~~ Chapter 4 ~~
Dick stepped out of the air-conditioned rental car and winced as the Texas summer heat assaulted him. The airline pilot had casually informed the passengers as they landed that it was 95 degrees with an expected high of 99, and Dick now believed him.
Retired Commander Charles and Elizabeth Hammond lived in the Fort Worth suburb of Benbrook. Although Hammond had been considerably surprised that someone would fly all the way from New York to talk to him, he invited Dick to his house. Dick checked his watch -- he was actually a few minutes early -- and made sure he had the right address. Hammond had described his house as a "white frame house, with green trim and a large porch." Yep, this was it.
"Are you Dick Grayson?" called out a deep voice. Squinting against the bright sunlight, Dick saw a man sitting in the shade of a huge tree on one side of the house.
"Yes, sir! Mr. Hammond?"
"That would be me, son. Come over here in the shade before you get sunstroke!" As Dick walked over, the man stood up. Charles Hammond was a tall, fit-looking man in his late fifties. He wore a baseball cap, a t-shirt that proclaimed, "Don't Mess With Texas", and denim shorts.
After vigorously shaking Dick's hand, Hammond said, "I would offer to take you inside to cool off, but our air conditioner just quit on us yesterday. I'll be happy to get you some iced tea, if you like -- it'll cool you right off."
"Thank you, that would be very nice," Dick replied, taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He had never had iced tea before, but anything with the word "iced" in it would be welcome. He sat down in the seat Hammond had indicated and finally began to notice the light breeze that was blowing. Once he was out of the sun, the temperature wasn't quite so bad.
Hammond re-appeared shortly with a carafe and a tall glass filled with ice. Putting the two down on the small table between the two chairs, he poured Dick's tea. Dick took a tentative sip and sighed as the cold, crisply sweet liquid ran down his throat. He took several more gulps and then turned to the older man.
"Thank you, Mr. Hammond! That really hits the spot!"
"I thought it might, son. So what exactly is it that brings you out to this neck of the woods?"
Dick looked down at his glass for a few moments to gather his thoughts and then turned his chair to face Hammond more directly.
"A good friend of mine is being charged -- falsely, in my opinion -- with the murder of a New York cop named David Munroe. He was the son of a retired Navy Captain Theodore James Munroe." Dick stopped as he saw a look of recognition flash across Hammond's face. "Yes, that Captain Munroe. While researching the case, we found that three other members of your team have also had their sons murdered in the last eighteen months."
"Who?" Hammond whispered.
"Collin McIntyre, Jeremiah Harrison, and Jonathan Mackenzie." Dick gave the other man a grim little smile. "I don't want to question them unless I have to, and since Frank O'Reilly is dead ..."
"That left me."
"Yes, sir. You have two daughters, I understand?" Dick asked in a lighter tone.
Hammond beamed. "Yes, I do," he said, while pulling his billfold from his back pocket. He opened it to a family shot that showed Hammond, a small, delicate-looking woman in her early fifties, and two young women. "Kerry is my oldest," he said, pointing to an attractive woman a little older than Dick, with short, medium-brown hair. "And Amy is the youngest." Amy had shoulder-length light-brown hair and dimples. "Kerry's a doctor over in Dallas, and Amy's a senior at A&M. Majoring in nuclear physics, of all things." Hammond shook his head in proud wonder. Suddenly, he appeared to remember why Dick was there, and a slightly dangerous look appeared in his eyes. "They're not in any danger are they?"
"Well, so far at least, the killer has only been targeting the men, so we believe O'Reilly's two sons are next in line. But if she succeeds in killing them off, I really don't know whether she'll go after the daughters next or not."
"You say, 'she.' You know the killer's a woman?"
"All of the men were killed immediately after having sex, and the best description anyone's come up with was that the victims were last seen with an Asian or Asian-American woman. I know it's a long shot, but I wanted to see if you had any idea who might be out to kill your teammates' children."
Before Hammond could answer, a black Ford pickup pulled into the driveway alongside Dick's rental car. The delicate-looking woman from the photo hopped down from the driver's side and walked around to the other side of the truck. She wore a lightweight denim jumper with a short-sleeved yellow top.
"Hi, hon!" she called out.
Hammond stood and motioned for Dick to follow him as he walked toward the truck. He took one of the sacks his wife handed him and kissed her gently on the cheek.
