Jim stood rigidly in place while she patted him down.
He shot me a frightened look over her shoulder.
“Who are you people?” he said. “What do you want with us?”
“Turn,” instructed Tetyana.
I felt bad for Jim. He seemed like a good man, despite those glassy eyes and those funny feelings I got about him playing a role. There must be a reasonable explanation for him being here in the barn at this time of the night.
“Clear,” said Tetyana.
Jim turned back to us, his arms still in the air, eyes wide as saucers.
“Anyone else in here with you?” asked Tetyana.
“N... no...no.”
“You can put your hands down,” I said, softening my voice.
Though I was playing good cop, I was on guard. We still didn’t know how Jim would react to our questions.
I glanced around inside the structure. So, this was the mysterious place Pastor Graham didn’t want us to enter. At first glance, it looked normal enough.
What was he hiding?
Near the entrance was a large sofa bed, which had been pulled out. That was probably where Jim had been sleeping when we knocked.
To the right was an open warehouse area which held yardwork tools, snow removal equipment, various plumbing apparatus, and other bits and ends you’d find in any work shed.
Next to the yard equipment was a workbench with four chairs scattered around it. On the bench was a pile of nails and half-cut wood planks. It seemed like sawdust covered almost everything here, even, I suspected, the sofa bed.
To my immediate right was a small office den with a desk and a stiff-backed plastic chair.
I stepped up to the den and peeked in. On the desk was an ancient beige computer and an ink-jet printer-copier that had seen better days.
“Did you see this?” I said to Tetyana.
She poked her head in for a second and we exchanged a quick glance. This could be where Mrs. Robinson copied her poison pen letters for us.
I turned to scan the rest of the building. To my left was a long white corridor from where the distinct smell of horses came. A breathy snort told me they were nearby.
“How many horses do you have in here?” I asked.
“Er,” Jim stammered, his eyes flitting from Tetyana’s revolver to me. “T... t... two for now.”
I walked over.
There was a row of six stalls on either side. I strolled toward the animals, my eyes sweeping the surroundings.
All the stalls were empty except the last two.
The animals were wide awake and stared at me when I got to the end of the corridor. They were two adults, one dark brown mare and one black stallion. They seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see them.
With their shiny coats and those large horsey eyes with long lashes, they could melt any heart.
“Beautiful,” I said, reaching over to the mare. She inclined her head and sniffed my hand, blowing warm air all over me. I wished I’d brought an apple for her.
“Looks like someone grooms them.”
Jim mumbled something incoherent from behind me, then cleared his throat.
“Barry helps a lot,” he said, “always here making sure they’re okay.”
“Barry?” I said, turning to him in surprise.
“He’d do anything for the animals.”
He pointed at something in the corner of an empty stall.
“Took that ugly thing in even with its fur all falling out. Found it half dead in a ditch. Lisa wouldn’t allow it in the house so it sleeps in here. Barry couldn’t bear to see it suffer.”
I peered into the corner Jim was pointing at to see a small ball of mangy fur. It was the feral cat, staring at me, suspicion in its eyes. As soon as I took a step forward, it let out a hiss and slunk farther back into the shadows.
“Barry?” I said again.
It was hard to believe that man had any good streak in him. People surprised you in the most unexpected of ways sometimes. Tetyana shrugged as if to agree. Jim merely sulked in his corner, unhappy.
I turned back to the horses.
They already had their winter fur. They shouldn’t be cooped up in these tiny stalls all day and night, I thought, suppressing an urge to pull open the stall doors and let them go free outside.
I faced Jim.
“How come we didn’t see them out in the paddock today?”
His eyes flickered nervously. “They, er, hate going out in the winter... too cold... so we, er, keep them in.”
“Who do they belong to?”
“Lisa.”
Something in his voice made me stop.
“Really?”
He looked away.
Why would he lie about the horses? These were the most innocuous questions we would be asking him that night. We hadn’t even got to who murdered Mrs. Robinson and Doctor Fulton, and why, yet.
Jim turned and looked at Tetyana, then back at me.
“What do you want from me?”
“Information,” I said.
Jim stared for a second. Then, like he had a sudden boost of gumption, he straightened up and glared at us.
“You were stranded. We gave you a place to stay and food to eat. And this is how you treat us? With that thing in my face?”
Tetyana took a step toward him.
“Someone put a tripwire on the stairs tonight. Katy fell over it and almost broke her neck. So yes, I’m justified in coming here to ask a few questions with a gun in my hand.”
Jim stared at her, bewildered.
“A tripwire?” he said. “Are you joking?”
I examined his face. He wasn’t acting.
“There have been two sudden deaths in this house, one after the other,” I said. “Doesn’t that unsettle you?”
Jim opened his mouth and closed it, as if unsure what to say.
“They were both older, and I thought... heart attacks... you know, like the pastor said....” He frowned, turned to Tetyana, then back at me. “Why? What are you saying?”
“What I want to know is where you were when Katy stumbled down the stairs about an hour ago,” snapped Tetyana.
