Fan Fic and More

COLD CASE
Never Too Late
By J. B. Tilton (a.k.a. NoAzMale) and Teri Thibeault (a.k.a. Tessalynne)
Emails:
noazmale@isot.com evilgidget_2000@yahoo.com
Rating: T (for language)

* * *

Disclaimer: “Cold Case” and all related characters and events are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer and the CBS Corporation, except for those characters specifically created for this story. This is a work of fan fiction and no infringement of copyright is intended.

* * *

(Authors’ note: This story takes place between season 1 episodes “Gleen”
and “Our Boy Is Back”.)

Special note: The names of all military units and military personnel depicted in this story are fictitious. They have been fabricated by the author for the purposes of this story and any resemblance to any persons living or dead or military units which may have or currently exist is purely coincidental.

* * *

Stillman receives an envelope that reopens the murder of a military officer 36 years previously. While investigating the murder, Lilly and the others uncover an injustice committed by the officer that may have led to his death.

* * *

PROLOGUE

April 7, 1970, 8:32 p.m.

Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hopkins waited patiently as the phone on the other end rang. He knew it was late. But he was just as sure that the person he was calling wouldn’t mind a late night call. They had known each other a very long time.

“Hello?” said a voice at the other end of the phone.

“Jack?” questioned Hopkins.

“Yes.”

“Jack, it’s Tim Hopkins.”

“Well, Tim. Haven’t seen you since you derosed back from ‘Nam. How have you been?”

“Fine, fine. Sorry to call so late. I understand you got posted to the awards board in D.C.”

“Yes,” replied Jack. “Not a bad assignment. I get to help recognize some of the sacrifices our boys made over there. If you ask me I should be approving more awards. But I can only work with what I have.”

“Yeah, Jack. I hear that. I also heard you’ve been nominated for Brigadier. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Tim. Where are you at?”

“Philadelphia. I’m at the Defense Supply Center here. A nice quiet position after what we saw in ‘Nam.”

“That’s true. Look, you aren’t that far away. Why don’t you drive down sometime and we can have lunch. My treat. Catch up on old times.”

“That’s why I’m calling, Jack. I need to see you. As soon as possible.”

“Well, what about next week? I was planning to take some leave then and we’ll have plenty of time to spend together.”

“This is important, Jack. They passed me over again. That makes twice. I’ve put in my retirement papers. I’ll be retiring in August.”

“Sorry to hear that, Tim. I can’t really say I’m all that surprised, though. We both knew this was always a possibility.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, Jack. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s official. I need to correct a mistake I made a couple of years ago. And I’d like to take care of it as quickly as possible.”

“Sure, Tim. Can you be here tomorrow? Say about noon. We can have lunch and you can fill me in. Care to tell me what it’s about?”

“I’d rather not. Not over the phone. This is too important. You’ll understand once I’ve explained it to you.”

“Fine, Tim, fine. We’ll make it a working lunch. You sound ominous.”

“No, not ominous, really. Just something that shouldn’t have happened. And I want to make sure it’s taken care of before I retire.”

“Okay, Tim. I’ll wait until you tell me tomorrow. I’ll see you about noon, then.”

“Thanks, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hopkins hung up the phone. He tightened the belt on his robe and decided to turn in. It was going to be a long drive to D. C. in the morning. He wanted to be completed rested before he made the trip.

Suddenly he heard a sound in his study. He lived alone so he knew no one else was in the house. Maybe he’d left the window open. He decided to make sure it was closed before he headed to bed.

As he opened the door to his study he noticed a figure hunched over his desk. The window behind the figure was open and the figure seemed to be looking at some papers he held in his hand. As Hopkins looked at the figure that was couched in the darkness of the room, the figure looked up at him. That’s when Hopkins noticed the .45 caliber pistol in the figures’ hand.

April 8, 1970, 9:03 a.m.

Mrs. Gonzalez entered Hopkins’ house and locked the door behind her. She was an elderly woman who made her living cleaning homes for several people in the neighborhood. Hopkins had told her he would be out of town for a few days so she had simply let herself in. It wasn’t a new routine. She cleaned his house twice a week and he was usually not at home when she did.

As she put her purse on the entryway table she noticed the door to the study was ajar. That was odd. Hopkins was a very orderly man. In all the time she had worked for him she had never known the study door to be left open. Even if he was in there he always had the door closed.

She walked up and looked inside the room. She could just barely see someone’s feet inside the room. As if the person were lying on the floor. She pushed the door opened and almost immediately let out a blood curdling scream. Lying on his back on the floor, still in his pajamas and robe, was Lieutenant Colonel Timothy Hopkins. His chest was covered in blood and there were three holes in his chest. His open eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling above him.

ONE

Lilly came into the office with her usual cup of coffee. Scotty was at his desk filling out paperwork. Nick and Will seemed to be engaged in a mild disagreement, which wasn’t all that usual. Stillman was in his office apparently going through some paperwork. As she walked to her desk Scotty looked up at her.

“It’s about time you got here,” he smirked.

“There was an accident on my way here,” she said. “Had the whole street tied up for nearly half an hour.”

“You should have flashed your badge,” said Scotty. “They would have let you right through.”

“Maybe,” said Lilly, “but the whole street was blocked off. All I could do was sit and wait until they got the way cleared. What’s with Nick and Will?”

“Some disagreement over who the best all time quarterback is,” said Scotty. “I decided to stay out of it this time.”

“Probably one of your better decisions,” said Lilly, smiling at Scotty.

Just then Stillman came out of his office and motioned for Lilly to come into his office. As she walked into his office she noticed a large manila envelope on the Lieutenant’s desk. There were also several stacks of papers scattered across his desk. He picked up a stack of papers and handed them to her.

“What do you make of this?” he asked.

She looked through the papers. They were some kind of forms. Apparently they were military forms and if she was reading them properly it appeared to be a recommendation for a military award. The award listed on the paperwork was the Medal of Honor.

“It looks like paperwork recommending someone named Private Adam Class for the Medal of Honor,” replied Lilly. “But the dates on the paperwork are 1969. What are you doing with it?”

“I received it in the mail this morning in this,” said Stillman, indicating the large envelope. “This was also in it.”

He handed her a typed letter. Lilly read the letter over with interest.

Lieutenant John Stillman, Philadelphia Police Department, Homicide Division

I am sending this to you and ask that you see that this paperwork gets to the proper authorities for disposition. This is long overdue and it’s time his sacrifice was recognized. They say there are no heroes anymore. They’re wrong. There are still heroes in the world and he was one of them. It’s time the world knew who he was and what he did. I know you will see that his sacrifice will not go unrewarded.

A friend.

“I would assume this hero this person is talking about is this Private Class,” said Lilly. “Any indication who sent it to you?”

“None at all,” said Stillman. “I’m having it all sent to forensics to see if they can get any prints off it.”

“Okay,” said Lilly. “What’s this have to do with me?”

“See the names at the bottom of the forms?”

Lilly looked at the top page of the form. There were two names. One was a First Lieutenant Brad White. The other was a Lieutenant Colonel Timothy Hopkins. Apparently White had filed the initial recommendation and it had been approved by Hopkins.

“Yeah?” she said.

“I know one of those names,” said Stillman. “Lieutenant Colonel Timothy Hopkins. It was back in 1970. He was in Philly on a recruiting drive for the army. One night he was killed in his home. The official ruling was a burglary gone bad but there were never any good leads in the case. He’d been shot three times at close range. The killer was never found.”

“A cold case?” Lilly asked.

“Yeah. It went cold real fast. He was a highly decorated officer and a poster boy for the military. This was also in the envelope.”

He handed her a photograph that showed 11 men dressed in military fatigue uniforms and all carrying military weapons. The backdrop of the photo seemed to be some kind of field. There was little indication where the photo was taken and none of the men seemed to be wearing any rank insignia.

“There are names on the back of the photo,” said Stillman.

Lilly turned the photo over and saw the names handwritten on the back. If the names were in the same order as the men in the photograph they would be, from left to right, 1LT Brad White, SGT Alex Derby, CPL Travis Page, PFC Jason Morris, PFC Brian Morrow, PVT Adam Class, PVT Anthony Munoz, PVT Casey Glover, PVT Mark Johannsen, PVT Dave Crawford, and PVT Jeff Malmstone.

“What do you think?” she asked. “A photograph of a unit in Vietnam?”

“The background would be about right,” said Stillman. “And the date of the photo seems to about right. A lot of guys took photos like that over there. Especially the ones who had been together for a while.”

“You think this might be connected to Hopkins murder?”

“I don’t know,” said Stillman. “But like I said, the case went cold really fast. And Hopkins was killed with a .45. The same type of pistol issued to the military. Maybe whoever sent that envelope might know something that can shed new light on the case.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look at it, boss. Scotty and I will start as soon as forensics is finished with it.”

“I’ve all ready put a call in to a friend of mine who works at the Hoffman Building in Virginia.”

“The Hoffman Building? The place where they keep all the official military files?”

“Yes,” said Stillman. “With any luck he might be able to tell us where some of those men are now. Especially this Lieutenant White.”

“I’ll get Scotty and we’ll get started on this right away.”

TWO

“Lieutenant Colonel Timothy James Hopkins,” said Lilly as she looked over what they had found in the cold case box. “Korean War veteran and Vietnam War Veteran. Says here he served three tours in Vietnam.”

“Awarded three purple hearts, a bronze star, two silver stars, and several other commendations,” said Scotty reading through more of the paper work. “It says here he was found in his home by the housekeeper with three bullets in his chest. One severed the pulmonary artery and he bled out in a matter of minutes.”

“There were only three suspects in the case. But apparently all were eventually eliminated for one reason or another. And Stillman was right. The weapon used to kill him was a .45 caliber pistol. The housekeeper said that Hopkins kept his service pistol in his study where the body was found. The pistol was the only thing missing from the room.”

“You think one of the men in that photo could have killed him?” Scotty asked.

“Who knows? And what does this have to do with the recommendation for the Medal of Honor that was sent to Stillman? Why not send it to the Department of the Army or even a recruiting office? Why send it to a police lieutenant?”

“Maybe whoever sent it knew the Lieutenant,” suggested Scotty. “The letter did imply that whoever sent it knew him. You said the paperwork looked like originals?”

“Yeah,” said Lilly. “But the letter was obviously written recently. And the photograph appears to have been taken about the same time as the paperwork was filled out. Maybe whoever sent it to the Lieutenant knows who killed Hopkins and is trying to give us a clue.”

“But why not just tell us? Why be so cryptic about it?”

“I don’t know,” said Lilly. “Whoever it is I’m sure they have their reasons. Maybe it was even the killer who wants to clear his conscious.”

“Then why not just come in and confess? Why all the cloak and dagger?”

“I wish I had the answers, Scotty. I guess the first thing we need to do is try to locate the men in that photograph and see if any of them are still alive. Stillman is having a friend of his check the military records. But if they didn’t stay in the military there’s no guarantee the army will have any knowledge of their whereabouts.”

“We could run the names through the DMV,” suggested Scotty. “Most people have a driver’s license. If nothing else it could give us their last known addresses. I’ll also run their names through NCIC. If any of them have a criminal history we’ll find it in there.”

“Here,” said Lilly, handing the photograph to Scotty. “The names are written on the back. I’m assuming their listed in the same order as the men in the picture. It shouldn’t take too long to get readout on them if they’re in there.”

Scotty took the photo and turned it over. He scanned the photo and turned to head back up to the office. He hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when he suddenly stopped. He turned the photo over and carefully studied it.

“Lil,” he said. “One of these men. I know him.”

“Really?” questioned Lilly. “Which one?”

“Brian Morrow,” said Scotty. “Uncle Bri as I used to call him.”

“Uncle? You mean he’s your uncle?”

“Not by blood. He’s a friend of my father’s. I’ve known him my whole life. I knew he served in Vietnam but he’s never talked about it. But I recognize him from photos of him when he was young that my dad showed me.”

“Is he still around?”

“I think so. I haven’t seen him in years. We sort of lost touch after a while. But he probably still lives in the same house. He used his G.I. Bill to buy it after he got out of the army.”

“Well then,” said Lilly. “I guess it’s time for you to renew your acquaintance with him.”

Scotty just nodded as he headed for the office to run the names of the men in the photograph through the National Crime Information Center.”

* * *

“Little Scotty Valens,” said Morrow, smiling as he led Lilly and Scotty into his living room.

He was exactly what Lilly had expected. About 54 and nearly bald. He was somewhat overweight but he seemed very friendly. Probably because of his relationship with Scotty.

“The last time I saw you, you were, what?” asked Morrow. “About 12 or 13 wasn’t it?”

“Twelve,” said Scotty. “Uncle Brian, this is Lilly Rush, my partner.”

“Partner?” questioned Morrow. “Business partner?”

“Sort of,” said Lilly. “We’re detectives with Philly homicide.”

