Who Killed Amanda

By Florence Joanne Reid

Gabe Faldare

Meet Gabes five kids: Davey, aged forty. His first wife divorced him. He doesnt know why. His second wife was murdered in 1994. Jarry, aged thirty-nine. His wife, Rae, was murdered 1998. Merry Janelle, aged thirty-six. Married to Holin Silver; they raise house dogs. Sara Jane, aged thirty-three. She is a detective with GPD, once married to Lee Sharol, who was murdered in 2001. And Jed, aged twenty-nine. His wife, Deanna, was murdered, along with their unborn baby in 2001.

Too many women in the Faldare family have been either molested or murdered. Silas Faldare goes to FBI headquarters in Cleveland, hoping the director can spare someone to look into the problem. There have also been other murders connected to the family that needs looked into. And while Silas, ninety-four years old, searched on his computer, he found twenty-eight other women who had been murdered over a five-year period over several Northern Ohio counties. They were never solved.

Silas gave all that information to Director Greer.

FBI Director Carson Greer sends in Gideon Granger, former FBI agent recently retired, recovering from being shot three times, now reinstated for this job as undercover detective with the Garrettsville, Ohio, Police Department.

Can Granger solve the cold cases?

And find out who killed Amanda Stranton?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514436967

Florence Joanne Reid

Florence Reid attended BBI, Bible Baptist Institute, night school, for three years while still in high school, then attended Cedarville University, but didnt finish college. Instead Florence went home and married William Reid, whom she met in church. They had 24 good years together before he went to meet his Heavenly Father. They have 9 children, 21 grandchildren, and as of this writing, 14 great-grandchildren. In the course of her life, Florence taught Sunday School preteens, taught Bible Clubs in three different school after hours, played the piano at church, besides raising 9 children, and outings with preteens, with her children along. Florence loves to read scifi, mysteries, love stories, history, and intrigue, besides the Bible. She started writing when in her late 30s, then spent time rewriting and making them better. For hobbies she sews, embroiders, creates doilies and snowflakes, and knits, and occasionally paints outdoor scenes.

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Copyright © 2016 by Florence Joanne Reid.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015921082

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5144-3698-1

                Softcover        978-1-5144-3697-4

                eBook             978-1-5144-3696-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 01/06/2016

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CONTENTS

Gabe’s Family

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

The Faldares 2006

Acknowledgements

Gabe’s Family

Silas Faldare: age 94, grandfather of all the Faldares, sons: Gabriel, Samson, Karrell.

Gabe Faldare: age 70, eldest son of Silas, retired partner in the Faldare Enterprises.

Darnella Faldare: age 60, wife of Gabe, mother of 5.

Davey Faldare: age 40, son of Gabe & Darnella, owner of Faldare Farms and Stables, Son Wayne 14, only child of Davey & Roanne, second wife, who was killed in ‘auto accident’ 1998, first wife Millicent, married 1985.03, Dv 1985.11.

Jarry Faldare: age 37, son of Gabe & Darnella, owner of Faldare Construction, wife Rae murdered in 1994, daughter Sylvanna 14, only child.

Merry Janelle Silver: age 34, daughter of Gabe & Darnella, interior designer for Faldare Construction, married Holin Silver, sons Thanol 17, Todd 15 and Tyrol 13.

Sara Jane Sharol: age 32, daughter of Gabe & Darnella, detective with the Garrettsville Police Department, widow of Detective Lee Sharol who was killed in the line of duty 2001, no children.

Jed Faldare: age 29, son of Darnella from rape, biological father unknown, blueprint expert with Faldare Construction, wife Deanna murdered in 2001 along with unborn baby.

FBI Agents

Gideon Granger: age 36, retired FBI agent [secretly reinstated] sent to Garrettsville to investigate cold case deaths in Faldare family, undercover Detective with GPD, works with Detective Sara Jane Sharol.

Carson Greer: age 51, Director of FBI in Cleveland.

