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

by W. H. Clark

  “I got all the time in the world.” He drew himself up in his chair and tried for a resilient look. “We’re getting closer anyways.”

  Gammond’s calm expression threatened to crack like old paint but his voice remained quiet and full of concern. “You’re getting old, Adam. You know you don’t have nothing to prove. Not to me, not to nobody. Heck, I’m getting old myself.”

  Newton didn’t say anything more.

  Gammond said, “Internal Affairs going to be here tomorrow. For Ward.”

  Newton nodded. Gammond hung around for a spell and then retreated.

  58

  He still thought she looked beautiful even with her bruised face. Cherry was as busy as ever, taking orders from customers who tried not to look as if they were staring and wondering where she got those big purple trophies. Her confidence had returned a little and she seemed to enjoy the intrigue she was creating. She was wrong about one thing. It hadn’t damaged her business. The place was busier than Ward had seen it.

  She saw him walk in and her face brightened and a smile nearly broke on her face. She stifled the smile to avoid cracking open her split lip.

  Ward took a seat. He had to settle for a table tucked away in the back wilderness of the diner beneath a half canoe that had been fixed to the wall. He sat for a while before Cherry came over. Ward took off his hat and tipped his head politely.

  “What, no pooch?” Cherry said.

  “I’m working. He’s sleeping.”

  Cherry looked at him for a long while without saying anything.

  “Working unofficially.” He said it with a smile and he wanted to give her a hug but didn’t.

  “So, what can I get ya?”

  “Can we start again?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re doing.” And Cherry smiled the half smile of someone with a cracked lip and she tilted her head to one side, waiting.

  Ward said, “Well, ma’am, I’m feeling kinda partial to some cherry pie if you got some.”

  “Certainly, sir. And how would you like that? With whipped cream? Ice cream? Both?”

  “I’d just as soon take it dry, ma’am.”

  “You got it, mister. Coming right up.” Her hands were in the pocket on the front of her apron and she bent down and kissed him on his cheek. He held her hand.

  “Do all your customers get a kiss?”

  “Most of ’em. Yes.” A laugh escaped her lips.

  59

  It’s hot outside and in the station. There are two interview rooms and Newton has picked the starkest. It also happens to be the coolest room in the building but that hasn’t suited Newton so he’s had a portable heater brought in and now the room smells of scorched dust. Paint of an indeterminate color flakes off the walls like sunburnt skin. A light in the middle of the room flickers. There are dead insects – flies mainly, but not exclusively – in the yellowed plastic light enclosure.

  The old police station had been falling apart at the seams for as long as Newton could remember. A new one had been promised from City funds a million times but they hadn’t started building it yet. Probably wait until some masonry falls on some suspect, Newton thinks. Hell, they probably wouldn’t worry if some masonry was to fall on him or his colleagues.

  He’d been friendly enough when O’Donnell had entered the station. He’d led him to the interview room and had asked if he would like a coffee. O’Donnell had declined. Newton had said he’d get himself one and had left O’Donnell alone in the room.

  He observes O’Donnell through the one-way glass. He tries to gauge his demeanor. Tries to look for the usual signs of a guilty man. But he just sees a man sitting, looking at his hands, which are placed flat on the table. O’Donnell shows no emotion. Looks calm if anything. Newton goes toward the door and then remembers the coffee he had gone to get. He snatches a Styrofoam cup off somebody’s desk. The somebody complains. Newton takes a sip as he enters the room. The coffee is awful. Bitter. Tepid. He suppresses the urge to spit it out but instead sips contentedly.

  “You sure I can’t get you one?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” O’Donnell is clean shaven. He wears a neat check shirt and light cotton jacket. Newton had observed him during the searches and he had looked like a wild man of the woods then. And now he looks smart. A different shirt from the one he’d worn during the televised appeal for Ryan’s safe return. Newton had studied the tape over and over again. He’d gotten a body language expert to watch it. And then he’d gotten them to watch it again but there was nothing there. No telltale signs of guilt. So he’d finally brought him in.

  “Firstly, let me say we are still looking twenty-four hours a day for Ryan. The operation has brought in extra men from neighboring counties as well as the Sheriff’s office. The searches are continuing and we have cast the net farther afield. Currently, we are following up on various sightings from members of the public and we are still hopeful of a resolution.”

  “You expect to find him alive?”

  “We hope so, sir. We very much hope so.”

  O’Donnell nods. “It’s been four days now. Don’t they say you find them in forty-eight hours or not at all?”

  “We’ll keep looking. And we’ll keep following up the leads. The trail isn’t cold yet. Do you have anything else you would like to ask me?”

  “No, sir. I guess you got me down here to do the asking yourself.”

  “Well, I’ve got a few questions.”

  Bill O’Donnell says, “When will I get my clothes back?”

  “We’ll get them back to you as soon as we can.”

  “Okay.”

  “I should make it clear, this is not an arrest situation. You have chosen not to request that a lawyer is present. Okay?”

  “That’s okay. Ain’t got nothing to hide.”

  Newton takes a wander around the small room. He doesn’t look at O’Donnell but O’Donnell’s eyes follow him around.

