The Burning Soul

by John Connolly

  ‘Valerie, I just want to talk,’ he said, his hand still covering her mouth. ‘I can help you find Anna.’

  And, instantly, the fight left her body.

  ‘I’m going to take my hand away, okay?’

  She nodded, and Dempsey got a good look at her for the first time. She had naturally pale features sprinkled with a dusting of freckles, and large brown eyes. He’d heard that she used to be a looker, especially with a little makeup, but now her eyes were sunk deep into her skull with gray-black bags beneath them, and spots had broken out on her skin. She had probably been prescribed sedatives and sleeping pills, but his guess was that she wasn’t taking them. She’d hate lying awake at night, but would fear sleep more. Awake she might still be of some use to her daughter, while to embrace temporary oblivion was to be selfish. What if those who had her daughter called? What if she was sleeping, and somehow the chance to get Anna back safely was missed?

  ‘Why did you come here?’ she said. ‘I have enough troubles.’

  ‘I told you, I want to help. Come on, let’s go to another room where we can talk in private.’

  She led him to one of the bedrooms, and soon Dempsey could hear the low murmur of their voices. He drifted toward the window, where he could keep an eye on the front of the house. The deputy hadn’t moved from his cruiser, and no more cars passed.

  One of the agents spoke to Dempsey.

  ‘You made me burn my balls,’ he said.

  ‘That’s sad. Maybe they’ll swell up to the size of a regular set.’

  The agent sighed into the carpet.

  ‘I don’t know who’s crazier,’ he said, ‘you or Morris.’

  ‘Me,’ said Dempsey. ‘Definitely me.’

  Valerie sat on her daughter’s bed. Tommy leaned against the wall, taking in the pictures on the walls and the photographs of the niece he hadn’t seen in so very long.

  ‘How did you find me?’ said Valerie. ‘You see me on the TV?’

  ‘I knew before that,’ Tommy replied. ‘I’ve known where you were for a long time.’

  ‘The FBI said this might be something to do with you. Is that true?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because I asked.’

  Even after so many years, she remembered that tone.

  ‘Did you ask Joey Toomey?’ she said.

  ‘We talked.’

  ‘The FBI thinks you killed him.’

  ‘I thought just what you did: that Anna’s disappearance might have been a way to get at me. I had to be sure that it wasn’t.’

  ‘Did killing him make you certain?’

  ‘No. Killing him just made me feel better.’

  There was disgust on her face, but it was mingled with another response. Perhaps, Tommy thought, she still has some of the old blood in her.

  ‘They say you’re in trouble.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘The FBI. They say that Oweny Farrell has put a price on your head.’

  ‘Oweny Farrell couldn’t afford to pay for one hair,’ he said, and the bravado sounded hollow even to him.

  ‘Why did you hide from me?’ he asked. ‘Why did you run from your own family?’

  She looked at him with bewilderment.

  ‘Are you crazy? Are you out of your fucking mind?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me that way.’

  ‘What way should I talk to the man who killed the father of my little girl?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Tommy. ‘I swear I didn’t know.’

  ‘You didn’t know what? That he was her father, or that he was to be killed? What didn’t you know? Tell me. Which was it?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘You didn’t know.’ She spat the last word. ‘I don’t believe you. I didn’t believe you then, and I still don’t.’

  Tommy was forced to turn away from the fury in her eyes.

  ‘You should have come back,’ he said. ‘If you’d come back and let me look after you, then maybe this—’

  She raised an index finger to him, the nail ragged and bitten.

  ‘Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say that. I swear, I’ll blind you with these nails if you try to play that game with me.’

  Tommy stayed silent.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last. ‘You’re right. That was wrong.’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘You and Anna are all the family I have left. I—’

  She interrupted him. He didn’t like it. She’d been away from men for too long, he thought. She’d forgotten her manners.

  ‘We’re not your family, Tommy. That ended when you put Ronnie in the ground. Anna has no memory of her early life, thank God, and I haven’t told her anything to change that. As far as she’s concerned she has no uncles, no cousins, nothing. She just accepts that’s the way things are for her.’

  Tommy let it go.

  ‘None of this will bring her back,’ he said.

  Suddenly Valerie started to cry. It surprised her almost as much as it disturbed Tommy. She didn’t think that she had any tears left.

  He came to her, and stroked her hair, and she allowed him to press her face to his belly.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me everything that you told them.’

  Dempsey was still waiting by the window when Tommy returned.

  ‘Finished?’ Dempsey said.

  ‘Finished.’

  Tommy squatted in front of the agents. From his pocket he took a roll of duct tape.

  ‘Sorry about this, boys,’ he said. ‘No hard feelings.’

  ‘Come in, Tommy,’ said the one in the golf shirt. ‘Come in and talk to us. We’re your best chance now.’

  ‘I hope that’s not true,’ said Tommy. ‘If it is, I’m in worse trouble than I thought.’

  He wrapped the tape around their mouths and their legs. He had similarly restrained his sister, although he had left her mouth free, and her nail scissors were within reach. She had promised to give them as much time as she could before freeing herself and the agents.

