An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1)

by W. H. Clark

  “Let me tell you about William O’Donnell. He was a kind man. As generous as they come. He gave of his time to the church and he gave to the glory of God. He knew of my work with children and he gave me money to help me support that. The money he gave was used to make a better life for those children. If there was any left over after taking care of the little ones I would donate that to the church and William was happy with that.”

  “Any idea where he was getting the money from?”

  “Never asked. Money’s a private thing for people and I ain’t one to pry. He did work.”

  “Where did he work?”

  “Mr. Newton will tell you. He worked at the elementary school as a janitor.”

  “Five hundred a month’s a lot out of a janitor’s salary. He can’t have earned much.”

  “I never asked a man nor woman what they earn.”

  “But you understand it may appear a little odd that he would be able to give you all that money and he still managed to support himself too. You don’t find that odd?”

  “William lived frugally, Mr. Ward, like a good Christian man. I don’t know any more than that. Can only tell you what I know. And I been open about that.”

  Ward tapped his bottom lip with his pencil. “Yes, you have, ma’am, and I appreciate that. I have just a few more questions if that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine with me. Fire away.”

  “When did the payments start?”

  “A few years after we met. I tried to refuse at first but he was insistent and I figured if it could help the children it was a gift from God hisself and I never refuse that kind of gift.”

  “So that would be, what, twenty years ago, give or take?”

  “Uh huh. Give or take, I suppose.”

  “So that would make it in the region of”—he did the math slowly—“a hundred and twenty thousand dollars total. That’s a heck of a lot of money on a janitor’s salary.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know where he got the money from. That’s the honest truth.” She then reached behind her, twisting uncomfortably on her seat as she retrieved a shoebox from the sideboard. “You might want to see this. It’s William’s belongings from the nursing home.”

  Ward took it from her.

  “In there’s his worldly belongings. Don’t amount to much. A wristwatch he never wore. A penknife. A Bible. Not a great deal else. Apart from his last will and testament.”

  Ward took a pair of gloves from his pocket, dragged them on and pulled out the will. He opened it and read it to himself. He glanced over at Newton and tilted the document so that they could both read.

  “He left everything to you.”

  “Yes, he did. God rest his soul.” And then the tear again rolling down her right cheek. She let this one fall and it wasn’t followed by another.

  “Okay.” Ward let out a sigh. “I will tell you now that we are investigating a homicide here, Mrs. White.”

  “I know that.”

  “And this is potential evidence. Would you mind if we took these belongings for examination?”

  “You take whatever you need. I want you to find the person who took William.” Her smile was still there.

  Ward picked up the Bible and flicked through the pages. As he did so a photograph fell out. It fell to the floor facedown and Ward saw the tiny hole where the pushpin had secured it to the wall behind the picture of Bermuda in O’Donnell’s room at Sunny Glade. A picture the old man kept just for himself. There was writing on the back and Ward read it out aloud. “John 1 20.” He turned the photo over and there, grinning up at the camera, was a small boy. About seven years old. It looked like any other normal happy domestic scene. A little guy standing in front of the TV, frozen for eternity. A single fading and creased memory of a lost life. The photo was old and faded, wrinkled from being handled regularly. Newton’s eyes widened.

  Ward said, “Is this William’s grandson?”

  “Yes, it is,” Alice said after a slight pause, and Newton nodded.

  “John 1:20,” Ward said again, and he flicked through the Bible. He knew where to find John from his childhood. He could even recite John 1:29, the bit about beholding the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. That had been drummed into him at an early age. But he didn’t know what verse 20 said.

  And when he’d read it silently, Ward simply showed it to Newton, who scanned it as though he’d got a terrible itch in his eyes. The first line did it: “‘And he confessed, and denied not.’” Newton spoke the words and looked straight at Alice White, who placed one hand on top of the other on her lap.

  “I know what it says,” Alice said. “And I know what you thinking, Mr. Newton. But you taking that verse out of its true context. The full verse is ‘And he confessed, and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Christ.’ John’s telling us he’s not the Christ. That’s all.” She smiled.