Prologue

Cleveland FBI Office

January 2, 2006

Silas Faldare stepped into his friend’s office, Director Carson Greer, FBI agent, whom he had met nearly twenty years ago when the man was a young agent. These days he was in his early fifties, half the age of Silas. He was still a man in his prime, in good health, with a slight receding hairline. Silas noticed that Carson had put on a bit of weight, figured he topped the scale at two hundred, but it did look good on his near seven foot black frame.

Silas had kept track of this man’s career.

Silas Faldare! Carson said, standing to reach for the old man’s hand. I figured you died five years ago. That was the last time he’d seen this man, but he remembered the occasion. It was on his 90th birthday party at a downtown hotel. He must be ninety-five or –six by now, and still sharp-minded. As long as he’d known the man he’d had white hair.

Silas laughed good-naturedly.

I’ve got a couple of problems for you Carson. He took the visitors seat, a comfortable chair before the desk, and set his briefcase on the floor beside the chair.

What sort of problems?

Murder. I believe my wife was murdered thirty-six years ago.

You have proof?

Nope! But listen to my story before you rule it out. This started about forty years ago. You know some of it. My son Gabe was in a poker game forty-two years ago, and in the culmination of that game, he won the Stranton Manor, and all the land with it, two hundred fifty acres. Four years later my wife was killed in an auto accident where a county plow truck hit her car a glancing blow, knocking her car into a drainage ditch, in which she drowned before anyone could rescue her. That ditch was eight feet deep and filled with run-off water from a lake twenty feet away.

I’ve heard your story before Silas. What’s the point? It was an accident. This is ancient history.

If she were the only one dead I might believe it, but I was talking with Lee Sharol back about five years ago about all the deaths in our small town. He was a policeman married to my granddaughter Sara Jane. Shortly after I spoke to him, he started an investigation, and within four months he was dead, shot, supposedly during a hold-up.

It happens too many times, Silas.

I’m not done. Please just listen to an old man.

Carson Greer nodded. Go on.

Thirteen are dead Carson. Silas took a paper out of his briefcase. In ’74 Russell Knight’s car was run off the road in bad weather. No one was ever caught. Hit and run. In ’76 Ray Carson was run off the road in bad weather, hit and run. No one ever caught. In ’78 Sheriff John Ashlyn was shot. No one was ever caught for his murder. In ’80 Mike Allyn was run off the road and drowned in that same drainage ditch as my wife. Hit and run. No one was ever caught. In ’88 Randy Wolf was shot and robbed. No one was ever caught.

Unrelated incidents, Carson remarked, but now he was interested.

Seemingly unrelated, until you hear that each of these men were witness to Harold Stranton’s downfall in that ’64 poker game when he lost everything. Only man not dead Jim Richy, simply because he moved away, never leaving any forwarding address. Silas smiled. "And Gabe’s not dead, nor Samson, who were in that game with Harold Stranton. My son Karrel wasn’t old enough to be in that game, for which I thank God.

You’re point?

I believe Harold Stranton responsible, but I couldn’t dig up any solid evidence.

Again, you’re point?

I’d like an experienced investigator look into it and if it was Harold, punished for his crimes.

Cold cases are hard to solve. But it did intrigue Greer.

My son Gabe has five children. Davay, Gabe’s oldest, his second wife was raped and murdered in ’98, and Jed’s wife, Deanna was raped and murdered in the year 2001and a few weeks later Sara Jane’s husband, Detective Lee Sharol, was shot and killed. For these murders, no one was ever arrested. He gave a derisive laugh. No one was even suspected.

Poor job on the sheriff’s part, I’d say, Carson stated.

"Ah, but I’m not done Carson. Let’s go back to Harold Stranton. Harold married Marla in ’63, but in ’73 she divorced him and planned on taking their son Gibson with her. Instead before everything was finalized in ’74, she was the victim of a hit and run accident. She was thirty-seven. No one was ever caught, but I believe Sheriff John Ashlyn knew who was responsible, and he was trying to tie that person, whoever he was, into my wife’s death, also. John was shot and killed.