Jim gave her a terrified look.
Chapter Forty-six
“I was here,” he said, gesturing wildly. “Came here right after dinner. But I’d never do anything like that. I mean, anyone could have... oh, my god, Nancy. Is she all right?”
“She’s in her room as far as we know,” I replied.
“This is crazy—”
“Jim,” said Tetyana, “what do you do here at night?”
He turned away and let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders drooped and his face turned a slight pink. “I... I have a hard time sleeping in the house, so I come down here.”
Right.
I knew there was more to the story than that. Jim and Nancy had a fight, and she’d sent him to the doghouse, but he was too embarrassed to admit it to us.
“Jim,” I said, beginning to think he wasn’t the killer. “Can you tell us what’s going on in this house?”
“Nothing,” he said, his voice higher pitched than before. “I don’t know. I mean, nothing’s going on.”
Though Jim may not be killer material, he wasn’t telling us everything.
One of the horses grunted.
“Let’s go find a place to sit and talk,” I said, “and let the animals sleep.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jim turned around and retraced his steps toward the front entrance. We followed him, our eyes and ears peeled for any suspicious sights or sounds.
Jim walked over to the workbench, scraped back a chair and gave a befuddled look at Tetyana, who was still pointing her sidearm at him.
“Sit,” commanded Tetyana, as she took a chair across from him.
Jim sat down.
“Place your hands on the table where I can see them.”
Jim did as he was told.
I took a chair next to Tetyana and waited.
&
nbsp; Jim gave us a baffled look.
Silence can be a powerful weapon. When used strategically, people spilled their guts.
“What do you want with me?” he blurted after a few moments of quiet. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just a worker here. I do what they tell me.”
I do what they tell me?
“How long have you been staying in this house?” I asked.
“I don’t know, five months. Maybe six.”
“How did you find a job all the way here? Who told you about this place?”
Jim looked down.
We’d touched on something, something he didn’t want to reveal.
He sighed. “It was Graham, I mean Pastor Graham, who told us about an opening here.”
“Were you with Nancy, then?” I asked.
Jim looked away again, the pink flush coming over his neck and face, this time.
“I’ve been with her for three years.”
“So you and Nancy came all the way from Iowa?”
“Iowa?” he said in surprise.
“That’s where Nancy said you’re from.”
He shook his head. “Maybe... maybe she didn’t want to.... Maybe you didn’t hear it right. We’re from Falcon Hills.”
“Why would she lie?”
Jim let out a despondent sigh and looked down.
“Nancy’s father is in prison for drinking and driving. Killed two kids from our school a while back. He used to be a schoolteacher so everyone knew him and she got bullied badly for it. She thinks the whole world’s out to get her, so she doesn’t like people prying, you know?”
Nancy’s antagonistic attitude made more sense now.
“Did you both get along with Mrs. Robinson?”
Jim looked up in surprise.
“Of course. I liked her. We all liked her. She was a really nice lady. She made us feel like we weren’t alone here and she never treated us bad. It was what Nancy needed.”
He was finally telling the truth.
“Do you know if anyone had a disagreement with her?”
Jim gave me a blank look.
I tried again. “Did anyone in this house not like her?”
He shook his head, a dazed expression on his face. “I can’t imagine it. She did so much for us....”
His face scrunched up, like he was about to cry. He put his head in his hands and stayed in that position for an entire minute.
When he looked up, his eyes were red.
I softened my voice. “Were you close to her?”
“Yes... I mean... we were all living in the house so, we were as close as we could get.” He paused and wiped his face. “I miss her. She kept everyone together. When Barry got crazy and went on his rages, she calmed him down. She’d talk to Lisa when she got in one of her moods, and she was always watching over Nancy. I don’t know how we’re going to cope without her.”
“What about Pastor Graham?” I asked. “Did he get along with her too?”
Jim flinched at the mention of the pastor. That’s strange, I thought.
“Yes,” he said, collecting himself. “She used to make his favorite blueberry pie, and he’d bring her flowers from the market as a thank you for letting him stay over on weekends.”
“Why did Pastor Graham stay over every weekend?” asked Tetyana.
Jim looked down and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. He stared at his hands. I wondered why he was having such a hard time answering a simple question.
“He... he wanted to get away from town. He called this place his retreat...”
“Every weekend?” I said. “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Doesn’t he have an office and home in town?”
Jim sat clasping and unclasping his hands in front of him, pointedly avoiding eye contact. The man was nervous.
I tried again. “What was the pastor doing in the barn right now, Jim?”
He didn’t reply.
“Answer the damn question,” snarled Tetyana, the light from the naked bulb above us glinting off her gun.
Jim went silent for a few seconds before he spoke. When he did speak, his voice cracked, and he didn’t look up.
“He was here because he’s my lover.”
Chapter Forty-seven
Tetyana and I leaned back in our chairs in shock.
This was unexpected.
Now that Jim had confessed to his worst sin, he was ready to talk. I didn’t even have to probe.
