plowed ahead skillfully.
There were plenty of related articles over the remaining months of 1972, but none of them shed any light on the motive, and despite a couple of locals being brought in for questioning, no real suspect ever materialized. There were rumors in some of the gossip pages that the murder was connected to the terrorist group Black September that had been responsible for the murder of eleven Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics, just weeks earlier. That they had targeted Joseph Kingston for marrying into a prominent Jewish family.
The marriage reference sent Zach off in another direction. “They love society stuff out here,” was all he said.
He searched until he found what he was looking for—the society section of a 1959 paper. It was coverage of the wedding of Joseph Kingston and Erika Sterling.
“I should have identified her as Erika Sterling from the photo on Ellen’s Facebook page,” Zach said. “Besides the visibility of being the mother of a presidential candidate, I had attended a couple fundraisers that she was at.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself. That wedding photo is from over fifty years ago. How were you supposed to recognize her?”
The only photos that Ellen had posted on her page were of the bride and groom. But the newspaper had complete group shots of the wedding party and assorted guests.
“In the letters Flavia showed us, Ellen mentioned that Josef’s wedding was the only time that all of the Apostles were in the same room,” Zach said, intently studying the photos. “We’re probably looking at some of the most notorious war criminals in history, including Himmler and Rudolph Hess, hidden right in plain sight. And there’s our old friend Gus Becker,” he said, pointing at the screen.
Veronica picked out Erika Sterling’s brother, Aligor. “I don’t get it. I thought he might have been responsible for Ellen and Carsten’s deaths to protect his legacy, but I never thought in a million years that he’d be part of this group. He dedicated his life to getting justice for persecuted Jews, and he was in that concentration camp with Ben.”
“Just like Ellen was,” Zach said. “And I don’t think it was a coincidence that he paid her a visit the last week of her life.”
As did Eddie. Veronica now saw those visits in a different light.
She again looked at the close-up shot of bride and groom. Veronica couldn’t shake what Ellen wrote in the letters about this wedding “merging” two Apostles families, which allowed the Apostles to associate closely without suspicion.
She now feared that the strategy for growing the family business had changed from merger to acquisition. And her children had been part of a hostile takeover.
Chapter 61
For Ben Youkelstein, it was a race against time. He needed to get to the children before they were taken away forever. He also had to stop this sham of an election.
He knew where he needed to go. The bigger challenge was his hand-eye coordination, which had admittedly regressed since he’d hit eighty. He rarely drove anymore, so trying to maneuver Veronica’s large vehicle was a struggle.
Getting near Kingston’s house was an even steeper challenge. He was forced to park about a mile away and walk. His legs often struggled to make it from bed to bathroom these days, but if this were the last thing he did on this earth, he would stop this horror movie from having a sequel.
He passed Kingston supporters, protestors, and media. But suddenly his slow journey was impeded, and his umbrella went flying to the pavement. Standing in front of him were two plain-clothes security guards. Modern-day SS stormtroopers dressed in brown uniforms with black boots. One of them smiled smugly at him, while the other picked up the umbrella.
“Sorry about that, old man,” the smiling one said. The one who’d “accidentally” kicked it away in the first place.
His partner handed it back to him. “It’s a long walk for an old timer like yourself. We’re going to offer you a ride.”
“I think I’ll walk, thank you,” Youkelstein said politely. “It’s not often you see such sun this time of the year.”
“I think you should reconsider,” Smiley said.
“A car will stop beside you in thirty seconds, the door will open and you’ll get in,” said the one who’d retrieved the umbrella. With his bright blond hair, and being that he was a lapdog for the Nazis, Youkelstein thought they should call him the Golden Retriever.
True to their word, a stretch limo with dark tinted windows eased beside him