by J A Whiting
He continued, “I had a bunch of emotions jumping around inside me back then. If you asked me in those days what those feelings were, I wouldn’t have been able to explain them. But now I understand better. That day in Boston, I was disappointed with myself for not going in and talking to the recruiter even though I knew the army wasn’t for me. It felt like one more thing I failed at, one more thing that spelled ‘loser’. I took the motorcycle and rode back to Howland. I went to my girlfriend’s house to talk to her.”
“What time did you get there?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe around 8pm.”
“What did you do then? Did you stay at her house?”
“We sat in her car outside her house and talked for a while. Argued, actually. She was mad because I didn’t go to New York City with her that day. We had talked about going, but I hated big cities. I didn’t think we had made definite plans, but she went ahead and bought the bus tickets. That annoyed me, so I backed out. I had thought about the Army for quite a while and so I told her I wanted to go to the recruiter and not waste time in New York. She was furious. She said she would go by herself. When I got back to her house later that night and I told her I didn’t talk to the recruiter after all, she mocked me…said I was useless, a pussy…stuff like that. She was mean about it…nasty. That was the way she was. She could turn on a dime…one minute all sweet and nice and the next minute, angry and mean. She was always telling me how lucky I was to be with her…how so many guys wanted her, came on to her. I knew she slept around with other guys but I stayed with her. I always made sure we used protection though. I didn’t want to get roped into marriage. After a while, I started wondering why the heck I was with her. I didn’t need her abuse. I tried to break it off with her a few times right before the Monahans were killed, but she kept at me and I kept going back to her.”
He met Olivia’s eyes. “Your name’s Olivia, right?”
Olivia nodded.
“So anyway, the cops found my truck broken down on the road that Mrs. Monahan drove every day to get to her house near the center of town. The police figured she stopped to give me a ride, that we must have argued over something, and that I killed them. But I was in Boston when it happened. I’ve got no alibi though. Plenty of people saw me, but nobody knew me, so what are you gonna do? The police thought I did it. And so did plenty of people in town.”
He paused. “What kind of cold blooded monster would do that to a little girl? They think it was me. Me.” He sighed. “Back then I thought ‘What do people see in my face? What do they see when they look at me?’ That’s what I wondered. They think they see a monster? A monster, that could kill someone with a knife? And then after doing it once, go ahead and do it again? Like you’ve got no feelings. Like you’re dead inside. People thought that was me? A monster who killed a little girl?”
Overman looked right at Olivia. “A little girl.” He shook his head.
“I’ve got a daughter, you know,” he continued. “She’s all grown up. She’s a teacher. Second grade. I’ve got a son too. In college. And, a wife. For thirty years, a wife who loves me.” He looked down at his hands. “Every day, I thank God for her. Everything good in my life is because of that woman. I met her and she filled me up. All those hurt, lonely, no good loser places inside me. Those holes put there by a mother who left me and a mean drunk of a father who beat me, ignored me. In those days, I had a rock, a stone, a hard lump of granite stuck in my gut, in my heart… a heavy, hard stone of sadness stuck in me from all the loss and all the hate thrown at me.” He held Olivia’s eyes. “My wife filled the holes of my life and wore away at that old stone in my heart until it was just a speck of dust.”
Overman coughed to clear his throat. “I know you don’t understand what I’m saying. You’re young. Have you ever been falsely accused, Olivia?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “When I was accused, a switch flipped inside me. I figured somehow or another they’d pin it on me, and even though I was innocent, that I would spend the rest of my life in prison. Because, I was a loser. I promised myself that if I got out of it, I would make something of my life. I didn’t want to be that loser who was such an easy mark. The loser that people looked down on. The loser that people expected nothing from but trouble. I didn’t want to be that person anymore.” He took a deep breath. “I left Howland as soon as the police said I could.” He swallowed hard.
“You know something, Olivia? If that woman and her daughter didn’t get killed, I would have stayed here. I would have been just like my old man, a mean, empty drunk. I never would have changed. I would have let that stone of sadness sink me.”
Overman rubbed his eyes. “June 5, 1973. That woman and her daughter saved my life.”
Olivia blinked at him.
Overman let out a long sigh. “Now you can ask me questions,” he said.
Olivia didn’t say anything for a minute. “I… You…” She coughed to clear the emotion that had tightened her throat. Then she asked, “Would you like some tea?”
Overman stared across the darkness at her. “Okay. Could you bring it out here?”
Olivia nodded and rose from her seat to go inside and make the tea. “I’m going to let the dog out.”
“Okay,” Overman said. He reached into his pocket. “Here’s your phone. And, your keys.”
Chapter 25
Olivia returned with two mugs of tea. Lily bounded out of the door and sniffed the man in the deck chair. She wagged her tail at him and licked his hand before trotting down the stairs and heading to the far side of the expansive yard.
“Nice dog,” Overman said, accepting a mug of tea from Olivia.
“She’s good company,” Olivia said returning to her seat. She had put on a sweater and pulled it around her against the nighttime chill.
