The Hay Fort

by Judith Ann McDowell

  “For some odd reason, I don’t feel this is going to be a slam dunk,” Jenkins said, walking around to get in the car.

  Chapter Twenty

  Roberts and Jenkins sat at Sam’s desk as they went over all the papers found at the mansion.

  “There are going to be a lot of unhappy people in this county when this case goes to court.”

  “Why’s that?” Jenkins flipped the page he had just read face down on the growing stack he had off to the side.

  “Like I mentioned earlier at the mansion, she wrote down every name of every girl she did an abortion on. You can be sure there are a lot of parents who have no idea their little girl underwent an abortion.”

  Jenkins sat back in his chair. “It’s times like this I wish we could just tear up some of the evidence.” He pulled over the cup of black coffee he had in front of him on the desk. “Those girls are probably still reliving that nightmare. I bet a lot of them are married now with kids, and their husbands have no clue about what they did when they were running around scared shitless about what to do.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt you’re right.”

  “Oh my good God,” Jenkins whispered, not wanting to believe what he was seeing.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “One of the names on this list is Fran Carter.”

  Sam rolled the name around in his mind. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Her married name is Reesher.”

  “Is she a friend of yours?”

  “We went to school together. And we dated in high school.” He nervously ran his finger across the page until he came to the date.

  Sam glanced at him noting the sick look on his face. “What is it?”

  “According to the date listed on her abortion, that baby could very well have been mine.”

  “Oh shit,” he whispered, not knowing how else to respond.

  “Yeah, oh shit is right.” He walked over to the window to stand for a moment looking out at the people walking by. Then with a low curse, he jerked the window upward, needing to feel the cool air blowing in on his face. Breathing deeply, he turned as the phone rang.

  “Sheriff Roberts speaking.”

  “Hello, Sam. This is Father Jon Hannity. I was wondering if I could ask you to come to the rectory later this afternoon. I need to talk with you about a matter I’m not comfortable talking about on the phone.”

  Knowing Father Hannity to be someone who had always been straight up, he was anxious to help out in any way he could.

  “Of course, Father, say about 3 o’clock?”

  “Thanks, my friend. I appreciate it.”

  “Hmmm, wonder what all this is about?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “That was Father Hannity, my parish priest. He wants to talk with me about something.” He sat back down and propped his feet up on the desk. “This has been one hell of a day.”

  ***

  Hannity hung up the phone, glancing up as Mrs. Allen pushed open the door to carry in a tray with a pot of tea and some sweet rolls.

  “Thought you could use some nourishment, Father. You know you haven’t been eating like you should here of late and I feel that’s my fault.”

  “Don’t be taking on guilt you’re not entitled to, my dear. My eating habits are my problem, not yours.”

  “Well all the same,” she sat the tray down on a small table, and lifting a white porcelain tea pot, poured a cup of hot tea, placing both tea and rolls on the desk before him. “I’m going to make sure there is plenty of nourishment made available to you.”

  “I have someone coming to the rectory at 3 o'clock, Mrs. Allen, and I know I can depend on you to see we are not disturbed.”

  “I will see to it. However, I will be sure to have a fresh pot of tea and rolls ready and waiting for your guest. As your housekeeper, I would be remiss in my manners if I let you entertain without refreshments.”

  “That will be fine. And, Mrs. Allen,” he waited until she turned back to him, “don’t think I don’t appreciate all you do for me.”

  The bright smile lighting up her pretty middle-aged face told him his compliment was well taken.

  At precisely 3 o'clock, the buzzer sounded at the front door of the rectory. Within moments, he saw Roberts walking toward him into the spacious living room.

  He got up to welcome his long-time friend, breathing a sigh of relief that he had someone he could depend on to talk with.

  “It’s good to see you, Sam and thank you for coming.” His grip on the other man’s hand was strong yet friendly.

  “Visiting with you, is always a pleasure, Father. You know that.” Sam settled himself into an overstuffed chair, welcoming the smell and warmth of a crackling fire in the small brick fireplace.

  “Sam, the reason I asked you to come here today is to talk with you about something that happened some time back, and I have reason to believe it may be rearing its ugly head again.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It is, Sam. Believe me, it is.” He got up from his chair to walk over to the desk where he lifted a pipe from the holder and began filling it with tobacco.

  Sam watched him trying not to let the uneasy feeling he was beginning to have get a grip on him.

  Father Hannity held a lit match to the bowl of the pipe, and when he was sure it would stay lit, shook out the match to drop it in the ashtray. As though he wanted to prolong what he was going to divulge, he lingered a moment before walking back to take a seat before the hearth.

  “Sam, are you familiar with a family by the name of Reesher?”

  “No, I’m not but this is the second time today I’ve heard the name. That is if we’re talking about a lady named Fran Reesher and her husband Eddie?”

  “We are.”

  “What about them?”

  “What I’m going to tell you is something I really shouldn’t be sharing but I think it needs to be shared with someone who might be able to stop a terrible injustice.”

  Sam simply nodded then waited quietly.

