DBrookings Blog

Carla Wilkie was a tall, attractive woman with auburn hair, blue eyes and an athletic build that that accentuated all her positive attributes. She was the type of woman to kill or at least compromise your principles for. Unfortunately, a good man did the latter.

I first met Carla ten years ago when she walked into my office wearing shades and a revealing dress. I asked her what I could do for her and she gave me a picture of a block faced man wearing a severe look. “Who’s this?” I asked. ” My husband.” I looked at the photo again and determined her husband was old enough to be her father. “I know, he’s old enough to be my father.” Carla said wearily. “But he treats me like a bastard stepchild.” she said as she took off her shades, revealing a black eye. “What do you want me to do?” I asked. “Tail the bastard. Get some dirt on him so I can nail his ass in court.” “Why don’t you just take a warrant out on him?” “Because he is the law.” Carla snapped. “He’s the police chief of Briarton.” “Briarton’s almost two hours from here.” I said. Carla pulled out an envelope and threw it on the desk. “There’s more if you want it.” Carla said.

Al Wilkie looked every bit of a small town police chief with his crew cut, immaculately pressed uniforms and stern disposition. At fifty-one, Chief Wilkie had a nice physique and clearly took care of himself, but I couldn’t help but wonder how he snagged a twenty-seven year old wife. A career cop with a spotless service record, Al Wilkie didn’t appear to any skeletons in his closet–until I got to town.

My surveillance of Chief Wilkie consisted of me taking pictures of him talking to a young blonde at a motel on the outskirts of town and with another young gal at a truck stop off the interstate. I knew about these meetings through Carla, who seemed to know everything her husband did. After a week on the job, Carla told me that her husband knew about me and I needed to end my surveillance.

Two weeks later Al Wilkie lay in intensive care with a bullet wound to his head. Carla had shot him and claimed self-defense. Naturally, my investigation was critical to Carla’s defense and my photos of her black eye along with the ones of Chief Wilkie talking to those young women did irreversible damage to his reputation.

A year later, Carla and her drug dealer boyfriend were arrested by the feds for trafficking, and the truth finally came out. I was an unwitting accomplice in an elaborate scheme devised by Carla to kill Al Wilkie and claim self-defense and then sully his reputation with the photos I had taken. It almost worked, but her boyfriend ratted her out and she was subsequently convicted for attempted murder.

Unfortunately, Al Wilkie never recovered from his injuries and despondent over being paralyzed and alone he ended his life with a bullet.

And now I seek the truth.

We sat at the kitchen table in Drayton’s double-wide drinking coffee and talking about our misspent youth. He introduced me to his roommate, a little man named Johnny Degler, who eyed me like a dangerous snake for a few minutes and then disappeared into his room. The one thing I learned today is that Drayton has protectors who watch his back and have no qualms about letting me know that.

Judging by the interior of the double-wide, it was obvious that Drayton didn’t place great emphasis on material things. The furnishings were merely functional and the overall decorum lacked imagination, which indicated that the residence was nothing more than a place to eat and sleep. I was surprised that Drayton had a cat, a humongous Maine Coon named Joshua that he showered with affection. Drayton Brookings Jr. is unlike any man I had met.

“What did you mean when you said that you could play my game better than me?” I asked. “I’ve got the law on my side, which means I that I don’t have to snoop to get information on you.” Drayton replied. “There’s another side of what they told you about me.” “I’m sure there is, Doane, but all I care about is that my good name remains unblemished.” “You’ve known early on that I was watching you?” “Yes sir, and the only reason I called you at your motel room that night is because you’ve made some slanderous accusations about me and I’m not going to allow that to continue.” “I’m still going to investigate my brother’s murder.” I replied. “Do what you think is best, Doane, just don’t implicate me in any wrongdoing.”

There were so many things I wanted to ask Drayton: The 701 Murders, Timothy Matthews, his close proximity to other unsolved homicides, but I couldn’t muster up the nerve to do so, especially in his home. Drayton afforded me the kind of respect that I hadn’t gotten in years and at this stage of my life any act of kindness is appreciated.

A sure sign of desperation.

