by W. H. Clark
“Only one entrance and this is it. Back door is locked off from the outside in. It’s an emergency exit only.”
“So how’d he get in?” Newton was trying not to sound too interrogatory and he smiled to reinforce that.
“I guess he walked in,” Jackie’s smile was a distant memory now.
“But you would’ve seen him, no?”
Jackie pulled herself upright and said quietly, “You know, I have to take restroom breaks.”
“Of course you do. That’s fine. Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong. Like I said, I just need to double-check everything just to get this thing right in my own head,” Newton said, and he turned the book back around and pushed it back to Jackie. “I’ll just go take a look at the room now.”
“Go ahead,” Jackie said, and then Grainger, the manager, appeared.
“Detective,” he said. “The other detective asked me to do a full inventory of the pharmacy. I got that in back if you can wait.”
Newton nodded and Grainger went into a door behind the reception which led to an office. He emerged with a few sheets of paper with a computer printout showing names of drugs Newton had never heard of but suspected he would in a few years’ time.
“This is the full list and I did a check against what we dispensed and everything tallies. Yes, sir. Nothing missing.”
“That’s great, thanks. Am I okay to take this?”
“That’s your copy. Yes, sir,” Grainger said. Newton took the report from Grainger and turned to go.
“Say, I don’t suppose we can take down that tape on the door? You know something like that can get the other residents a little jittery. If that’s okay. I don’t want to—”
“Of course, I’ll take care of that,” Newton said, and this time he left Grainger and Jackie, who looked ready for a restroom break. He heard Grainger say “Yes, sir” behind him as he strode down the corridor and a ripple of music tumbled towards him from one of the recreation rooms and it sounded like something from the 1950s. Nostalgia was keeping these old people alive. Newton wondered if there was any part of his life that he’d feel nostalgic about.
He tore down the tape from outside the door and stepped in, pausing in the doorway. The room was untouched since he had last been there. The picture of Bermuda had been taken away as evidence, though what relevance it might have Newton couldn’t figure out. McNeely was thorough. The bed was still ruffled from where someone had sat and Newton sat there now and as he did he stretched his back and he felt a twinge but not really pain, just a tightness. Progress, he thought, and at once he didn’t feel so bad.
He looked around and took in everything and didn’t see anything. He stood and went over to the window and looked down at the sill where McNeely had taken the latent prints. He looked beyond that into the grounds and wondered how tall someone would have to be to get in that window. He decided he couldn’t see and so he left the room and tossed the police tape behind him.
Outside the building he picked his way around a narrow footpath, not designed for residents but for the gardener to tend his plants. His head reached just above the bottom of each window and he knew that whoever entered the old man’s room was tall or very agile. That seemed to rule out James Kenny. He had no need to clamber through windows anyway as he had a free pass to the place. They hadn’t gone as far as taking elimination prints yet. Newton thought Ward might insist on that soon though and piss Kenny off even more.
He turned around and was about to make his way back when he saw the man at the top of a small incline which was landscaped with grass and rose beds. The man wore something that had a hood and Newton started to walk towards him and the man started to walk away. Newton picked up his pace and so too did the hooded figure and by the time Newton started to run the man had already made his move.
Newton knew there was a wall in the direction the man was running and he lengthened his stride to try to catch him before he could make it over the wall. And then the man slipped on the moist grass, which had a fresh covering of ice crystals, and Newton again tried to lengthen his stride. As he did so he gulped in cold air which seemed to burn his chest and each lungful of air was harder to grab than the next and he felt the lactic acid building in his legs.
But he pushed on and he was now only a few yards short of the man as the man picked himself off the ground, leaving a large divot of grass behind where his boots had gained purchase. And then the man was off again, and he started to pull away from Newton as the wall got closer. A pain started to form in Newton’s chest and seemed to spiral around inside his ribs before settling into a searing stab just beneath his breast bone. He momentarily pulled up and the air in his lungs seemed to catch there. He couldn’t exhale and suddenly adrenaline took its own stab at his heart and the air rushed out of him and he took another few short gulps of air and the pain receded.
And then he set off again but by now the man was at the wall, where he paused and looked back at Newton. He pulled down his hood and revealed the ghost of Ryan Novak. Newton stopped dead and just stared and blinked heavily twice to clear his eyes as the cold air swirled around him and scratched at his cheeks, which were turning redder. He wanted to say something but he couldn’t find the breath to make the words. His chest heaved and ached and he thought he saw the man who looked like Ryan Novak take a step towards him. Newton rested his hands on his knees and wondered if he would fall over as his head felt like it was filled with helium.
When the man turned and climbed carefully over the wall Newton didn’t move and didn’t speak. He stared at the wall and wanted to cry out, but the cry was inside him and it rattled around his heart, and then he did slump down untidily and sat on the damp grass. The slope of the grass bank, coupled with gravity, forced him to lie down, and he looked up at the ice crystals, which continued to fall, millions of them, each catching the glow coming from the security lights that shone over the grounds of Sunny Glade. And then Newton realized that the man had held on to one of the light poles to help himself over the wall. He called McNeely. There must be prints on it.