In ’78, four years later, Harold married Tanya Karr. She gave Harold twin girls in ’80, and in ‘’86 she disappeared when she was about to leave Harold. She was thirty-seven. After waiting seven years Harold had her declared dead, and married his mistress, Amanda Rollin, who had given him two children, daughters. Yesterday, January first, Amanda was found in her car, strangled, that car scrunched at both ends, pushed into a huge tree. She was thirty-seven.

I really don’t like coincidences, Carson Greer said in a deadly soft voice. Who discovered the body?

Gib, Harold’s son.

What do you want from me Silas?

An investigator, Carson. I’d like some ex-FBI man who’d like to join our police force and look into these deaths. Thirteen, Carson. In a town with only about two thousand people. Thirteen unsolved deaths, most of them ruled accidents, all related to me. One I haven’t mentioned Darnella, Gabe’s wife. She was raped, but escaped. She was never able to identify her rapist. From that rape she bore a son, Jed. Gabe’s raised him as his own son, but no one knows who the father is.

Who do you think? You do have an opinion, don’t you Silas.

Harold Stranton. I believe he’s behind all the deaths, Carson. I need someone to prove it, or disprove it and prove someone else responsible. I need DNA of Jed and Harold to prove he is, or is not Jed’s biological father.

I’ll need a complete list of names and dates, and the circumstances in which each person died.

From his briefcase Silas took a sheaf of papers, computer printouts, and handed them to Carson. How soon can you have a detective in our Garrettsville Police Department?

Has this Sharol been replaced?

No, and it’s been five years. Not too many men want jobs in a small sleepy town like mine. Silas added, We’re celebrating two hundred years this year as the beginning of our town. We’re having a big celebration coming up on July 4th. There’ll be a street fair, yard sales all up and down Main Street, a carnival in the parking lot, tours of the historic part of town, and Amish horse and buggy taxi service around town, and a parade of vintage cars. It’ll pull in people from all around, plus the students from Hiram College, maybe their parents. We’re expecting thousands of tourists.

I have a man in mind, but don’t know what he’ll think of joining a small police force. He is an ex-FBI man. Carson chewed his lower lip. His name’s Gideon Granger. It might take me awhile to convince him this job is right up his alley. I’ll try to convince him to be there as soon as possible. He was saying he liked a warmer climate. He must be tired of all that sunshine by now, and wishing for snow.

Silas laughed. If you can convince him, have him look up Sara Jane Sharol in the police department, my granddaughter. She’s our present detective.

How old is Harold Stranton now?

He’s in his seventies, but he still drives a big MAC plow winters, and a dump truck summertime. His son Gib drives a MAC plow. Harold lives in Trumbull County. Gib lives in Garrettsville and is married to my granddaughter Marietta Ann. Gib is an abuser, but no one’s been able to convince Marietta Ann to leave the man. They have five children, all girls.

Do you have a duplicate of all this information you’ve given me? Carson asked.

I do, and I made a listing of all my family for whoever you send to us. But Sara Jane can fill him in.

If Gideon accepts this job, I’ll have him there as soon as possible.

Keep in mind that the weatherman is calling for a major snowstorm the first week in January. We’re expecting 12 to 16 inches of the white stuff.

Carson nodded. It’s coming in from Canada, over Lake Erie. We’ll be hit with it first before it reaches twenty miles inland.

Twenty-five, but who’s counting?

I trust you’re not driving yourself, the black agent remarked.

Nope! I quit driving five years ago when I hit ninety. Turned in my driver’s license for an Ohio ID card. I hired a chauffeured limo for today’s ride.

There’s also a second problem, my friend, Silas added after a pause.

I thought you already brought up the first, second and third problems, Greer said dryly.

Yeah, well, there’s one other big problem. That report is at the bottom of those papers I gave you. I believe there might be a serial killer loose in my neighborhood, and I’m not talking just Garrettsville. I’m talking several different towns. I was talking to some people and it came up. I did a computer study over a five year period, different towns and discovered at least twenty-five women raped and murdered, and all happening during the winter months. I don’t know when it started, Carson, because, as I said, I only went back five years. To me that spoke of a serial killer.

I’ll brief Gideon when I see him.

