By Lyn Bennett Wilson
That’s the thing about this city—it truly never changes. It’s not only historic, but also cold, industrial, and decrepit. It’s the perfect place to run if you were trying to escape the consequences of a crime. Many people would call what happened a murder. It was a hit-and-run, drunk or drugged driving incident that left only death in its wake. I’m Tracy Blane, and I’m a reporter for the Linoak County Gazette. Erie City may be as cold as ice, but I find myself on the trail of a very hot story.
This shopworn old city hides many secrets. It’s anonymous and impersonal. If someone wanted to hide, this would be the place to come. I’m here because two and a half weeks ago, I was sent an anonymous tip about the death of one of our county’s most beloved young men. Finn Ewan McCarthy’s life was tragically cut short on the cusp of marriage to his high school sweetheart. He had success and everything to live for. One night on a lonely dark road, Finn was hit head-on by a driver in another car who simply left him to die. He was alone; by the time anyone saw his car in the ditch, he was already gone.
Many years later, I stand in the Erie City hospital with a Linoak sheriff’s deputy. He has a warrant to obtain certain documents related to a person admitted with injuries following a car accident. The administration was less than thrilled about having to search their records for a patient admitted eighteen years earlier. Eighteen years? Talk about a cold case! I found myself in the middle of the biggest story I’ve ever written, not to mention the biggest story the Linoak Gazette has had in decades.
It all began with an anonymous email from a reader after I wrote a story about the engagement of Bob Schlagel to Lillian Hyde. Bob and Lilli are my friends; therefore, the story was easy to write. It was a tender story that touched a lot of people’s lives. In the background of this beautiful love story was the death of Finn McCarthy, Lillian’s high school sweetheart and former fiancé. I came to learn how Finn’s unsolved death by a hit-and-run driver devastated Lillian, along with everyone who knew him. People just wanted to know what happened. While the Sheriff’s Department never stopped working the case, the leads did dry up. Until now.
The story about Bob and Lillian got a lot of attention. Much to my surprise, I received a series of anonymous emails informing me that the writer had information on the death of Finn McCarthy. The last communication took us to the Belden family’s Summer Estate. There, in this rather odd setting, we found a large envelope with paperwork and receipts. One document looked to be a partial medical record from The Erie City Hospital, which is where I find myself at present. Deputy Axel Persson and I sat waiting for the clerk to come back with the paperwork we requested.
I looked at my surroundings. The waiting area in the administration wing was as cold as the city. January snows covered the window frames—gray sheets of tinted glass framed by silver-gray metal boxes. The photos on the wall depicted the gray city that one could clearly see through the windows. They did not brighten the room one bit.
Deputy Persson broke the silence. “I hate coming to this city. It’s like a machine that just swallows people. No one knows you or much cares who you are. Faces come and go like ghosts. Unrecognized and, in some cases, unrecognizable from every other face on the street. Give me Linoak County any day.” He let out a sigh.
“I used to live in Salt City,” I replied. “It’s not as large of a city as Erie, but it was enough to cause me a serious case of burnout. That’s why I took the job at the Gazette. I don’t know what it is about this place. It envelops you in a feeling of emptiness. We get the paperwork we came for, and we can go home, Deputy Persson!” I said with vigor.
We sat and waited for what seemed like hours. Axel had been keeping the Judge who issued the warrant updated. I was keeping the office updated and making notes for my story. I emailed Lillian to let her know where I was and how things were going; she was anxious about the situation, naturally.
Finally, a bespectacled man came off the elevator and addressed Deputy Persson. “Deputy, I have your file here, if you’ll follow me. I’m sorry, no reporters,” he said with a sniff.
“I’m sorry too,” Axel stated emphatically, “because she comes per the judge’s orders as you’ll see on the warrant. She’s a party to the legal proceedings. Or would you like me to phone the judge now?”
The “bespectacled wonder” thought for a moment. “I suppose, but I will be filing a report so that my role in this very unusual request is clear.”
I said, “Thank you sir, I know this is a unique situation. You will be helping to resolve a grave miscarriage of justice. I know that thousands of people pass through these doors every day. It’s good to see someone who still cares about doing their job properly.”
The man softened a little. “My name is Wilton Brown III. I work in the legal department, as did my father, Wilton Brown Jr.” He showed us into a windowless room. “You may make notes, but you may not take any photos, remove any part of the medical record, nor are you to deface them in any way. Bear in mind the age of this file. I cannot vouch for any of its contents. Please put your cell phones in the tray.” He pulled a tray from a cupboard. “I’ll be in the office next door. Please knock on the door when you are finished.”
The file was very thick. We’d have to divide and conquer if we had any hope of gleaning the information we’d need. Then, Deputy Persson touched my arm. “Torchy,” he said—the nickname he used when we were off duty, a hat-tip to the 1930s movie series Torchy Blane. “Do you see the name on the top of this paper?”
“Yes. Lee Belden. Any relation to the Beldens that own that odd house we visited?” I asked.
“Lee Belden is their oldest son. The guy Bob Schlagel hung out with for years,” Axel said, his face turning ashen. “Torchy, this is bad. This is going to hit everyone like a tornado if we prove that Lee killed Finn that night.”
“One step at a time, Axel,” I stated, trying to calm him. “For all we know, our anonymous friend could be pointing to Lee as a witness.” I knew in my heart Axel was right. If Lee Belden hit Finn’s car that night, it would devastate Bob.
“If these records are correct, the younger Mr. Belden did sustain more than a few injuries,” I noted. “Looks like he injured his knee pretty badly, had a nasty break to his collarbone, and a separated shoulder.”
“Do you see any record of physical therapy being done here?” Axel asked. “I can’t find anything. They did take blood work when he arrived by ambulance. It showed alcohol and THC in his blood. The level of alcohol is well below the legal limit, but THC shouldn’t have been there at all. If he was driving, we can now prove that he was driving under the influence. I’m calling the DA to get an injunction to keep the hospital from destroying this file.”
While Axel was on the phone, my mind began to wander. I thought about what it must have been like to be Lee Belden, sent here to this awful city of smoke stacks and sharp glass teeth. If he were only a witness, this atmosphere would be enough to drive one over the edge. If he were guilty, running away was cowardly. It is high time justice was served.
I heard Axel say, “Hey Blane, are you hearing me?”
“What? Oh! I’m sorry Axel, my mind was a million miles away!”
“No problem. I got word from the DA. The local state police barracks will be sending over an officer with an injunction. He should be here in about ten minutes.”
Trooper Edvard Persson arrived soon after. He was about the size of the Empire State Building—taller than Deputy Persson by about an inch. Axel introduced me to Edvard, his cousin. My entire hand was enveloped by the hand of the taller Persson when we shook. I can’t say I have ever had that experience before, thankfully.
Axel said, “Well Torchy, time to go get glasses and tell him we need a copy of the files. He won’t be happy.”
“He might not be happy about the file, but I think I can distract him while you go make the copy,” I said.
We beat a hasty retreat to the truck after getting the notarized copies and a list of bagel shops Wilton recommended.
“I think,” said Axel, “this is just the beginning of our work.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” I replied.
We had only scratched the surface of the papers our anonymous friend had left us. I wasn’t sure how—or even if—we should tell Bob and Lillian all that we found. I knew that what we were uncovering about Finn’s death would change Linoak County forever, but if it brought closure to my friends, I had to keep going. This was more than just a story for the Gazette now; it was a search for a just outcome to a tragic event eighteen years ago.