  “That’s the second time O’Donnell’s used that word,” Newton simply said.

  Ward was on the periphery of the moment between Newton and Alice, and he watched the pain in Newton’s eyes and their refusal to accept the smile from Alice’s mouth. He put the photo back into the shoebox and that broke the spell.

  Ward said, “You say you knew William as good as anybody.”

  Alice turned slowly back to Ward, keeping her eyes on Newton as long as she could. She said, “Aside of God, yes.”

  “Do you know if he had any enemies? Do you know of anybody in his life who might want to do him harm?”

  “Sir, no, I don’t. William was a gentle man coming to the end of his days. Who would want to harm a man like that? Who?” She turned to Newton then.

  Ward said, “I don’t know. Maybe someone from his past who decided to even an old score. We don’t know at this stage. But anything you can tell us could help us catch the person responsible. Is there anything you know that might explain why someone would want to harm him?”

  “All’s I know, Mr. Ward, is that there is evil in the world. Way the devil works”—her smile subsided when she said that—“is he confuses. Turns man against man. Ain’t always no reason. Ain’t always no motive. The devil is among us and he had his fingers in this business. That I know for sure.”

  Ward paused and thought for a minute. He looked at Newton and opened the way for him to ask his own questions, but Newton shook his head gently.

  “Well, ma’am. We really appreciate you giving us your time. It’s been a big help.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Ward, Mr. Newton. If there’s anything else I can do to help I’d be more than happy. Please catch the person who did this.”

  “We will, Mrs. White. I promise you.”

  Ward and Newton stood and Ward’s eye was caught by all the photos around the room once more. He looked over them as he made his way to the door, and he flipped open an album which lay on a bookshelf. He gasped.

  “Now they’s my other babies, Mr. Ward.”

  On each page were two or three photos of babies, sleeping peacefully. He flipped the pages and noticed that some were wearing the same clothes. And some of the babies were so small they didn’t look like babies at all but dolls. He turned to Alice but words didn’t come.

  “They is in heaven now, Mr. Ward. Ever’ single one of them carried on the wings of angels to be with the Lord. They come to me to be dressed. Some call me the Baby Dresser for what I do. Gives an opportunity for their parents to spend some time with them before they go on.”

  Ward shook his head gently. “How… how many?”

  “Some hundred or so.”

  Ward flipped pages and was finally stunned into silence. Alice looked at him and he felt a single tear on his cheek. Alice pointed at his face.

  “That’ll be the cold.”

  Ward wiped the tear away and walked to the door. Alice touched his arm as he walked past and her smile dug into him now and pulled at something. He felt as if he knew some secret that she had just passed to him and he felt elation and sadness and wanted to get out o
f the house quickly. Newton was out already, and Ward took his hat from the coat stand while Alice passed him his coat.

  “Come back when you ever want to know more,” she said, and Ward knew that meant something else.

  “I will,” he said. “Thank you, Alice. Thank you.”

  Outside, Newton looked Ward up and down and then got in the car without a word passing between them. The gloom had turned to darkness, and the cold ripped away Ward’s top two layers of clothing and cut into him. He had a feeling of not being there and he shook his head to clear the mist. He flipped open his notepad to try and remember what had just occurred. At the bottom of the last page he had written “Jesus is my savior. Christ is my redeemer” in large capital letters. He glanced at Newton, who sat in the car staring ahead. Ward said, “What the hell?” and climbed into the car, his hands shaking as he grabbed the steering wheel.

  27

  The Alfa pulled into the station parking lot and the headlights lit up two figures by the entrance. Newton recognized one of them right away and said, “What the hell are they doing here?” And Ward knew them to be local press. One photographer and one reporter. The camera flashed immediately as Newton hauled his body out of the car gingerly, his back going into spasm and wringing an anguished look onto his face. He held up his hand as the camera flashed again and again, at him, not Ward.