Well, that’s all I can ask.

Carson Greer watched as the old man walked out, back as straight is if he was forty years younger. He’d like to be that spry when he reached ninety-five. That wasn’t gonna happen. In the course of his FBI career he’d been shot three times. One of those bullets messed up his left leg. In rainy or cold weather that leg ached. He put off taking a pill for that ache until he had to get up and move.

One

January 2, 2006, Monday

Silas Faldare was hardly out of the Cleveland office when Carson Greer placed a long distance call to Gideon Granger who he knew to be vacationing in southern Florida, reaching his cell phone. He was actually recuperating from a gunshot wound from his last undercover job, and he had resigned.

That noon Gideon was in a sidewalk café having lunch when his phone rang. He was dressed in shorts and muscle shirt, with bare feet thrust into thongs. He’d been on vacation for three weeks, bored out of his skull for the last two weeks, and wondering if he should apply to the local police for a job. He was fully recuperated from his last gun shot.

He was a cop, investigator, detective, ex-FBI agent. He’d quit the FBI after his last undercover job that had gotten him shot. That was eight weeks ago. He’d spent three weeks in the hospital when he thought one was enough, then two weeks of enforced rehab. Five weeks later he decided Florida was looking good. That was after the first snow in Ohio, the day before Thanksgiving.

Naturally after Carson identified himself, Gideon had to do some serious complaining about getting a call from his former boss while loafing and sunning himself at a beach resort.

I need you back here ASAP, Granger. I’ve got you on a private plane coming into Cleveland. You’ll be here late afternoon. Come straight to my office.

What’s the rush?

I’ve got a special job for you, ex-FBI man. I’ve got a friend with a problem that only you can settle. Catch that plane. He told him where and when, then hung up before Granger could ask him questions he didn’t want to answer over the phone.

Five o’clock that evening Gideon walked into his former boss’s office. Unlike Florida, five o’clock in Ohio it was dark and would only get darker as the night progressed. And he had been informed on the flight that a storm was brewing over the lake, coming in from frosty Canada.

Mode of dress had changed to new black jeans and black pullover shirt, and fleece-lined winter coat, with western style boots on his feet. He was originally from Arizona. Gideon sprawled in the chair before the desk.

You could have warned me a snowstorm was coming in.

It’s not here yet.

So what’s so important you had to call me in? I’m retired. He was thirty-six, divorced, no children. His wife had left him fifteen years ago after having two children and to be mean, in the divorce provisions he wasn’t allowed to see his kids. He saw no reason to marry ever again. Elle had been a child model and all she had wanted from him was to get pregnant so she would gain a womanly figure and earn bigger bucks. She got the job she wanted, and he joined the army to get as far away from her as possible, where she couldn’t reach him.

Silas Faldare came to see me. You wouldn’t know him. His wife died about thirty-five years ago. He believes now that it was murder.

Cold case, Granger remarked.

That’s only the beginning of this tale of murder, Gideon. Over those thirty-five years thirteen other people, all related to Silas or his family in some way or another, have died in what’s been determined ‘accidents’. That’s too many accidents related to one family in a small town of two thousand people.

Greer handed over the packet. That’s a little of what you’ll need to know. I’d book you a room here, but, like you said, there is a snowstorm coming in. So I want you to get to Garrettsville as soon as possible. They say a foot of snow is coming our way.

Great! Do you know what I was doing? Basking in sunshine at 90 degrees.

Carson Greer chuckled. After all those weeks I imagine you were bored stiff. When you get to Garrettsville you’ll have a job with the police departments there as a Detective. You’ll meet with Detective Sara Sharol. Her husband, another detective, is one of the casualties in this murder investigation. Women are being raped and strangled, or raped and drowned, or raped and found dead in car accidents. Sheriff John Ashlyn was shot and killed during this early investigation, and no one was ever arrested for the crimes. That was about thirty years ago. Ron Spears is the present sheriff at Garrettsville. You’ll be reporting to him.

Who is this Sara Sharol? Anyone special?

