t see why we need the NYPD. We can handle it, Detective Evans remarked.

His police chief, Waldo Jamieson, concluded that additional resources were needed.

Jamieson sat back on his padded leather chair, his beer belly swelling toward his desk. He thoughtfully replied, "We can handle open-and-shut cases. There were two murders last year. Both domestics and both confessed. The year previous to that, some drug dealer was shot in an alley. That one is still unsolved. It had all the hallmarks of a targeted professional hit, and the perpetrator didn’t pose a threat to the community.

"We live in a safe city. We’re well below the national average for homicide. Do you recall, six years ago, when a serial killer took the lives of four people? The public became so spooked, I had to call in the state police to help with forensics. They never let me forget it. The perp turned out to be a transient, who committed multiple murders in other cities.

I got the blame for waiting too long to call for assistance. That’s not happening this time. A murdered woman in a cheerleading uniform raises the possibility we’re dealing with a deranged individual. The NYPD is willing to provide us with two detectives and all the technical support we may need.

A knock on the door ended their conversation.

Enter, Jamieson shouted.

Sorry to bother you, Chief, Detective, said a young fit Afro-American officer who filled the doorway. Clean-shaven with a military crew cut, he had a polished, professional bearing. Jamieson liked to see newer members of the force taking pride in their appearance.

What is it? asked Detective Evans.

I know who the Jane Doe is, the officer disclosed. I didn’t recognize her right away. It finally came to me.

This is Officer Jackson, explained Evans. He arrived first on the scene.

Is that so, said Jamieson. Who is she?

Tessa O’Neil.

Jamieson’s heavy-lidded eyes scanned Jackson. How do you know her?

We went to high school together. She was a cheerleader, and I played for the Bears.

Yes, yes, I do remember you. It must be five, more likely six years ago, maybe a bit more. You were on the team that went all the way to the state championship. Jamieson stroked his chin. How well did you know the victim?

We hung out with the same people. We never dated or anything. I haven’t seen her since senior year. The rumor was she got herself hooked on drugs. Visibly perturbed, Jackson’s voice cracked.

Drug addiction is the scourge of this nation, Jamieson dryly noted. I want you to write down everything you know. Give us a list of the friends she may have contacted. Can you do that for us?

Yes, sir, I can, Jackson responded and went on. I’ll do it now. Is there anything else you need from me?

Jamieson gave a sidelong glance at Evans, who now stood. The detective was a lean man, ambitious, and hungry for advancement. He dressed in a custom-made dove gray suit. Jamieson had a strong inkling, if he were put out to pasture, Evans would trample over anyone in his way to become the next chief of police.

The police chief knew his next words might offend Evans, but the murder needed to be solved and quickly. We’ve enlisted two New York City detectives. They’ll need someone to show them around. Oh no, you’re not their chauffeur. I want you to be a part of the team. You’ll be a great asset. You know Tiryns, and you know the victim. You’re a local guy. (The chief had excised the word boy from his professional vocabulary.)

Well…sure…Yes, Chief, Jackson stammered out. One last thing, Chief, Detective, the witnesses who found the body—

You mean the tourists? interjected Jamieson.

Jackson clarified. Well, one tourist, the other one was a local man who moved away five years ago. He may have been acquainted with the victim. The ex-local also attended high school during the same period as the victim. Although, to the best of my knowledge, he barely knew her. He was said to be the smartest kid in school. Nerdy, loner type, kept to himself mostly.

The quiet ones are usually the most dangerous, Jamieson stated. He then asked, What’s his name?

Tedmund Strickland.

Write down anything you know about him also, Jamieson advised. And mention to the New York City detectives his connection to the victim. I have a feeling they’ll want to interview this Tedmund Strickland.

TED POV

I

Life is what you make it.

My stomach churned and my throat constricted as I gazed on the lifeless body of a woman lying in a ditch on the outskirts of Tiryns. Her pasty face indicated no signs of decomposition. I’m not an expert and assumed she’d been killed recently.

I had traveled home to spend time with my family for Thanksgiving weekend. Leaving the gray skies of New York City, we drove along Interstate 87 before we made the turnoff. At some stage, beyond Mount Marion, the clouds parted, and the dreariness lifted to showcase the late fall beauty of the Hudson Valley. Dotting the hilly horizon were trees, a few tenaciously clinging to their autumn colors, but most had naked branches grasping upward to the heavens as if in the exaltation of prayer. We glimpsed snippets of the river; the morning light gave it a subtle azure hue, and the rippling water sparkled with silvery patches from the rays of the sun.