“A detective?” questioned Morrow. “Well, Scotty you sure have come a long way. Cleaned up your act and became a policeman. Good for you. I always knew you’d make something of yourself.”

“Uncle Brian,” said Scotty nervously, “I wish this were a social call. Unfortunately it’s not. We’re here on a case.”

“I see,” said Brian. “So, what does homicide want with me? You don’t think I killed someone, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” said Brian. “It’s about a Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins. He was found murdered in 1970. We’re investigating it. This,” he showed the picture to Morrow, “was sent to our Lieutenant along with some other paperwork.”

“Oh my,” said Morrow looking at the picture. “Now, this brings back memories. Not all of them good ones. Who sent you this?”

“We don’t know,” said Lilly. “We were hoping you might be able to tell us.”

“It could have been any one of us,” said Morrow. “That was my unit when I was in Vietnam. I remember when that was taken. It was just before Lucky died. Him and Munoz, Glover, and Malmstone. We all had a copy of the picture. Like a lot of units we were pretty close knit. You had to be over there. Everyone relied on everyone else to keep them alive.”

“Lucky?” Lilly questioned.

“Adam Class,” said Morrow. “We always called him Lucky.”

“Why’s that?” asked Scotty.

“Class hadn’t been in our unit more than a couple of weeks when we were sent out on patrol,” said Morrow. “He was a green recruit fresh out of basic. Like a lot of us were when we were sent over there. Anyway, while we were on patrol Class had taken point. He tripped a Bouncing Betty.”

“What’s a Bouncing Betty?” Lilly asked.

“Anti-personnel mine,” said Morrow. “They’re designed to shoot straight up when you trip them. The get to about head level and then, boom. They explode. Usually decapitates whoever sets it off and can kill or seriously injure anyone nearby. Only this one didn’t explode. It shot up right in front of Class but never detonated. The EOD boys took a look at it later and couldn’t find anything wrong with it. After that we always called Class ‘Lucky’. We sort of considered him our good luck charm.”

“Sounds like he was lucky,” said Scott.

“This wasn’t all that was sent to our Lieutenant,” said Lilly. “He was also sent what looks like original paperwork recommending Class for the Medal of Honor.”

“Original?” questioned Morrow. “I find that highly unlikely. The original would have been sent to the archives. What you have is probably a copy.”

“Forensics says the signatures on the paperwork are originals,” said Scotty. “The signatures of Hopkins and a Lieutenant White.”

“White was our platoon leader,” said Morrow. “He was an okay Joe for an officer. Nothing like Hopkins. We considered him one of us.”

“You didn’t like Hopkins?” Lilly asked.

“No one did,” said Morrow. “He was our battalion commander and he was a strict by-the-book officer. Didn’t allow for any deviation no matter what the circumstances.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Scotty asked.

“Rules have their place,” said Morrow. “Most are there for a reason. But there are times when you have to ignore the rules. Especially in war. If you go strictly by the book all the time men can get killed. Hopkins never understood that.”

“What kinds of rules?” asked Lilly.

“Oh, patrols for one,” said Morrow. “There were guidelines for what type of equipment to take on patrols, for example. Hopkins treated them like gospel. Didn’t allow anyone to deviate from them even the slightest. Sometimes the type of equipment didn’t fit the mission. And almost everyone had some kind of personal handgun or something. He didn’t allow that.

“Oh, we still had them, of course. Everyone did. Malmstone, for example. Had an AK-47 he’d taken off of a dead NVA. Preferred it to our normal weapons. But Hopkins wouldn’t hear of it. Said our government issued weapons were what we were supposed to use. Any breach of the rules and he’d write you up. That didn’t sit well with the men.”

“Anyone hate him enough to want to kill him?” Lilly asked.

“I guess just about anyone who ever met him,” said Morrow. “He was a career office. A light colonel, as we called them. Always looking for that bird to put on his shoulder. Consideration for the men came second. It was always the mission first. And if we didn’t complete a mission he’d get pissed. Said it made him look bad.”

“What about White?” Scotty asked. “You said he was one of the men. Do you think he hated Hopkins enough to kill him?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” said Morrow. “But like Hopkins, White was a West Point graduate. Honor and duty and all that. But he also understood about the men coming first. He wasn’t all that hung up about rules and regulations so long as we didn’t go too far out of bounds. The men respected him.”

“You mentioned that Class, Munoz, Glover, and Malmstone all died,” said Lilly. “Did they die at the same time?”

“Pretty much,” said Morrow. He looked nervously at Scotty. “I’ve never talked about my time over there.”

“I know,” said Scotty. “I just figured you’d gone through a lot and it brought up bad memories. Believe me, Uncle Brian, I wouldn’t even ask if it wasn’t important. But this is a murder investigation. I don’t really have a choice.”

“I understand,” said Morrow. “And it was a long time ago. I guess maybe it’s time I told someone. I owe it to Lucky.”

“What do you owe him?” Lilly asked.

“Everything,” said Morrow. “In fact, almost every man in that photograph owes him a debt that can never be repaid. If it wasn’t for him, none of us would have made it back. He saved our lives. That’s why he was awarded the Medal of Honor.”

THREE

“What happened?” Scotty asked.

“Well,” began Morrow, “it was late May of 1967. We were stationed in what was called the Highlands of South Vietnam. It was a firebase near the Cambodian border. Its designation was LZ Hitchcock. From time to time we’d have North Vietnamese Army Regulars trying to infiltrate. One of our jobs was to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Well, this particular time a large contingent of NVA Regulars tried to infiltrate in from Cambodia. It was the largest group of NVA I’d ever seen. That any of us had ever seen. We just thought it was going to be a routine job. But there were a lot more than we saw initially. It turned into one of the major offensives of the war.

“Hundreds or thousands of them starting coming across the Cambodian border. Before we knew it we were in one of the worst battles we’d ever been in. Nine days of continuous fighting. Hundreds of NVA soldiers were killed and they still kept coming. Eventually we were able to push them back. But we paid a high price for that victory.”

“What happened with Lucky?” Lilly asked.

“It was during one particularly brutal fire fight,” continued Morrow. “We had sixty positions set up around the perimeter of our defenses. Mostly on higher ground where they could get better shots at the incoming NVA.”

“Sixty positions?” Lilly questioned.

“M-60 machine guns,” replied Morrow. “The M-60 was designed primarily as a suppression weapon. You fire it at the enemy keeping them pinned down wherever they were. We used the sixties around the perimeter of our encampment to prevent the enemy from overrunning our camp.”

“Go on,” said Lilly.

“Well, during this push one of our sixty positions suddenly stopped firing. They’d been hit by mortar fire and both men in the position had been killed. And we were starting to get overrun. We knew that within a few minutes the NVA would swamp us and we’d probably all die.

“That’s when Lucky suddenly jumped up from his concealed position and ran to the sixty position. He was hit a couple of times by enemy fire but he kept on going. Once there he began to lay down fire. A lot of our men had been wounded and without that sixty we didn’t have the cover fire we needed to pull back and regroup. Lucky gave us that cover fire. As he laid down suppression fire, holding the NVA troops at bay, we started pulling our wounded back.

“I really don’t know how long this went on. It seemed like an eternity. I got hit twice helping wounded soldiers get out of the line of fire. Lucky continued to man the sixty. I saw him get hit at least two more times. But dozens of our men were able to get back and regroup so we could make a counterstrike against the NVA. And I can’t tell you how many of them he killed protecting us.

“Unfortunately Lucky never left that machine gun position. A mortar took him out before we could get back to him. He probably never knew what hit him. But Lieutenant White said he probably saved the entire platoon. Maybe even the whole company. We were never even able to recover his body. After it was all over we couldn’t find him. I always figured the mortar that hit him blew him into too many pieces to be recognized.”

“And that’s why he was recommended for the Medal of Honor?” Scotty asked.

“Yes,” said Morrow. “White was the one who recommended him. And the rest of us agreed. White filled out the paperwork for the recommendation and we all wrote letters in support of it. All but Munoz, Glover, and Malmstone. They died in the fight there. I was sent back to the States because of my injuries. I was discharged a few months later.”

“What about Hopkins?” Scotty asked. “What did he think about the recommendation?”

“Well, he signed off on it,” said Morrow. “He was the one who submitted it through the chain of command. As I understand it, it can take 18 months or longer before the medal is approved. I was discharged long before the investigation was completed. I never did learn what became of it.”

“Do you have any idea where any of the men in this photo are now?” Scotty asked.

“No,” said Morrow. “Oh, some of us wrote to each other a few times. But we gradually lost track of each other over the years. I did read an obituary on Travis in 1983. Travis Page. He died of cancer. But I can’t really tell you where the others are now. I guess most of them still live in the area.”

“They live in Philadelphia?” Lilly asked.

“Well, in or around,” said Morrow. “That’s one of the reasons we were all so close. We were all in the same battalion and when we learned we were from the same area it just seemed natural that we’d become friends. Kind of a connection to home, you might say. But I guess the rest of them are like me. Unpleasant memories we’d just as soon forget. Even as close as we were, seeing each other would just be too painful.”

“We understand, Uncle Brian. I appreciate you telling us this. I know how difficult it must be for you.”

“Thanks Scotty. It’s been 36 years and I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was only 18 when I went to Vietnam. A naïve kid who only knew anything about war from what I saw in the movies. But it’s nothing like in the movies. No glory, no honor, nothing like that. Just a lot of death and destruction. With a few notable exceptions, of course.”

“Thanks, Uncle Brian. We appreciate all the help.”

“If it will help Lucky or his family I’m glad to help. Like I said, I owe him everything. If you need anything just stop by. And don’t be a stranger, Scotty. You can stop by and visit your Uncle Brian on occasion.”

“I’ll remember that, Uncle Brian,” said Scotty, shaking hands with the man.

“You didn’t ask him where he was on the night Hopkins was killed,” said Lilly as she and Scotty walked to their car.

“Look,” said Scotty, obviously frustrated, “I can’t believe that he had anything to do with Hopkins’s death. Sure, maybe he didn’t like the guy. But I just can’t believe he’d kill anyone in cold blood. I’ve known him my whole life. He just doesn’t have it in him.”

“Relax, Scotty,” said Lilly, “I wasn’t implying anything. And just for the record there doesn’t seem to be anything to indicate he was involved. We need to start checking out the rest of the men in that photograph. As far as I’m concerned there’s no reason to bother him again unless the situation changes.”

As they headed back to police headquarters Lilly hoped she was right. For Scotty’s sake.

FOUR

“Well,” said Lilly as they walked into the police station, “we found out what was behind the recommendation for the Medal of Honor. Apparently Adam Class saved a lot of people but died in the process. Mr. Morrow had a lot of good things to say about him.”

“But not a lot of good things about Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins,” said Scotty. “Apparently he wasn’t well liked by the men.”

“Here,” said Will, handing Lilly a sheet of paper. “I found out where the rest of the men in that photograph are. Munoz, Glover, and Malmstone never made it back from Vietnam. Page died in 1983 of lung cancer. And it seems that Crawford died recently of natural causes. The rest of the men are living in or around Philly.”

“That will make it easier,” said Lilly. “Anything on Lieutenant White?”

“It’s Colonel White now,” said Stillman. “Retired. But he’s running the JROTC program at Frankford High School.”

“JROTC?” questioned Scotty.

“Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps,” said Stillman. “It’s a program sponsored by the army to help train high school students in what it’s like to be in the military. My friend at the Hoffman Building said there are hundreds of such programs all over the country.”

“We should talk to White next,” said Scotty. “He was the one who recommended Class for the Medal of Honor. And Uncle Brian said he was one of the men. That they respected him.”

“Uncle Brian?” Nick questioned.

“Not a real uncle,” said Scotty. “Just a very close friend of the family. Anyway, he may have stayed in touch with some of the men after they left Vietnam. He might even have an idea who might have wanted Hopkins dead.”

“Go see what you can find out,” said Stillman. “I’ll send Nick and Will to interview Derby and Morris. Derby was the platoon sergeant for the unit that Class was in. It’s my experience that the platoon sergeant often knows of conflicts between men that others may not know about. It could be one of the men had a beef with Hopkins that none of the others were aware of.”

* * *

Frankford High School was on Dyre Street near Oakland. It was pretty much as Lilly and Scotty expected it would be. Students were busy moving from one class to another and one of them directed them to the JROTC classrooms. As they approached the classroom a young man wearing a military-type uniform was hanging what looked like a duty roster on a billboard outside the classroom

“Excuse me,” said Lilly, “can you tell us where Col. White is?”

“Yes ma’am,” said the young student. “He would be in his office right now ma’am. It’s through the door and to the left.”

“Thanks son,” said Scotty.

“Cadet First Sergeant, sir,” corrected the student.

“I’m sorry?” questioned Scotty.

“I’m a Cadet First Sergeant, sir,” said the student. “I’m the First Sergeant for Bravo Company.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Scotty. “I’m not familiar with JROTC ranks, Cadet First Sergeant.”