  ‘Did you learn anything?’ asked Dempsey, as they returned.

  ‘It was enough to see her, and for her to know that I’m on her side. I want to do this for her. I want to find my niece. I have to try to make things right, Martin, before the end.’

  Dempsey said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

  They called Ryan from the road, and dumped the car at a strip mall. They’d boosted it from outside the Colonial movie theater in Belfast after watching the couple pay for a matinee show and give their tickets to the usher. Their movie would probably have finished by now, and they’d have noticed that their car was missing. Ryan picked them up, and they returned to the motel. Tommy was more upbeat than he’d been in a while. Dempsey saw some of his old dynamism returning, and believed Tommy might have been reinvigorated by the meeting with his sister.

  He was only partly right. Tommy Morris’s mood had been improved by seeing Valerie after all this time, but he was also anticipating the possibility of a more direct contribution to the search for his niece.

  Tommy Morris was about to be given a name.

  26

  Randall Haight and I stood at the door to the meeting room. From inside we could hear the sound of men’s voices, and I thought I recognized Gordon Walsh’s dulcet tones.

  ‘Are you ready for this, Randall?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  I opened the door with my left hand, and patted Haight on the shoulder with my right, although it was as much a means of giving him an extra push over the threshold if required as it was a gesture of reassurance.

  Chief Allan gave a muffled grunt as Haight entered the meeting room, but it was the only sound that anyone made. Haight took a seat beside Aimee on one side of the table, facing Allan, Gordon Walsh, and Soames. Engel and his fellow agent had taken two seats by the window, slightly apart from the main group. I sat against the wall and listened.

  Walsh made the
introductions for his side, and slid a recording device closer to Haight, who gave his name for the record. There were notebooks open and ready. Once Haight had settled into his chair, Aimee asked him to tell everyone, in his own words and in his own time, why he was there.

  He began haltingly, but as he went on he grew a little more confident, and stumbled less. He kept his hands clasped in front of him, untangling his fingers only to take an occasional sip of water. His story began with the circumstances surrounding the death of Selina Day, his sentencing and imprisonment, and his eventual move to Pastor’s Bay. There was nothing in it that I hadn’t already heard, and he was interrupted only twice, once by Walsh and once by Allan, to clear up minor points. He then described receiving the succession of missives that had led him to this room. When he had finished, Aimee produced a number of sealed plastic bags, each containing an envelope and its contents, and handed them over to Walsh.

  Only Engel appeared disengaged from what we had heard. I could see him zoning out shortly after Haight started speaking. This was of no use to Engel. His interest didn’t lie in an old killing far from the Northeast. It didn’t even lie in the safe return of Anna Kore. Engel wanted Tommy Morris, and Randall Haight’s disclosures would bring that consummation no closer.

  Walsh asked if he and his colleagues could be excused in order to consult for a time, but Aimee offered instead to take Haight and me into her office until they were ready to resume. Haight went to the restroom, and while he was gone Aimee raised an eyebrow at me and said, ‘Well?’

  ‘He was as good as could be expected, and they let him talk. The next part will be more difficult for him.’

  ‘I know.’

  Despite all her warnings, Aimee knew that we would have to expose Haight to a certain amount of aggressive questioning. It was like cleansing a wound: It was better to get it done all at once than in small painful increments.

  Haight returned.

  ‘How did I do?’ he asked.

  ‘You did fine, Randall,’ said Aimee. ‘We both thought so.’

  He was relieved, and not only because we felt that the first part of the interview had gone well. He had something of the spiritual lightness of a penitent who has recently unburdened himself of his sins and been absolved. He had told his story and no one had reacted with obvious disgust or anger. He was not cuffed, and he had not been pilloried. He had confronted that which he most feared, and he had survived thus far.

  ‘The FBI man, Mr. Engel, was in the restroom when I went in,’ said Haight.

  ‘Did he speak to you?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he just nodded. I couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t seem very interested in what I was saying.’ Haight sounded mildly offended.

  ‘Maybe you weren’t what he was expecting,’ said Aimee.

  ‘But what was he expecting?’ asked Haight, and I raised my hand gently at Aimee in warning. This was not an area that we needed to explore with the client; not yet, not until the next stage of the interview process had been concluded, but Haight wasn’t a fool. He sensed that there was a disparity between what we knew and what he was being told.

  We were saved by a knock on the door. Aimee’s assistant stuck his head in to say that they were ready for us.

  ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ I told Haight. ‘I promise that it doesn’t involve you, and it won’t affect anything that’s said in the next room, or any question that is put to you. When we’re done, we’ll take time to go over any other relevant details, okay?’

  Haight had little choice but to agree. He had come this far, and although he could have sat in Aimee’s office and refused to come out until we’d told him everything, including the truth about UFOs and who had killed Kennedy, he didn’t, largely because Aimee and I kept him moving, and by the time we were back in the meeting room it was too late for him to do anything but sit back down in his chair and wait for the questions to come.