My traveling companion was my boss, Andrew Hunter. Not my direct boss, Andrew is the assistant director of my department. Which means I have two other bosses between him and me. Andrew’s late wife, Violet Naysmyth Hunter, and I were somewhere on the continuum between acquaintances and friends. Since her untimely death, Andrew has sort of hung around me. As we headed toward Tiryns, Andrew wanted to see more of the surrounding area; we detoured off the main road. It was then we discovered the body.

I am not the best storyteller; I tend to get ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

II

Socially, I was coming out of my shell and, one plate at a time, casting off my armor of introversion. My personality isn’t cold or reclusive. I am friendly, to a point. My problem, I lack confidence in my ability to mix with others. As a research analyst with Naysmyth Global Financial, my assigned projects are more solo than collaborative. Our firm is changing its name to Naysmyth Financial and dropping the word Global.

My direct supervisor, Cole, introduced me to some guys from our office, who were approximately my age. Like clockwork, every Friday evening, I’d meet up with them at a bar called Maddy Hatties. It was there I met Mary. Mary worked for a bank a block and a half away from the bar. We’ve enjoyed some coffee dates. I’m aiming to ask her out to a movie, hopefully, in a week or so.

After my brush with death, I vowed to expand my diversity of experiences. Life is fleeting, and I had a new determination to make the most of mine. My two steps forward happened in unison. I guess that means it was more of a jump, or perhaps a small hop. Andrew persuaded me to join a gym. I am far from being athletic. If anything, I am below average in the muscularity department. Coupled with that, I scrounged up all my courage and registered in a three-day self-defense class offered at a recreational center. Detective Lamar Brown of the NYPD led it. Thus, my leap forward had begun.

I knew Detective Brown. His quick thinking on September twenty-first saved my life. The following Tuesday I signed up for his course and was the only guy in the group, which didn’t bother me until the detective singled me out. My female classmates were so turned on by him. I overheard their chatter.

Love to have him for my private bodyguard, said one female voice.

Hmmm, snorted another. If he’s teaching about safety, I know where he’d be safe.

If he was with you, girl, it wouldn’t be all that safe…for him.

Then more giggles and whispers.

Lamar Brown, whose six-feet-and-two-inch frame was knotted in lean muscle, commanded everyone’s attention. His hair he kept in a tight fade, which transitioned into sideburns connecting to a beard and mustache of the same length. When he interacted with the members of the class, now and then, he let out a deep infectious laugh, and his dark, penetrating eyes took in everything. His features seemed stern to me, but the consensus in the room judged, he had smoldering good looks.

Detective Brown clarified, from the start, he was here to explain a common sense approach to personal safety. The main concepts were to be aware of your situation, look for exit routes or a safe place, and have a plan.

He started off with a glossary of terms and said, An assailant is the attacker, the mugger, the perpetrator, and can be a he, or a she. I will refer to the assailant as a male because in the majority of cases, it is a male. But remember, the assailant can be a female.

Close to the end of the first session, Detective Brown described the decoy trick.

I didn’t make this up. You can find it online or in books. Then again, nowadays, who bothers to read books when we have YouTube. He smiled and got a light laugh from the class.

The detective turned to a table behind him and picked up three items. As he mentioned each item, he lifted it for everybody to see. You take something, like an old change purse, or an empty wallet, or even a money clip filled with Monopoly money. This is your decoy.

Ah, Ted, could you come here. He looked straight at me.

Detective Brown stood on a low dais. To his right was a moveable whiteboard that he used to jot down key elements of his lecture. There were nearly thirty of us in attendance; the chairs were arranged in an auditorium style.

Come on Ted, don’t be shy. Let’s give Ted a round of applause.

My face flushed as I approached Detective Brown who grinned broadly. The soft clapping ended just after he shook my hand. I had belonged to a theater club back in high school and later at university. The extremely few times I performed, I was well rehearsed and scripted. This was improv, or at best role play, something I wasn’t too comfortable with.

Ted, hold on to this. He handed me a metallic clip filled with play money.

He then explained, I’m going to be the mugger. You’re the potential victim. You are to show me the money clip, throw it, and run.

Take 1:

The ferocity of Detective Brown’s unexpected charge gave me a fright, and I froze. I now realized he took the role of the mugger seriously.