“As I said, sir, his office is in the classroom and to the left.”

“Cadet First Sergeant,” Scotty mumbled sarcastically as they walked into the classroom. Lilly just smiled as they walked to White’s office. They found him exactly where the student had said he would be. He was sitting at his desk going over some papers. He was dressed in a military uniform with his jacket hanging on a hanger over the closet door.

“Col. White?” Lilly asked, holding up her police identification.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Rush and this is Detective Valens. We’d like to have a word with you.”

“Certainly, come in. Have a seat. What is this about? Is one of my cadets in trouble for something?”

“Why do you ask that?” Scotty asked.

“If you were interested in one of the regular students you’d be talking to the principal,” said White. “People only come to me if it has to do with one of my cadets.”

“Actually,” said Lilly, laying the photograph she had on the desk, “it’s in reference to this.”

“Oh my,” said White, picking the picture up. “I haven’t seen this in about 30 years.”

“We were told that everyone in that photo had a copy of it,” said Scotty.

“Oh, yes, I have a copy of it,” said White. “But it’s packed away in some boxes upstairs. Mementoes of another life. Not all of which bring up pleasant memories. What can I tell you about the photograph?’

“We’re trying to find out who it belonged to,” said Lilly. “It was sent to police headquarters along with some other papers.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you who it belongs to,” said White. “We all had the exact same photograph. There’s really no way to tell who owned this one.”

“What about the handwriting on the back?” Scotty asked. “Maybe you recognize it.”

“Of course,” said White. “It belonged to Private Crawford. Dave Crawford. He made sure that everyone’s name was on each photograph so we’d never forget the men we served with over there. Pardon my asking, detective, but why would the police department be interested in an old photograph that’s nearly forty years old?”

“We’re reinvestigating the murder of Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hopkins,” said Lilly, pulling the paperwork that Stillman had received out of her pocket. “This was also sent with the photo. Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins’s name was on the paperwork and we’re investigating to see if there’s any connection.”

“Oh, this can’t be right,” said White. “You said someone sent these to police headquarters?”

“Yes,” said Scotty. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing,” said White, “except you shouldn’t even have them. This paperwork should have been forwarded up the chain of command so Class could receive his Medal of Honor. If you have these it means they never got to the review board. And that means the medal was never awarded.”

“You mean Class never got the Medal of Honor for what he did in Vietnam?” Lilly asked.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said White. “I’m the one who put Class in for the medal. See? There’s my signature. And that was Colonel Hopkins’s signature. I helped fill out this paperwork for the recommendation. I asked Colonel Hopkins about it a few months after I submitted the recommendation but all he would say was that it was being processed. It can take a long time for the process for the Medal of Honor to be completed.”

“We know,” said Scotty. “Brian Morrow is a close family friend of mine.”

“Private Morrow?” questioned White. “I remember him. He was a good soldier. Got wounded the same day Class died as I recall. Was sent back to the States because of his injuries. How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing fine,” said Scotty. “He told us about what happened that day in Vietnam. The one that you recommended Class the medal for.”

“Yes,” said White thoughtfully. “He was the bravest man I ever met. He never hesitated to take the sixty position. And he refused to leave even after he had been wounded. He saved a lot of lives that day and if anyone deserved the Medal of Honor it was him.

“I also remember Colonel Hopkins’s murder. I read about it in the paper a few days after. The last I heard the police didn’t have any clues in the case. They figured he had been killed by a burglar or something.”

“That’s why we’re looking into it now,” said Lilly. “At the time there was no reason to suspect anyone else. Now that we have this we’re looking into the possibility that someone else may have killed him.”

“And you think it was one of the men in that photo?” White questioned.

“We aren’t sure,” said Scotty. “We’re interviewing as many of them as we can. Maybe someone knows who might have wanted Hopkins dead. What about you? Do you know of anyone who held a grudge against him?”

“I imagine there were a lot of people,” said White. “He wasn’t the easiest man to get along with. Especially with subordinates. He didn’t tolerate any disrespect or insubordination. But you’d be surprised what he considered disrespectful or insubordination. If you didn’t agree with him he’d say you weren’t loyal to him. I found it was always best just to say ‘yes sir’ no matter what he said.”

“So you didn’t get along with him?” Lilly asked.

“I didn’t kill him, detective, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said White, smiling slightly. “When Hopkins died I was in Washington, D.C. I was assigned to Ft. Meyer, Virginia when I came back from ‘Nam.”

“But you still didn’t get along with him?” Scotty asked.

“He was my superior officer,” said White. “I didn’t always agree with him but it was my duty to obey his orders. And while I may have questioned some of those orders I always obeyed. It was my duty as a soldier.”

“What about the other men?” Lilly asked. “Any of them might want to see him dead?”

“Oh yeah,” said White. “Most of the men didn’t like him. There was talk of fragging him during a fire fight. I put a stop to that real quick. Complaining is one thing and we all did our fair share of it. But plotting the murder of your commanding officer is something different.”

“Anyone in particular who might have held a grudge against him?” Lilly asked.

“Well,” said White thinking, “I remember that Morris wasn’t happy when the colonel cancelled his leave once. And Crawford never liked him. Crawford, as you can see from the picture, was black. As was Class. He always felt that Hopkins was a bigot. Never had anything but bad things to say about Hopkins. Of course, that was nothing new especially in a combat zone.”

“Was Hopkins a bigot?” Scotty asked.

“Not that I knew,” said White. “Of course, I was just a platoon leader most of the time. I didn’t have that much contact with him. But what little contact I did have I didn’t see anything that might indicate he had any prejudices.”

“I was wondering something,” said Lilly. “When you submitted the recommendation for Private Class, why did you submit it to Colonel Hopkins? Wouldn’t you have submitted it to your company commander?”

“Unfortunately our company commander was killed in the same battle that Class was killed in,” said White. “I took over the remnants of the company for a couple of weeks until a new one was assigned. I submitted the recommendation while I was in temporary command.”

“I see,” said Lilly. “Well, Colonel, thank you for your time. We appreciate all the help in this case.”

“Tell me,” said White. “Do you know what became of the rest of the men in that photograph? I’m afraid most of us lost touch over the years. I’d like to know what became of them.”

“Well,” said Scotty, “Uncle Brian you all ready know about. Travis Page died in 1983 of lung cancer. We recently learned that Dave Crawford died of natural causes. The rest of them apparently are still living in or around Philly.”

“If you speak to them,” said White, “tell them where I am. I’d like to see them again. You form a special bond with men in combat. A bond unlike any other. I’d like to get reacquainted with them.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Lilly.

“What about the paperwork for the medal recommendation?” White asked. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Right now it’s potential evidence in a murder case,” said Scotty. “We have to hang onto it until the case is resolved.”

“I understand,” said White. “If you could provide me with a copy of it, I’d like to resubmit it. Class deserved the Medal of Honor for what he did. Even after all these years it’s still possible he could be awarded it. I’d like to at least try.”

“I’ll see that you get a copy of it,” said Lilly. “I’ll have it sent to the school here.”

“Thank you,” said White. “I know his family will appreciate it. I just don’t understand why it was never processed.”

“Unfortunately there’s not much we can do about that,” said Lilly. “Our job is to investigate crimes.”

“Well, there’s something I might be able to do about it,” said White. “I’ll need to make a few phone calls. If there’s anything else I can help you with please don’t hesitate to come back. I’d like to help in any way I can.”

“We appreciate that, colonel,” said Lilly. “If there’s anything else we’ll come back.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy,” said Scotty as he and Lilly walked out of the school. “Not what I expected from all I’ve heard about senior military men.”

“Well, military men are people, too,” said Lilly. “I suppose there are different types just like you’d find in any job.”

“Come on,” said Scotty. “You promised the colonel a copy of the paperwork. We’d better get back and get the copy made.”

FIVE

“So, what can I do for the Philadelphia Police Department?” Derby asked from his wheelchair in the nursing home. He was 74 years old and he looked every bit of his age.

“We’re investigating the death of Tim Hopkins,” said Will.

“Hopkins?” questioned Derby. “Didn’t he die in the early 70s or something?”

“1970,” said Nick. “We’ve reopened the case. We were wondering if you might be able to give us some information about him.”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Derby. “Can’t say Hopkins was ever one of my favorite officers. But he wasn’t the worst one I ever served with either.”

“You made a career of the army?” Will asked.

“Twenty-four years,” said Derby. “Then I got this.” He patted his legs. “Fell off a tank during a training exercise and crushed several vertebrate in my back. Been in this wheelchair ever since.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Nick.

“Oh, it ain’t so bad,” said Derby. “I got everything I need here. Get a medical pension from the army. And my family visits nearly every weekend. Better than a lot of people.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Will.

“So, why reinvestigate his death after all these years?” Derby asked. “What’s changed? The way I remember it the police didn’t have any leads in the case. Something about a home burglary that went wrong or something.”

“That’s what the police thought at the time,” said Will. “We recently received some new information about it. It has to do with the Medal of Honor being awarded to Adam Class.”

“Lucky Class,” said Derby fondly. “He deserved it. He saved a lot of men before he died.”

“Someone sent us a copy of that paperwork,” said Will. “Along with a picture of you and some of the other guys in your unit.”

“I still have my copy of that picture,” said Derby. “It sits on my nightstand next to my bed. Not a day goes by that I don’t look at that picture and think about those men. Those were some of the best friends I ever had.”

“Anyone hate Hopkins enough to want him dead?” Nick asked.

“There’s always a few like that,” said Derby. “No matter how good a commander may be there’s always one or two who think they’re being picked on. Hopkins wasn’t a great commander but he did get the job done. And as usual, some of the men in the command resented the way he pushed them. There might have been a hot heard or two who wanted him dead.”

“Anyone ever talk about fragging him?” Nick asked.

“Some of them,” said Derby smiling. “Especially Morris. He thought Hopkins was a bigot. Said he was going to frag the colonel the first chance he got. But Lieutenant White put a stop to it real quick. Said if anyone ever mentioned fragging the colonel again he’d write them up. Most of them never mentioned it again. At least not while the lieutenant or I was around.”

“Do you think Hopkins was a bigot?” Will asked.

“Can’t rightly say,” said Derby. “I do remember one time when he was visiting the men in the hospital. I was one of them. Took a round during a fire fight and had to spend a few days in the hospital. But it wasn’t serious and I was back with the unit within a couple of weeks.”

“What happened when Hopkins visited the men in the hospital?” Nick asked.

“Well, he was going around to each of them,” said Derby. “Giving them the usual pep talk. You know, get better, they needed them back in the unit, all that type of stuff. Well, he was talking to one of the young guys in the unit. I guess he was about 18 or so. But he was black. I remember him telling the kid to hurry up and get better because they needed boys like him in the unit.”

“What’s so strange about that?” Will asked. “He was just a kid.”

“Except that he called all the others he was visiting men, not boys,” said Derby. “Even ones who were about the same age. And it was the way he said ‘boys’. I suppose it could just have been the way he talked. I believe he was from Arkansas or Tennessee or something. It could have just been his way of talking.”

“But you don’t really think so?” Will questioned.

“Forgive me, detective,” said Derby, “but I’m sure you’ve had people talk to you like that in your life. Called you ‘boy’ in that certain way.”

“Yes, I have,” said Will, slightly defensively.

“Well, that’s how it sounded from Hopkins,” said Derby. “I never said anything about it to anyone because that was the only time I ever heard him use it. At least like that. Oh, the army didn’t tolerate open bigotry from anyone. Least of all a battalion commander. If he was prejudiced he kept it in check real good.”

“What about Morris?” Nick asked. “You said he didn’t like Hopkins. You think he might have hated Hopkins enough to want him dead?”

“Maybe,” said Derby. “Morris was black. And it seemed he didn’t care much for anyone who was white. Oh, he obeyed orders well enough. But he’s not what I would call a model soldier. Always getting drunk and getting into fights. And spouting a lot of nonsense about how Vietnam was really a white man’s war. That the blacks were being sent over there so they’d get killed.”

“A lot of people felt that way,” said Nick.

“I know but it was nonsense,” said Derby. “I never bought into that crap. And I treated everyone the same. Black, white, never made no never mind to me. They were soldiers plain and simple. As long as they did their jobs it didn’t matter to me what race they were.”

“What about Lieutenant White?” Will asked. “How was his relationship with Hopkins?”

“I think the lieutenant had it rougher than the rest of us,” said Derby. “He was stuck in the middle. The men respected him. He knew when to pull rank and when to just sit back and let things go. And he was genuinely concerned about them. He’d often talk to them and see if they had any problems he could help with.

“But he was also the platoon leader and an officer. Hopkins expected his officers to act a certain way and fraternizing with the enlisted ranks didn’t fit into that concept. I heard Hopkins reading him the riot act on more than one occasions because of his familiarity with the men. Kept telling him he’d never get promoted if he didn’t act more like an officer.”

