The Road Home (39 page)

After dinner, Bobby Halverson pushed his chair back from the table. He groaned and put his hands on his belly.

“I'm trying to keep in shape, but if I have any more meals like that in the near future, I'm going to lose my boyish figure.” He then turned to Jenny. “Have you found anything in those registry books I got from the VFW?”

“I haven't had a chance to look, Uncle Bobby. I've been organizing the notes I wrote down when I talked with Mr. Schumann, the man who wrote the article about the crash.”

“I know Bob,” Bobby said. “What did he give you to go on?”

“We think we have a service number for a naval officer. We found it in the large tattoo of the Statue of Liberty that the man in the pond had on his shoulder. Mr. Schumann made a drawing of the tattoo when we spoke. The number was under the statue on the man. It had Roman
numerals—IVIII IIIVI. We figured it must be 153,351. That's why I had you bring the books. They have a list of all the service numbers from the time they started issuing them until they stopped.”

Jerusha cleared dishes from the table while Jenny fetched the books that were stacked on a bench by the back door. Reuben, Bobby, and Jonathan gathered around while Jenny opened the first book. It was titled
National Personnel Records Center, Military Operations Branch, Service number index and registry of retired, deceased, and discharged military personnel—volume I
. She glanced through it and then closed it and picked up the second volume.

“That one has the numbers that were issued before World War Two,” Jenny said. “This one has the ones issued from the time the war started. Let's see, 153,351.”

She turned the pages, licking her finger each time to help. She kept going until she came to a page that started with 153,000. Slowly Jenny ran her finger down the page until she came to 153,351. A name leaped up at her.

“Pharmacist Mate Joseph K. Bender, Patterson, New Jersey. Born nineteen twenty-two. Dishonorably discharged from service, September, nineteen forty-two.”

A chill came over Jenny. His name was Joseph. Joseph, Joe—she remembered that name—Joe. The face of the man from the dream came to her. She could see the evil in his eyes as he tried to get her out of the car. She saw the fear on his face when he fell into the pond and his open mouth calling for help as he sank beneath the water.

Jerusha put her arms around Jenny's shoulders. “What is it,
dochter
?”

“I don't know,” Jenny replied. “I just feel strange about it, that's all. As if it's familiar…but how can it be? Do you think this man could be my real father?”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-T
HREE

More Answers

“P
HARMACIST
M
ATE
J
OSEPH
K. B
ENDER
, P
ATTERSON
, New Jersey. Born nineteen twenty-two. Dishonorably discharged from service, September, nineteen forty-two.”

Jenny leaned over the table, read the name aloud again, and then looked at her mama.

“Dishonorable discharge, Mama. I've always been afraid my birth father or mother was a bad person. Now that I see it, I seem to remember the name Joe. I think Joe was the man in the car. He was a bad man, and he tried to hurt me. Why would he do that if he was my father?”

Her mama put her hand on Jenny's shoulder. “Let's not jump to any conclusions, Jenny. We don't know if that was your father. Isn't that right, Bobby?”

Bobby nodded. “We don't even know if Joseph Bender was the man in the car.”

“What else can you do then?” Jonathan asked.

“There was a license plate number—SN12-66,” Bobby replied. “Sheriff Cowsill, my predecessor, traced it to a stolen car in New York. He left a file on the case that I've gone through a couple times down
through the years. Sheriff Cowsill tracked down the name of the person who owned the car and called him, but the guy wasn't very cooperative, so Arnold didn't follow up. If we can somehow connect Joseph Bender to the car, then we can place him at the scene of the crash. But that still wouldn't prove whether he's Jenny's father or not.”

“I just don't see how we can find the answer,” Jenny said, sinking back in her chair. “I never should have gotten you all into this. It's hopeless. Why can't I just be satisfied with the family God gave me?”

She put her head down in her arms on the table. Reuben awkwardly patted her shoulder. Jerusha pulled up a chair next to her daughter and put her arms around Jenny's shoulders. She laid her head close to Jenny's.

“Remember what I shared with you—what the Lord showed me when I was praying for you?”

“You mean about the quilt?”

“Yes,
dochter
,” Jerusha replied. “I believe these things are true. There are places inside of you that need to be healed, and the way that will happen is by you finding out the answers to your questions. Don't you see, Jenny? All these things have been happening for a reason. There must be an answer, and I believe it's right here in this room. It's no mistake that your papa's best friend is the sheriff. Your Uncle Bobby can help us discover things we couldn't possibly find on our own.”

“I'll do my best to help, Jerusha,” Bobby said. “We do seem to be at somewhat of a dead end here, and I can't promise anything, but there are a couple of things I can do.”

Jerusha went on. “Your papa and I want you to be whole and free, Jenny. We want you to fully know the life that God has planned for you.” She paused and looked at Jonathan, and then she continued. “Even if that means that you leave us.”