The visit to my brother’s murder site ended with Detective Hamilton calling me a “crazy whack job” who needed to crawl back in my cave and never come out. As I staggered out out of the woods I tried to summon some indignation towards the belligerent detective, but my low self-esteem prevailed and I just trudged on towards Drayton’s truck. Drayton fired up the engine and took off down the road in silence. The day wasn’t going as planned.

Drayton drove into Fayetteville and asked if I was hungry. I told him that I wasn’t so he looped around and picked up I-95 North. “Where we headed?” I asked. “There’s a little restaurant a few exits up that has great coffee.” Drayton replied. “Coffee sounds great.” I said. Drayton smiled, which put me at ease. His smile was no longer sinister and I found myself letting my guard down, which was dangerous, but at this point I really didn’t care.

We took a corner table in the restaurant and ate cake and sipped coffee. I wanted to ask Drayton some questions and once again, he sensed that and implored me to ask any question that came to mind. “How did your sibling die?” I asked. Drayton gave me a curious look and then smiled. “She committed suicide.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “It happened a long time ago.” “Do you know why?” I asked. “Tammy never had a chance in this world and when she realized that she decided to take a chance on the afterlife.” Drayton replied impassively. “Sounds like you’ve gotten over your sadness.” I said. “You honor the dead by your memories of them while they were alive. Hopefully, there’s enough joy in a person’s life to create a positive recollection.” Drayton said. I thought about that statement and tried to recall a happy experience I shared with Gil, but drew a blank.

We finished our cake and coffee and then Drayton asked me for a smoke. He lit it up and then gave me a serious look. “Why did you take me to your brother’s murder site?” he asked. “I don’t know.” I weakly replied. “Yes you do, but let’s not get into that right now.” Drayton countered.

Exposed once again.

Drayton pulled his truck along the shoulder of the road behind an unmarked patrol car. Detective Wayne Hamilton stepped out of the unmarked and walked back to Drayton’s truck to greet him. “What’s going on old friend?” Hamilton said to Drayton, who gave the detective a warm smile. “Trying to assist Mr. Hassey in his efforts to get justice for his brother.” Drayton said, as Hamilton glowered at me. “Can I talk to you?” Hamilton asked in a perturbed tone. Drayton stepped out of his truck and walked behind the gate with Hamilton.

Detective Hamilton isn’t the lead investigator on my brother’s murder, but I’ve had a couple unpleasant encounters with him previously and today looked to be another acrimonious affair. As I watched him talk with his hands I noticed the disdain on Hamilton’s face as he talked to an impassive Drayton. It was clear that he and Brookings were close friends, which threw another curve in my investigation.

“Ready to take a hike?” Drayton asked after his chat with Hamilton. “Sure.” I replied. As we entered the woods I was dismayed that Hamilton would be tagging along because I was hoping to gauge Drayton’s reaction at the murder site. Now, with Hamilton eyeing me like a suspect, the trek was pointless. “Have you run down any aliens lately?” Hamilton asked me as we neared the site. I didn’t respond, but the detective pressed on. “What’s the Russian mob up to lately?” I remained silent, which clearly angered Hamilton. “You still into spying on cops for chump change, Hassey?” Hamilton then asked. “Are we almost there?” Drayton asked.

We arrived at the site and I explained my theory to Drayton, who pretended to be interested, while Detective Hamilton openly belittled me. “That’s a good theory, Hassey, but what does it prove?” “It lends insight into the mind of the killer who murdered my brother.” I replied. “What was going through your mind when you were spying on a decorated police chief for rent money?” Hamilton scoffed. “It was a legal job.” I replied wearily. “You worked for a drug dealer, but hey, at least you had a roof over your head.” Hamilton sneered.

Until the house burned down.

After leaving the diner, Drayton and I took a drive through the back-roads of Cumberland and Sanderson counties in his pick-up truck. The pit in my stomach shrank and swelled in roughly ten minute intervals that never allowed me to relax. Drayton gave me a smile and then turned onto a dirt road that raised my level of apprehension to panic level. “Relax.” he said calmly. “If I were going to kill you I wouldn’t have met you in a public place and chatted for over an hour.” “I don’t remember inviting you to breakfast.” I replied. Drayton smiled as he weaved down the bumpy road. “Where are you going?” I asked. “Just cruising through the crevices of Sanderson County.” he replied. We reached the South River and Drayton killed the engine and asked me what I had planned for today. “Nothing in particular.” I replied, sensing that he knew I was lying.