“Well, he was wrong about that,” said Nick. “White is a retired full bird now.”

“Good for him,” said Derby. “He was one of the best officers I ever served with, even if he was kind of young. I always hoped he’d make good.”

“Do you think White might have resented Hopkins enough to want him dead?” Will asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Derby. “Like I said, White was a good officer. He was a West Point graduate and from what I heard about that school he was used to that kind of treatment while he was going to West Point. He took it in stride like a good officer.”

“People change,” said Nick.

“Not West Pointers,” said Derby. “They operate under their own code. I served with my share of them and they’re different from other officers. Believe me; if White had wanted to kill Hopkins he’d have faced him head on. Not shot him in the dark like some dog.”

“What makes you think it was dark when Hopkins was killed?” Will asked.

“Well, as I recall,” said Derby, “Hopkins was killed during what they described as a burglary gone wrong. Most burglaries happen at night, don’t they?”

“As a rule,” said Nick.

“Well, White wouldn’t have done it that way,” said Derby. “It wasn’t in his character. He’d have faced Hopkins.”

“Well, thank you for all your help,” said Will. “We appreciate your time.”

“My pleasure,” said Derby.

“What do you think?” Nick asked as he and Will left the nursing home.

“Well, despite what Derby says, people do change,” said Will. “If White was as good an officer as he said maybe he resented how Hopkins treated them. Or how Hopkins treated him.”

“I know when I was in the service there was more than one officer I would liked to have had an accident,” said Nick, smiling slightly. “I think we all felt that way at one time or another.”

“It’s also possible that one of the black men in his unit didn’t like the way Hopkins talked to them,” said Will. “It’s possible the burglary was a cover. The police report said that Hopkins was most likely shot with his own gun. And the gun was never recovered. Maybe one of them broke in and killed Hopkins and then staged the burglary to cover it up.”

“And comes forward, so to speak, 36 years later?” questioned Nick. “Why now. Why not 20 years or 40 years? Why this particular time?”

“Remorse?” offered Will. “Guilt? Maybe whoever it is doesn’t think he can be prosecuted after all this time.”

“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” said Nick.

“Maybe whoever this is doesn’t know that,” said Will. “Besides, we don’t know who it is. And no mention of the murder was made in the papers that Stillman received. Whoever sent those papers seems to want to make sure that Class gets the Medal of Honor.”

“Wouldn’t he have gotten that back in ’69?” Nick asked.

“Not if those papers are originals,” said Will. “They would never have been forwarded to the awards board. The question is, where did whoever sent them to Stillman get them?”

“Maybe if we knew that we’d know who also killed Hopkins,” said Nick as they got into their car.

SIX

Will and Nick’s next stop was at the address of Jason Morris. Morris was black, like Crawford and Class, and had been only 18 when he had served in Vietnam. According to the information they had on him, he had been in trouble with the law after his return from Vietnam. He had even done time in the state prison.

The address was in the poorer section of town. Most of the houses were badly in need of repair and the yards were poorly tended. Many of the homes had cars sitting in their yards that no longer ran. As Will and Nick pulled up in front of the house where Morris lived they noticed an old car sitting in the drive.

They walked up to the door and Will knocked on the door. There was no answer and Will knocked again, this time harder. After a moment the door opened and a very large black woman stood just inside the door.

“Yeah, whata ya’ want?” the woman asked.

“We’re looking for Jason Morris,” said Will, showing his police identification to the woman. “I’m Detective Jeffries and this is Detective Vera with the Philadelphia Police Department.”

“Jason,” the woman screamed into the house. “Some cops are here to see you. What the hell you done now?”

“Nuthin’,” said Morris, walking up to the door. “Shut up and go do the dishes or something.” The woman snorted once at him and waddled back into the house. “What you want? I been clean for 5 years. Ain’t no reason for you to come harassing me like this.”

“We’d like to ask you some questions about a case we’re working on,” said Will.

“Questions?” Morris asked. “I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.”

“Look, you aren’t in any trouble,” said Nick. “It’s an old case and we just want to ask you some questions, that’s all.”

“What makes you think I want to answer any questions for some honky cop?” Morris snarled.

“That’s some mouth you have on you,” said Nick.

“Yeah,” said Morris, smirking at him. “I been told I got a problem with that.”

“Maybe you’d answer some questions for me,” said Will.

“Ain’t no reason I’d answer any questions for Uncle Tom if I ain’t gonna answer them for honky cop,” said Morris. “I said I don’t know nothin’.”

“You don’t even know what it’s about,” said Nick.

“Whatever it is I was home,” said Morris. “Ain’t left the house all week. The old battleaxe can tell you that.”

“This is about the murder of a man named Tim Hopkins in 1970,” said Will.

“That jive turkey honky?” questioned Morris. “I read about him in the paper when it happened. Good riddance, I say. That was 35 years ago. Why you interested in the murder of some cracker from back then?”

“New evidence,” said Will. “We’re just checking some leads, that’s all.”

“And of course you come to a brother ‘cause we all murderers, right?” snarled Morris. “I didn’t kill the honky. Not that I wouldn’t given the chance. But someone got to him before I did.”

“So you didn’t like him?” questioned Nick.

“I just said I didn’t,” said Morris. “And I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no murder, neither. Now why don’t you two just go on and question some other brother about it. I wasn’t even in Philly when he was killed.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Nick. “Spent some time in jail when it happened. But we thought you might know something that could help us.”

“And why would I want to help a jive honky cop and his Uncle Tom partner?” asked Morris. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about helping another brother?” Will asked.

“Who? You, Uncle Tom?” Morris asked.

“How about Adam Case?” questioned Will.

“Lucky?” Morris asked, suddenly dropping his smile. “What’s he got to do with this? He’s been dead longer than Hopkins.”

“We know,” said Nick. “It’s possible Hopkins death was related to the Medal of Honor Class was supposed to have been awarded.”

“You mean the one that honky Hopkins screwed him out of?” questioned Morris.

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

“Well, if you know about the medal you must know what he did to get it,” said Morris.

“Yeah, we know,” said Nick.

“Well, then you know that Lieutenant White put Lucky up for the medal,” said Morris. “Had all of us write letters for him and everything. And we was all glad to do it. Lucky saved us that day. If it weren’t for him none of us would have made it out alive.”

“That much we know,” said Will.

“Yeah, but what you don’t know is that that son of a bitch Hopkins cheated him out of it,” said Morris.

“How?” Nick asked.

“We all knew he’d been recommended for it,” said Morris. “And we was proud as peacocks. We also knew it would take time before they gave it to him. Something like that they take their sweet time with. But we knew it was only a matter of time before he got it. He had a wife and kid back in the world and we knew it might help make his death a little easier.”

“So how did Hopkins screw him out of the medal?” Will asked.

“A few months later, just before I came back to the States,” said Morris, “I saw Hopkins in camp. Well I was curious. We hadn’t heard nothing about Lucky’s medal. I just wanted to know what was going on with it.”

“What did Hopkins tell you?” Will asked.

“He said it had been disapproved,” said Morris. “Said there wasn’t enough ‘independent confirmation’ for it. No way to corroborate our stories so the awards board disapproved it and that was all there was to it.”

“What makes you think Hopkins had something to do with it?” Nick asked.

“’Cause he didn’t like the brothers,” said Morris. “Kept callin’ us ‘boys’ and the like. Always talking down to us.” He looked at Will. “You know what I mean, don’t ‘cha?”

“Yeah,” said Will, “I know what you mean.”

“Well, I can’t prove it but I know he done something to stop Lucky from getting that medal,” said Morris. “Couldn’t stand it that one of us would be getting it. So he put a stop to it somehow. Lucky deserved that medal. His wife and kid deserved to know he was a real hero. But that bastard Hopkins robbed them of that.”

“Did you say anything about your suspicions to anyone?” Nick asked.

“And just who was I gonna tell?” Morris asked. “The honky brigade commander? Or maybe one of those other whitey men in charge? Who you think they would have believed? Naw, I didn’t say nothing. Didn’t see the sense in it.”

“You could have told your Lieutenant,” suggested Will. “From what we understand he was a stand up guy. He might have been able to do something.”

“Yeah, I gotta admit for a whitey he was okay,” said Morris. “Never asked us to do nothing he wasn’t willing to do hisself. And he treated us right. But he was just a lieutenant. Not very high up in the ranks. Most likely they would just have done the same thing to him. Didn’t seem like it was worth it. I was shipping out in a couple of days and if I had started a stink like that it would have held me up. And I didn’t want to be over there one minute longer than I had to.”

“I can understand that,” said Will. “It wasn’t a nice place to be.”

“You got that right,” said Morris. “I always figured I’d go by and see Lucky’s wife but somehow just never seemed to get around to it.”

“We were told you each had a picture of your group over there,” said Nick. “You still have yours?”

“Naw, I lost that years ago,” said Morris. “Was really sorry I did, too. That group of guys was the only good thing about being over there.”

“Well, thanks for the information,” said Will. “We’ll leave you to whatever you were doing.”

“What do you think?” Will asked as he and Nick drove away from Morris’ house.

“That guy’s got a real attitude,” said Nick. “And he claimed he didn’t have his picture anymore. He sound like he could kill someone to you?”

“He does have some violence in his rap sheet,” said Will. “Several arrests for assault, usually bar fights. And he didn’t care much for Hopkins, that’s for sure.”

“Let’s get back to the station and see if Lilly and Scotty have come up with anything,” said Nick. “Other than our politically correct friend back there we don’t have many leads in this case.”

Will simply agreed with Nick as they headed for police headquarters.

SEVEN

“Find out anything?” Stillman asked as Lilly and Scotty entered the office.

“Yeah,” said Lilly. “The paperwork you were sent are originals. Colonel White said it was the same paperwork that he had help fill out on Class. According to White, since we have the originals, they were never filed. So Class never got the Medal of Honor.”

“I kind of suspected that,” said Stillman. “The originals would have been forwarded up the chain of command. Apparently someone prevented that and has been holding onto them all these years.”

“We also found out that Hopkins wasn’t very well liked by his men,” said Scotty. “And there is some indication that he may have been a bigot.”

“Nothing conclusive,” said Lilly. “Mostly just innuendo and supposition. White did say he still had his picture of them. If that’s true then I doubt he’s the one who sent the paperwork to you.”

“If he actually has the picture,” said Scotty. “We only have his word that he still has it. He never showed it to us.”

“I did some checking while you were out,” said Stillman. “One of the names seemed familiar to me so I checked into it. Dave Crawford. The one who died recently.”

“You know this Crawford?” Scotty asked.

“Sort of,” said Stillman. “It was a long time ago. I hadn’t been on the force very long when I collared him for purse snatching.”

“He was one of your collars?” Lilly asked. “What happened?”

“After I checked his file I remembered him,” said Stillman. “He was a very troubled man. When I found out he was a Vietnam vet I talked to the judge for him. Got the judge to give him probation instead of jail time. Provided that he got treatment. You know. Counseling and such.”

“You did that?” Scotty asked. “That doesn’t exactly sound like you, boss. Going out on a limb for a perp like that.”

“This was a special case,” said Stillman. “He had been in a lot of trouble after returning from ‘Nam. Mostly petty stuff. Purse snatching, petty theft, vagrancy, that kind of thing. I knew a lot of guys who had trouble adjusting when they got back. It seemed to me he was one of those.”

“What happened?” Lilly asked.

“Well, according to the file, he went to the counseling the judge ordered,” said Stillman. “There aren’t any arrests in his sheet after that so I assume he got himself straight. Apparently he died last week. Left a son. I didn’t even know he was married.”

“Maybe he’s the one who sent you the papers,” said Lilly. “He did die of natural causes. Maybe he found out he was dying and decided to send you the paperwork so you could get it processed.”

“After 36 years?” questioned Stillman.

“Well, according to White,” said Scotty, “it’s still possible he could be awarded the medal even after all these years. But if he’s had the papers all this time why wait until now to send them in? Why not send them as soon as he got them?”

“Because he would have had to explain where he got them,” said Stillman. “And if he did kill Hopkins, he couldn’t do that without exposing himself as the killer.”

“He could have sent them anonymously,” said Lilly. “Like they were sent this time.”

“There would always be the risk that we might link them back to him,” said Stillman. “It might also explain why he sent them to me. Maybe he saw me as giving him a break or something.”

“Assuming he’s the one who sent them,” said Lilly. “Right now we don’t have anything that links the papers or the photograph to him.”

“We don’t have anything that links them to anyone,” said Scotty. “Everywhere we turn seems to be a dead end.”

“Here’s his son’s address,” said Stillman, handing Lilly a piece of paper. “There’s also the address for Class’s son. He was only about 3 when Hopkins was killed but maybe his mother might know someone who would have had cause to kill him.”