“I knew him from way back. He used to teach in my elementary school,” said Jim. His eyes were glassy and his tone was deadpan, like all the emotion had been drained from him.
“He liked to make friends with the choirboys in school. Boyfriends, I mean. I used to sing in the choir. I didn’t know it then. I was just a kid. Anyway, that’s where I met him.”
He took a deep breath in.
Tetyana and I listened silently.
“When Pastor Graham asked you to do something, you just did it. Everyone told you that was the way it was. No one said no to him.”
Jim stopped and fiddled with an errant nail on the table, his eyes down, his face pale.
“He never left you alone either. It didn’t matter how old you were or where you lived. He found you. And when he found you, you just did what he asked again...” He trailed off. “Otherwise, he’d tell...”
My head baker and dear friend Luc’s face flashed into mind as Jim told his story. I knew all too well about older men preying on young boys in choirs and orphanages. The word boyfriend was an ugly misnomer. This was child abuse in the most awful way possible.
I bent down, settling my arms on my thighs, and lowered my voice.
“How old were you when it started?”
“Ten.”
The three of us sat without speaking for a minute. It was hard to respond to that. I wondered if he’d ever shared this story with anyone before. After all, he’d confessed to us at gunpoint.
Jim’s face was taut and his shoulders were stooped, like he’d been defeated.
If Tetyana was right, and Jim took drugs, it now all made sense. Most people got addicted to alcohol or drugs to stave off emotional or physical pain. In his case, it was probably both. I wondered where he kept his stash and if Nancy knew.
Jim looked up, a distressed expression on his face.
“Please,” he whispered, “please, promise me you won’t tell Nancy.”
I leaned across the table. What I really wanted to do was reach over and touch his arm, to reassure him, but something stopped me.
I still didn’t know what had happened to Mrs. Robinson and Doctor Fulton. I still had to identify the insidious letter writer. While Jim looked vulnerable and frightened, I had no idea what his role was in all this. Pastor Graham could have put him up to the murders, for all I knew.
“Absolutely,” I replied. “You have our word. We didn’t come here to dig any of that up. I’m so sorry about what happened to you.”
He turned back to his nail, impulsively tapping it on the bench, his mind elsewhere.
I noticed Tetyana had holstered her weapon now. We sat around the table for a long time, not speaking, listening to that melancholy tick-tick sound of the nail against the wood.
Now that Jim had devolved his darkest secret to complete strangers, I could only imagine what was burning through his mind.
Part of me wanted to let him be, let him go away and deal with his personal demons, but I also had a mission to accomplish.
“Jim,” I said, “would you mind if we ask you a few questions about this family?”
He shrugged.
“Fire away,” he said in a tired voice, not looking up. “Not like I have a choice, do I?”
“You do,” I said, “we’re not the police. But I think you need to know why we’re here.”
He looked up, a curious expression in his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know Mrs. Robinson had been getting death threats?”
His eyes widened.<
br />
“Death threats?”
“She showed one to us. We have copies of all of them and they’re pretty nasty.”
“Who’d do something like that? To Mrs. Robinson, of all people?”
“That’s what we were wondering,” I said. “She called us down here to help her find the person who was doing it.”
He stared at me for a moment.
“So, you weren’t really lost then?”
I shook my head.
“You aren’t the FBI or anything?”
I shook my head again.
“You... you’re like private investigators or something?”
“Or something,” said Tetyana before I could answer, shooting a warning look my way.
We might just be the new owners too.
I bit my lip and continued.
“Do you think Pastor Graham would do something like this? Do you recall seeing anything that might lead you to believe he wrote those letters?”
Jim shook his head, but that was more a gesture of confusion than an outright no.
“He liked Mrs. Robinson. Used to say she was the best thing that happened to this house. He’s respected in town and here. I can’t imagine him doing anything like that.”
Tetyana glared at him.
“There’s no reason to defend that pedophile,” she said, spitting that last word out as if she’d bitten into something bitter.
I was sure if Pastor Graham had walked into the barn just now, she’d have pulled him into a corner and walloped his head with her gun.
“He hurt you when you were a child, Jim,” said Tetyana. “He’s blackmailing you now. He’s not your lover. He’s a sadistic ass clown who needs his head whacked in.”
Jim rubbed his face. If ever a man looked miserable, it had to be him right now.
“I’m not defending anyone,” he said in a cracked voice. “I’m not lying. I’ve told you things I’ve never even told my wife....”
I leaned across the table.
“If anyone found out about the pastor and you, would he try to silence them?”
Jim sat quietly, his eyes darting back and forth, like he was thinking this through.
We waited.
He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s a murderer. I can’t see him sending nasty letters to Mrs. Robinson.”
I gritted my teeth. Why was he so adamant to protect the man who robbed him of his childhood? Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. Maybe it was blackmail. My gut said he was telling the truth, but he was clearly under the pastor’s influence.
Merciless Legacy: Merciless Murder - A Thrilling Closed Circle Mystery Series Page 21