  Walsh handled the next stage. He was careful, and consistent, and studiedly neutral at the start. He went back over Haight’s story, asking many of the same questions that Aimee and I had asked of him. He clarified Haight’s movements in the years since his release and touched on the subject of Lonny Midas.

  ‘You have no knowledge of Lonny Midas’s current whereabouts?’ said Walsh.

  ‘He’s not called that anymore,’ said Haight. ‘Lonny Midas doesn’t exist, just like William Lagenheimer doesn’t exist. They gave both of us new identities so that we couldn’t contact each other even if we wanted to.’

  ‘So you have no reason to think that Lonny Midas might have found you?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Were you frightened of him, Mr. Haight?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Are you still frightened of him now?’

  Haight began tugging at a loose piece of fingernail. I could see him doing it from where I sat. He pulled so hard that I saw him wince at the pain he was inflicting on himself.

  ‘William Lagenheimer was,’ said Haight, ‘but Randall Haight isn’t. Do you understand the distinction, Detective? That’s why I didn’t want to come here today. I wanted to stay hidden. Nobody could find me as long as I stayed hidden.’

  ‘But someone has found you, Mr. Haight. Someone knows who you are. The damage has been done now.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who this person might be?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could it be Lonny Midas?’

  Haight just shook his head, but his reply didn’t match the movement. ‘Lonny always bore grudges,’ he said. ‘Lonny never forgave anyone who did him a bad turn.’

  ‘And he bears a grudge against William Lagenheimer, because William told the cops what was done to Selina Day?’

  ‘I think Lonny probably hates William. He probably hates him more now than he did on the day that he told. Lonny was a brooder.’

  ‘Could Lonny have taken Anna Kore to frame you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Haight softly. ‘That’s the kind of thing Lonny would do.’

  Walsh let the subject go. He moved on to routine questions, most little more than clarifications. Haight answered them easily, and I felt him start to relax again. He grew more loquacious in his replies, giving Walsh more than was necessary to answer the questions. Walsh even cracked a small joke, something about accountancy training and jailhouse lawyers, and Haight smiled in return. Everybody was getting along just dandily. I caught Aimee’s eye and shook my head, and she interrupted Walsh’s next question.

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective, I just need a quick moment with my client.’

  Walsh wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t object. Instead he contented himself with giving me the hard stare. I knew what he’d been doing and now he’d been caught. This was a version of ‘good cop-bad cop’ with Walsh about to slip from the first role into the second.

  Aimee murmured in Haight’s ear. As she spoke to him, he glanced at Walsh, and his face assumed an expression of hurt. When the interview resumed, he was noticeably more restrained in his mode of answering.

  ‘Tell me about Anna Kore,’ said Walsh. ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘But you’d seen her around town? After all, Pastor’s Bay is a small place. Everybody knows everybody, right?’

  ‘I guess I’d seen her around.’

  ‘Did you know her by name?’

  ‘No, I’d never spoken to her.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I asked. Did you know her by name?’

  ‘Well, sure. As you said, Pastor’s Bay is a small town.’

  ‘So you did know her?’

  Haight was flustered. ‘Yes. Well, no, not in the way you mean.’

  ‘What way do I mean?’

  Aimee intervened.

  ‘Detective, let me remind you that this is not an interrogation. Mr. Haight is here of his own free will. He has provided information that may prove to be of assistance in your investigation, and he is hims
elf the victim of a particularly insidious form of intimidation. Let’s not add to it, okay.’

  Walsh raised his hands in mock surrender and resumed his questioning.

  ‘Had you met Anna Kore’s mother?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. She came to a couple of meetings of the town council earlier this year. She wanted to talk about trees.’

  ‘Trees?’

  ‘The trees growing on Bay Road. There was a storm, and some pretty big branches came down. She was concerned about the safety of her daughter and her property.’

  ‘That sounds like a pretty minor matter.’

  ‘Not if you’re hit by a falling tree,’ said Haight, not unreasonably.

  ‘What I mean is that I’m surprised you remember it so clearly,’ said Walsh. ‘There must be a lot of business discussed at these meetings and yet you have no trouble recalling Valerie Kore’s concerns.’

  But Haight was on familiar ground here. ‘I’m an accountant: I spend my life remembering small details. I don’t attend every meeting of the town council because it isn’t necessary for me to do so, but I can certainly give you chapter and verse on any issue that has relevance to the town’s budget: sanitation, tree pruning, fence painting, the replacement of appliances, of vehicles. So, yes, I remember Valerie Kore’s point, but I remember also that Chief Allan had spoken just before her on the subject of acquiring a used Crown Victoria to supplement his motor pool, and at the same meeting Vernon Tuttle wanted to know why his store had been cited for littering when he’d been asking for six months that a permanent trash can be placed on his stretch of Main Street.’

  Chief Allan shifted in his seat. So far he had said nothing since we resumed, and he didn’t look as if he was anxious to involve himself now, but by speaking about him Haight had given him little choice.