“Gregory Class?” Lilly questioned, looking at the paper Stillman had given her. “That name sounds familiar. Boss, this address is a government building.”

“Yes,” said Stillman. “Gregory Class is an Assistant State’s Attorney.”

“That’s where I know that name,” said Lilly. “I read in the paper where he was arguing a case before the Supreme Court last week.”

“Check out both of them,” said Stillman. “Maybe one of them has some information we can use. You won’t be able to see Class until tomorrow. He’s been out of town and isn’t due back until tomorrow. His secretary said to call him first thing in the morning and she’ll see about setting up a time to see him.”

“Will or Nick call in yet?” Scotty asked.

“Not yet,” said Stillman. “I expect them back soon. With any luck they may have learned something useful.”

“Come on, Scotty,” said Lilly. “Let’s go see what Crawford’s son has to say.”

* * *

The young man who answered the door appeared to be no more than 20 or so. He was dressed casually but had a book bag with him.

“Can I help you?” the young man asked.

“Adam Crawford?” questioned Lilly, showing her police identification. “Detectives Rush and Valens, Philly homicide. We’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

“Homicide?” questioned Crawford. “What’s this about? I haven’t killed anyone. I’m just a college student.”

“It’s nothing like that,” said Scotty. “It’s about your father.”

“My father?” Crawford asked. “He died last week. He wasn’t murdered. He died of pancreatic cancer. I have the death certificate to prove it.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said Lilly. “Can we come in for a moment?”

“I guess so,” said Crawford. “I was just heading to the university to pick up the assignments I’ve missed because of my dad’s funeral. My professor’s said I could make up the extra work to keep my GPA up.”

“That’s very commendable,” said Lilly, looking around the modest home. “Nice house.”

“Thanks,” said Crawford. “It was my dad’s. I inherited it when he passed away. Or I will once the estate is probated. The lawyer says that might take a few weeks. But until then the mortgage company says as long as I keep up the payments I can stay here until everything is settled.”

“That must be quite a burden,” said Scotty. “Going to college and keeping up with a mortgage. That’s a lot to take all at the same time.”

“Not really,” said Crawford. “You just have to set your priorities and apply yourself. So, what can I do for you, detectives? You said you were with homicide?”

“Yes,” said Lilly. “We’re investigating an old case from 1970. The murder of a Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hopkins.”

“I know that name,” said Crawford. “My dad mentioned him once or twice. He didn’t have many nice things to say about Hopkins. You think my dad killed him?”

“We don’t know who killed him,” said Scotty. “That’s why we’re investigating. You don’t sound surprised that your dad might have been involved in something like that.”

“Well,” said Crawford, “I know my dad had his problems when he was younger. And he told me that he did some pretty bad things in his younger days. Things he wasn’t very proud of. I never imagined it would be anything like murder. He never would be specific about anything. Just that they were things he’d just as soon forget.”

“Your first name is Adam,” said Lilly.

“Yes,” said Crawford. “My dad named me after a friend of his. Adam Class. Dad said they were best friends over there. He said Class saved his life in Vietnam and he named me after him to honor him.”

“How much did he tell you about Class?” Lilly asked.

“Oh, let me see,” said Crawford. “He said they served together about 8 months. He also told me that Class died saving a bunch of guys over there during a fire fight. He also said that Hopkins cheated Class but wasn’t really specific about it. I figured it had something to do with keeping him from getting promoted or something. I don’t really know for sure.”

“Actually,” said Scotty, “Class was recommended for the Medal of Honor. It looks like Hopkins may have prevented him from getting that medal.”

“The Medal of Honor?” questioned Crawford. “That’s the highest award a soldier can get, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Lilly. “Your dad’s platoon leader, Lieutenant White, recommended Class for it. And all of the guys in his platoon agreed with it.”

“I remember dad mentioning White, too,” said Crawford. “Dad liked White. He said he was okay for an officer. But he never mentioned anything about the Medal of Honor.”

“Do you know if you dad had a picture of his friends in Vietnam?” Lilly asked.

“Why, yes, he did,” said Crawford. “How did you know?”

“Do you know where that picture is now?” Scotty asked.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” said Crawford. “Dad used to keep it on the table in the living room. But it seems to have gone missing. After he died I started going through his things. You know, to sort out what I needed to keep and what I needed to get rid of. It’s a pretty daunting task. But I noticed the picture wasn’t where he always kept it. I don’t know what happened to it?”

Lilly looked at Scotty. This was the first indication of a picture that was unaccounted for.

“Do you know if he mailed a large envelope before he died?” Lilly asked.

“I don’t know, maybe,” said Crawford. “He knew he was dying and was able to get all of his affairs in order before he died. Things like his life insurance, transferring the titles to the house and the car to me, stuff like that. And I know he was mailing some letters. But I don’t really know if he mailed any large envelopes or not. Do you know who he might have mailed it to?”

“Lieutenant Stillman at police headquarters,” said Scotty.

“Stillman?” questioned Crawford. “John Stillman?”

“Yes, why?” Lilly asked.

“That’s one man dad talked about all the time,” said Crawford. “He said Stillman saved his life. If it wasn’t for him, dad said he would never have gotten his life straightened out. He said Stillman was one of the few people in his life he could really trust.”

Lilly and Scotty just looked at each other.

EIGHT

“How did Stillman save his life?” Lilly asked.

“Well,” said Crawford, “dad told me that he was into petty crimes. One of the things he did was steal purses. He said he had snatched this lady’s purse and was running away when he ran head first into Stillman. Needless to say Stillman arrested him.

“But while he was taking him to the police station he and dad got to talking. They both discovered they had served in Vietnam. Not together, of course. Well, when dad went before the judge, the judge went easy on him. Told him if he got counseling and kept his noise clean he’d only get probation. He didn’t understand why the judge went easy on him but he agreed. Later, he discovered that Stillman had talked to the judge. Got him to recognize that dad was suffering from post traumatic stress and that he could get straightened out if he got some help.”

“And you dad got that help,” said Scotty. “Because of Stillman.”

“Yeah,” said Crawford. “Got himself straightened out. And met my mother there. She was working at the center where dad went for his counseling. They got married about a year later. Dad used to tell me that if it wasn’t for Stillman talking to the judge he’d have ended up in jail. And he had no doubt he’d have ended up dead. Because Stillman took the time to get to know him, he was able to come to terms with some of the things he had done. Mom used to say he was a changed man after that.”

“Where is your mother?” Lilly asked.

“She died when I was 15,” said Crawford.

“Oh, sorry,” said Lilly, self-consciously.

“Thanks,” said Crawford. “But that was almost 7 years ago. Now that dad’s gone I’m all that’s left. Except for some cousin or something out west. Don’t really know who they are.”

“Did your dad do or say anything unusual before he died?” Lilly asked. “Something that might have been out of character for him.”

“Not that I can think of,” said Crawford. “He was really introspective the last few weeks. I guess that’s to be expected when you know you’re about to die. I know he wrote some letters to people he hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. I don’t really know who they were. I guess he wanted to say goodbye to people he had known over the years.”

“Well, thanks for the help,” said Lilly. “We appreciate your taking the time to talk with us.”

“Do you think my dad may have been involved in the murder of this Hopkins?” Crawford asked.

“To be honest, we don’t know,” said Scotty. “Hopkins was killed during an apparent burglary. You don’t know if you dad did any burglaries, do you?”

“He never said,” said Crawford. “He would just say they were bad things and they were in the past. Best left there.”

“Well,” said Lilly, giving Crawford one of her cards, “if you think of anything else, please give us a call.”

“I will,” said Crawford. “To be honest I’d be interested in finding out if he was involved in any of this. I know he wasn’t perfect. But I don’t think he was the same man he was when he was younger.”

“If we find out anything we’ll let you know,” said Lilly.

“Looks like we may have found the person who sent the paperwork to Stillman,” said Scotty as they walked to their car.

“Maybe,” said Lilly, looking at her watch. “Guess we’ll call it a day. We can pick this up tomorrow. Can’t go see Young until then anyway.”

“Good idea,” said Scotty. “We can check in with Will and Nick and see if they’ve found out anything. Maybe with a little luck we can wrap this thing up soon.”

Lilly agreed with her partner as they headed back to police headquarters.

NINE

“So, tell me,” said Young after Lilly and Scotty had gone to see him, “what can I do for the Philly P.D.? Your lieutenant only said it was in reference to a cold case. He wasn’t very specific about it. Is he usually so mysterious?”

“Not usually,” said Lilly. “But this is a special case. It might involve your father, Adam Class.’

“My father?” questioned Young. “What would he have to do with an old case? He died in Vietnam just after I was born. And to the best of my knowledge he wasn’t in any trouble with the law before that.”

“What do you know about your father’s time in Vietnam?” Scotty asked.

“Well,” said Young thoughtfully. “Mostly what my mother told me. I was only 6 months old when he died over there. They didn’t know my mother was pregnant before he left. She found out shortly after. But she did tell me that he died saving a bunch of his friends. She said he was a hero. She really didn’t know much more than that. Only that he had died during a rather fierce fire fight.”

“Well, we’re actually investigating the murder of a Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hopkins,” said Lilly. “He was your father’s battalion commander while he was in Vietnam.”

“The name is vaguely familiar,” said Young. “I think my mother got a letter from him when my father was killed. One of those form letters they send out when someone is killed in action I guess.”

“Did she mention any medals your father might have been recommended for?” Lilly asked.

“No, not really,” said Young. “He was awarded the purple heart for the action he died in. And he also was awarded some of the standard medals men in the army got back then. One for being assigned to Vietnam, a national defense medal, a couple of others. Nothing that thousands of other soldiers weren’t awarded. Why do you ask?”

“It appears you father was recommended for a Medal of Honor,” said Lilly.

“My mother never mentioned anything like that,” said Young.

“It’s possible she never knew,” said Scotty. “Hopkins was murdered in 1970 and it appears that it might be connected to that recommendation.”

“Really?” questioned Young. “Why would someone kill Hopkins for recommending my father for the Medal of Honor?”

“We don’t think he was,” said Lilly. “Your father was recommended by a Lieutenant White, his platoon leader. It appears that Hopkins somehow prevented the recommendation from being forwarded up the chain of command. It’s possible that had something to do with his murder.”

“So someone got angry because Hopkins interfered with the recommendation,” said Young. “Do you have any suspects?”

“Nothing concrete right now,” said Lilly. “We’re looking into some of his buddies when he was in Vietnam. But there’s nothing concrete on most of them. And some of them have died making the investigation that much more difficult.”

“I can understand that,” said Young. “I’ve prosecuted my share of cases where substantial time has passed. I know how difficult those cases can be.”

“We were wondering if you might have some information about that time that might help us,” said Scotty. “We know you were just a baby but maybe your mother told you something about it.”

“I don’t think so,” said Young. “After my father was killed she said two officers visited her to break the news to her. And she got the obligatory letter from Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins. It said all the usual rhetoric. You know, he was a good soldier, credit to the army and his unit, that sort of thing. Sometime later she received the medals he had been awarded along with their certificates. She rarely talked about those times.”

“So your mother never actually met Hopkins?” questioned Lilly.

“Not to my knowledge,” said Young. “I’m having dinner with her tonight. I’ll ask her about it. Maybe she remembers something she never told me. If she does I’ll be glad to give you a call.”

“We’d appreciate that,” said Lilly.

“The Medal of Honor you mentioned?” Young asked. “How did you find out my father had been recommended for it?”

“Someone sent the paperwork to our lieutenant,” said Lilly. “Apparently it’s the original paperwork so it was never forwarded up the chain of command. Meaning the medal would never have been awarded to your father.”

“I see,” said Young. “So you think whoever sent the paperwork to your lieutenant might have been the same person that killed this Hopkins?”

“It’s possible,” said Scotty. “Hopkins was in a position to have stopped the paperwork. And he was killed with his own gun which was never recovered.”

“So if you find the gun you find the murderer,” said Young.

“Something like that,” said Scotty. “Of course it’s been 36 years. The chances of finding the gun are remote. Whoever killed Hopkins probably got rid of it after he did.”

“I see,” said Young. “Any leads on who might have sent your lieutenant the paperwork?”

“Not yet,” said Lilly. “We do have one or two leads but nothing substantial. It seems Hopkins wasn’t very well liked by his men. Any one of them could have killed him.”

“I think my mother has a picture of some of them,” said Young. “One of my dad’s friends sent it to her after he was killed. She’s got it stored in a box with the rest of his stuff from back then.”

“Do you remember who sent it to her?” Lilly asked.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” said Young. “I can check when I see my mother tonight.”

“We’d appreciate it,” said Lilly. “If we need anything else, can we come back and speak to you again?”

“Please do,” said Young. “If this involves my father I’m very interested in it. All I know about him was what my mother has told me.”

“We’ll let you know,” said Lilly.

“Nice guy,” said Scotty as they left the building. “For a lawyer.”