  “Are you and Ryan close?”

  “Yes, sir, we was. We are.”

  “You say you was. In the past tense there.”

  “We are. We are close.”

  “You spend a lot of time together?”

  “Whatever time I can manage, yes. I lived in the same house so I saw him a deal outside of work. Before his bedtime.”

  “You used the past tense again there.”

  “Sir, I don’t mean to. I’m a little shaken is all.”

  “Of course. I understand.” Newton takes another sip of the awful coffee. “But you didn’t see him before his bedtime the night he went missing?”

  “No, sir. I had to take care of something at the school.”

  “Oh? What something?”

  “There was a water leak in one of the bathrooms. You can check. I was seen there.”

  “We will. And when you came home you assumed Ryan was in bed, that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And then your truck gets stolen and you take off after the people who took it.”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Not knowing that Ryan was missing. His bed wasn’t slept in.”

  “I didn’t look in on him.”

  “You usually look in on him?”

  “No, sir. Not always.”

  “But you were close.”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t always look in on him.”

  “Okay.” He takes a slow breath. “Is Ryan a little wild at times?”

  “Just a usual kid. Not overly rambunctious but occasionally… You know.”

  “He’s a normal kid.” Newton smiles. “They get into things, don’t they?”

  “He gets into things, yes. But he’s mostly a good boy.”

  “Wouldn’t run away? Isn’t the type to up and wander off on his own?”

  “Not the Ryan I know. No. Wouldn’t normally do that.”

  “Any reason recently why he might feel the need to do that?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You know. Is he happy? At ho
me?”

  “He was happy as I saw it. Like I said, he’s a usual kid.”

  “Yes. Yes. He ever get into a sulk? When you had to chastise him?”

  “Didn’t need to chastise him, mostly. Again, like I said. He’s a good boy.”

  Newton nods and smiles. “I’m not surprised to hear that. It’s what everybody is saying.” Newton suddenly sits down and looks directly into O’Donnell’s eyes. He sees now that they’re bloodshot. His heavy lids seem to cast shadows that sit below the eyes. “So you never had to raise your voice to him?”

  O’Donnell’s gaze has become stuck to Newton’s. “Can’t ever recall, sir. No.”

  “How about his parents? They ever raise their voices at Ryan? They ever need to discipline him?”

  “That’s something maybe you should ask them.”

  Newton smiles. “I’m asking you.”

  “They’ve done their best, I’m sure about that.”

  “His father ever raise a hand to him?”

  “No, sir. Not outside of the usual.”

  “The usual?”

  “Sir, I can’t recall ever seeing anything. Would tell you if I had.”

  “No, no, that’s fine. We have to ask these questions. Sometimes they seem pointless but it helps build up a picture of Ryan and his home life. Anything. Any little thing might help us to find him. You understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, this truck of yours. You reported it missing the night before Ryan was discovered missing.”

  “That’s right.” Bill O’Donnell moves for the first time. Adjusts his seating position. Then returns to the calm, almost serene stare.

  “You said some young boys took it.”

  “That’s right, sir. I saw ’em.”

  “Oh. I thought you said you didn’t see them.”

  “I meant I saw ’em before. Ran ’em off. I’m guessing it was the same lot.”

  “And you can’t give me a description of them.”

  “It would’ve been dark. My eyes ain’t what they was.”

  Newton smiles again. “You wear glasses for that?”

  “No, sir. I manage.”

  Newton turns the coffee cup in his hands. O’Donnell’s eyes focus on Newton’s hands. When Newton looks up, so O’Donnell looks up. As if coming out of a trance, Newton thinks.

  “You went to church. We have people say they saw you.”

  “You been asking questions about me?”

  “You went to church.”

  “I did.”

  “To pray for the return of your grandson?”

  “No. I went before I knew Ryan was missing.”

  “To pray for the return of your truck?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You a regular churchgoer?”

  “No, sir, I was passing.”

  “You were passing and you suddenly felt the urge to go in? It was a black church, no?”

  “Yes, sir. They was mainly negroes.”

  “So, suddenly you go to church for the first time in what, ever?”

  “I been to church before.”

  “But not for a while.”

  “No, sir.”

  “And you chose a black church.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why did you suddenly get the urge to go to church?”

  “I was passing.”

  “That it? You were passing. No other reason?”

  “No, sir. I was passing.”

  “Can you understand how that might look a bit odd to me?”

  “I can, sir. But I went in and that’s all there is to it. Nothing more.”

  “Do you know what’s happened to Ryan?”

  The question wakes O’Donnell’s eyes. “Seems to me you could’ve asked me that question to start with.”

  “Well, I’m asking you now, Bill. Do you know where Ryan is? If you do know anything you should tell me now. Were you in that church praying for your mortal soul for what you did?”

  O’Donnell closes his eyes. He opens them and stands up. His eyes settle on Newton’s. “Sir, I appreciate what you’re doing to find Ryan. I genuinely am appreciative of that.” And then he opens the door. He stands in the doorway with his back to Newton for a few seconds.

  “Where is he, Bill? Where’s the boy, Bill?”

  And then Bill O’Donnell leaves. Newton remains seated and he drums his fingers slowly on the table, sweat bathing his face.

