While saddened by Jennie Lohr's death, we were elated with the capture of her abductor. So was Merrill Cooms who told us his investment was paltry compared to getting, as he called him, "that monster Cummings."
The downside of the success was unwanted publicity. Public knowledge noted the arrest resulted from yet another unidentified tip. Ethel Reagan, the Boston columnist, must have been as happy as a visit from Publisher's Clearing House. She jumped on the story with renewed vigor. Others picked up the chant. Fortunately, after a week or two, the public grew bored with the subject and it slipped away like a bear in winter. We knew it was but a temporary hibernation.
Quinn was in charge of the downstairs room where Howie operated and he set it up flawlessly for our work. A comfortable bed replaced the cot utilized in Peabody and absolute darkness proved more conducive to sleep than the leaked light that often snuck into our old quarters. No sound disturbed Howie and with Martha able to use her special hypnotic-like tone, little time was wasted inducing Howie's sleep state. Quinn's electronic equipment was updated to state of the art. It wasn't so unique to be traceable. He experimented in an attempt to improve on the sessions but to no avail. The accuracy he'd developed early on was the best he was able to attain in spite of all his efforts.
The room contained a built in recording system, activated by a switch. Martha cataloged the recordings and continued to provide clear and precise notes that either Betsy or I conveyed on the tip line. We recorded the tips as well. We'd built up a library of recorded sessions but became concerned about properly securing them. Finally, we condensed everything on a small computer thumb drive which we hid in the removable base of a desk lamp.
Our new life in Keene produced a comfortable level of contentment we'd never previously experienced. Even Bumpus, our pet dog, was comfortable in our new office where he'd accompany us each day, content to lie beneath his mistress's desk or occasionally woof for a walk. Not only were we rewarded by the success of Howie's activities but our new personal situations were blissful. However, none of us uncrossed our fingers.
Louisiana. Could that Boston newspaper woman possibly be correct? Might there be a psychic; some fortune-telling soothsayer clairvoyant oracle bitch sticking her witch-nose into my business? I felt it back in Delaware; I really did! I knew no human saw me that night and yet the dogs of police received information on me and began snapping at my heels! And why did that ignorant cop pull me over in Alabama? Did someone give them my license plate number? I'm too nervous to stop in this horrid state where it never ceases raining.