"Honey, this is Dick Grayson. Dick, this is my wife, Beth." Splitting the three sacks between him and his wife, Hammond led them inside the house.
"Since the air conditioner conked out, I didn't want to make the house any warmer by using my stove, so I went out and picked us up some lunch," Beth explained somewhat apologetically as they unloaded the contents of the sacks -- slices of barbeque, sauce, potato salad, and beans -- onto the large round dining room table. A ceiling fan kept the air moving, and although it was a little warmer than outside, Dick had begun to get acclimated. Dick tried to apologize for barging in on their meal, but Beth wouldn't hear of it.
"Goodness, it isn't any trouble at all! In fact, it's just as well you're here, 'cause I probably would've ordered my usual amount anyway, forgettin' the girls wouldn't be around to help us eat it all. Now you just hush and go wash up -- the lavatory's right down the hall on your left." She made shooing motions until Dick laughingly gave in.
When Dick came back, the three sat down, and Beth said grace. Dick did not think Alfred would regard the murders as proper mealtime conversation, so he asked some questions about their daughters. Charles and Beth were proud parents, and this was a favorite subject. They, in turn, questioned him about his family, and he gave them a fairly expurgated version.
Just as Dick was convinced he could not eat another bite, Beth went into the kitchen and returned carrying a tub of ice cream and three bowls. She dished out servings for each of them, and the three went back outside to sit under the tree. While they ate, Dick and Charles took turns bringing Beth up to speed on Dick's errand.
"I've been thinkin' about who all would want to come after us," Charles sighed, "but, to be honest, I can't really think of anyone who would hate us that much who could still be alive. We had a general policy that dead enemies were much safer than live ones."
"Charlie, what about your scrap book?" Beth asked.
"My what? Oh, you mean that photo album you helped me put together?"
"Right! Maybe you might see something that would jog your memory. I'll go grab it!"
While Beth jogged back to the house, Charles turned to Dick and grimaced. "Y'know, I put that album together shortly after I got home from 'Nam. Mostly at Beth's insistence, but also to try to put all that stuff behind me."
Dick nodded in understanding. He had several photo albums from various incarnations of the Titans that, although he didn't think of them that way at the time, acted as a kind of catharsis.
Beth came hurrying back toward them, carrying a dark blue notebook with gold lettering on the front, which she plopped down in Charles's lap. Dick scooted his chair closer to Charles so he could see and pulled out a small voice recorder. Beth stood behind her husband and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Charles sighed, patted her hand, and opened the album. The first few pages made him and Beth laugh as they looked at a much younger Charles going through basic training and then SEAL training. Beth sniffled a bit at a picture showing Charles boarding a transport plane. The date written beside the photo read, "19 September 1966."
"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," she whispered. "You acted so cocky and so confident, but deep down I knew the reason you didn't ask me to marry you before you left -- you weren't sure you'd be back."
"I didn't want to tie you down, baby," he replied quietly. "Especially after you saw your best friend left as a widow with a young son to support. I wasn't gonna do that to you."
"I know, hon. I know." Beth kissed his cheek.
Charles turned the page. The next pictures showed scenes aboard ship and of the staging areas for the soldiers. Charles said little beyond pointing out various people in the photos. Then he paused at a picture that showed six smiling young men against a jungle backdrop. His finger traced over each man's face.
"This was my team," he said.
Dick looked at the photo which was dated 22 November 1966. Didn't Babs say the men were together from 1967 through 1971? He read the list of names next to the photo. One name jumped out at him.
"Who's Norman Sienkiewicz?" he asked.
Startled out of his reverie, Hammond looked at Dick. "What? Oh, Sienkiewicz. He was killed in, ah, '67. Training accident. He was a decent guy, but he should never have gotten a Budweiser."
"Budweiser?" asked Dick.
Charles laughed and closed the album so Dick could see the insignia that was sewn on the blue cloth. Now Dick noticed the similarity to Anheuser-Busch's familiar logo.
"Budweiser." Charles opened the album again. "Norm was in over his head almost from the moment we got there, but he just wouldn't admit it. Darn shame, though. He left a wife and a baby girl behind."
"So that's when Harrison joined your team?"
"Yep." Hammond turned a couple of pages to show another group shot. This time, the team was in a village of some sort, and one of the men -- Hammond, himself, Dick realized -- was holding a small girl in his arms. The photo was captioned "Tan Dien, 27 January 1969".