She’s Silas Faldare’s granddaughter. You’ll be staying in a house owned by Jed Faldare, her brother. Jed doesn’t live there, so you’ll be alone in the house. Jed’s wife was also one of the victims. I don’t know all the family arrangements. I know Silas doesn’t live alone, but with his son Gabe and his wife. Could be Jed moved back to the main house, but that’s speculation.

And how do I get there?

I’ve rented a car for you. Actually it’s an SUV, four-wheel drive, easy to handle in snow. Black. I know you like black. GPS navigational directions are recorded. Fastest way is to take the Interstate 80, the turnpike to State Route 44, and 44 to 82, and 82 will lead you straight into Garrettsville. Once there you can ask for directions to the Faldare Farm at the local gas station.

I hate asking directions from strangers.

You’ll be getting in late. It’ll take about an hour to get there. Carson Greer stood, jangling keys. Come on, I’ll show you to the car I rented for your use. First month’s rent is on the department. After that you can make arrangements to buy the car, or turn it in and buy something else. There is a car dealerships in Garrettsville where you can buy a car.

At the door, with Gideon on his heels, he turned and said, Oh yeah, you’re no longer an ex-FBI agent, but for your cover story you will be ex-FBI.

Great! No badge.

You’ll be a police Detective. You’ll get a badge.

Gideon Granger got into Garrettsville just as it started to sleet, a cold dreary rain, and with the night temperatures dropping it would soon become icy. He debated if he should grab a hamburger from McDonalds, or find that Faldare Farm immediately, but his stomach growled. That settled that.

With a couple sandwiches, fries and hot coffee in the cup-holder beside him, he stopped in at the gas station. He didn’t really need gas, but he got some anyway, topping off the tank. When he went in to pay, he asked how to find the Faldare Farm. With directions, he headed out of town, eating as he drove.

A little over ten minutes later he was pulling into the Faldare drive. He’d had time to devour the two sandwiches, but not the fries or the coffee. Well, not all the coffee.

He’d been told this wasn’t Garrettsville out here, but Nelson Township. He wondered why the guy laughed when he asked about the Faldare Farm.

It was turning into a bad night. It was almost seven o’clock and sleet had turned to snow. The roads were slick.

He’d missed the first drive, fishtailed, and pulled into the second drive, which curved around in front of the house, not leaving a very big yard. In front of the house were two of the biggest trees he’d ever seen, but not very tall. He had no idea what type of trees they were, not bare of leaves anyway, but he figured they must be twelve or fourteen feet in diameter. As he pulled in the porch light came on.

This was a big, old house. A porch ran across the front and down the north side. On the other side was an attached garage. An evergreen tree was at the end of the porch at the garage side, still decorated with Christmas lights, which were also on. It seems that in this sleepy backwoods place Christmas was not quite over yet.

He got out, carefully, since the stones in the drive were slick with ice. Over at the porch he noted that the steps were glazed over, and those steps looked like five foot long thick slabs of stone. Two stones, one atop the other, comprised of the steps. They looked shiny and slick in that porch light.

Gideon grabbed hold of the upright support on the porch before venturing up the steps. He was right. They were slick and he slid. Only his hold on the post kept him from falling. A man came out the door and grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up on the porch, and although wet, had not frozen over yet.

Well, stranger, you’re out on a bad night. Come on in. Granddad said he might be expecting company tonight. He didn’t say anything about him sliding in.

Gideon managed a crooked grin.

It was cold. The wind was cold and getting colder. Florida was looking better all the time.

Inside, Jed Faldare introduced himself as he took off his coat and hung it in the hall closet, and took his coat too, even as he said, I’m Gideon Granger, newly hired police detective with the Garrettsville police department.

Well, well. Someone finally replaced Lee Sharol. Sara Jane won’t like that.

Gideon had not had time to read the information handed him by Carson Greer yet. He’d hoped to have time before meeting this family, except for Silas Faldare.

Grandfather’s in the family room, but he’ll want to talk to you in what he calls his office. Come this way. There was an open doorway into the living room, and off that, in the far corner, a small room. There was a chair in