Jerusha laid her head back down on Jenny's shoulder. “Wherever God takes you in this life, my darling, your papa and I will always love you, and your home will always be here with us.”

Jenny turned into her mama's embrace. The two women clung to each other and cried softly while the men looked at each other uncomfortably.

The next day Bobby sat in his office going over the notes his predecessor had compiled on Jenny's case. The details of the autopsy, the report on the wrecked car, and the articles by Bob Schumann were spread out on his desk. Sitting on top of it all was the license plate number of the car and a phone number. He had checked the area code and discovered that it was a Manhattan number. He had called the number twice already without success.

He sighed and picked up the phone again. He dialed the number one more time, but he wasn't really expecting an answer, so he was surprised when a gruff voice spoke from the other end of the line.

“Talk to me,” the voice said.

“Is this James Radford?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, and I'm not interested in any insurance,” said the voice.

“Mr. Radford, this is Sheriff Bobby Halverson from Wayne County, Ohio. I can assure you I'm not trying to sell you insurance.”

There was a pause, and then Radford spoke. His tone was not friendly. “How do I know you're a sheriff?”

“I can give you the number of the Wayne County Sheriff's office. You can check it out and call me back on your dime, or you can just trust me and answer a couple of simple questions,” Bobby replied.

“Is this about the car?” Radford asked gruffly. “That happened a long time ago.”

“Actually, it is about the car,” Bobby said. “I understand that you were the owner of a nineteen forty Ford station wagon that ended up in a pond outside of Apple Creek, Ohio.”

“As I said, that was a long time ago,” Radford said. “It was a piece of junk anyway. Besides, I didn't put it there, it was stolen from me.”

“I know that, Mr. Radford, and I'm not accusing you of anything. I would just like to find out more about the car if I can.”

“Why?”

“A little girl was discovered in that car fifteen years ago. We're attempting to track down her birth parents. Your car is one of the few clues we have. Can you tell me anything about it?”

There was a pause. Then Radford answered. “Another guy called me about fifteen years ago. He said he was the sheriff.”

“Yes,” Bobby said. “That would have been Arnold Cowsill. He was the sheriff before me. He said you weren't very cooperative, so he never followed up. Now I'm following up.”

“Well, what if I don't want to cooperate with you?” snarled Radford.

Bobby paused, and then he followed a hunch. “Look, Mr. Radford, I don't want to get into unpleasantries with you. Let me just say that I have much more of a concern about this case than Sheriff Cowsill did. The girl who was found in the car is very dear to me. I have a vested interest in her well-being. And let me also say this. I am willing to come to New York and speak to you directly, but I won't be as pleasant as I am today if I have to do that. I also have access to the most modern databases and can do a very thorough background check on you if I need to. If something unsavory appears on your record, I would be…shall we say…compelled to turn it over to the New York authorities.”

Bobby knew he was taking a chance but he pressed ahead. “Now, if I can just get a few answers over the phone today, I will be most appreciative, and you and I can go our separate ways.”

There was a pause and then Radford answered. “What do you want to know?”

“Is there anything more than I already know that you can tell me about the car?”

“Well, I don't know if this will help, but they caught the guy who stole the car.”

“What?” Bobby exclaimed. “We assumed the man who stole the car died in the pond.”

“Yeah, one of the guys died in the pond.”

“One of the guys?”

“Two guys stole it and used it to rob a bank. The one they caught was inside the bank while the other guy was outside with the motor running. The guy inside got shot by a guard and was captured. The other guy got away.”

“Do you know the name of the man who was caught?”

“Yeah, Sammy Bender.”

“Bender! His name was Sammy Bender?”

Radford paused. “Yeah, Bender. Ain't that what I said?”

“Okay, Sammy Bender. So what else?”

Radford waited for a moment and then went on. “I had to testify at Bender's trial. The rat tried to implicate me as the other guy, but I had an airtight alibi.”

Bobby's thoughts were whirling. Bender! The dead man's name was Bender. Maybe this Sammy was a direct connection to Joseph Bender.

“Do you know where this Sammy Bender is now?”

“Yeah, he's up at Sing Sing. He got seventeen years because he wounded a bank guard and a teller in the crossfire. I was glad to see him put away. The guy steals my car and then tries to frame me. Jerk!”

“Why didn't you tell Sheriff Cowsill about this?” Bobby asked.

“When Bender robbed the bank, someone got the license number of the car and traced it back to me. When they tracked me down, Bender told them I was the driver. If I hadn't been out of town on a fishing trip at the time with my pals, he would have framed me. So when the sheriff from Ohio called, I thought they were still trying to stick me with the heist, and I clammed up. It took a long time for the whole thing to come to trial, and Bender finally admitted that I wasn't with him, but he wouldn't rat out the other guy.”