"Doesn't prove that Jack did the whacking, though."
"No, it does not," Ralph said. "However, there was one piece of evidence that did prove that Jack did the deed."
"And that was?"
"Discovered by an illegal search. Your client, it seems, wrote out a three-page confession that he stored in his sock drawer in his bedroom. Don't ask me what the letter said exactly, just know that Jack said that he killed his dad, how he killed him, and why he killed him. It was one-half confession and the other half suicide note. Jack was gonna jump off some cliff and onto rocks in order to kill himself. Not sure why he didn't make that leap, but he obviously had a change of heart. One of the investigators was digging through Jack's clothes when he found the letter. He turned it in as evidence but since he did not have a warrant, the evidence was never allowed to see the light of a courtroom.
"There's a whole lot of evidence that points to your client being the one that killed his daddy, and he got away with it. You ask any of the investigators who knew anything about it and they'll all tell you the same thing. Jack Bryant killed Luke Bryant but will never go to jail for the murder."
"This case just keeps getting more interesting," Derek said as he pulled up the driveway to the nursing home. He was greeted by dozens of police cars, their lights flashing an angry red. "Listen Ralph, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your information. And I promise you that when this case is over, I will drive up your way, buy you all the drinks you can handle, and fill you in on everything about this case. But right now, I am in the parking lot of a nursing home where a man I interviewed yesterday was murdered."
"That is peculiar."
"You like that word, don't you?"
"Peculiar?"
"That's the one."
"I don't use many of those polysyllabic words, but I do like using peculiar."
"Last thing then I have to let you go. You said that someone else was recently digging into Jack Bryant's past. You find anything more on that?"
"Believe it or not, Cole, I do have a full-time job protecting the fine citizens of my town. But I will do some more digging in my free time. That I promise you."
"Thanks again, Ralph. Call me anytime."
Derek had no sooner ended the call with Ralph when his iPhone vibrated again.
"Derek, it's John. Where are you?"
"I'm in the parking lot, Father. You still inside?"
"Yes. You need to get in here."
"Not sure if the police will let a freelance detective waltz through their crime scene."
"That's why you need to tell them that you are my associate. I already told them that you may be joining me here. Just tell them that you are my associate, and you were asked to meet me in Ron's room. Okay?"
"By associate, do you mean fellow priest?"
"Yes, Father Derek, so act holy."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Father Flannigan is waiting for you in room 333."
The State Trooper offered to show Derek to the third floor, but Derek declined the offer, saying that he had visited Ron recently and was familiar with the layout of the third floor.
"Church getting pretty progressive, huh, Father?" the trooper asked.
"Pardon me?" Derek said, pulling out the most polite term he could think of instead of his normal response of 'what?'
"You're not wearing your black shirt and white collar. Thought you priests had to wear them whenever you were in public?"
"Well," Derek stumbled, "my white collars all got messed up in the wash and the black shirt just doesn't look good when you try to shove in a piece of folded up paper in the little collar holders."
"I suppose not," the trooper said. "So you're sure you know your way, Father?"
"I'm fine. And, um, bless you my child."
Derek was still limping in pain as he exited the third floor elevator. Immediately, he could see several sheriffs and troopers assembled outside on the porch as well flanking both sides of the hallway. Yellow police tape stretched across the porch door, and as he passed the windows that overlooked the porch, Derek could see the body of Ron White slumped hard to his right in his chair beside his telescope. Though the lighting was poor, Derek could tell that the left side of Ron's head had suffered severe trauma.
Father John Flannigan was standing in Ron's room, speaking on his cell phone in comforting tones to someone who Derek assumed to be a family member of Ron White. Two troopers were going through Ron's dresser drawers, nightstand, and his MacBook Pro, apparently looking for anything that would shed light on why Ron was murdered and, more importantly, who the killer was.
Derek stood and watched how the troopers rummaged through potential evidence. He cringed when a trooper opened the lid on Ron's MacBook, fumbled with the keys, then closed the lid and put the laptop into sleep mode.
"You may want to save everything that was running on that Mac," he said to one of the troopers. "By the time forensics gets to inspect it, the battery may die and anything that Ron was working on will be lost."
"Not sure who you are," one obviously annoyed trooper said to Derek, "but our tech guys can strip a hard drive of data from a computer that's been at a bottom of the ocean for six months. You do your job, and we'll do ours. Speaking of that, what is your job, and why are you in this room?"
"He's my associate pastor," John said, his call having ended. "This is Father Derek. I asked him to join me to offer any counseling that any of the other residents may need."
"My apologies, Father," the trooper said to Derek.
"Um, you are forgiven, my son."
"When will I be able to give last rites to Mr. White?" John asked the trooper.
"I'll go check and see where they are with the body. We're just about done in here. I'll come back and give you a time frame, Father."
The two troopers placed a few items, including Ron's Mac into plastic bags, sealed the bags, and wrote the contents, date, and their names on the sealing tape. John and Derek stood in silence until the troopers finished their work and left the room.