“Now, now, Scotty, lawyers are people, too,” said Lilly, grinning at his joke. “Let’s get back to the station.”

TEN

“Young didn’t have much to add, boss,” said Lilly back at police headquarters. “He said his mother doesn’t talk much about his father’s time in Vietnam.”

“That’s understandable,” said Stillman. “Those weren’t the best times. It’s nothing like they show in the movies. Most of the time is spent in boredom and the rest of the time you’re scared out of your wits. It’s not so surprising that a lot of guys have trouble readjusting when they get back.”

“Lilly,” said Nick, handing her a piece of paper, “Colonel White called while you were out. He asked if you’d stop by and see him this afternoon.”

“Did he say what it was about?” Lilly asked.

“Nope,” replied Nick. “Just said he needed to talk to you again. He asked if you’d bring the paperwork for the recommendation with you.”

“Maybe he’s thought of something since we talked to him,” said Scotty.

“Why would he need to see the paperwork?” Lilly asked.

“Maybe there’s something about them that jogged his memory but it didn’t dawn on him until after you left,” suggested Stillman. “Better get right over there. See what he has to say.”

“On our way,” said Lilly as she and Scotty headed to the parking lot.

* * *

“Detectives Rush and Valens, this is Congressman Eric McKay,” White introduced when Lilly and Scotty had returned to see him.

The detectives knew McKay, of course. He was a senior member in the House of Representatives in Washington, D.C. and a lifelong Philadelphia resident. He was wearing the obligatory suit and tie that most politicians wore. Lilly also noticed a pin on his lapel. Where most politicians wore an American flag on their lapel, Congressman McKay was wearing a rectangular pin that was a light blue with 5 white stars in it.

“Congressman,” said Lilly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” said McKay, shaking both their hands.

“After we talked I called Eric,” said White. “I told him about the case you’re working on.”

“You two know each other?” Scotty asked.

“Brad and I served together a couple of times,” said McKay.

“That’s right,” said Lilly. “You’re retired military, aren’t you, Congressman?”

“Major General, retired,” replied McKay. “I think my military career had a lot to do with my getting elected to Congress but I like to think my record has helped me get reelected.”

“Detective, did you bring the paperwork as I asked?” questioned White.

“Right here,” said Lilly, handing him the paperwork. He handed it to McKay who looked them over.

“You’re right, Brad,” said McKay. “These are originals. Which means that they were never submitted for approval. It also means that Class would never have been awarded the medal. And from what I know of this case, he deserved it.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” said Scotty. “I’ve never served in the military but it seems to me he did a lot more than was expected of most soldiers.”

“You’d be correct in that,” said McKay. “And the Medal of Honor is not something that is given lightly. Most are awarded posthumously. And I can tell you that every one of them is deserved.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Congressman,” said Lilly.

“I noticed you looking at my pin when you came in,” said McKay.

“Yes, sir,” said Lilly. “I’ve never seen one like that before. I assume it means something.”

“Well, you could say that,” said McKay. “Most people have never seen it. It’s the ribbon for the Medal of Honor. I was fortunate to be a recipient of the medal when I served in Korea. So as you can imagine, I have kind of a unique perspective on the situation. And if one of my constituents was recommended for it then I plan to do everything I can to see that he gets it.”

“You can still do that?” Scotty asked. “I know Colonel White said it was possible but it’s been 36 years. Isn’t there a statute of limitations or something?”

“Not in this case,” said McKay. “And it’s never too late to recognize the sacrifice one of our soldiers makes for his country. The paperwork was all ready started. Somehow it was just never forwarded up the chain of command. But even after all these years I can assure you something like this will be given the most serious consideration.

“That’s where I come in. In order for someone to be considered for the Medal of Honor there has to be an advocate of sorts in Congress. Someone who supports the recommendation. All the paperwork seems to be here. All I have to do is take it back and submit it. There’ll be some bureaucratic red tape to go through but I don’t think this is going to be a problem. And I know of couple of others in Congress who’ll join me in this.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you have those papers right now,” said Lilly. “They’re evidence in a murder investigation.”

“Oh, I understand that,” said McKay. “I just wanted to see the originals. Brad has all ready given me the copies you made for him. I’m going to submit those. But once your investigation is complete, I do hope you’ll be able to give me these originals. It will go a long way in cutting through some of that red tape I mentioned. Originals are always preferable to copies.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Congressman,” said Lilly.

“I also took the liberty of checking into this after Brad called,” said McKay. “My last assignment in the military was with the military awards board. This recommendation was before my time there but I still have a few connections.”

“What did you find out, sir?” Scotty asked.

“Well, it seems that a letter was sent by Brad and Colonel Hopkins in reference to this recommendation,” said McKay. “It simply stated that they were recommending Class for the medal and that as soon as the paperwork was completed they would be forwarding it for approval.”

“Obviously they weren’t,” said Lilly.

“No, they weren’t,” said White. “That I don’t understand. I spent several days working on the paperwork. And I submitted them to Colonel Hopkins as soon as they were finished. I just assumed he had forwarded them.”

“According to the file,” said McKay, “a few weeks later Hopkins made a phone call to the awards board. He said that then Lieutenant White had reconsidered his recommendation for Class and had withdrawn his recommendation. He said they wouldn’t be submitting the paperwork.”

“You withdrew your recommendation?” Scotty asked.

“No, that’s just it,” said White. “I thought then and I still believe that Class deserved that medal. I couldn’t believe it when Eric told me.”

“Why do you think Hopkins called the awards board saying that?” Lilly asked.

“Well,” said McKay hesitantly, “I knew Hopkins. Oh, not well. I was a couple of years behind him at West Point. But we have met a couple of times. He was from Georgia. And I guess he kind of had that Southern mentality about certain groups of people.”

“Like minorities,” said Scotty.

“Yes,” said McKay. “Oh, he didn’t hate them or anything. I just got the impression that he considered himself better than they were. As far as I know he never mistreated anyone who was a minority. But he definitely didn’t see them as his equal.”

“So he was a racist,” said Lilly. “We’ve been hearing that during this investigation.”

“I’m afraid he was,” said McKay. “Oh, he tried very hard not to let it influence is decisions. But it wasn’t easy some times. It’s one of the reasons he never made it above lieutenant colonel.”

“How do you mean?” Scotty asked.

“West Point is a 4 year institution like most universities,” said McKay. “There’s also a 9 month prep school you have to go to before you actually attend the Point. The third year at West Point the cadets are assigned to a post in the States. Partially to give them some real-world experience to go with the book learning they get at school.

“It can be difficult for some cadets. They haven’t graduated so most officers won’t associate with them socially because they aren’t officers. On the other hand they have to be saluted and called ‘sir’ by anyone who’s not an officer so they don’t fit in with the enlisted soldiers. It can be kind of isolating with some cadets.”

“How does that keep him from getting promoted?” Lilly asked.
‘
“Well,” said McKay, “as I said, Hopkins was originally from Georgia. He was assigned to a post in Washington. Fort Lewis. While he was there he got into an animated discussion over something with one of the NCOs. I don’t recall what it was about.”

“An animated discussion?” questioned Scotty.

“They were screaming at each other at the top of their lungs,” said McKay. “During the argument Hopkins lost his temper and used a racially derogatory term with the sergeant. Unfortunately the company commander and executive officer happened to overhear the argument. Hopkins drew an official, written reprimand for his remark. That reprimand followed him the rest of his career.”

“And that kept him from getting promoted?” Lilly asked.

“Oh yes,” said McKay. “The higher the rank the harder it is to get promoted. Usually there are more candidates than there are positions. Especially for ranks of major and above. The promotions boards look for anything that might disqualify a candidate for promotion. That single reprimand was enough to have Hopkins disqualified at first glance. No one wants a racist in command of troops.

“As soon as he got the reprimand he knew his advancement in the military was severely limited, being a West Point graduate notwithstanding. Normally I would have been very surprised if he was promoted above captain. But Vietnam came along and there was a need for line commanders. Even considering the reprimand Hopkins had a good record so he eventually got promoted to lieutenant colonel.”

“Then he came back to the United States to a stateside assignment,” said Scotty.

“Yes,” said McKay. “Outside of a combat zone Hopkins new his chances of further advancement were zero. He was passed over twice for promotion and had put in for retirement because he knew there wouldn’t be a third try.”

“There were a lot of minorities in Vietnam, weren’t there?” Scotty asked.

“There are a lot of minorities everywhere in the military,” said McKay. “It’s one of the main reasons they don’t tolerate overt discrimination. But, yes, there were a lot of minorities over there.”

“And if Hopkins was a racist,” said Lilly, “that means he probably alienated a lot of them in his command. Maybe enough to want him dead.”

“If that were the case,” said McKay, “there’d be a lot more murders, detective. I’m not saying it isn’t possible or that it doesn’t ever happen. But a lot of guys over there didn’t like their commanders. It’s kind of the nature of the beast, so to speak.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” said Scotty. “Most guys weren’t there by choice.”

“No, they weren’t,” said McKay. “There’s also something else. When Hopkins was killed a Colonel Jack Carter was assigned to the awards board in D. C. Apparently Hopkins called him the night he was killed. He said he wanted to talk to Carter in his official capacity but he didn’t say what it was about.”

“Do you think Hopkins might have had second thoughts about holding up the Medal of Honor for Class?” Lilly asked.

“I suppose it’s possible,” said McKay. “He told Carter that he’d all ready put in for retirement but that he wanted to correct a mistake before he retired. As I said, he never mentioned what it was about but it seems obvious that it had something to do with an award. The most logical conclusion I guess is that Hopkins had regretted holding up the recommendation and had decided to go ahead and submit it. Unfortunately he died that night and never got to his meeting with Carter the next day.”

“And there were no recommendations found in his home after he was murdered,” said Scotty.

“Maybe whoever murdered him took the recommendation paperwork with them,” suggested McKay. “It might explain how they were sent to your lieutenant. Whoever took them might have decided to send them to your lieutenant so he could get them submitted.”

“But why send them to a police lieutenant?” Scotty asked. “Why not send them to someone in the military? And why wait 36 years to do it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” said McKay. “All I know is what I’ve told you.”

“Thank you, Congressman,” said Lilly. “You’ve been very helpful. We’ll try to get the original paperwork back to you if possible.”

“I appreciate it,” said McKay.

“Please keep me informed on your investigation,” said White. “I’m quite anxious to learn if you can discover who killed Colonel Hopkins.”

“We’ll do our best, Colonel,” said Lilly.

Together Lilly and Scotty left the school to head back for police headquarters.

ELEVEN

“We talked to Congressman McKay,” said Scotty as they entered headquarters. “Colonel White contacted him about the medal recommendation. He gave us some information about Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins.”

“We were able to confirm that Hopkins was a racist,” said Lilly. “Apparently he tried not to let it show but on at least one occasion it got him into trouble. Kept him from getting promoted later on.”

“That’ll do it,” said Will. “He’s lucky they didn’t kick him out of the service. The military takes a dim view on prejudiced commanders.”

“It could also be what got him killed,” said Stillman. “If he angered someone enough they might have killed him in retribution.”

“That’s what Scotty and I were thinking,” said Lilly. “But it doesn’t explain why someone would take the recommendation assuming Hopkins even had it with him. Or why someone would wait 36 years before sending it to anyone.”

“We did find out that a couple of months after recommending Class for the medal, Hopkins apparently called the awards board and said that White had reconsidered his recommendation,” said Scotty. “That he was withdrawing his recommendation for Class.”

“Only White claims he never withdrew his recommendation,” said Lilly. “He said he’s always believed that Class deserved the medal. And Congressman McKay said the same thing. Based on what he’s been told he said Class deserved it.”

“McKay would know,” said Stillman. “He was awarded the Medal of Honor in Korea. But he has a tendency to downplay it. He says it was only luck that got him the medal and he’d rather be remembered for what he does rather than any awards he’s received.”

“That’s pretty much what he told us, too,” said Lilly.

“McKay did tell us that Hopkins had contacted a Colonel Carter at the military awards board in Washington,” said Scotty. “Apparently Hopkins wanted to talk to him about something but was killed before he could tell Carter what it was about.”

“What I don’t understand,” said Nick, “is why someone would be interested in the paperwork in the first place. Unless it was someone who knew Hopkins and Class.”

“That’s why we’re looking at the people they served with,” said Stillman. “I think it’s pretty obvious that someone recognized the significance of that paperwork which is why they held onto it for all these years.”

“But why send it to you now?” Lilly asked. “If someone had wanted to make sure that Class got the medal what’s changed? Presumably they held onto the paperwork intending to send it in eventually. So what changed now to have them send it to you?”

“If we can find out who sent me the paperwork we’ll have our answer,” said Stillman. “But so far we’re no closer to finding out who sent me the paperwork than we were when I first got it.”

“Lieutenant,” said a uniformed officer at the door to Stillman’s office. “There’s a young man here to see Detective Rush. He says his name is Adam Crawford.”

