by W. H. Clark
Gammond stared at Newton for a few beats and then nodded. “Good.”
Newton didn’t mention that he had just seen the boy, grown up.
Gammond seemed to have lost interest and he started to fuss papers around on his desk so Newton concluded that the meeting was over. He rose slowly from his chair, and as he did Gammond’s phone rang. Before Newton could get his brittle body out of the room Gammond said, “Dang shit, we have a situation,” and his face flushed as he stood. “I better go get the captain.”
41
The shellac has dried up in the can. Bill O’Donnell pokes around in the bottom of the can with a stick to loosen the dried-up bits and he adds some paint thinner which has lasted better than the shellac. He stirs and as he does so he casts around for something else he can make use of. An old can of paint, some varnish, some wood preserver. He gathers it up and pours everything into an old tub that once stored flour and he concocts a cocktail of various fluids and the vapors sting his nose and his dried-out throat which feels like it’s lined with tree bark. He realizes he hasn’t drunk or eaten anything for hours and he wonders what the mixture in front of him might taste like. He finds a large paintbrush which has stiffened over time but hasn’t rotted and he goes to work on it to try and soften it up. He scrunches the bristles and taps them on the old stone sink and one or two bristles break off but enough stay in place and then he’s ready.
The boy is still wrapped in the sheet, which is now showing the camouflage grime of the journey. He lifts him and the tiny body is stiff and he’s desperate that it doesn’t crack and shatter into a million parts and crumble to dust and blow away on the breeze that has picked up now.
He cradles him for half a mile through thick undergrowth and he goes up and up above the cabin where he had once lived during a previous lifetime when things were good and things were simple – until his wife died and set him on a journey into civilization and on the road which eventually led to him burying his grandson.
He comes to a small clearing where the tree canopy opens up and is mostly below his feet and the ground has a covering of grass and the hole that he has dug is so small he thinks he will have to make it bigger but when he lays the boy next to it the hole seems so large. He stands there a while and he looks around over the tops of the trees which waltz on the wind. He hears the birds now and their songs trill innocence and he thinks it’s a fitting requiem. He wants to say a prayer but he isn’t sure how to do it so he just speaks the word “sorry”.
He sees in the distance a thin pillar of smoke – five, six, seven miles away and for a moment he thinks he’s being followed but then he realizes what it is. A lightning strike from the previous night has lit the dried-out trunk of a dead pine and a fire is spreading on the wind.
He goes about his work now, tightening the sheet and tying it with the rope in a crisscross pattern. Then he dips the brush into the cocktail he has created and he begins to paint the bundle and he feels light-headed and he puts it down to the fumes.
After he has applied one coat he sits and rests. The dry wind has crusted the tears in the corners of his eyes and he doesn’t cry again and he wonders if he will ever cry again.
He sits for an hour and then he paints on another coat and then he sits for another hour and he begins to feel hungry.
Gently, he lowers the boy into the grave and his hands are sticky with the mummification mixture so he rubs dirt on them and wipes them on the grass. With the spade he starts to cover the body. The dirt and stones thud against the tiny package and gradually the body is covered and the level of the soil rises as the earth swallows the boy until there is a small mound. He pats the mound with the back of the spade and then he stands up and walks away, picking up the tub and brush and making his way back to the cabin, where he leaves them and he leaves the cabin and returns to the boat and rows.
He retraces his journey on foot now and the smoke is no longer a pillar but a cloud and it’s getting closer and he can smell it. He picks up his discarded flashlight on the old lumber track where he left it.
It’s hours later when he reaches his truck and he sits inside it and closes his eyes but sleep doesn’t come. The smoke from the fire spreads through the forest like a creeping fog now and the wind is blowing directly towards him and so he starts up the truck and he drives into the forest and when the forest blocks further entry he turns off the engine and he leaves the truck and he walks away.
He passes cotton wool pockets of thick smoke which have settled in sheltered dips and then he sees the glow of flames ahead like the glow from a huge sodium-vapor street lamp and as he gets closer the late afternoon gets warmer and he hears the voices of firefighters so he turns south and picks his way through thick plantation forest until he reaches another small track. The fire spreads west behind him and the thickening black smoke veils the sun and the sky is dried blood and he thinks that he smells like a resident of Hell.
42
Laurie didn’t look at her mother when she opened the door but just squirted past her and went straight to her room. The bruising on Cherry’s face had changed color and Ward regarded her with pity but she wouldn’t be pitied.
“You okay?” Ward said.
“I’m alive,” Cherry said, and she held his hand but he flinched as she did so. She turned the hand over in hers and a blue tinge stained the swollen knuckles.
“I told you to leave it alone,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Ward’s face was empty and he didn’t say anything.
“I said to leave it alone. Fuck, why did you get involved? I told you. Why? Answer me, why?”
Ward took a half step back as Cherry got in his face.
“You want a gratitude fuck, that it? Here. Take it. It’s what men do, isn’t it? Take what you want. Don’t mind me.” She started to lift her dress and Ward’s hand stopped her. She started to sob.