  “As I said, this happened some time back. The Reeshers came to the rectory one afternoon asking me for help. They aren’t catholic, and at first I thought it a little odd that they would seek out the help of a clergyman not of their own faith.”

  “You would think they would go to a pastor of their own church. Unless, they aren’t church-going people.”

  “They weren’t at that time, but after all that happened, they’ve since converted to Catholicism.” He leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the ottoman as though settling in for a long siege.

  “Fran and Eddie came to ask my help in ridding their home of a demon.”

  Sam had just lifted a cup of tea the housekeeper had poured for him and he almost dropped both cup and saucer. “Were they serious?”

  “Very much so. Fran was so shaken, I really worried that her health was in jeopardy. Eddie, who was a paramedic at the time, said that the hauntings had begun after he had been involved with a young girl who had had an illegal abortion and almost died. He had been at the hospital when she was brought in hemorrhaging from a perforated uterus. Of course, the police were called and they sent a detective to question the girl.”

  “I recall that case. She wouldn’t tell who had performed the abortion.”

  “She wouldn’t tell the detective who performed the abortion, but she told Eddie.”

  “Funny, he never told anyone in the department he had been able to get any information out of her.”

  “That’s because the information sounded so farfetched he was most likely afraid of being thought of as a fool.”

  “Oh, now I have to hear this.” Sam set his cup and saucer down on the end-table. “Who did she blame, the proverbial coat hanger?”

  “No, she didn’t do the abortion herself. She had it done. And the one she named was the old lady at the Prescott Mansion.”

  “She actually named the old lady and he didn’t report this to the authorities? H
e knew better than to keep something that important to himself. He was a paramedic for Christ’s sake! They are supposed to report something like that!”

  “She said it was the old lady who did the abortion, but that if she lived, she’d never stand up in court and swear to that.”

  “Was she afraid the old lady would come after her if she testified?”

  She said the woman wasn’t the one she was afraid of. The one she was sure would kill her was someone called The Man in Black.”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “A demon.”

  “She actually told Eddie Reesher that a demon called The Man in Black would kill her if she talked about him. I think I’m getting an inkling of why he didn’t report his findings. Well, all I can say is she must have been on some heavy drugs. Either that or she was still woozy from the gas used in surgery.”

  “You don’t believe that demons exist do you, Sam?” Hannity poured them both more tea, then opened the door on the end-table to withdraw a bottle of Irish Whisky and poured a dollop in each cup.

  “No, Father I don’t. I know the church does, but I just can’t wrap my mind around something that has the power to destroy a child of God.”

  “Although I’m happy to hear your faith is this strong, evil does exist, my friend.”

  “Tell me about what happened to Fran and Eddie Reesher.”

  “When the girl confided in Eddie about the Man in Black, he came after Eddie and Fran. He tormented them nonstop. Making them see shadows moving in the house. Loud thumping and voices calling their names until Fran began to sink into a deep depression. Crying all the time and not wanting to leave the house.”

  “Didn’t Eddie take her to get help?”

  “The doctor diagnosed her as depression and put her on some medication. The medication only made her worse. All she did was sit and stare off into the distance. Then it really got bad.”

  “How the hell could it get any worse?” Roberts sat forward in his chair, unable to stop listening in case he heard something that might be illegal.

  “A horrible stench arose in the house. Eddie said that he looked everywhere to find where it was coming from. He couldn’t come up with what it was. He even had an exterminator come out in case mice or rats had somehow gotten into the walls and died. They found nothing. Then one morning, while he was sitting watching TV, Fran just keeled over with a massive stroke. She was in the hospital for weeks.”

  “Good God, those poor people," Sam said, lifting the cup of tea to his mouth in an attempt to wet his dry throat.

  “Eddie came here asking me to perform an exorcism. I got permission from the bishop, and with two other priests, we went over to the house.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Yes, but it took almost twenty-four hours of prayers and casting out of demons. You see, when a house or a person is possessed, it is usually not just one demon but a legend of demons at work.”

  “And this all happened because Eddie heard about The Man in Black?”

  “That is what Eddie believed brought it all on. He said neither he nor Fran had ever had anything to do with any goings on at the Prescott Mansion.”

  Sam felt his heart begin to pound in his chest so strongly he couldn’t catch his breath, and for the first time in his life, he was afraid he was having a panic attack.

  At that moment, Father Hannity glanced over at him and quickly got to his feet to pour a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on a small cart.

  “Are you all right, Sam? Take a sip of water maybe that will make you feel better.”

  Sam took the glass of water, and after a few drinks, felt his heart settle down and his breath return to a normal rhythm.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you.” Father Hannity kept rubbing a hand up and down Sam’s back in an attempt to calm him. “I forget that not everyone can take hearing stories of the evil side of this world.”

  Breathing deeply for a few moments, he felt himself becoming calmer. “Father Hannity, that wasn’t what threw me into a tailspin. It was remembering something I heard that did it. Now, I am going to tell you something, and believe me, if I didn’t think it was important that you hear what I have to say, you can rest assured you would not be hearing private police business.”

