An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

Newton
was awake and he startled the nurse when he spoke. Startled his wife Maggie
too. He said, “Thirsty”.

“You
shouldn’t be awake,” the nurse said, even though it was afternoon.

Maggie
stood up and touched Newton’s hand and Newton managed a weak squeeze.

“I’m
still here,” he said, and Maggie began to cry. “It’s okay,”

Maggie
held a cup to his mouth so he could drink a little and dribble a little down
his chin. She mopped the dribble up with a handkerchief.

“Thought
I’d lost you,” Maggie said.

Newton
said quietly, “Not again. Never again.”

The nurse
was fussing around the equipment that had kept Newton alive for the past few
hours.

“He
should be resting,” the nurse said to Maggie. And she picked up a vial of
something and inserted a syringe into it.

Newton
saw the vial and suddenly tried to sit up in bed. The nurse put the vial and
syringe down and tried to settle Newton back down. It didn’t take much
strength.

“Really
now, Mr. Newton, you need to rest. Don’t be going trying to sit up again. I’m
going to have to give you something to sleep.”

“I need a
phone,” Newton croaked.

“No, you
don’t,” the nurse said, and she picked up the syringe and vial again. “No, you
need to rest. I won’t tell you again.”

“The
vial. I need a phone. It’s the vial.”

“I’ll
call,” Maggie said, and she pulled out her cellphone. “Who do you want me to
call?”

“McNeely.
Call McNeely.” He took a couple of breaths and then said, “Tell her to contact
Grainger at Sunny Glade.” He reached for the water and Maggie put it to his
lips again and he sipped. “Ask Grainger to check the batch numbers on his
morphine.”

“That
it?” Maggie asked. She was already dialing the station.

Newton
nodded. And the nurse injected something into the intravenous fluid bag.

McNeely
was there even though it was a Saturday. She knew what Newton was thinking. She
had made the call to Grainger. Told him to not, on no account, let anyone near
the pharmacy. She was at Sunny Glade within ten minutes. Grainger was waiting
and he led her to the cabinet that contained the vials of morphine. She
examined them all. The batch numbers on three vials of morphine didn’t match
the rest. “They’re not ours, no, ma’am” was how Grainger put it. McNeely
checked the batch numbers on the suspect vials against the numbers on the vials
retrieved from Doctor Brookline’s house. Positive match. She called Ward.

Ward was
with Packham. The medical examiner had managed to open up the mummification
covering on the body of the boy and had cut his clothes off and he stood back
admiring the little body.

“Pretty
amazing really,” Packham said.

Ward
nodded but what he saw was a shriveled-up little papier-mâché figure.

“Mightn’t
look much to you but this is good. Very good.”

“When
might we get some results?” Ward asked.

“Give me
a couple of hours for preliminary results.”

Ward’s
phone rang.

“Okay,”
Ward said to the medical examiner. “You’ll call me when you have anything?”

“Sure
will,” Packham said.

It was
McNeely on the phone. She told Ward about the vials as he made his way out into
the corridor of the mortuary.

“So
someone placed vials of morphine from Brookline’s house in the pharmacy of
Sunny Glade,” Ward said. “Why would someone do that?”

McNeely
said, “To replace morphine used to kill Bill O’Donnell?”

Ward
said, “So that nobody would notice any was missing. Make it look like whoever
did the old man in brought in the morphine from elsewhere so we wouldn’t think
it was an inside job. So, we assume the old man’s killer is someone who had
access to the pharmacy at Sunny Glade. Only nursing staff, the on-call doctor
and Grainger himself have access. Grainger told me. He keeps the key. Unless
someone else got a hold of the key. Someone who would know where the key was kept.”

“I wish I
could help you with that but I ain’t a detective, detective.”

“You’ve
helped a lot,” Ward said. “We need those vials in evidence. Might have prints
on them, though I’m guessing not, but check anyway,” and he was out of the
building and in his car. He turned his music on and then flipped it off again.

Property
magnate James Kenny’s house couldn’t be seen from the security gate. Kenny
buzzed Ward through the gate and the magnetic lock broke with a clunk and the
gate swung open quietly. The road up to the house snaked through ornamental
trees and rhododendrons and Ward stopped the car when his cellphone rang.

“Jake,”
Ward said.

The FBI
officer said, “I got you something. This don’t trace back to me. Never.”

Ward
said, “Okay.”

“You have
access to a fax machine?”

“No. Hang
on. Let me get back to you.”

“Hurry.
I’m in a copy shop.”

Ward hung
up and continued his drive up to the mansion. He sped up and braked heavily in
front of the house and left a couple of deep tire tracks in the gravel.

The
gardens that Kenny’s house towered over were immaculately tended. Lawns ran
into shrubs which ran into expensively landscaped plantation woodland spread
over a few acres. Like something Olmsted and Vaux might have designed. The snow
had settled on everything and made it opaque.

Kenny’s
door opened and the man stood there, all expression erased.

“Mr.
Kenny,” Ward said.

“I’m
sorry, I can’t remember the name.”

“Ward.”

“Of
course. Now, Mr. Ward, I thought we’d had the conversation,” Kenny said.

“Can I come
in?”

“I’m a
little busy.”

“This
won’t take long.”