“He’s lucky,” Ward said after a few moments and then he said, “I gotta go.”
It was Newton who met Ward in the station parking lot and he said, “Go talk to Larsson.”
Ward said, “I didn’t think you two got on.”
Newton said, “We don’t but that don’t make him a bad reporter.”
Ward considered that for a moment and then Newton said, “It was me who tipped him off. I leaked the O’Donnell story.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Why would I do that? I wanted to get some interest back in the Ryan case. I knew Larsson would help me do that.”
“So, that fainting fit. That was a ruse?”
Newton didn’t say anything.
“You been checked over recently?”
Newton waved the question away and said, “There’s something else.”
“What’s going on?” Ward asked.
“There’s been a complaint against you. The captain and lieutenant are waiting inside. Look, speak to Larsson. He knows this case as well as anybody, better than me maybe.”
“I thought you saw the boy?”
“I don’t know what I saw. I just don’t know anymore. Just… none of it adds up. It don’t make sense. Just speak to Larsson. Don’t go causing any big ripples that are going to come back to Gammond. I don’t know where we are with any of it is the truth.” Newton put his hand on Ward’s shoulder but Ward thought he’d done it to steady himself. Ward took a deep breath and prepared himself for the bullshit.
Troy’s injuries were worse than Ward thought. The hospital report, read out to him by Captain Mumford, detailed four broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, a broken nose, three shattered teeth which had to be removed and a perforated eardrum.
“Obviously, there will be an inquiry,” Gammond said. “And obviously, you are suspended until that inquiry is done with. Dang it, son, you can’t go assaulting people willy-nilly like. This ain’t Texas.”
Captain Mumford, a likeable old man despite his fearsome appearance – something about him reminded Ward of his grandfather – never let his eyes wander f
rom Ward.
“What happened?” the captain asked.
Ward said, “Sir, if it sits okay with you, I would rather wait for Internal Affairs.”
Captain Mumford tapped his forefinger on the desk slowly. “I want to help you, son, as much as I can, but if you don’t talk to me there’s not a great deal I can do.”
Ward said, “I appreciate that, sir. Very much.”
“The boy was a dang mess, Ward. Like a butcher’s leftovers,” Lieutenant Gammond said, but Ward just looked at Mumford.
Captain Mumford said, “Lieutenant Gammond will take your badge and weapon and explain the disciplinary procedure in more detail.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ward said.
43
Newton sat in his SUV for a half hour outside his home and tried to empty his mind. He knew she had seen him, had heard the engine ticking over, but she’d left him there and only checked through the blinds once to see who it was.
He opened the door and his wife, Maggie, was cooking dinner. He could smell it. But the smell made his stomach tumble. He tossed his keys into a porcelain bowl by the door and he took his coat off and hung it up. He thought he felt thin.
“Smells nice,” he tried, and she played along.
“Aww, it’s only beef casserole,” Maggie said, and she giggled ticklishly as he swept her red hair to one side and kissed her on her neck.
“You say ‘only’ as though it isn’t going to be the most spectacular culinary experience on this very planet, as it always is.”
“You’re just too kind. I don’t deserve you,” Maggie said, and she turned and looked him in the eyes and tried not to cry but a tear betrayed her. But Newton played along with the game and he ignored the tear.
“My mother said all along that I was too good for you,” Newton said.
“And my father said exactly the same thing, that I was too good for you,” Maggie said, and the other eye sprang a leak. She wiped her eyes with the bottom of her apron and Newton grabbed her and held her close.
“Oh, what have I done to deserve this?” Maggie asked, and she cried and Newton’s body jerked as he wept silently.
“Just hold me, please,” Newton said, and they both sobbed twenty-five years of tears.
“I know it’s happening again. The case of the little boy. All I ask,” Maggie said, “all I’ve ever asked is that you leave something for me. Leave some years for me. For us.” And they sobbed and they hugged and the beef casserole smelled like a fabulous last meal.
Newton had pushed the food around on his plate but had managed to eat some and Maggie didn’t say anything about his appetite. They ate in silence mostly but Newton asked if his son, Phil, had been over today and Maggie said he had and he’d brought some flowers and she’d asked him what the occasion was. Phil had said there didn’t have to be an occasion to buy his mother flowers and Newton nodded agreement at that. Newton asked if Phil was okay, like asking about an old acquaintance, and Maggie said that he was and was looking at a promotion soon.
His cell phone rang and he looked at the clock as he answered. It was McNeely.
“Sir, I’ve got something,” she said.
“What is it? Did you lift some prints from the light pole?”
“I did and… well, it’s interesting,” McNeely said.
“Go on.”
“I ran them through the database and there were no hits.”
Newton sank into his chair.
“But then I checked them against the latents from the old man’s windowsill. And we got a match. This is our guy,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Hell, yeah. One hundred percent.”