“Show him in,” said Stillman.

Crawford came into the office and Lilly made the introductions to the rest of the detectives in the office.

“My dad told me about you, lieutenant,” said Crawford. “He said you saved his life. I guess that means I kind of owe you, too. If you hadn’t got him into counseling he would never have met my mother and I would never have been born.”

“He was very troubled when I met him,” said Stillman. “I’m just glad I was able to help.”

“Did you think of something after we talked?” Lilly asked.

“Not exactly,” said Crawford. “As I told you, I’ve been sorting through my dad’s stuff since he passed away. He accumulated a lot of stuff over the years and it’s been taking me some time to go through it all. What with school and everything it’s been kind of slow going.”

“I can imagine,” said Lilly.

“Well,” said Crawford. “I was packing up some of his personal items. I’m keeping some of them but I can’t keep everything. One of the items I’m going to keep is this.” He handed her a book. The title of the book was To Hell And Back by Audie Murphy. “This was his favorite book. He must have read it a thousand times. And he kept it on the nightstand by his bed.”

“That’s an old book,” said Stillman. “It was published in 1949, I think. I’m not sure it’s even still in print. This one looks like it’s been well read.”

“It has,” said Crawford. “Dad used to read it all the time. He never tired of it. I tried to read it once but just couldn’t get into it.”

“What does this have to do with our investigation?” Lilly asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Crawford. He pulled a key out of his pocket. “But I found this hidden in the spine of the book. It looks like some kind of key but I don’t recognize it. It doesn’t fit any of the doors in our house and I really don’t know what it might go to.”

“That’s a safety deposit box key,” said Scotty, looking at the key. “It probably means your dad had a safety deposit box somewhere.”

“A safety deposit box?” questioned Crawford. “Why would he need a safety deposit box? He didn’t have any money to speak of. He only had about $1,800 in his savings account and just under a thousand in checking. He didn’t have any stocks or bonds or anything like that. And the only jewelry he had were my mom’s wedding rings which he kept in a jewelry box on his dresser.”

“What about insurance policies?” Will asked. “Or deeds to the house or any other property he might have owned?”

“He made sure I had all that before he died,” said Crawford. “The only property he owned was the house. And he only had one insurance policy that he got from his job. But he made sure I had all the paperwork for those and even made arrangements to have them taken care of before he died.”

“You said he had a checking and savings accounts,” said Lilly. “Where did your dad do his banking?”

“Commerce Bank on Market Street,” said Crawford. “He’s had accounts there since I can remember. But he never mentioned a safety deposit box.”

“Lil, call the bank,” said Stillman. “See if they have a safety deposit box in Crawford’s name.”

“You think this has anything to do with the murder that Detectives Rush and Valens questioned me about?” Crawford asked.

“I don’t know,” said Stillman. “The only way to find out is to see what he had in that safety deposit box. It’s possible they were just some old papers he had forgotten about. A lot of people keep personal items in those boxes. Old documents or photographs they want to safeguard. With everything that was going on before he died it’s possible it just might have slipped his mind that he had the box. Especially if he hadn’t been to it in a few years.”

“I know a lot of people forget about safety deposit boxes they have,” said Nick. “Most states maintain lists of lost or misplaced money and property that the banks turn over to them from time to time. I’ve read of cases where people have found hundreds or even thousands of dollars in bank accounts and safety deposit boxes they had forgotten about years ago.”

“I do find it interesting that there should be a safety deposit box key apparently hidden in that particular book,” said Will.

“How so?” Scotty asked.

“The author: Audie Murphy?” questioned Will. “He was a real life war hero. He was the most decorated American soldier in World War II. In fact, he was awarded the Medal of Honor for jumping up on a burning tank and using the machine gun on the tank to hold back advancing German troops while his men could get the wounded to safety.”

“Just about the same thing that Class apparently did in Vietnam,” said Scotty.

“Well,” said Lilly, putting the phone down, “they do have a safety deposit box listed under the name Dave Crawford. He apparently got the box in 1985 and has kept it current all these years. But the person I talked to said that without a court order they couldn’t open the box except for him.”

“The lawyer handling the probate on my dad’s estate said it would be a few weeks before the estate can be settled,” said Crawford. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until that’s done before I can open the box and find out what’s in it.”

“Unless we can get it open before that,” said Nick. “Considering the circumstances I think it’s possible there’s something in that box that is connected to this case somehow.”

“There’s not enough probable cause to get a judge to sign a warrant for the box,” said Stillman. “Not without something a little bit more concrete to go on.”

“Not enough for us,” said Lilly thoughtfully. “But maybe a State’s Attorney might have better luck getting a warrant than we would have.”

“Young?” questioned Will.

“It can’t hurt to ask,” said Lilly. “This case does involve his father. I imagine he’d be just as curious to find out what’s in that box as we are.”

“Give him a call and see what he can do,” said Stillman. “If he can get a warrant you and Scotty go down and see what’s in that box.”

“I’d like to go, too,” said Crawford. “If that’s okay.”

“Sure,” said Lilly. “Only you have to be prepared for what we find. It may not be something you’ll like.”

“I know,” said Crawford. “I know my dad wasn’t perfect. And I know he did some bad things when he was younger. Whatever it is I think I have a right to know what it is. Even if it’s something I don’t like.”

“Let me make a phone call and see if we can get the warrant,” said Lilly.

TWELVE

Less than an hour later, Lilly, Scotty, and Crawford were waiting at the bank for Young. He had told Lilly he would meet them at the bank with the warrant. Finally Young came in the front door with a folded piece of paper in his hand. As he approached them, the bank president and another man came out of the office toward them.

“Here’s the warrant,” said Young. “Judge Turnball was kind of hesitant about signing it. He said there didn’t appear to be enough probable cause for it but he owed me a favor. I had to promise him that no one would contest the warrant despite what might be found in the safety deposit box.”

“I won’t contest anything,” said Crawford. “I just want to find out what’s in the box and if it involves my father in a murder or not. I’m fully prepared for the worst.”

“Gregory Class, Adam Crawford,” Lilly introduced.

“Adam was my father’s name,” said Class. “In fact, I was named after him. Adam Gregory Class, Jr. I go by Gregory for professional reasons.”

“Then it appears we have something in common, Mr. Class,” said Crawford. “My dad told me I was named after your father. Apparently they were best friends in Vietnam.”

“Greg,” said the man with the bank president as the two approached the small group, “what’s going on? Ronald called me and said you wanted me to be here when you got here. Something about a warrant to open a safety deposit box?”

“Richard Carlson,” said Class, introducing the man to everyone, “these are Detectives Rush and Valens of the Philadelphia police. And if I’m not mistaken, this is Adam Crawford, the son of the man who owned the safety deposit box. Mr. Crawford’s father recently passed away and he inherited the box only it hasn’t been probated yet. Here’s the warrant all signed and sealed by the judge. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”

“What’s this about?” the bank president asked. “What’s so urgent about this box that you would need a warrant to open it?”

“We’re investigating a murder,” said Lilly, choosing not to go into too much detail about the case. “We have reason to believe that the box may contain evidence in that case.”

“Well, Joe,” said Richard, “the warrant appears to be in order. You’ll have to open the box for them. Is that why you wanted me here, Greg?”

“Yes,” said Class. “I don’t want any dispute over what we find in that box. I thought you should be here in case your client has any questions.”

“Is the bank liable for what’s in that box?” Joe asked. “You said this is a murder investigation. You aren’t thinking we had anything to do with a murder, are you?”

“No, sir,” said Lilly. “As we said, we simply have reason to believe there may be evidence in that box regarding the murder. We just need to have a look inside it to find out exactly what it is.”

“Well,” said Joe, “I suppose we’ll have to drill out the locks. It’s the only way to get the box open without a key.”

“We have a key,” said Lilly, handing him the key Crawford had given her.

“Fine,” said Joe. “The boxes are this way.”

Everyone followed him into the fault where the safety deposit boxes were kept. The box turned out to be a medium sized box. As they worked on opening the box, Class was looking over some papers that the bank president had given him.

“It appears that Mr. Crawford got the box in 1985, just as Detective Rush said,” he said. “This is odd. He apparently visited the box once every year since. On April 7th of each year. He stayed about 10 minutes each time and then left. Of course, there’s no indication if he put anything in or took anything out of the box.”

“Of course not,” said Joe. “Clients are left alone with their boxes once we open them. Most people get one of these boxes for confidential reasons and we don’t violate that confidentiality.”

“I wasn’t implying anything,” said Class. “Simply making an observation.”

“April 7th,” said Lilly. “The anniversary of Hopkins’s death.”

“It also appears that he was at the box a little over a week ago,” said Class.

“That was just before the lieutenant received the paperwork in the mail,” said Scotty.

“You think he might have come here to get the paperwork out of the box to send it to Stillman before he died?” Lilly asked.

“Maybe,” said Crawford. “He did say he was putting all of his affairs in order before he died. Maybe whatever’s in this box was part of those affairs?”

“Well,” said Scotty, putting on a pair of plastic gloves and pulling the box out of the wall. He sat the box on a table in the middle of the room, “I guess we’ll find out what’s in here now.”

He reached down and pulled the top open on the box. The first thing that was noticeable was a large envelope sitting in the box. Underneath the envelope was something wrapped in a plastic bag and they could all see another, larger envelope, beneath the bag. The envelope on top had Adam Crawford’s name handwritten on it. As Scotty pulled the top envelope out of the box they all realized what the plastic bag was.

Wearing plastic gloves like her partner, Lilly carefully reached in and took out the plastic back. It was a military style .45 caliber pistol. She carefully opened the bag and, holding the pistol by the trigger guard, held up the pistol for everyone to see.

“Ballistics can tell us if this is the gun that was used to kill Hopkins,” she said.

“I can check and find out if it was Hopkins’s gun,” said Class, writing down the serial number on the weapon.

Scotty carefully opened the letter addressed to Crawford and scanned it.

“It’s handwritten,” he said. “It’s dated about the same time the box was opened. And it’s signed by Dave Crawford.”

Lilly handed Crawford a pair of plastic gloves.

“Try not to smudge any prints that might be on the letter,” she said. “It’s addressed to you. I guess you should read it.”

“Go ahead,” said Crawford to Scotty. “Like you said, it might be evidence. I know you’re going to have to read it anyway. Might as well get it over with.”

Scotty looked nervously at the rest of the group. Then he began to read the letter aloud.

Dear Son.

If you’re reading this it means I’ve died. You probably have a lot of questions about this box. I never even told your mother about it for what will become obvious reasons. There’s another envelope in this safety deposit box. I would ask that you see that it and the pistol are delivered to John Stillman of the Philadelphia police department. He’ll know what to do with them. They are about a period in my life that I would like to forget but never will.

The second envelope will explain everything in detail. I know what you may think about me after you learn the truth. In my defense I can only say that back then I was a different man. I can’t make up for what I did. I can only try to set the record straight now that I’m gone. Stillman was a good cop and helped me when I needed it most. Indirectly, he was responsible for me meeting your mother. I know he’ll make sure the truth gets out.

I only ask that you try not to think too harshly of me when you learn the truth. Maybe Stillman can try to explain a little of what we had to go through during the war. The things we had to do just to survive from day to day. Maybe you can even understand a little about what happened and why.

Always remember that no matter what, I love you. And I would never have done anything to deliberately hurt you. I’d change things if I could. But that’s not possible. I can only hope that people might understand in some small way the truth of what happened.

Dad.

“What do you think?” Scotty asked. “A confession?”

“Veiled at best,” said Class. “He doesn’t make any specific comments directly about anything.”

“What about the other envelope?” Crawford asked. “Maybe it has something in it.”

Carefully Scotty took out the larger envelope and opened it. It was nearly identical to the envelope that Stillman had received in his office. Inside the envelope were several sheets of paper written in the same handwriting as the letter. They were simply addressed To Whom It May Concern.

Crawford looked at the papers and confirmed that it was his father’s handwriting. At the top of the first page was a date: May 7, 1970. There was also a title at the top of the first page. Final Confession Of David Crawford. Scotty glanced at the others and then began to read the contents of the pages.

THIRTEEN

April 7, 1970, 8:37 p.m.

Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hopkins turned on the light to his study. Bending over his desk was a black man holding some papers in his hand reading them over. The window behind the desk was open and a pry bar lay on the desk. It was then that Hopkins noticed the man was holding a .45 caliber pistol in his other hand.

“Who are you?” Hopkins demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“Hopkins,” snarled the man, looking up at him. “You son of a bitch. What is this?” He held out the papers he was looking at. “What are these doing in your desk?”

“Do I know you?”

“Probably not. You never seemed to have time to the men. I was one of the men in your command in ‘Nam. Crawford. Dave Crawford. I was assigned to Company C, 7th of the 41st. In the Western Highlands. You remember that, don’t you? You remember the hell we went through over there?”