“Have you been to the place where your brother was found?” Drayton asked. Panic raced through my body again, but I managed to maintain my composure and pretend that I was being reflective. “Yes.” “Have you come out with any conclusions?” “Yes, that my brother was forced to walk to his makeshift grave before being murdered.” I replied. “Have you compared notes with Detective Hamilton?” “No. I don’t think he has any respect for me.” “Why is that?” Drayton pressed on. “Because of my past.” I replied. “Which is?” “That I’m a pathetic P.I. with no scruples.” Drayton gazed at the river while I tried to forget my past.

Drayton fired up his truck and headed back onto asphalt road. I asked where we were headed next and he asked me where I wanted to go. I gave it a few seconds thought and then decided to play a game. “The site where they found my brother.” I said. “Why?” Drayton asked. “I want to show you something.” Drayton’s weary expression made me feel sad.

I felt like a crackpot.

I got up early Saturday morning and headed out to the truck stop down the road from the motel for some breakfast. I took my seat in the corner of the dingy diner and ordered coffee before heading to the restroom to wash my hands. I had my day planned out, which included a trip to the library, another trek through the woods and a little surveillance on Drayton.

Ever since he discovered me watching him I made a concerted effort not to show my fear, and holding my ground in the face of his menacing arrogance emboldened me enough to put on a sturdy game face. I looked in the mirror and noticed the dark circles under my eyes and wondered how long I could maintain my pace. At fifty-nine, my body no longer had the resiliency it possessed in my youth, especially being a two pack a day smoker. I walked out of the restroom and headed back to my table.

I stopped halfway–frozen in fear.

I could feel my heart racing as beads of sweat formed on my forehead. My concerted effort to be strong was now being tested by the man I was trying to show my resolve to–Drayton Brookings.

“You okay, Doane?” Drayton said aloud for everyone in the diner to hear. I could feel strange eyes upon me as I slowly walked toward my table where Drayton was sitting. “You okay, Doane?” he asked again. I finally reached the table and sat down across the from Drayton, who was wearing an impassive look. “I ordered for both of us, I hope you don’t mind?” Drayton said. “What did you order me?” I asked like a fool. “The most expensive item on the menu.” he replied. “We got a busy day ahead of us.” “What do you mean ‘we’?” I asked. “We need to go for a drive and talk big guy. I want to know your story, too.” Drayton said in a serious tone.

My strength had evaporated.

The girl was a hopeless junkie who probably would have met her inevitable fate one day in the near future. Living on the streets is dangerous for anyone, but for a woman, life without permanent shelter is especially hazardous for obvious reasons. Tara Lansford was a grim example of that fact.

Gil had been wandering through the Midwest when he hooked up with Tara, a scrawny brunette who at nineteen had already experienced a lifetime of pain. A small town girl from Missouri, Tara Lansford had fled her miserable life back in the Show Me State to escape an abusive father who had violated her since she was a toddler.

She met my brother at a bus station in Richmond, Indiana, where they embarked on a journey that ended in Cambridge, Ohio, where according to Gil, he parted ways with her and headed to Pennsylvania. Tara was seen loitering around a convenience store in town for a few days until she was chased off by the cops. A week later her body was found in a ditch in back of another convenience store in Cambridge. She had been strangled.

Gil was eventually picked up in Pennsylvania, and questioned about Tara Lansford’s murder, but was never considered a suspect, despite the fact he was the last person she spent any considerable time with. A truck driver was eventually charged with Tara’s murder, but was acquitted due to lack of evidence, and her murder remains unsolved to this day.

Gil had a similiar situation in the early seventies with an eighteen year old girl in Arizona. Like Tara Lansford, Betty Klerba was also a troubled soul who never found peace during her short life. Gil cooperated fully, and it was determined that Betty was murdered by a drug dealer, who perished in a drive-by shooting before he was ever charged.

I never questioned Gil about these incidents and took his word that he was in no way involved in those girls murders, but lately, I’m not sure what to believe.

What would the truth reveal?