  60

  He shoved the gun down the front of his baggy sweatpants and put on his jacket over his hoodie. He pulled the hood over his head and zipped it up as far as it would go, and then he left his room. On the stairs he passed an old man with a long gray beard and the man said something to Troy which Troy didn’t quite catch and he took the gun from his pants and waved it in front of the man’s face. The man spun around and fell back onto the stairs and he put his hands over his face. Troy smiled and said, “Yeah, you see. You see!” And he hopped down the stairs and scurried out into the freezing cold and all the while he was smiling and muttering to himself.

  Ward couldn’t see the door from where he sat. Couldn’t see much through the windows either, past heads that bobbed up and down like cattle feeding from a trough. Couldn’t see Cherry but she was probably in back picking up orders. He saw a couple of heads turn to the door and he moved in his seat to get a better view. He couldn’t see at first and then he saw Cherry emerge from the kitchen and she dropped the tray she was carrying, the order spilling over the floor. Ward was on his feet and he banged into the table where he sat and nearly fell as he twisted himself out of the booth, almost wrenching the table from the bolts that held it down. He heard gasps and cutlery falling to the floor and people shrunk back away from Troy, whose head Ward could just see. The first thing Ward noticed were the bruises he had decorated Troy’s face with. The broken nose. The grin with gaps where three teeth used to be but had been pulled. And then Troy came into full view and Ward saw the gun which Troy still had shoved down the front of his pants. He’d pulled open his jacket and flashed the gun to the diners and to Cherry. Ward reached for his gun but it wasn’t there.

  Troy shouted, “Draw,” and he pulled out the gun and waved it in Ward’s direction and he grinned. He scratched his head like a dog with a flea.

  Cherry was frozen to the spot and Ward noticed that she was trembling. He looked at her and willed her to look at him and she did. He nodded the smallest of nods to say “it’s okay” and he was desperate that she remain calm.

  “If you ain’t gonna draw I might have to shoot you down dead cold-blooded,” Troy said. His speech had a slight lisp now where his tongue poked through the gap in his teeth.

  “I’m unarmed,” Ward said, and he held his hands out at his sides.

  “Let’s see,” Troy said.

  Ward slowly opened his jacket to show there was nothing there.

  “Turn around. You ain’t got something shoved down the back of your pants, have you?”

  Ward turned around and lifted his jacket.

  “Oh, well, that’s just too bad. Seems I got the upper hand this time,” Troy said, and he laughed and he scratched. Ward could see that he was shaking and his pupils were wide and wild. And he stank like something old and rotten.

  Someone by the window, an old man with a long journey etched onto his dark brown face, said, “Now calm down, son,” and Troy spun around and pointed the gun at him and then swung back quickly to point it back at Ward.

  “Let these people go,” Ward said. “You don’t need them here.”

  Troy gave Ward a puzzled look. “Oh? Are you in charge here, huh? That right, huh?”

  “No, you are. And I’m asking you to let these people go if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “If I wouldn’t mind? If I wouldn’t mind. If I wouldn’t mind.”

  “It’s your call but how do you know one of them hasn’t got a gun of their own concealed on them and about to blow your head off?”

  Troy looked around the diner. “An
ybody got a gun?”

  A few people mumbled “no” and a woman screamed and grabbed her young daughter and pulled her close and said, “Please don’t hurt us.”

  Troy laughed. “Have you got a gun, missus?”

  The woman shrunk back and cried, “No.”

  “Well, then, be fucking quiet if, you, wouldn’t, mind.”

  Ward said, “It’s okay, ma’am, I’m a police officer,” but it made no difference to the woman, who sobbed along with her daughter.

  “Troy, I’m asking you as the person who’s running this show to let these people go,” Ward said. “You don’t need them here. I’m here and not going anywhere. Simplify things for yourself. Makes no sense keeping them here.”

  Troy seemed to mull it over. He tilted his head from one side to the other with an exaggerated puzzled look on his face. He waved the gun around at the people and they variously ducked, gasped and screamed. “The man in charge, me, says you all can go. Please do so in an orderly fashion. If you wouldn’t mind.” Troy was smiling at his new favorite phrase. “Nice and orderly if you wouldn’t mind.”

  The door swung open and the cold wind blew in and people filed out quickly, keeping as much distance as they could between themselves and Troy. The diner was empty in seconds. Empty save for Troy, Ward and Cherry. Cherry, who all the while had not said a word and had stood statue-still just to the side of Troy.

  Troy took a step to his left and, without taking his eyes off Ward, he scooped up a couple of chicken wings from a plate. He dropped one and started to chew on the other, getting the sauce smeared around his mouth. Ward and Cherry watched him eat. Troy tossed the half-eaten chicken wing on the floor, licked his fingers and then wiped them on his pants.

  “Ain’t so easy to eat with these missing.” He gestured toward his mouth.

  “What do you want?” Cherry said.

  “I want what’s due to me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A slice of the profits.”

  Ward said, “If you want money, Cherry here will get you some.”

  “The fuck I will,” Cherry said. “We’re not doing this anymore, Troy. It stops here.”