Chapter 53
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One week later
Mount Warren, Texas
Sheriff Milliken’s office hadn’t changed since Flint’s last visit. Same cluttered desk, same faded photographs on the walls, same coffee mug with a chip in the handle. Milliken looked up when Flint knocked on the doorframe.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” Milliken gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Please tell me you’ve got good news about that DNA.”
Flint sat down and placed a folder on Milliken’s desk. “Better than good. We found a match.”
Milliken’s eyes widened. “No kidding? Who?”
“Kellerman family male. They can’t be any more specific without someone to match it to.” Flint opened the folder and spread out Scarlett’s research. “But Raymond had a younger brother. Thomas Kellerman. Tommy. Five years younger, lived in Mount Warren during the time of the murder.”
Milliken leaned forward, studying the documents. “Son of a bitch. We never looked at the brother.”
“Tommy had access to the church confession schedules through volunteer maintenance work. He knew exactly when Marilyn would be there alone.” Flint pointed to the church records.
“Multiple complaints about his behavior toward female parishioners. Drinking problem. Disappeared right after the murder.”
“This is it.” Milliken’s voice held the excitement of a man who’d been working an unsolved case for decades. “This is what we missed.”
“Possibly. Tommy might have an alibi. We’ll need to find that out. It could also be DNA from Raymond’s father or, less likely, an uncle or maybe even a cousin,” Flint said. “But I want to interview Raymond. See what he knows about Tommy’s behavior that night. Maybe find out where Tommy is now.”
Milliken nodded. “Raymond’s still the principal at the elementary school.”
“Will you come with me? This needs to be official.”
“Damn right I’ll come.” Milliken stood and reached for his hat. “I’ve been waiting thirty years to solve this case.”
Five minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of Mount Warren Elementary School. The brick building looked exactly like what it was. A small-town school, built decades ago and maintained on a tight budget ever since.
The hallways smelled of old-style floor wax on the polished linoleum as they moved relentlessly to the principal’s office.
Raymond Kellerman was what Flint had expected. Mid-seventies, gray hair neatly combed, wearing a cardigan sweater despite the Texas heat. He looked up from his paperwork when they entered.
“Hello, Raymond,” Milliken said. “This is Michael Flint. Private investigator. We need to talk to you about Marilyn Baker.”
The color drained from Raymond’s face.
“I don’t understand,” Raymond said carefully while looking Sheriff Milliken in the eye without blinking. “We discussed this years ago. I told you everything I knew about that poor girl.”
“Did you?” Flint asked. “What about your brother?”
Raymond’s hands began to shake. “Tommy? What does Tommy have to do with anything?”
“DNA techniques have vastly improved in the past thirty years. Using new techniques, the lab found DNA on the clothing Marilyn Baker was wearing when she died,” Flint said. “The DNA was from one of your close male relatives.”
Raymond’s mouth opened but no words came out.
“Where is he, Raymond?” Milliken leaned forward. “Where’s your brother?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Raymond’s voice was barely a whisper. “We lost touch when Tommy left town. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“The church records show Tommy had access to confession schedules,” Flint continued. “He knew when Marilyn would be alone. He’d been watching her.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? Because at least five people in this town remember Tommy’s drinking problem. His inappropriate behavior around women. And they all remember how you protected him.”
Raymond stood abruptly. “You need to leave.”
Milliken said, “Not until you tell us where Tommy is.”
“I want a lawyer.” Raymond’s voice was stronger now. Determined. “I’m not saying another word without a lawyer present.”
Flint and Milliken exchanged glances. They’d pushed too hard too fast.
Raymond walked to his office door and opened it. “Please leave. Now.”
“We’ll go. But we’ll be back after we’ve found your brother,” Flint said on his way out.
Back at Milliken’s office, the sheriff typed Tommy Kellerman’s name into several database searches. After twenty minutes of searching, he shook his head.
“Nothing. No Social Security death record, no prison records, nothing after he left Mount Warren,” Milliken said. “But it was a long time ago. Not everything was computerized back then. I’ll make some calls.”
Flint stared at the computer screen. Another dead end in a case that had defined his entire life without him even knowing it. He’d never known who his mother was while she was alive. Now, he might never know for certain who killed her.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Rodney Rich, a criminal defense attorney he’d worked with on a few difficult cases. Rich owed him several favors.
“Rodney, it’s Michael Flint. I’m looking for information. Guy’s name is Thomas Kellerman.”
“You think he’s in state prison in Texas?” Rich asked.
“He left Mount Warren more than thirty years ago and hasn’t been seen around there since. Could be several explanations for that, but prison makes sense with this guy. He was not a law-abiding citizen, by all accounts.” Flint said.
“Prison records from that era are still in file boxes,” Rich said. “But I’ve got connections with retired guards. Some of those guys remember everything. I can ask around. What’s this about?”
“Personal matter. It’s important.”
“Give me a few days.”
Flint spent those days unable to concentrate on anything else. He’d waited thirty-four years to learn his mother’s name. Now he might finally know who killed her. He was surprised how important that information seemed all of a sudden.
He had lived his life in the moment. Never worrying about what tomorrow might bring or how yesterday might have been different. He liked it that way.
Marilyn Baker had turned his life upside down and he didn’t like it.
Rich called while Flint was sitting in his living room, staring at the DNA report and reviewing Scarlett’s interviews again.
“Found your man,” Rich said. “Tommy Kellerman died at Eastham Unit. The guy who killed him was named Poe. Died of cancer about ten years ago.”
Flint felt something cold settle in his chest. “How exactly did Kellerman die?”
“Guard I talked to remembered it clearly. Said Kellerman got caught stealing another inmate’s chocolate bar from the commissary. Poe strangled him with his bare hands right there in the yard.”
Strangled. The same way Marilyn Baker had died.
“You still there, Flint?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Rich.”
Flint ended the call and sat in the silence of his empty house.
Tommy Kellerman had most likely murdered Marilyn Baker when she rejected him, and escaped justice for decades. But in the end, he’d died the same violent death he’d given her. Strangled by someone stronger, someone angrier, someone who decided Tommy’s life was worth less than a chocolate bar.
Flint closed his eyes and tried to picture his mother’s face from the photographs he’d found. She’d been twenty-three when she died. Beautiful. Devoted to her faith. Trying to raise a child alone in a world that wouldn’t forgive her for being a single mother.
She’d never seen him grow up. Never knew what kind of man he’d become. Never learned that he’d spent his life finding people who couldn’t be found.
Now he’d most likely found her killer. Dead fifteen years. Justice served by a lifer named Poe over something as meaningless as a candy bar.
It wasn’t the ending Flint expected. But it was the only ending there would ever be.