Ward was driving but he still didn’t feel good. He had the passenger window half-down and the freezing wind circled his head. His head had started to clear a little and the pain in his temples had subsided. But he felt very tired and his bones were lead-lined.
He had received a call from Cherry. She had asked if he would go pick up Laurie from Troy’s parents’ home in Bozeman. Didn’t know who else to ask. He had immediately said yes. Cherry especially didn’t want Troy’s father to see her in the state she was in and Ward agreed that was probably wise. But the mention of Troy poured on the weariness and made him wince at the pain in his swollen knuckle, which he looked at now as he drove.
He rolled down the window on his side of the car and tried to stick his damaged right hand out of it but couldn’t quite reach across himself to do it, and then the cold was too much for him and he rolled both windows back up. Speeding cars passed him every now and then and disappeared into the distance. A salt truck overtook him slowly and rock salt pattered damagingly against his car but he was too weary to curse.
His cell phone rang and he slowed a little and answered it. Newton still sounded short of breath and Ward was concerned about his shaky voice but said nothing.
“I have just seen someone who may be important to both cases,” breathed Newton.
“Go on,” Ward said.
“I saw him before back at the doctor’s house but I didn’t say anything then. I gotta tell you I thought I was seeing a ghost but I just seen him again.”
“Who? Who did you see?” Ward asked and he realized he had pulled over.
“Ryan Novak.”
Ward didn’t answer at first because he thought he had misheard. Before he could ask Newton to repeat what he had said Newton had already repeated the name.
“I don’t understand,” Ward said.
“Neither do I, but I saw him just now and I saw him back there too.”
“D
id you talk to him?”
“He ran,” Newton said. “He ran but then he stopped and he looked at me and it was him.”
“Hold on. Let me think.” Ward put the wounded knuckle to his lips and blew on it to cool it.
“Ain’t nothing to think about, Ward. Ryan Novak was right there in front of me. Could tell he was an O’Donnell by his features.”
“But you could be mistaken. It was twenty-five years ago. How could you be sure?”
“I know.”
“So there is no Ryan Novak murder investigation no more, that what you’re telling me? The kid’s still alive and well?”
Newton was silent for a moment and then he said, “I don’t know. I just don’t know what the hell to think right now. My ass is soaking wet and I fell over and I feel old again, Ward. I feel old.”
38
Alice White heard a noise and she stopped reading. She listened carefully and all was quiet. And then the noise again. A tapping on a window. She put down the newspaper and levered herself off her chair. She paused to let the strength come back into her gone-to-sleep legs. She hobbled over to the living room door and then the tapping came again from the kitchen. She turned on the hall light and shuffled to the back of the house. When she entered the kitchen she could see a figure beyond the door that led into the kitchen. She flicked on the light.
“Is that you?” Alice called. She fiddled with the key in the lock and then opened the door. The man stood there freezing.
“Yes, it’s me, Ma,” the man said, and he pulled down his hood and clapped his hands together to get some blood running through them. His face was a compendium of turmoil.
“Everything all right?” Alice asked.
“He saw me, Ma,” he said.
“Who saw you?”
“The policeman. The old policeman. I was up at the old people place and…”
Alice stared into the space at the side of the man and her eyes lingered there for a few seconds and then she looked back at him.
“Well, what’s done is done. Did he recognize you?” Alice asked, and she held his hand and frowned at how cold it was and then she rubbed it.
“He maybe… I think so,” the man said, and then, “Did I do something wrong, Ma? Do I need to go away?”
“No, no, of course not. The Lord showed you to him and this is all part of His plan.” She took his other hand and started to rub that one. “You’re cold as death. Come on, let’s warm you up.”
39
The Bozeman residence of Troy’s parents was prairie Victorian style with an acre of impeccably landscaped garden which was tidy even though it was winter ravaged. A huge storage shed sat at the edge of the garden and a raised gazebo sat center stage, waiting to be used again come springtime.
The snowy mountain peaks loomed behind the house, their white tops obscured by sunken sky. Aged snow still lurked in corners of the garden, hardened to white icy crusts. When Ward stepped out of his car his breath seemed to freeze as it came out and he figured it was probably five degrees colder here. His hand throbbed. Troy’s father Joe opened the door before Ward got there and he called out to Ward.
“What’s your business before you come any further there?”
“I’m Ward. Come to pick up Laurie, sir. Cherry called?”
“You’re a cop,” Joe said, and Ward wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question but he automatically pulled out his badge and held it up for Troy’s father to see.
“I don’t need to see your badge. Cherry’s say-so is good enough for me. Are you going to come in?”
Ward said, “Yes, sir, please,” and he saw Laurie twitching a curtain and he smiled at her. She disappeared and when Ward entered the house she was there, standing behind Troy’s mom, Dorothy.
“What did the son of a bitch do this time? That’s why you’re here.”
Ward looked at little Laurie and wasn’t sure how to proceed. He just said, “Aw, she had a fall and—”
“Bullshit,” Joe said.
“Joseph,” Dorothy said. “No need to curse.”