“So,” Olivia said. “This has taken me by surprise. Not just you showing up here, but what you’ve said to me. It’s not what I expected.”
Lily trotted up the stairs and sat next to Overman who reached over to scratch the dog behind the ears.
“Why did you come to see me?” Olivia asked. “Why not just let things be?”
“Because you weren’t letting things be,” Overman said. “It’s been almost forty years. I thought my association with the crime was in the past. But I suppose that was naïve. I was worried. I was worried that your questions and your interest in the case would interfere with my life…drag my family into it. Create a circus.” Overman leaned forward. “I’m innocent, Olivia. But I don’t have any way to prove it.”
“What about DNA tests? The police recovered samples from the crime scene. If they compared your DNA to those samples, wouldn’t that clear you?”
Overman shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the samples are lost. Why haven’t the police tried to contact me about that sort of thing?”
“Maybe they have tried to contact you. Maybe they can’t find you,” Olivia said.
“I think the police could find me if they wanted to.”
“Who is the friend of yours who told you I was asking questions?” Olivia asked.
Overman hesitated. “Father Mike. Over at St. Catherine’s church.”
“Father Mike?” Olivia sat up. “I talked to Father Mike. He didn’t say anything about you.”
“He said you didn’t ask about me.”
Olivia started to speak, but stopped. She played her conversation with Father Mike in her mind. She only remembered asking about Father Anthony and Mary.
“Some detective I am,” Olivia muttered.
Overman smiled. “After the murders, Father Mike came to see me when the police started to show interest in me. I wouldn’t speak to him the first time he came by. But by the second time, I was shaking with fear. We talked and talked. He became a good friend to me. He treated me with respect. Gave me advice.” Overman chuckled. “I think it is his great regret that he wasn’t able to turn me to God. But I do believe he’s proud of me.”
“You keep in touch then? He
knows how to contact you obviously.”
“I changed my name a few years after leaving Howland. Father Mike knows my name and where I live. We’re in contact.”
“What did you do after leaving here?” Olivia asked. “Where did you go? You mustn’t have had much money.”
“I did odd jobs. Worked in restaurants, at garages. That first year, in the off season, I rented a small cottage in Hampton Beach. It was cheap. I did whatever work I could. I started going to AA to deal with my drinking problem. It took a good while but I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in thirty-five years. I moved away from New England and went to a trade school. Father Mike helped me out with money so I could go full time. I did well. I built a business, expanded. The business is successful. I started a small foundation to help underprivileged kids. I have more money than I ever dreamed.”
Olivia smiled. “Oh.” She sat up. “That’s how your father can live at the Manor. You support him.”
Overman’s brow furrowed. “My father?” He nearly spat out the words.
“Yeah.”
“He’s alive?”
Olivia stared at Overman. “You didn’t know he was alive?”
“No.” Overman looked pained. “Where is he?”
“In Worcester. At the Manor Senior Community.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I thought you supported him.”
“I don’t,” Overman said.
“Well, who does? It’s a very expensive place.” They were quiet. “Father Mike?”
Overman shook his head. “He couldn’t afford that. Anyway, he lost track of the old man. I didn’t care. I didn’t want anything to do with him. I thought he was dead.”
“Well, he’s not,” Olivia said.
Overman rubbed his eyes.
They sat in silence for several minutes.
Olivia broke the quiet. “Do you have any ideas about who killed my cousins?”
“I don’t,” Overman said. “I have no idea at all.”
Olivia looked out over the dark lawn. “What the heck happened? How did the killer get in the car with them? Why would Mary let some guy get in the car? She must have known him, don’t you think?”
“Unless someone pushed his way in or threatened her. She supposedly stopped at a hardware store on her way home. The store was just over the line in the next town. Maybe someone approached her in the parking lot?” Overman said.
“But Father Mike said that Mary and her daughter stopped by the church hall after they had been in the hardware store. She dropped off gallons of paint.”
“I didn’t know that,” Overman said. “What time was she there?”
“I’m not sure,” Olivia said. “But the timeline was that Mary dropped off paint at the church recreation hall sometime after she was seen at the hardware store which was around 2:00pm or so.”
“And the murders took place between 3:00-4:00 pm, so she had to run into the killer after she stopped at the church,” Overman said.
“Yeah, and the church is only two miles from the crime scene,” Olivia said. “So there wasn’t much time or space where she could have run into the killer.”
“Someone could have jumped in the car at the traffic light, I suppose. But that would have placed the killer on the main street of town. In broad daylight. You’d think someone would have seen a guy jump into her car,” Overman said.
“It could have been quick though. Just open the back door of the car and jump in. And the town wasn’t so populated back then so maybe there was a lull in the traffic so nobody was around to notice,” Olivia said.
“Maybe the mom took her daughter to the state park after they were at the church. Maybe they were going down to see the lake or something and ran into the bastard?”
“But the husband told the police that Mary was always at home when he returned from work,” Olivia said. “She was always getting dinner started. He never knew her to go to the park alone.”
“What about the husband?” Overman asked. “I guess the cops looked pretty closely at where he was?”
