The first thing I did was talk to my attorney. He would contact a colleague in California to determine our next course of action. As a minimum, he could go after my share of the money.
Three days later, Lou called.
“I found out that Jimmy Wilson worked in our railyard for a few months. He was recommended for the job by his cousin, David Jacobson. Do you remember him?”
“I certainly do. He was a photographer in the public affairs office. He was a sleazeball and I caught him putting a pill in Cindy Smith’s drink at the Christmas party one year. I turned him in and he went to jail for a while.”
“That’s him. Well, I’ve been told by those who remember that little incident, that he made some threats against you.”
“He did, but I ignored them and him.”
“Maybe you should have taken him a bit more seriously. Rumor around the plant is that he and his cousin Jimmy Wilson cooked up some plot to screw you over. Now, admittedly, this was all a long time ago and memories are a bit hazy; but there may have been something to it.”
“Do you have his address and phone number?”
He chuckled. “I figured you might want it so I just happen to have it right here. Apparently, Wilson took off to parts unknown, however.”
“Not any more. I know where he is.”
“Where?”
“Living with my ex-wife and daughter in California.”
“Holy shit. Are you sure?”
“I saw him there a few days ago.”
“Well, fuck me!”
Jacobson still lived in Lake Charles and Grace and I talked at some length about what to do. I was conflicted. If it had been their plan to come between Carol and me, it worked beautifully. But, in all honesty, I came out better for it. I no longer had a wife who left me without making any effort to ascertain if the cheating accusations were true or not. Apparently I was presumed guilty because she caught her first husband doing it.
But there was Cheryl to consider.
Did I want to rekindle a relationship with her after seeing the way she defended Gibson and vilified me?
Of course I did. She’s my daughter and was only 10 when this thing started.
Grace knew me pretty well so knew that I would be paying Jacobson a visit. The next morning we drove to Lake Charles and checked in to a motel.
At noon, I rang Jacobson’s doorbell. His wife answered.
“May I help you?
“Are you Mrs. David Jacobson?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
“My name is Samuel Conley. Is your husband here?”
“No.”
“Do you have a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you about him.”
“What about him?”
I took a deep breath. This was it. “My wife and daughter left me five years ago and I think he was at least partly responsible and I would like to find out for sure.”
“How was he responsible?”
“It’s a long story.”
She looked at me for a long time. “I have no idea why I’m doing this, but come in.”
She ushered me in to the living room and indicated the sofa. I sat.
“Now Mr. Conley, you have the floor.”
I told her. The whole ball of wax. When I finished we just sat and looked at each other.
Finally, she spoke.
“David and I have been married for just over two years, but I’ve known him for almost four. One of the first things he talked about was how he broke up the marriage of the man who caused him to go to jail.”
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