Good job, Ted, he said. Ted just demonstrated what happens when you don’t have a plan in place. If you don’t have a plan and an assailant comes at you, you’re like a deer in the headlights, just standing there. Then you’re a victim. All right, Ted, this time, throw and run.

I nodded and kept silent as the detective used my error as a teaching tool.

Take 2:

Detective Brown ran up to me, and I tossed the money clip. The minute I bolted in front of him, his strong arms suddenly encircled my waist, my legs flew in the air as he swung me back. Once my feet were on the floor, he let go.

Stay put, Ted, he ordered, his voice playful. Then he laughingly asked, Can anyone tell me what went wrong?

Yes? He pointed to a woman in the third row, who had her hand raised.

He threw the money clip, and then, like a dumbass, he ran in the direction of where he threw it. She smiled and gloated in self-satisfaction at her answer.

The group laughed. The detective gave me a nod that told me to relax.

Correct, responded Lamar Brown. You see, Ted just demonstrated a plan that was not well-thought-out. Can somebody tell me what he should have done?

Another voice shouted out, He should have run in the opposite direction from where he threw the money clip.

"Exactly, the decoy is the money clip. The assailant doesn’t know the money is fake. The assailant wants it. When you throw it, he, she, or they, if there is more than one, are going to run for it. That gives you time to get to a place of safety.

Now, Ted, let’s do it again and speak to me before you make the throw.

Finally, I understood my part. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Take 3:

Detective Brown sprinted toward me.

I held up the money clip and flung it across the room and shouted, This is all I have. Here, take it.

The detective halted, spun around, and ran after it. I dashed in the opposite direction.

Ted, you can come back. Don’t run out the door. I might need you again, he jocularly quipped. Turning to the group he asked, Everyone get the picture?

The class nodded and murmured in agreement. Detective Brown chuckled and then thanked me. On the way back to my seat, I tripped.

Be careful there, Ted, he advised.

When everyone had left, I explained to Detective Brown that I really screwed up. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.

Ted, you did a good job, he told me. He then said, Please call me Lamar. This is the first time I ever had an interactive demonstration with someone from the class. Because it’s predominantly female, I don’t want to give any of them the wrong impression. It worked so well, I’d like to do some more role play. Would you be willing to help me out with the remaining two sessions?

Yes, I answered off the cuff and unwittingly committed myself.

Great, see you tomorrow.

As I rode home on the subway, it twigged, I had taken another step forward.

The third and final class dealt with, the worst-case scenario, the necessity to physically defend yourself. Lamar’s face maintained a somber composure when he emphasized this was only to be used as a last resort. The purpose was not to capture the assailant but to free yourself, get to a safe place, and call the police.

Stomp on his foot. Kick him in the balls or poke his eyes, make noise, and then run, Lamar stressed.

Lamar then called on me to assist in the demonstration of how a smaller man could escape a much larger guy. Being clumsy, I worried that I might really jab him in the eye during one of our role plays. I am proud to state, things went well.

After all the participants had gone, Lamar spoke to me. You know Ted, having another person to assist seems to be a good dynamic. Acting out the scenarios gave the group a better understanding of what I’m trying to teach. They really enjoyed it. How would you feel about volunteering with me for the next sessions?

The word yes jumped out of my mouth. I then hastily added, We need to coordinate our schedules.

Lamar is one chill and very funny guy, once you get to know him. He told me he enlisted in the Army at the age of eighteen and served in the Military Police Branch. He then joined the NYPD after he received an honorable discharge. He worked in drugs and vice before transferring to homicide.

We revamped his lectures, incorporated more role play, which included my two what not to do situations with the money clip. At the end of class, I always hung back, and he showed me more defensive maneuvers. This was supplementary information and wasn’t to be shared with other attendees.

If, and I mean only if, you can’t get away, this move should buy you enough time, he said one evening. We would practice it repeatedly. If ever I found myself cornered, this move offered me the best means of escape.

Lamar detailed the assailant’s psychological temperament and his erroneous presumption of success, based on his belief that a victim like me would not, or could not, fight back.

He taught me how my eyes were to be trained on my assailant’s every move. Next, I needed to assume a grounded stance with a slight angle facing the assailant, my feet parallel and shoulder width apart, and my clenched fists positioned close to my chest. Also, my knees were to be slightly bent. When the assailant came in range, I’d then spring forward and at the same time thrust out my arms to hit him in the stomach, just below the rib cage. He’d be thrown off-balance and have the wind knocked out of him. At that moment, I was to run for my life.

On the week before Thanksgiving, Lamar instructed me on another move. He grabbed my right arm at the bicep. He stopped.