"For someone raised Catholic, you sure make a horrible fake priest. You are forgiven, my son?" John said.
"I'm used to listening to priests, not being one. I actually said 'bless you, my child' to a cop downstairs."
"I don't recognize any of the officers here so either they don't attend church or are from outside the area. I don't think they suspect anything with you, but, just to be on the safe side, leave the blessings to me."
"Deal."
"Ron White was killed sitting out on the porch, looking through his telescope. No one saw a thing. This nursing home is so out of date with technology that the only surveillance cameras are in the admin offices and near their loading docks. Whoever killed Ron may get away with murder," John said, filling Derek in with the little information that had been shared with him.
"Do the troopers have any leads? Any ideas at all?"
"Not that they shared with me," John said as he sat on the edge of Ron's bed. "Not that the authorities are known to share their investigation with local priests, but when I asked about the murderer, they told me that they're just gathering evidence and will be conducting a press conference soon. That means that don't have any ideas yet, right?"
"Tough to say," Derek said. "If Ron was just murdered and unless the killer is an obvious suspect, it's way too early to expect them to have any answers."
"I suppose."
"How was the victim, I mean, how was Ron killed?"
John took a long, deep breath before answering. "His skull was crushed on one side. They believe he was hit with some hard, blunt instrument."
"Like an aluminum baseball bat?" Derek questioned.
"I don't know what was used, but why did you suggest an aluminum baseball bat?"
"I'll tell you later when we have more time to chat."
John and Derek talked for a few minutes about Maggie and Robby and their relationship with Ron.
"I guess I should tell them what happened he
re tonight," Derek said.
"We'll tell them together," John insisted. "I don't like knowing what's happening to Maggie and Robby and not being able to help them. I was thinking about asking you to tell them about our conversations and to let them know that you don't have any suspicions about me negatively effecting Robby. That is, of course, as long as you don't have suspicions about me."
"Father," Derek said, looking John directly in his eyes, "I honestly don't think you would hurt a fly, or that you ever said anything about ghosts or spirits or the Phillip Experiment to Robby."
"Thank you."
Several minutes after he had left the room, the trooper returned to tell John that he'd be able to administer last rites in no more than five minutes.
"Our team is just about done out on the porch, Father. My captain wanted me to tell you he is sorry to keep you waiting so long."
"Tell him to take all the time he needs. Father Derek and I are in no rush. Isn't that so, Father Derek?"
"Yes. No hurry on our end."
Five minutes later, the trooper returned again and escorted John to the porch.
"Father Derek, if you don't mind, please stay here and watch my phone in case a family member calls."
"No problem, Father."
Once Derek was alone, he closed the door to Ron's room and began his own search for evidence. Like the troopers before him, he found nothing of interest in any drawer, under the mattress or tucked away on a sheet of paper serving as a bookmark in some nondescript book. Derek checked for any loose screws on the heating ducts and found that each was tightly secured, and the paint covering the screw heads was unmarked.
Derek moved his search into the bathroom. There, he quickly searched though the small bag of toiletries that Ron had placed near the sink. He then removed the cover from the toilet's reservoir and found only water and the expected plumbing parts.
It was when he spotted the scratched paint on the screw heads that secured the heating vent in the bathroom that Derek got excited. He moved out of the room to steal a quick glance down the hallway to make sure no one was heading back to Ron's room.
Closing the bathroom door behind him, Derek removed his Leatherman multi-tool from his back pocket, pried open the Phillips head screwdriver, and carefully backed the bottom two screws out. Once the vent allowed enough play, he reached his hand into the vent and felt a notebook. He quickly pulled the composition notebook from the vent and stuffed it into the back of his pants, being sure to cover the bulge with his coat.
As he heard voices entering Ron's room, Derek flushed the toilet and used the flushing sounds to cover any noises he made while he replaced the screws and sealed up the vent.
John Flannigan was standing alone in Ron's room when Derek emerged from the bathroom.
"I trust you found something of interest?"
"Not sure until we get out of here."
"Like my little ploy?" John said as the two exited the room and headed down the hallway towards the elevator.
"What ploy?" Derek asked when he was sure they were out of hearing range of the officers.
"Suggesting that you remain in Ron's room while I administered last rites. I saw the way you were watching those officers conduct their search and figured that you'd love to conduct a search of your own if given the opportunity."
"Father," Derek said as the elevator doors opened, "if the whole priest thing doesn't work out for you, there's a career in private investigation waiting for you."
"Bless you, my child."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"You seem to be limping," John said to Derek as the two made their way across the grounds of the nursing home and towards the parking lot. "Something happen?"
Derek hesitated. "Under normal circumstances, I would say that you'd never believe what happened to me. But considering everything that has happened the last day and a half, I'm willing to bet you believe every word of my story."
"I am eager to hear all about it," John said. "Looks like our time together this evening has not yet drawn to a conclusion. Where shall we head next?"