“I remember ‘Nam,” said Hopkins thoughtfully. “But I was in command of an entire battalion. I couldn’t possibly be expected to remember every man assigned to me.”

“What about him?” Crawford asked, waving the papers at Hopkins. “Private Adam Class. You remember him, don’t you? The man who died saving God knows how many of us.”

“I never met Private Class personally. So, no, I don’t remember him.”

“Then what about this? The recommendation for the Medal of Honor. A medal he earned for what he did over there. Class was my best friend. He earned this medal. This should have been given to his family two years ago. And I find the paperwork sitting here in your desk. What’s the matter, Hopkins? Couldn’t stand that a Niger was being recommended for the Medal of Honor?”

“Is that what this is about?” Hopkins asked. “You broke in here just to get that paperwork?”

“Actually,” said Crawford, “I broke in here just to see what I could find. I had no idea you lived here. Imagine my surprise when I found this in your desk.” He held up the .45 he was holding. “I see you kept a little memento of our time over there. Your personal weapon, no doubt.”

“Let’s just take it easy,” said Hopkins. “Let’s not do anything rash.”

“Rash?” Crawford spat out. “Rash? A man gives his life defending his friends and his country and you begrudge that he’s recognized for his sacrifice? He had a wife and a kid back here. They deserved to know what he did. What a hero he was.”

“I’ll admit I made a mistake,” said Hopkins. “Yes, I kept the paperwork from going through. I realize now that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it. I was wrong.”

“You were wrong? That’s all you gotta say for yourself? You were wrong?”

“I can’t change what I did. All I can do is try and make up for it.”

“Make up for it,” Crawford chuckled back. “A man dies for his country and you cheat him out of the one good thing that came out of that hell and all you can say is you have to make up for it? Can you bring Class back? Can you bring any of them back? I remember all the patrols you used to send us on. The lieutenant would tell us that the orders we received came straight from battalion. Straight from you. You have any idea how many men died because of those orders? Good men, most of whom died needlessly all so you could make yourself look good and advance your career.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Hopkins protested. “I had my orders just as you did. I know how many men died over there. It was war. Men die in war. I regret it as much as you do but there’s nothing I can do about that. I couldn’t do anything about it then and I certainly can’t do anything about it now.”

“Oh, I know men die in war. How well I know that. I used to watch them die. And when one of them distinguishes himself the way Class did, he deserves to be recognized for what he did. But you couldn’t have that, could you? You couldn’t let one of us be awarded the Medal of Honor, could you? We’re not as good as you are. And if one of us dies, well, that’s just the way it is, right?”

“I used to think that way, yes. But not anymore. As I said, what I did was wrong. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it and I regret it. But I have a meeting with a friend in Washington and he’s. . . .”

Crawford raised the pistol and pointed it directly at Hopkins.

“Going to gloat with your buddies about how you screwed one of us over? We knew all about you, Hopkins. How you always thought you was better than us just ‘cause you was white. And now this.” He held up the papers again. “I always figured you hated us but I never knew how much until I found these in your desk. He may not have been nothing to you but to a lot of us he was a hero. A real hero. But you made sure no one would ever know that, didn’t you? You kept this paperwork from being sent in so that he’d get what he had earned.”

“Listen, Crawford, just give me a minute to explain. I can fix this. It’s not too late. I’m not gloating about anything. I can resubmit the paperwork and see that Class gets that medal.”

“And admit you screwed one of us over? I ain’t buying it. You’ll say anything as long as I have this gun pointed at you. Anything to save your miserable honky life. And once I put the gun down you call the cops and put me in jail. And destroy these papers, so that no one ever knows what you did.”

“No, no, it’s not like that. Look, I just got off the phone with someone in Washington, like I told you. He’ll see to it that this mistake is corrected. He’ll see to it that Class gets that medal.”

“Sure he will,” said Crawford sarcastically. “And you disgrace yourself when everyone finds out you deliberately held back the paperwork? We both know you ain’t gonna do that. You ain’t gonna ruin your career for one of us.”

“Just calm down. Like I said, this can be corrected. Just let me explain.”

“I got a better idea. Why don’t you explain it to Class? I’m sure he’d be real interested in why you screwed him over the way you did?”

Before Hopkins could respond, Crawford fired three shots into his chest. Hopkins fell to the floor lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Except he would never see that ceiling. He was dead as soon as he hit the floor. Blood covered the front of his chest. Crawford looked at the pistol he was holding, noticing the smoke coming from the barrel.

He wasn’t sure if he had meant to pull the trigger or not. It was almost as if it hadn’t been him holding that pistol. He looked down at the now lifeless body of his former battalion commander. There was no sympathy in him for this man. He couldn’t say he was sorry the man was dead.

Suddenly he realized that someone might have heard the shot. The police might be there any minute. He shoved the pistol into the waistband of his pants. He picked up the pry bar from the desk and turned to the window, still holding the papers for the recommendation for Class. Just before he climbed out the window he glanced back once more at Hopkins. A fitting end. Then he climbed through the window and disappeared into the darkness beyond.

* * *

“I guess that’s it,” said Lilly holding up the .45 they had found in the safety deposit box. “I don’t think they’ll be any surprises when we check this out. More than likely it’s Hopkins’ gun. The one Crawford used to shoot him with.”

“I figured it was probably something like that,” said Crawford. “He was always so closed about those times. I guess now I can see why.”

“I’m sorry,” said Class. “For your sake I was hoping we wouldn’t have found this. But at least the police can close the books on this case.” He turned to the bank’s attorney. “The police will have to take this with them. It’s evidence in an ongoing criminal investigation. I’ll give you a receipt for the items so there’s no question about their disposition.”

“We understand,” said Joe. “Under the circumstances I don’t think there will be any problems with it. I’m sorry, son. I know this can be a hard thing to learn about your father.”

“I was prepared for it,” said Crawford. “But I don’t think he was the same man who killed this Hopkins. Like he said, he had changed. I guess the situation was just more than he could bear. Finding that paperwork after what Class had done for them must have set him off. I’d like to think he went temporarily insane. That this one incident didn’t define who he really was.”

“I’m sure that’s the way it was,” said Class. “Just a momentary lapse with disastrous consequences. Well, Detective Rush, if there’s nothing else, I should be getting back to work.”

“I think that’s about it,” said Lilly. “We’ll need to get back to the station so we can close this case. Thanks for all your help.”

“My pleasure,” said Class. “At least I can tell my mom about this. And she’ll know that dad had at least one good friend over there no matter how misguided that friend might have been. It might help give her some closure after all these years.”

Lilly and Scotty collected all the items in the safety deposit box and headed for their car so they could return to the station.

FOURTEEN

Lilly put the lid on the carton containing the evidence in the case and with a felt marker wrote “CLOSED” on the side of the carton. Closing out one of these cases was always bittersweet for her. On the one hand they had been able to solve a case that had lain quietly in their storage room for decades. On the other hand it was never easy to tell someone that their loved one had been a murderer.

“Another one for the books.”

She looked up to see Stillman standing a few feet from her.

“Yeah,” she said. “Hopkins may not have been the most likeable person in the world but at least we were able to solve the mystery of who killed him. I feel sorry for Crawford’s son. To learn that your father is a murderer. That’s got to be a hard thing to live with.”

“It will get easier with time. And from what you and Scotty said he’s pretty much all ready come to terms with it.”

“I suppose. It still can’t be an easy thing.”

“At least his father was able to get the recommendation for Class’ medal to us. I called Colonel White and told him you’d be dropping the originals by for him tomorrow. That should make it easier to process the medal for Class.”

“Doesn’t that go in the carton here? It is evidence in the case.”

“All we’ll do is stick it on a shelf and it will collect dust for several years before they destroy it. In this case I don’t think it will hurt if we put a copy of the paperwork in the carton. And it will serve a better purpose going to the army where it belongs.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Lilly. “What do you think, boss? You think Crawford meant to kill Hopkins?”

“Maybe,” said Stillman. “Or maybe it was just as he described. A momentary loss of control. I don’t suppose we’ll ever really know. I don’t think it really matters. It happened 36 years ago. There’s nothing any of us can do about it except file the paperwork away and move on.”

“I think there’s one other thing we can do,” said Lilly thoughtfully.

“What might that be?”

“I’d rather not say just yet,” said Lilly. “I have a couple of phone calls to make first.”

“Okay. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will.”

As Stillman returned to his office Lilly picked up the carton and carried it to the shelf where it would rest with all the other solved cases.

* * *

Gregory Class walked into the police station with an older black woman on his arm. It was obvious the woman was his mother. She appeared a bit confused as they approached Lilly and Scotty who were talking with Congressman McKay. As Young and his mother approached, the three turned to face them.

“Mom, these are Detectives Rush and Valens, the ones I told you about,” said Young. “And I’m sure you recognize Congressman McKay. This is my mother, Mable Young.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am,” said Lilly, shaking the woman’s hand.

“Greg has told me what you’ve been doing,” said Mrs. Young. “And he told me that Adam had been recommended for the Medal of Honor? I’d never heard that before. I got some letters from some of the guys he had served with over there but none of them mentioned anything about the medal.”

“They probably wanted it to be a surprise,” said McKay. “”Unfortunately it appears that the recommendation was delayed by a misguided individual.”

“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel Hopkins,” said Mrs. Young. “Adam wrote me about him a couple of times. He didn’t like him very much but he was their, what did you call it, Greg?”

“Battalion commander,” said Young.

“Yes, battalion commander,” said Mrs. Young. “I feel sorry for him. To be misguided the way he was and then to be murdered like that.”

“Well, it’s all over now,” said Lilly. “We have the truth and the case is finally solved. And I think Congressman McKay has something he wants to tell you.”

“Mrs. Young,” said McKay. “I’ve been in contact with some of my colleagues in Washington. They’ve been made aware of the entire incident surrounding your late husband’s recommendation for the Medal of Honor. It will take a few weeks to work out the technicalities but I can assure you that when that’s done, you’ll be presented with the medal on behalf of your husband. He was a great man and it’s time he was honored for what he did.”

“But that was 36 years ago,” said Mrs. Young. “I didn’t think you could something like that after so many years.”

“It’s never too late to honor our heroes,” said McKay. “I’m just sorry it’s taken 36 years for us to honor him. The President of the United States always presents a Medal of Honor to a recipient or their family. Just as soon as the arrangements can be made the President will come to Philadelphia to present you with the medal. And I can assure you I will do everything within my power to let everyone know what your husband did and what a great man he was.”

“Thank you, congressman,” said Mrs. Young, tears in her eyes. “I always knew Adam was a hero. It was hard losing him but at least I had some comfort in knowing that a lot of other men were able to come back to their families because of what he did.

“Is that why you wanted me to come down here today? Gregory said you wanted me to come to police headquarters for something very important. I assume this is what he was talking about.”

“Partially, yes,” said Lilly, smiling at the woman. “Mrs. Young, would you come into the interrogation room for a moment? There’s something in there we’d like to show you.”

She looked at her son with a confused look on her face. He was simply smiling at her; a smile that implied he all ready knew what was behind that door. Together the small group walked over to the interrogation room and Lilly opened the door.

Standing in the room were all of the still living members of the photograph that Lieutenant Stillman had received. Colonel White was in the forefront of the group wearing his military dress uniform. As Mrs. Young entered the room, White stepped forward.

“Mrs. Young? I’m Bradley White. I was your husband’s platoon leader in Vietnam.”

“Yes, he wrote me about you. He liked you very much. He had a lot of good things to say about you.”

“I’m flattered,” replied White. “These,” he indicated the others in the room, “are some of the men that served with your husband. Every one of them is standing here today because of the sacrifice your husband made. If I may, ma’am, allow me to shake the hand of the wife of the bravest man I ever met.”

As White and Mrs. Young shook hands the rest of the men began to gather around her. Each in turn shook her hand and it was clear she was overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection and gratitude each man held for her late husband. As Lilly stood in the doorway watching, Stillman walked up to her.

“That was a good thing you did, Lil,” said Stillman. “I think that probably means more to her than the Medal of Honor she’s going to get.”

“I just figured she had a right to meet the men her husband died to save,” said Lilly. “They’ve all lived in Philadelphia most of their lives and none of them had ever seen each other. Or her. It shouldn’t have taken 36 years for this get together. I just thought it was time, that’s all.”

“I don’t think you’ll get any argument out of anyone in that room,” said Stillman watching as everyone shook hands with Mrs. Young and each other.

As Lilly watched, Gregory Young looked over at her and mouthed the words “thank you” to her. She just smiled and nodded to him. She knew that not all of her cold cases would have such a happy ending. But this was definitely one she would remember for a very long time.

The End

If you’ve enjoyed this story, you can find more “Cold Case” stories at my website, Creative Passions, listed in my bio. You can also post your own “Cold Case” stories or other stories if you like to write fan fiction.