Ted. His face became quizzical. Have you been working out?

III

The answer to his question was a resounding yes. In gratitude for my help in the solving of Violet Hunter’s murder, Andrew purchased for me a gym membership. This included the services of a personal trainer and an Uber ride every morning for a year. The soreness in my muscles gradually eased as the weeks passed. Eric, my personal trainer, called this good pain. Good pain meant that you were making gains. Bad pain signaled you had done something wrong, resulting in a pull or a tear. I began to look forward to getting, to use Eric’s phrase, pumped up.

An essential aspect of an exercise routine, believe it or not, is diet. Eric termed it eating clean. He provided me with website information, recommended a suitable protein powder, and an amino acid drink. Of course, there were tons of supplements, perfectly legal, that were on the market.

Eating clean was both expensive and time-consuming. There were some start-up costs like a blender and a digital kitchen scale, but the real expense came from buying unprocessed food. Plus, I now needed to meal plan well in advance. My new culinary experience came with an unforeseen side effect on my digestive tract, and on a few occasions, my bum hit the toilet seat with only a split second to spare. Luckily, I never had an accident. I can’t recall, but I think within a month I became regular again.

Andrew, how can I put it, is a complicated type of guy. It’s like being friends with the tide. He rolls in to the point I feel practically claustrophobic; then, he pulls back and barely gives me single-word responses. When he’s in a pull back mood, the conversation becomes one-sided because I do most, if not all, of the talking. Daily, I’d see him at the gym, where the bulk of our interactions take place.

On the Sundays, where his inclination changed to chatty, I’d join him for church. Andrew regularly attended Sunday service. He often bragged he never missed. Then afterward we’d go to an exclusive eatery for a healthy gourmet breakfast. I felt obligated to pony up for at least one occasion a month and treat Andrew. This set me back on average $120, a luxury I really couldn’t afford and could do without. Andrew had a substantial inheritance pending. He received a generous allowance from the trustees of his late wife’s estate, as her will slithered slowly through the probate court. Money was no object for him. At the office, Andrew kept his distance. This was a good thing. I would hate to have people assume that I received preferential treatment because of my friendship with him.

My hypothesis, on Andrew’s professional aloofness, was a bright light bulb moment for me. It explained something else in my life. This concerned my boss, Cole Reilly. Cole is the greatest guy in the world, but from the time I’ve known him, he has simultaneously been both close and distant. Cole is brutally fair with all his direct reports. He doesn’t play favorites and doesn’t want the appearance of playing favorites. I now understood our relationship.

IV

Cole. I knocked on the doorframe as I entered his office. He looked up from his desk. Just a reminder, I’m off next week, and Monday and Tuesday of the following week. Everything is up-to-date. There is nothing pressing you need to worry about.

He gave me, what I called, his Cole smile. It was a smile that lit up his face and always gave me a sense of security.

Ted, have a great Thanksgiving. You’ve got all of Thanksgiving week and two days on top of that. Any big plans?

No, I’m heading home to Tiryns, either on Tuesday or Wednesday, and back, probably on Sunday, I replied. What are you doing for the holiday?

My parents are arriving this Sunday night from Wisconsin. They’re staying the week. They want to see the Macy’s parade. On Saturday, they go back. I have to work Monday and Tuesday, but after that I have the rest of the week off. I told them, they’ll have to amuse themselves until then. This is their first time in New York.

My insides tossed and swirled as my palms became clammy; with resolute determination, I offered my assistance and said, Cole. My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. I know I am just a direct report. I am not asking for any favors, but I could show your parents around until you’re off on Wednesday. If you want?

There was a lull, and I waited for his expected refusal.

That would be great, Ted. His features brightened. I didn’t like them wandering through the city by themselves. We can meet in the lobby of the Naysmyth building at 9:00 a.m. on Monday, and I’ll introduce you. I’ll give you a call to confirm. Have a good weekend.

Cole’s acceptance of my offer briefly staggered me. I just nodded. On Saturday, at the gym, I spoke to Eric and Andrew and told them about my trip home for Thanksgiving. I also told Andrew that for two days, I was acting as a tour guide for Cole’s parents.

Andrew was in a pull back mood and grunted, Ted, I am trying to work out.

So ended that conversation.