  “Come on, guys,” Ward said, and Newton lunged forward to knock the camera away as the photographer swerved his swipe.

  The reporter whose name was Larsson said, “Can we have a comment on the Bill O’Donnell homicide case, detective?”

  Newton squared up to him. “Go and nicely fuck yourself.” Larsson shrunk back, apparently fearing one of Newton’s clenched fists connecting with his face.

  “I’m just doing my job. Same as you are. No need for the unpleasantries there.”

  Newton swung into the station and tested the door’s durability as it crashed against the stopper behind it. Ward was two paces back and Larsson made as if to grab his arm but thought better of it. It was enough to make Ward pause, and he looked Larsson in the eye. Larsson offered his hand and Ward waved him away like a shit fly. Then he noticed the card in Larsson’s hand.

  “You want to speak to me,” said Larsson. “You need to speak to me. Take it.”

  Ward stood there and faced up to Larsson.

  “This is not about you,” said Larsson. “This thing goes way back. I guess you already got that. Take the card. Call me.”

  Ward took the card. Larsson smiled like a hyena. Ward tossed the card back at him and walked into the station.

  “You know where to find me,” Larsson shouted after him. “You will want to talk to me. Trust me.”

  “How the hell did they get this? How the hell did they get this?”

  Ward could hear Newton’s voice as he entered the building. McNeely was hunched over her computer and a couple of uniforms hovered around, clearly wishing they had been patrolling somewhere. Newton jabbed his finger at one of them, Poynter. “You?” Poynter shook his head. Newton turned to the other. “You?” The other cop held up his hands in a submissive denial. “Then who in hell leaked this? Anybody want to tell me?”

  McNeely was the only one who spoke after a couple of beats. “They’ve been there a while. Hour or so. Nobody has said a word.”

  And then Newton swayed, resembling a leggy sapling blowing in a strong wind. He grabbed the back of a chair and slumped down on another, just catching enough of his backside on it to stay seated. McNeely jumped up and grabbed his arm to steady him, as his unfocused eyes twitched in their sockets momentarily before they closed.

  Gammond emerged from his office as fast as his pudgy legs could carry him. Ward noticed he wore stacked heels and wanted to laugh despite the current emergency.

  “What the heck in the heavens is going—” He saw Newton. “Get a doctor. Get him some water.”

  “I’m okay. I’m okay,” Newton said windlessly. “If I find that one of you sons of bitches has leaked this thing I will rip your heart out. I will rip your heart out of your chest. You hear me? You hear me?”

  Nobody said a word and Newton closed his eyes again and drew a deep breath.

  The next day’s Westmoreland Echo would run with the headline “Cop in Boy’s Disappearance Case Investigating Murder of Grandfather. Detective Out to Make Amends for Botched Case 25 Years Ago.” Complete with a picture of Newton – no Ward in shot – grimacing at the camera, clearly hurting.

  28

  Cherry smiled a cat-just-fed smile at Ward as he entered the Honey Pie Diner, Jesús on a leash. Jesús kept focused on the ground as Cherry fussed over to him, cooing and gooing while stooping, showing cleavage and knowing that Ward was enjoying the view.

  “My two new BFFs came back. Let me see if I remember this. A coffee for the little guy and a bowl of water for you, sir?”

  “He likes his coffee black,” Ward said, and he waited a while before seating himself. Cherry playfully snatched at his beard and said, “I like this.”

  Ward liked the touch and he settled himself by the window, same table as before, and removed his hat. He let Jesús’s leash drop to the floor. “Might help myself to some pie of some sort if you got some,” he said.

  Bending down he rubbed Jesús’s head and ears, and the little dog seemed to relax. He removed his coat, placing it on the seat next to him. He fished out his notebook and opened it to the last page to check if he had imagined what he had seen earlier. But it was there in his untidy handwriting. “Jesus is my savior. Christ is my redeemer.”