“Yeah. The husband checked out,” Olivia said. “His whereabouts were fully accounted and vouched for.” She put her mug on the armrest of her chair. “Did you ever hear anything about that young priest at the church? Father Anthony was his name. Some women in town back then thought this Father Anthony had a thing for Mary.”
“Never heard much.” Overman shook his head. “Somebody mentioned it to me, but I didn’t care, so I didn’t pay any attention to it. I remember that the ladies all had crushes on the guy. I’d see him around town…didn’t know what the fuss was about.”
“I heard the same thing. The women at the church seemed to think he was pretty handsome and charming. I bring it up because someone in town wondered if he had something to do with the murders.”
Overman’s eyes widened. “The priest?”
Olivia nodded. “I know it’s hard to believe. But the last place Mary was known to have been was at the church.”
“Why would the priest kill them?”
“Speculation was that Father Anthony wanted a relationship with Mary and maybe he didn’t like it when she refused him.”
“The cops must have cleared him though.”
“The cops cleared everyone,” Olivia said. “So it seems.”
“Do you know where this priest is now?” Overman asked.
“No.”
“Maybe it would be worth finding him. See what he has to say.”
“That was going to be my next step,” Olivia said. “I don’t expect he’ll wind up on my doorstep.”
“I’d bet not.” Overman looked down at his watch. “I’d better get a move on. Anything else you want to ask me?”
“I don’t think so.”
They both stood and walked down the steps.
“I came through the woods. My car is parked off the road back there.” Overman pointed past the backyard.
“I’m glad you came,” Olivia told him. “I’m glad things worked out for you.”
“Me, too. Take care, Olivia.”
“You, too.”
Overman started across the grass. When he was about forty feet away, Olivia called to him. Overman turned around.
“I believe you,” she said.
He nodded, and raised his hand goodbye.
Olivia watched him walk through the darkness to the back of the property. Lily trotted along beside him until he disappeared into the trees. Olivia took a deep breath and turned her face up to the sky. The stone of sadness. It was in her heart, too, that stone, full of grief, heavy and hard.
She couldn’t let it sink her.
Chapter 26
Olivia decided to call the Catholic Archdiocese of Boston to try to find Father Anthony. It took several calls and suggestions of other offices to speak with, but eventually she received an address of the church where the priest was currently assigned. Turned out, he was in Connecticut, only an hour and half away from Howland. Father Anthony Foley was the pastor of Holy Rosary Church in Eastham, Connecticut. Olivia couldn’t believe her good fortune.
Olivia arranged with Jackie to let Lily into the house when she was done working on the sunroom for the day. Because Olivia wasn’t sure how long the trip to Connecticut would take, she left a bowl of dry dog food for Lily in the kitchen.
Olivia drove along the quiet country roads of residential Connecticut. The road wound past stately homes with wide expanses of lawn, wooded parcels, and through small villages with quaint stores and cafes. Olivia’s GPS system indicated that the church would be coming up on her right in 4.4 miles. Father Anthony did not know that she was planning to pay him a visit. Olivia felt that surprise would benefit the conversation she hoped to have with the priest. She calculated that Father Anthony would be about sixty-five years old now. She was interested in seeing the man that so many women back in Howland had been gaga over.
Olivia took the turn into the driveway that led up a slight hill past the church and into the parki
ng lot near the rectory. She followed the crushed stone walkway to the front door of the Greek Revival home that was now used to house the priest and conduct church business. She rang the bell and after a few minutes, a grey-haired, stooped woman opened the door.
“Yes, ma’am?” she said brightly.
Olivia chuckled to herself. She couldn’t remember ever being called “ma’am” before and wondered about the woman’s eyesight. “I’d like to speak with Father Anthony if he’s around. I don’t have an appointment.”
“Well, come in, dear. I believe he’s doing paperwork. Let me pop into his office. I’m sure he can see you in just a minute or two.” She indicated an upholstered chair along the foyer wall.
Olivia sat and wondered why so many older women seemed to be the receptionists for church rectories. She wondered if they felt they were doing God’s work which might be beneficial when they went to meet their maker.
Olivia heard footsteps approaching. A tall, dark-haired man with gray showing at the temples offered his hand. Olivia stood and shook with him. The priest’s eyes were deep blue. He had dimples in his cheeks. His smile was warm and welcoming. Olivia could see how he might have charmed a whole town of women when he was young.
“I’m Father Anthony,” he said.
“I’m Olivia Miller. I was wondering if you might have some time to talk.”
“Are you new to town?” The priest ushered her down the hall and into a den with wide windows looking out onto flower gardens. There was a large oak desk in front of the windows and a sitting area to the right next to a fireplace. He and Olivia sat in matching chairs placed on either side of the fireplace.
“No, I don’t live in Connecticut. I was hoping to speak with you about a parish you spent some time at in Massachusetts.”
The priest looked curious. “How can I help you?”
“I’m from Maine, but I attend school in Massachusetts. Right now, I’m house-sitting for my cousin while he is away on business. He lives in Howland.”