V

Cole’s father was an incredible guy. My first impression: he seemed like a jolly soul. Years of merriment left lines on his clean-shaven face, and his dark blue eyes, a feature his son inherited, twinkled when he widely grinned. His thinning, gray hair still covered his scalp without the embarrassing look of a comb-over. A wool lumberjack jacket encased his barrel chest, and his jeans were loose fitting. He wore a pair of low-cut hiking boots, which he confided were waterproof. A Nikon camera dangled from a cord that hung from his neck.

Call me Jerry, he said as he vigorously shook my hand.

Dad, knock it off, Cole dryly ordered. You’ll pull Ted’s arm out of its socket.

Sorry, Ted. Jerry released his grip and from his pocket took out a baseball cap with a Milwaukie Brewers logo. He put it on his head. Meet my wife, Birdie.

It’s a nickname for Brigid, she added. With an inviting warm smile, she extended her hand to shake mine.

Birdie dressed sensibly in a rainproof windbreaker, jeans, and walking shoes. She carried an average-size mocha leather handbag. Her reddish hair, in a bob with bangs style, waved slightly from the light wind.

Unconsciously, I compared Cole to his parents. Cole’s auburn hair and ginger scruff were genetic traits possibly from either side of his family. He bore a strong resemblance to his mother; they both had a straight nose and clear skin. Like his father, he possessed a strapping physique. However, he towered over both of them.

After the introductions and Cole’s departure, I asked them what they wanted to see the most.

I’ve made a list of the best attractions in New York, I told them. But first, let’s get a taste for the city. I know an authentic Italian bakery not far from here.

Ted, I have been doing some reading. Is it true the Mafia used to raid every bakery in town? Jerry gave me a serious look.

I never heard that, I answered, a bit perplexed.

Sure, it’s how they got all their dough, he loudly chuckled.

I stopped, then all of a sudden, I got it and burst out laughing. This went on all day. The man was hilarious.

In the Theater District, Jerry commented, I heard that actors say for good luck ‘break a leg,’ which make sense, since they’re all in a cast.

A struggling artist was selling his paintings near Central Park, and Jerry observed, I know one thing, that picture is on its way to jail. See, it just got framed.

He kept me in stitches all day. Laughing, I glanced at his wife. She just shook her head with the occasional rolling of her pale brown eyes but seemed amused by our banter. I imagined she had heard her husband’s jokes time and again.

We toured the Rockefeller Center, the Empire State Building, and St. Patrick’s Cathedral where both Jerry and Birdie lit a candle and said a prayer. We went into Macy’s department store. Birdie wanted to see where Gimbels department store had once been. So, I googled it on my cell phone and discovered it wasn’t far from Macy’s. Jerry snapped hundreds of pictures, and I took shots of them in front of all the places we visited. I made sure we walked through Times Square. We rode on the subway. We ate a late lunch, before I brought them back to the Naysmyth building around five. Cole dutifully waited out front. We arranged to meet at a breakfast diner in Midtown for Tuesday.

VI

I was punctual. The Reillys were already seated. The assumption I had gotten the time wrong zoomed across my mind.

Sorry, I thought you said nine, I apologized, and stood beside their booth.

We did. Cole got up. We’ve only been here a few minutes. Sit down next to me.

I slid into the spot by the window opposite Birdie, who sat beside her husband. Cole removed and draped on the back of the seat his beige cotton jacket that had four front pockets and a spread collar. He wore a smoky gray color long-sleeved crewneck shirt, which went well with his blue jeans and light brown leather hiking shoes. His shoulder brushed against mine as he made himself comfortable. It then dawned on me, he wasn’t in a suit.

Are you not working today? I asked him.

No, I’m not. I spoke to Marsha, and we came to an arrangement. So, I am free to sightsee with you guys. Cole smiled.

Oh, do you want time with your parents, I can go home, I said. I knew how much Cole valued his privacy.

Ted, you made yesterday very entertaining, chimed Birdie.

We don’t want to lose our tour guide, Jerry cheerfully declared. Are you worried that Cole will detract from our fun?

No, not in the least, I answered with relief. Cole won’t detract from it. He’ll only add to it.

Cole playfully bumped his elbow into my ribs. Let’s have breakfast and enjoy the day.

And enjoy it we did! Our sightseeing was confined mostly to Lower Manhattan with an excursion to the Statue of Liberty, which we didn’t go up, and a tour of Ellis Island. Jerry’s Nikon snapped away. They all insisted I be included in the pictures. So, we enlisted the aid of other tourists to operate the camera. Cole left his car in a parking garage; the subway became our means of transportation. We always walked in twos. Somehow, we seemed to rotate, Cole would be with his father while I was with his mother, or I would be with Cole as his parents trailed behind, and then Jerry and I would find ourselves taking the lead. Like yesterday, Jerry continued to be sidesplitting with all his jokes. Cole and Birdie, now and then, grimaced at some of his puns.