"I need to call Maggie to let her know what happened here tonight, and I have the feeling that she'll want to see me right away. Let me get out of this cold and into my car so I can call her. We can figure out our next move based on her response."
By the sound of her voice, Maggie was not having an enjoyable, relaxing evening at home. Her words were rushed and tainted with impatience. Derek planned on delivering the news about Ron delicately and slowly but felt pressured to deliver the news quickly.
"Ron White was murdered tonight in the nursing home. Police don't have a suspect yet. I wanted you to hear it from me before it's all over the news. I'm sorry. I know Ron was a friend to your family."
"Oh, my God," Maggie said, her emotions sounding clearly through her voice. "Are you sure it was Ron?"
"I'm sorry to say that we are sure," Derek said.
"We?"
"Maggie," Derek paused, "I'm with Father John. We need to talk."
"I should say so," Maggie replied
"Maggie, you sound either very pissed or very tired, so if you have time tomorrow..."
"Now," Maggie demanded. "I want to talk now. Tonight. My house. Jack called and said he's stuck in Portland for at least another 24 hours, so we won't have to worry about what we say about him."
"And Robby?"
"He's asleep in my room."
"Maggie," Derek said, "anything else happen today? You sound on edge."
"You mean besides seeing a ghost in my son's room, hearing my son tell me that a ghost told him that he was murdered, my husband deciding that business or whatever it is that he's really doing in Portland is more important than his family, and now just finding out that a dear friend was killed in a nursing home? No, nothing much happening today. Typical day."
"Father John and I will be over in 30 minutes."
Deciding to take two cars, Derek followed John Flannigan over to Maggie's home. During the drive, Derek dialed the number of Ralph Fox.
"Now I could swear that the last time we talked, which was less than an hour ago, you told me that you was too busy to keep talking with me. Now you are calling me?"
"I'm going to owe you several dinners after this. I need another favor."
"Skip the dinner. Bring me back a few fresh lobsters from Maine. And grab a case or two of some good local craft beer, while you're at it. What do you need?"
"One of the people I interviewed yesterday, a Ronald White, was just found murdered in his nursing home. It probably won't hit the news out your way for a while, but if you can do the voodoo you do and find some details of the police investigation, it would help a ton."
"You may become a suspect, you know, once they figure out that a freelance detective arrived in town just before that there murder took place."
"I've already considered that."
"I'll keep doing what I'm doing and give you an update tomorrow or late tonight if something I come across is anything peculiar."
"Great. One last thing," Derek said.
"I highly doubt that whatever it is that you are going to ask for next will be the last thing," Ralph responded.
"Last thing for this particular conversation. Is that better?"
"Not sure about being better, just more accurate."
"Can you find out who Ron White was? History, career, other important details?"
"Already planning on doing that," Ralph said. "Now, unless you lied to me about that request being the last for this here conversation, I think the rest of my evening is free to use at my discretion."
"Discretion is another polysyllabic word, Ralph. Good job by you!"
"Improving my vocabulary every day. Good night, Derek."
#####
John and Derek pulled into the Bryant's driveway a few minutes after 11 pm. Both were tired but felt that before succumbing to sleep, they needed to figure out as much as they could about Ron White's murder and what was contained in the hi
dden notebook that Derek found and removed from the nursing home. Beyond their desire and interest in learning more about Ron White's murder, both had a shared concern for Maggie and Robby. Derek felt that Maggie was not only going through an emotional hell with Robby, but that she may somehow be in danger. Though he had no reason to suspect him, Derek immediately thought that Jack Bryant had something to do with the murder of Ron White.
Maggie met them at the door and welcomed both into her home. A look of concern, mixed with sorrow and fear controlled her face.
"Father," she began immediately, "how much of Robby's problem do you know about?"
"I told him mostly everything," Derek said, afraid that Maggie would be angry at his breach of confidentiality.
"Thank God," she said. She then moved close to John, clasped her hands together, and said, "Father, I am so sorry that we suspected that you said something to Robby about ghosts. I was so desperate to find something, anything to find out what caused Robby's problems that I was ready to believe anything. Please forgive me."
"Maggie," John said, his compassionate eyes locked on Maggie's, "you don't need to apologize. I understand. All I want to do now is help you and Robby.
She embraced John, then looked into Derek's eyes, holding captive his attention and commanding, somehow, all of his emotions. It was the look in her eyes when she embraced John that sent a screaming sense of urgency into Derek's soul.
"Tell me about Ron," she said, gently breaking the embrace with John.
"We don't know anything yet," Derek said, his voice shaky with emotion. "My friend who is a police chief is doing some research for me. He's good and reliable. I'm sure I'll know more tomorrow."
"We'll know more," Maggie insisted.
"Excuse me?"
"We're a team now. All three of us. Whatever you find out, we all find out. Agreed? No more keeping things from each other, okay?"
"If that's how you want it, I'm afraid I won't be able to remain working for you," Derek said, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) Page 9