Newton hung up the phone. He ate a large forkful of food. The man he thought was Ryan Novak was the person who had left numerous prints on the windowsill of Bill O’Donnell’s room. He had visited the old man, his grandfather, on more than one occasion judging by the number of prints. And he’d come in through the window. But Newton doubted that he had killed him. And anyway, how could a dead boy kill anyone? None of it made any sense to Newton. None of anything made any sense at the moment. He heard the knock on the door but he was swimming in his own thoughts until Mallory broke the trance.
“I let myself in.”
“Percy, you don’t need to say that every time you come over,” Maggie said. “You are too polite sometimes.”
Mallory smiled. “I forgot to stamp my feet and take off my boots,” he said.
“Ain’t too late,” Maggie said. Mallory turned to leave the room and Maggie called him back. “You’re in now. Just wipe them on that rug there.”
“Hey, Dad,” Mallory called over to Newton with a passing glance. Newton nodded. “Say, something smells nice.”
“We just ate. There’s a little left in the pot but I’m not sure Jen will appreciate me filling you up.”
“Aww, I don’t want to cause a fight.”
“I’ll get you a small plate,” Maggie said, and she stood. Mallory sat at the table and shrugged his coat off over the back of the chair. He blew on his hands.
“Winter’s a cold one,” Mallory said.
“Ain’t it just,” Maggie said.
“What brings you over?” Newton said.
“I was passing.”
Maggie brought the small plate of food and cutlery to the table. She took away the other plates. Mallory put his arm around his plate and shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth.
Newton watched him closely as he had watched him when he knew him as Percy, the little boy who had been a constant reminder of Ryan Novak. Jen had been in his thrall like their other school friends. The young Percy had become a school celebrity, a macabre link to the missing boy, and for a while that celebrity gave him head table status when the kids picked their play friends. When Jen had first brought him home to play, Newton had voiced concern to Maggie. There was something odd about the boy, Newton had said, and Maggie had said he was being unkind.
“He’s a child and Lord knows he’s gone through a lot with this whole tragic business,” Maggie said. “Let them play. Innocence don’t last a whole long time, the speed they grow up these days. It’ll do the boy good to have a friend like Jen.”
Newton lost the argument and saw the boy and his daughter growing closer as they passed into their teens and by the time he realized they were officially dating he had a sit-down chat with young Percy to warn him he must be a gentleman at all times. Percy was the most polite boy Newton had met. Always said “sir” and “ma’am” and Maggie seemed to like that and she was fond of Percy, Newton could see that. So he let it play out, expecting Jen to start seeing other boys one day. As soon as Percy became Officer Mallory the engagement was announced and Newton accepted the situation with grace. Mallory had, of course, asked Newton for Jen’s hand in marriage and how could he say no? He’d let Mallory in and now Mallory just let himself in.
“Say, how’s the investigation?” Mallory asked Newton through a mouthful of food.
“Not my investigation,” Newton said.
“Okay,” Mallory said. “You think it’ll get wrapped up before you retire?”
Newton didn’t say anything.
“Station won’t be the same without you.”
“It’ll survive.”
“Not sure the new guy will. He’s a fancy so and so ain’t he.”
Newton didn’t mention that Ward had a charge hanging over him. Mallory had run out of food and run out of words and he just sat there at the table like a nervous teenager waiting for his date to sweep down the stairs in her prom dress.
44
When Ward walked into the Honey Pie with Jesús he caught Cherry’s eye but she turned away. The place was only a quarter busy and he hovered at the counter for a few minutes before Cherry acknowledged him.
“What can I get you?” she said.
“You okay?”
“What can I get you?” Her battered face was fixed hard.
“Ma’am, I will take a beer,” Wa
rd said, and he removed his hat and placed it on the counter.
“And a bowl of water?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cherry went out back and returned with a bowl of water, which she placed in front of Jesús and he started to slop at it with his tongue. She snatched the top off a bottle of beer and thunked it on the counter so that froth came spilling out of the top. Ward picked up the bottle and took a long drink. Cherry hung around and watched him drink.
“Hand looks hurtful,” she said.
“Hurts plenty,” Ward said.
“I ain’t thanking you.”
“Don’t want no thanks.”
Cherry looked like she wanted to swing at Ward and looked broken at the same time.
“Why’d you come back here?” she said.
“Dog likes the water,” Ward said, and he saw a softening in Cherry.
“It’s not good for business,” Cherry said after a few moments.
Ward said, “What isn’t?”
“This,” Cherry said, gesturing at her face. “It’s scaring people off, putting them off their food. Takings are down.” She winced and put her hand up to her busted lip. “So what do you do now?”
“Well, Troy made a complaint against me and there will be an investigation,” Ward said.
“Will you get into trouble?”
Ward shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. It’s his word against mine.”
“Weren’t there any witnesses?” Cherry asked.
“I guess so, but would you take the word of an addict or a whore over the word of a cop? I’ll be okay. Just a bit of inconvenience is all.”
“You better hope you’re right.”
Ward touched her arm and she pulled it away. “I would do it again.”
Cherry said, “I know you would and that’s what worries me.”
“Don’t fret about me,” Ward said. “I can just about take care of myself.”