We made our way back toward the edge of Midtown and were strolling past the United Nations Headquarters. Cole and Birdie lagged behind; it was getting close to five, and the evening darkness began to creep in.

We’re almost back to where we started, I said to Jerry.

It’s been quite a day, he commented. It reminds me of when Birdie, Cole, and Fin, our youngest son, used to take trips. The four of us would have great times.

Wasn’t Fin able to come with you to New York? I asked. Cole never mentioned a brother. Then again, he kept his personal life to himself.

The smile from Jerry’s lips faded. A pensive gaze clouded his eyes. Oh, poor Fin, he slowly replied. Our son had a terrible tragedy. We lost him five years ago.

I am sorry, Jerry. Then I shut my mouth in fear I would say something stupid.

How old are you? Jerry inquired.

I’m twenty-two. I’ll be twenty-three next year, in July.

Fin was a year younger than you. Cole took it real hard. They were close. A couple of months later, Cole upped and moved to New York. Cole went through a rough patch. We all did. It took a long time to come to terms with it. In life, you have to pick yourself up, or you’ll get plowed under. He looked at me. I’m sorry, Ted, I didn’t mean to spoil your day.

I thought before I spoke. I am at a loss to know what to say. I wish I had the perfect phrase that would make everything right, but I don’t. I know this, I really enjoyed yesterday, and I enjoyed today even more. You and your wife are great. And Cole, he’s the greatest guy on earth. Don’t tell him I said that. I gave a half smile.

We’ll keep this entire conversation to ourselves, Jerry winked.

We’re not far from the parking garage where I left the car this morning, Cole said. He and Birdie had joined us. Ted, you’re coming with us to dinner. We have reservations at a restaurant in Brooklyn, and then we’ll drive back and drop you home.

I suppressed a knee-jerk reaction to decline, and accepted, because I didn’t want the day to end.

During dinner, Jerry revealed he had started his working life as a millwright. Later he became a licensed electrician, prior to becoming a contractor. He ran his own business and classified his current employment status as semiretired.

Growing up, Cole worked for me during the summer. I was his boss. Jerry grinned.

Now you know why I moved to New York, Cole quipped to me.

Huh? I stiffened, and my jaw dropped.

It’s a joke, Ted, explained Cole.

Oh, I get it. Ha-ha, I lamely chuckled.

He’s not as funny as his old man, Jerry interjected.

No, he’s not. Then catching myself, I added quickly, Cole you’re just humorous in a different way. You know…

Cole gave me a lopsided smile; then he laughed. We all did.

On the way home, Birdie and I occupied the back seats. When we arrived at my apartment building, Birdie said, Ted you must visit Wisconsin, and you must stay with me and Jerry. This is not a hollow gesture, I mean it. We would love to have you.

I sure will, I said, as I got out of the car. We bid our farewells and mutually thanked and wished one another a happy Thanksgiving. And I told Jerry and Birdie to have a safe trip home.

Cole asked, Ted do you want me to escort you to your apartment? It’s dark out.

It was close to nine. No Cole, it’s just over there. I’ll be fine.

Cole’s Audi drove off, and I started up the front steps. Just before the stoop, my ears detected the sound of a soft trod. I sensed a presence behind me.

VII

The presence moved closer and picked up speed. I slipped my entry key between my middle and ring fingers, so that the jagged tip protruded from my fist. I needed to make my one blow count; the unexpected sharp jab would temporarily stun the assailant. This should give me enough time to enter the safety of the lobby. Once I shut the door, it would automatically lock.

I whirled ninety degrees, pulled my arm back, and before I threw my first punch, a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist. Then I heard, Ted, what are you doing?

Andrew? My arm relaxed, and he released his hold. The fanlight over the door illuminated his features. I thought you were a mugger.

No, not a mugger, he said. I just dropped by to catch up on things. Sorry it’s late. I did text you.

My phone is on silent mode, and I haven’t checked it. Do you want to come in for a bit? My spiked pulse rate gradually returned to normal.

Yes, I would.

As we walked up three flights of stairs to my place, I wasn’t listening to Andrew. My mind was on Lamar. He warned me that I wait too long to take action. I’d debrief with him on what happened tonight.

"Have a seat, I will