  He wanted to shudder but the diner was too warm for that. He just sat there and shook his head. He tried to fit Alice White into the William O’Donnell case but didn’t know where to put her. Was she a small piece of the jigsaw – a piece of sky in the top right corner? Or did she play a bigger part in this? She had been a nurse in her previous existence. She knew her way around a hypodermic needle. Was she the one to administer the fatal dose to end old William O’Donnell’s life? Had she done the same to Doctor Brookline? Could she have done those things? Why would she?

  Yes, she was the only beneficiary of William O’Donnell’s will, but that didn’t necessarily make someone a suspect. She couldn’t be. Maybe she was helping the old man on his way because he had an incurable disease. But that would’ve shown up on the autopsy, surely. And anyway, she couldn’t be a suspect. She couldn’t be. That phrase kept repeating in his head. She couldn’t be. And Ward also kept hearing “Jesus is my savior. Christ is my redeemer.” At the back of his mind he couldn’t help thinking she had something he needed to know. He just didn’t know what the question was that he needed to ask to unlock that information.

  And then his cell phone rang. It was Newton.

  “Two things,” Newton said. Ward thought he sounded different. More upbeat. “Firstly, I been doing some digging around O’Donnell’s bank account.”

  “Okay.”

  “Statements going back twenty years. Five hundred a month as Alice White said. His salary would have easily covered those payments he made.” Newton went quiet for a few seconds.

  “Okay,” Ward said. He stared at the neon beer sign that adorned the wall over the diner’s counter. “What was the second thing?”

  “What?”

  “The second thing? You said two things.”

  “Oh, yeah. The autopsy on Brookline came back. Death by overdose of morphine. Only, no obvious evidence of foul play. No signs of a struggle. No forensics to speak of. Could be looking at a straightforward OD on that one. Or a suicide.”

  “Don’t you think it’s too similar? Gotta be connected?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I been thinking. Gammond doesn’t want me digging around the Ryan case. He didn’t say anything about you looking at it. How about you take a look? Fresh pair of eyes. I can have the original case materials ready for you in the morning.”

  Ward rubbed his forehead. “I d
on’t know.”

  “There’s a connection. I’m sure of it.”

  Ward said after a spell, “If I take a look, then I do it without Gammond knowing nothing about it. I’m interested. But listen here, Gammond don’t find out. Nobody knows but me and you. I’ll take a look but if it gets back to Gammond I could be looking at a move straight back to San Antonio.”

  “You got it.” And then Newton ended the call and Ward stared at his cell for a moment.

  Jesús let out a noisy yawn as Cherry arrived with his bowl of water and a large slice of apple pie for Ward. “Your pie.”

  Ward smiled at her and said, “Thank you, ma’am.” Now he itched to get his hands on the case notes for the little boy’s disappearance. His hand found a fork and he scooped a piece of pie into his mouth.

  29

  Cherry had her coat on and was turning lights out. Ward was the last customer and was getting ready to leave. He wasn’t sure at first what the low rumble was but then he realized it was Jesús growling and, at the same time he realized that, he saw the man enter the diner. Cherry called, “We’re closed, sorry,” and then she saw the man and her face hardened.

  “Everything okay?” Ward asked.

  “It’s fine,” Cherry said, but Ward could see it wasn’t fine. “You can go.”

  “I’d just as rather wait here if that’s agreeable, ma’am,” Ward said. Cherry didn’t bother to argue but her confidence seemed to drain right away like a wrung sponge as she moved closer to him.

  The man hunched himself up against the cold, his flimsy baseball jacket and cap not offering much insulation. Ward noticed he looked dirty. And thin. The man paused at the door and looked over the diner, and then he briskly walked up to the counter. His eyes were on Ward and Ward returned the stare. The man shrugged and looked at Cherry.

  “This is a private matter,” he said without loosening his gaze on Cherry.

  “S’okay,” Cherry said. “What do you want?”

  “I want some privacy.” And then he turned to Ward. “So if you wouldn’t mind, cowboy.” He waved Ward away.