  “What is it?” Hannity sat down in the chair, not trusting his legs to support him.

  “I just found out that when Fran Reesher was a young girl she had an abortion, and it was performed in the Prescott Mansion.”

  “Then maybe Eddie’s involvement with the girl at the hospital wasn’t the sole reason for the haunting. The demon knew what she had done and worked on her guilt until she was thrown into a depression. Add to that, the mind altering medication the doctor put her on, which makes the mind weak and vulnerable, and you have the perfect ingredients for a stroke.”

  “Okay, I have to ask. Why did you feel the need to tell me about all this? I mean…I’m sorry all this happened to someone in the county, but I don’t see what it has to do with me or the department.”

  “The reason I called you here is to tell you I’m afraid it is all happening again. Two boys came to me the other day to ask my help in sending children, whose spirits they believe are trapped at the Prescott Mansion, home to the light.”

  “What are the names of the boys?”

  “Coby. Willie and Butch Coby.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  While Father Hannity related the story, he had heard from the two teenagers, Sam sat quietly before the hearth, giving him his full attention.

  “I tried to explain that I can’t go on the property without the owner’s permission. When I said this, Willie Coby got all upset, called me a yellow coward who couldn’t spare time for kids who really needed me.”

  “Sounds like a spunky little fellow.”

  “Yes, he is and the more I think about it, he’s also a caring little fellow. I guess I’ll try and contact the owner and see if she will be all right with my doing a blessing on the house and property, and while I’m there, try and send those children to the Holy Light of Home.”

  “Don’t bother. I can take you to the house to do what you need to do. The old lady who owns the house was murdered sometime early this morning, so there is no one left to give you permission.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Sheriff, the Lancing brothers were just brought in. Did you want to talk with them, or do you want one of the detectives to question them?” a deputy asked, sticking his head in the door.

  “Go ahead and put them in one of the interrogation rooms. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said and punched in some numbers on the phone.

  Todd Jenkins was walking out the door when he heard the phone ring and he turned back. “Jenkins.”

  “Yeah, Todd, the Lancing brothers were just brought in, I thought you might like to join me in questioning them.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Roberts and Jenkins sat outside the interrogation room, watching them through the two-way mirror.

  “What do we know about these two?” Jenkins said.

  “Joe’s the good brother. Harry’s the bad seed.”

  “Let’s go find out if they know anything about a murder.”

  Only Joe looked up as the two officers walked into the room.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Sheriff Sam Roberts and this is Detective Jenkins. I’m sure you both know why you’ve been brought in for questioning.”

  “I sure don’t know why we’ve been brought in. All we’ve been told is we’re being brought in to answer some questions about a murder,” Harry Lancing said.

  “Joe is that how you feel? Completely in the dark as to why you’re here?”

  “I know there’s no reason for my being here. I sure haven’t done any murder.”

  “Do either of you know the owner of the Prescott Mansion?”

  Harry began to fidget. “Yeah, I know her. She paid me to grocery shop for her and get things she needed.”
<
br />   Jenkins looked at Joe.

  “I never met the woman. I just know about her because of Harry being involved with helping her.”

  “Why you asking about her? There shouldn’t be any reason for her to have any complaints.” Harry scratched a quick hand through his dark hair and pulled the neck of his white t-shirt away from his throat.

  “As I told you, we were told we were being brought in for questioning about a murder. Who was murdered that would involve us?” Joe asked.

  “The owner of the Prescott Mansion was murdered sometime early this morning.”

  “Whoa!” Harry jumped to his feet. “You ain’t pinning no goddamn murder on me, mother fucker! All I did was bring her shit and get my money!”

  “Can you account for your whereabouts Tuesday night at say…10 P.M. until just before you were brought in here today?”

  “Okay, okay hold on a fucking minute,” Harry said, looking up to the ceiling as he collected his thoughts. “Tuesday night I was at the bar, drunk, after eating at Joe’s house. Yesterday I went shopping for the old bitch and then took it to her.”

  “Did you go in the house with the supplies?” Jenkins asked.

  “No, it wasn’t raining too bad, so I just put it in the boat for her and covered it up with a tarp like I usually do. After that, Joe and me did a little fishing, then we left to go home.”

  “Now, Harry, when you say you did her shopping and then delivered the groceries to her, what supplies are you talking about? Give me an idea of what she ordered,” Roberts said.

  “Just the usual things people eat and drink: milk, bread, soup and crackers…you know the usual shit.”

  “How about liquor? Did she drink?”

  “I guess sometimes she drank. She had me bring a bottle of brandy in this order.”

  Roberts nodded, recalling the open bottle of brandy they found sitting on the table.

  “Did she use any drugs?” Jenkins watched him to see his reaction.

  “Aw, man, come on. What kind of question is that?”

  “You know, Harry, sometimes when a person is brought in for questioning they’re asked to take a polygraph test. If the paleographer asks you if you brought any drugs, and you answer ‘no’ when you should have said ‘yes,’ it will show up as a deception on the graph.”