They finished lunch on a lighter note and then Andrew drove them back to the convent, stopping first to get a copy of Saturday’s paper for Olivia.
Charlene could tell that Andrew was somewhat unsettled and walked back to the car as he was leaving. “Andy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you at the restaurant by prying,” she said contritely.
He put his arms around her and held her briefly. “It’s not anything you said or did, Charlie, I’ve got a lot on my mind; I will talk it over with you later, but not now. It hasn’t crystallized yet. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said, “Sometimes there’s just too much… to talk about.”
“That’s it, I’ll call you later. I love you,” he almost whispered.
The phone was ringing in the Coleman’s Virginia home.
Brad Coleman instructed his housekeeper, “I don’t want to talk with anyone, Mrs. Ridgeway…”
“But General, it’s Mrs. Coleman.”
Brad grabbed the phone from Mrs. Ridgeway’s hand—“Olivia is it really you?”
“Yes, Brad, I have some very bad news, I wanted to tell you before you read it in the papers… Lyle Ramsey is dead. It is thought that he committed suicide. Brad, I’m coming home, I want to be there with you. I’ll leave tomorrow,” her voice was warm and sympathetic.
“Livy, thank God! I really need you my dear,” he was dazed as he hung up. The news about Ramsey was stunning.
Olivia and Charlene spent Sunday evening in sobering conversation. Olivia shared her sadness at the change in hers and Brad’s relationship. She told Charlene about Brad’s affair with Lia and that she had forgiven Brad, but other things had cropped up. Intuitively, she knew he was in deep trouble.
Charlene took her friend’s two hands in hers, “Livy, do you really want to go back to Brad now?”
“I have to, Charlene; Brad probably needs me now more than ever and remember the vow, ‘for better or for worse’ well I’ve been through a lot of the ‘better’ so now I will stand with him in the ‘worse’ for his sake and for our daughter Maureen’s as well.”
“I understand Olivia, and I want you to know that I’ll stand with you. Please let’s not lose each other again!”
Chapter 22
Monday, October 6, 1980
Harrison was in his office at Ramsey and Carr early on Monday. A wreath with a black bow had been placed in the lobby near the firm’s elevator and stood as a mute reminder of the death of Lyle Ramsey.
When Andrew Kincaid arrived he was met by Connie Porter whose swollen eyes matched the somber mood of the surroundings.
“I’m here to see Mr. Carr, Miss Porter,” Andrew spoke as tactfully as his mission would allow.
“You came at a very bad time, Mr. Kincaid,” her voice breaking. “The firm is closed until…” she didn’t finish.
Andrew could see that Connie Porter was suffering intense grief and he suspected that Connie had been in love with Lyle Ramsey. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Porter,” Andrew said gently, “I was here with the police on Friday night and I spoke briefly with Mr. Carr; I would like to see him to clarify a couple of things. It won’t take long, I promise,” he assured her.
Harrison Carr was at his desk behind a stack of files as Andrew entered the office. Looking up he demanded, “How did you get in here? The firm is closed today, Mr. Kincaid.”
“I just came up to see you, Mr. Carr, not for any legal business. I realize this is a very difficult time for you, but I also see that you have decided the best antidote for grief is work,” Andrew stated.
Carr looked at Kincaid, pondering as Andrew continued, “Were you aware that Detective Savalza and I met with Lyle Ramsey on Friday… did he tell you?”
“I did know, I don’t remember who told me, whether Lyle told me or one of the secretaries mentioned it. I assume it was a personal matter, Mr. Kincaid.”
Andrew shook his head, “No; I believe that Detective Savalza told your receptionist and Lyle Ramsey’s secretary, Miss Porter, that he was here on police business.”
Carr was impatient, “I wouldn’t know about that, Mr. Kincaid. Lyle has, ah had his own practice; he often saw people on ‘police business’ it was routine—why would that be of particular interest to me?
“I’m trying to recover from the tragic death of a man who was like a son to me, because of my relationship to his father, more than a son. The loss of this alone to our firm is staggering. So I will ask you to state your business and leave. As you might guess from this stack of files on my desk, I have a great deal of work to do.”
“I only have a couple of questions, Mr. Carr,” Andrew persisted, “I know that you are on the Board of Directors for Global Construction International and I also know that there was a connection between Lyle Ramsey and General Bradley Coleman. I’m certain that you know what that connection was.”
Carr regarded Andrew briefly, “I can only tell you that GCI was and is a client of Ramsey & Carr. I’m sure you know that we are bound by a code of ethics and cannot, nor will we divulge to you or anyone else, the nature of their business with us.
“As for my position on the Board of Directors of GCI, I consider it a privilege to serve on the board of such a prestigious corporation,” Carr replied modestly.
Andrew tried another approach, “Mr. Carr did you know that based on a growing body of evidence, Detective Savalza accused Lyle Ramsey of being involved in the death of Seattle Police Detective Monte Maxwell and ex-POW, CIA agent George Kelshaw?”
“I am happy to say, Mr. Kincaid, I know nothing of such calumny. Now if you will leave my office I believe we are finished.”
Andrew walked toward the office door he noted a photograph of Harrison Carr standing next to a man identified as Karel Schneiderman; they were both dressed in hunting vests and holding rifles. The photo rested beside a small plaque, an award given at a GCI European rifle event. It stopped Andrew momentarily and he whirled around and looking at the elderly Carr; “It was because of GCI! You killed him didn’t you?” the words fell out of Andrew’s mouth. It was foolhardy, but he knew he was right. “You did it and it was a perfect suicide. I don’t know how you got him to write the note…, I told Savalza you were tough… I just didn’t know how tough,” Andrew marveled in appalling fascination.
Carr was looking at him, studying him, he hadn’t flinched, chin resting in the ‘cats cradle’ of his hands; for an instant a brief knowing smile played at the corner of his mouth, “Close the door, Mr. Kincaid.”
Andrew obeyed slowly, wondering what was coming next.
The deep voice droned on, “You know Andrew, I have lunch with your editor Joe Belmont once or twice a month, sometimes more often and I saw your publisher at round table just the other day. I’ve told them both on several occasions to keep an eye on you, you’re smart and you’re a comer. I enjoy most of your columns and I would like to see them continue. It would be a shame for you to let your career get bogged down in some less than plausible theory of international intrigue.” Carr’s voice oozed with deep concern.
“Are you threatening me?” shock crossed Andrew’s face.
“Threatening you… of course not, Mr. Kincaid, I’m an old man. Why would I do that?” Carr feigned incredulity, “I am only looking out for your welfare. I am very sure that you came here today to offer your condolences,” he stood; dumbfounded, Andrew shook the hand that was offered.
Carr smiled, “Thank you for coming—when all this is over I will be glad to give you an in-depth interview about GCI. Yes, and have your business editor, Mr. Browne call me about an interview too-anytime, here is my card.”