“I’ll curse. She’s heard it before,” Joe said.
“From you, mainly,” Dorothy said.
“He beat her up?” Joe said to Ward.
Again, with Laurie standing there Ward wasn’t sure what to say. So he didn’t say anything.
“She already knows what a son of a bitch her father is.”
“Joseph,” Dorothy said again and Joe relented.
“Come in, Ward. You got a first name?”
“Ward will do, I reckon,” Ward said. “It’s what everybody calls me.”
The house was spacious and extremely tidy and Ward liked that. The entrance hall was clad with wood from floor to ceiling. Ward was led into the large living room, which displayed various hunting artifacts and an elk’s head on the wall. They all sat except Laurie, who stood behind her grandfather’s chair.
“You like to hunt?” Joe asked.
“I used to like it some.”
“What did you hunt?”
“Well, sir, I would hunt deer and hog mostly and the occasional turkey,” Ward said, and he detected a thawing in Troy’s father’s demeanor. “I fished too.”
“You a good shot?”
“I would say so, sir. Better with a rifle than a fishing pole.”
“You done military service?” Joe said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you serve?”
“I did tours of Iraq and Afghanistan,” Ward said, and his face darkened at the mention of that.
“Army? Marine?”
“I was Infantry, sir. Sniper.”
“Kills?” Joe asked, and Ward took a deep breath.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” Joe said, and this time Dorothy just frowned an ‘I give up’ frown. “Sniper knows how many men he’s killed. You guys keep a tally. Had one friend was a sniper and he kept a book. Described every single kill in detail.”
“It’s not something I usually discuss,” Ward said, and Joe’s eyes seemed to twinkle above a faint smile but he let it go.
“I was in the Marine Corps myself. Would have still been if I hadn’t have been retired off. I could still do a job out in Afghanistan.”
Ward nodded respectfully.
“You want to see my guns?” Joe asked, and Ward didn’t feel he could refuse.
Ward said goodbye to Dorothy as she fastened up Laurie’s coat and Laurie stood patiently and quietly without a hint of a fidget.
Dorothy said, “He’s still my son, you know.”
Ward fixed his hat in place. “I know.”
All fastened up, Laurie grabbed the handle of her miniature pink suitcase and took hold of Ward’s left hand. At the door Troy’s father held out his right hand to shake Ward’s and Ward offered it without thinking. He almost cried out in pain under Joe’s grip and his knees buckled slightly. Joe let go quickly and he stepped back and his eyes lingered on Ward’s. He slowly nodded his head at Ward and Ward turned and walked to his car, hand in hand with Laurie, his right hand throbbing and suddenly very hot, and tears freezing in the corners of his eyes.
40
Lieutenant Gammond wasn’t observant for a cop. Newton had always felt he’d been lucky to rise up the ranks as he did and he found it hard to give him his respect. A feeling at the back of his mind scratched away from time to time and told Newton that Gammond had stolen his job. But he lived with it. The failure twenty-five years ago had thrown a spike strip under Newton’s career, or that’s how he saw it anyway.
But Gammond didn’t see the anguish on Newton’s face as he entered his office. He merely waved a hand and gestured towards the chair on the other side of his desk. Newton sat down instead on a chair on the other side of the room, by the door. Ordinarily Newton wouldn’t have sat but he did this time. Something else that an observant cop would’ve picked up on. In fact, he didn’t sit, he slumped. Gammond waved his hand again and Newton understood it to mean he wanted the doo
r closed so he leaned to his left and shoved the door and it latched gently.
“Bring me up to speed on the O’Donnell case,” Gammond said, and for a moment Newton was back in 1985 and heavy-lidded eyes cast up at Gammond and he was confused. He expected to see Lieutenant Carson sitting there, his bald head nodding too readily in that way it did as he listened intently to Newton’s excuses for not finding the boy. Not getting close to a satisfactory resolution. Newton scratched his head briskly and looked around the office to get his bearings and suddenly he raced across twenty-five years and was back in the room.
“You want me to send Ward in when he gets back?”
“No, I want you to tell me.”
“Progress is slow” is all Newton managed and Gammond nodded and Newton again thought of Lieutenant Carson.
“Any suspects?” Gammond said.
“Nobody of any great interest,” Newton said, and he fished out his pain relief medication bottle but there was only one pill left. He threw it back and swallowed.
“You spoke to James Kenny.”
“Right,” Newton said as the pill went down slowly.
“He a suspect?”
“No.”
“Said you had him cornered up there at the school and you did interrogate him some.”
“Wasn’t much of an interrogation if that’s what he’s told you.”
“What’s the angle there? Any?”
“Simply that he owns the nursing home. It was just procedural stuff, you know.”
Carson nodded vigorously and Newton wanted to grab him and shake his stupid head off and then he realized it wasn’t Carson at all but Gammond.
Gammond said, “Okay, good, right, well, let’s try and wrap this up quickly as possible.”
And Newton thought he might get a pat on the head, “good dog”, and tossed a biscuit.
“And the other case. The boy.”
Newton was going to say Ward had that but he snatched his words back just in time. “We’re not looking at that.”
