COLD CASE
Never Too Late
By J. B. Tilton (a.k.a. NoAzMale) and Teri Thibeault (a.k.a. Tessalynne)
Emails:
evilgidget_
Rating: T (for language)
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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.
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(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.
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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.
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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.