"Looks like you've got yourself a girlfriend," said Dick, with a smile.
Hammond smiled. "That's Rosie. She would follow us around the village as fast as her little legs would go. One of the guys -- O'Reilly, I think it was -- had a daughter about the same age, so he really got a kick out of playing with her." His smile dimmed. "Rosie's mother had died a few months before we showed up, and apparently she told her daughter that her father was an American. Rosie thus decided we were all her 'daddies.' Looking back on it now, we shouldn't have gotten so involved with her - it would only end up hurting her. But when you're twenty-one, you think you know everything." Charles directed a sardonic grin in Dick's direction.
"So what happened to her?" Dick asked.
"I ... don't know," Charles sighed. "We weren't really based in Tan Dien, although we did spend a lot of time there. In late '69 the battle lines shifted, and we started to see more 'Cong activity on our patrols. L.T. -- Lt. Munroe -- worried that if we kept going through Tan Dien, either the village would be in danger from us, or we might be in danger from infiltrators in the village. About that time, we were recalled back to Saigon, anyway." He lightly traced a finger around another picture of the little girl. "Collin McIntyre went back to Vietnam a few years ago with some other vets. He tried to find Tan Dien, but it had been wiped out. Nobody knew if there were any survivors or where they might be."
Charles flipped through the rest of the album, but nothing further caught his attention. When he would have handed it back to Beth, Dick interrupted.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take pictures of some of those photos." He pulled out a small digital camera. Charles handed him the album, and Dick turned to the first group picture. He took shots of the two group pictures and several others and handed the album to Beth.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help to y'all," apologized Charles. "I really don't like the idea of some killer lyin' in wait for O'Reilly's two boys."
Dick handed him a card with both Dick's and Matt's phone numbers on it. "If you do think of anything that might help, please give me or Matt Murdock a call. I'm assuming that you'll be talking to your teammates about this ..." he said as he looked at Charles. When Charles nodded, he continued, "I'd just ask that you remember that my friend is accused of murdering your lieutenant's son, and we don't want any of this information finding its way either to the press or the District Attorney's office."
Beth looked confused, but Charles nodded. When she looked at him for explanation, he said, "Because it doesn't really help their case yet, honey."
"But there's obviously a connection between all these murders!" she protested. "Wouldn't that get Dick's friend off the hook?"
Dick and Charles shook their heads almost in unison. Dick replied, "None of this gives us an alternate suspect for the murders -- that's what we need. Right now, this is all just a theory; there's no evidence that points to someone other than my friend."
Noticing the time, Dick took his leave from the Hammonds, thanking them once again for the information and the meal and promising to keep them informed on the case's progress. He drove back to the airport, turned in his rental car, and settled down for the hour-long wait for his flight. He called Barbara on his cell phone.
"Hey, Babs!"
"Hi! How'd it go?"
"Aside from nearly being fed to death, I found out a few things. It turns out there was another member of the team who died in 1967."
"Really?"
"Yeah. See what you can find out about Norman Sienkiewicz," he said, spelling out the name for her.
"Anything else?"
"How are you at tracking ghosts?" he asked jokingly.
"Depends on how chatty the Spectre is feeling," she responded.
"Urk. No, actually, I'm mostly kidding. There's a little girl from one of the villages that I'd love to track down, but all I've got is the name 'Rosie' and a no-longer-existing village called Tan Dien."
"I might have more luck getting the Spectre to talk," she agreed. "So what did they feed you?"
Dick groaned. "Tons and tons of absolutely delicious barbeque beef, potato salad, beans, and some wonderful vanilla ice cream for dessert. It may be days before I'm hungry again."
"Poor baby. Okay, I've got some info on your Norman Sienkiewicz. Died on 12/10/67 on a training mission."
"What about children?"
"I'm pulling that up now. Oh my! This could be interesting."
"What?"
"Norman's wife was born on Okinawa -- she was a Japanese citizen before their marriage. Their daughter, Kimberly Lynn, was born on 7/18/67."
"So Kimberly Sienkiewicz is half-Japanese."
"Yep."
"And she might hold a grudge against her father's teammates."
"She might just decide to deprive them of their children as she was deprived of her father," said Barbara.
~~ End Chapter 4 ~~