Kenny
backed off and moved to the side to let Ward step into the reception hallway.
Ward’s eyes immediately gazed upwards and the hallway stretched up three
floors, a large French-style chandelier drawing his focus.

“It’s a
Saturday,” Kenny said. “Don’t you have anything else to do on a weekend, Mr.
Ward? I certainly do.”

Ward
smiled. “Unfortunately crime doesn’t take the weekends off.”

Kenny
said, “So, what is it that I can help you with?”

And then
a mouse’s voice called out, “Who is it, dear?” Kenny’s wife, Ward presumed.

“It’s
okay, I’ve got it,” Kenny called, and the voice wasn’t heard again.

“Do you
have a fax machine?” Ward said.

Kenny
inhaled and his chest bulged out. “Are we playing games here, Mr. Ward?”

Ward
said, “I’m sorry, if it’s an imposition.” He fiddled with his hat like a serf
might do.

Kenny led
Ward into his study.

“What’s
the number?”

Kenny
told Ward the number and Ward called Jake back and read out the number and then
he hung up his phone.

“I’m
mindful
 
that
I don’t have to talk to you, Mr. Ward.” Kenny kept puffing out annoyance.

“It’s
Detective Ward,” Ward said, his eyes settling on Kenny and staying there,
unblinking. “And no, you don’t have to talk to me. Would you prefer we do this
down at the station?”

“Just say
what you came to say. I’ve told you all I know in connection with the old man.
And I have got things to be doing, so, let’s get done.”

“Well, we
seem to have a little issue with some vials of morphine that appeared in the pharmacy
at Sunny Glade.”

“Go on,”
Kenny said, and his expression seamlessly went from annoyed to mildly curious.

“You see,
the morphine you got in your
pharmacy, that
came from
elsewhere. Different batch numbers.”

“Oh, and
where did it come from?”

“Do you
have any idea where it came from?”

“Well,
that’s not my department, so I wouldn’t know. I own Sunny Glade. I don’t run
it.”

“Okay,”
Ward said as the fax machine started to whirr. “You see, it strikes me,
sir, that
the morphine used to kill Mr. O’Donnell came from
your pharmacy and was then replaced by some morphine from another source.
So’s
nobody would notice any was missing.”

Kenny
nodded as Ward was talking.

“So? What
is it you want to ask me, Mr. Ward? Detective Ward.”

“Well, I
asked it and you said you didn’t know nothing about it.”

“Well,
sorry I can’t be any more help. Now, if we’ve done here, I really need to—”

“Actually,
that’s not why I came. It’s why I came initially but something else came up.”
He looked at the fax machine and the whirring stopped. Ward picked up the two
sheets of paper from the tray. He looked at Kenny and then he studied the
paper.

“This is
becoming tiresome, Detective Ward. Now, I’ve got things to do and I’d like you
to leave.”

“Are you
sure you don’t want to do this here?”

“Just get
the hell out,” Kenny said, and he went to snatch the fax from Ward’s hand but
Ward pulled away. “You know my son’s a lawyer.”

“I’m
leaving,” Ward said. “Thank you for the use of your fax machine.”

“What do
you have there?” Kenny said.

“Potential
evidence.”

“Evidence
of what?”

“Of your
connection to the death of Ryan Novak.”

“You son
of a bitch, let me have that,” Kenny said, and he again made a grab at the fax
but Ward was quicker.

“I’ll be in
touch,” Ward said, and he turned to leave.

“Do you
realize who you are dealing with here?” Kenny shouted. “Do you know how much
leverage I carry in this town?”

“Sir, I
suggest you use all the influence you got to get yourself a comfortable jail
cell.”

“You son
of a bitch. You fucking son of a bitch,” Kenny said, but Ward was almost at the
door and he turned and faced Kenny.

“You got
a
potty
mouth there, sir.” And he left.

He swung
by the motel. It was the weekend. He’d neglected Jesús and it was their time
together. The little old dog trotted over to him as he entered the door and he
fussed around Ward’s legs and he tried to jump up but a day of doing nothing
had seemingly stiffened his joints. Ward attached his leash and they left,
Jesús struggling to keep up on arthritic limbs.

“I’d like
to bring in James Kenny, sir,” Ward said to Lieutenant Gammond, who had just
walked into the station.

“Whoa.
Whoa, son,” Gammond said, and he led Ward into his office. He turned abruptly
and pointed at Ward with a shaky gloved hand. “You’re in danger of getting
yourself into a whole heap of shit here. Man’s got power around these here
parts.”

“You two
go to the same church? You sing the same hymns,” Ward said.

Gammond’s
face reddened.

“He call you?”
Ward asked. He knew the answer. “We going to be pushed around by golf club
influence? That how policing works around here?”

“Look
here, you dang son of a bitch—”

“Same
preference in curse words too,” Ward said.

“You
treading a fine line there, boy,” Gammond said, and his face nearly exploded.

“Sir, I’m
trying to be respectful as I can but I’m kinda getting frustrated at being
blocked from doing my job.”

“What you
got on Kenny? Tell me.”

“There’s
the vials of morphine. Vials from the scene of Doctor Brookline’s death found
their way into the pharmacy at Sunny Glade. Replacements for the ones that
killed O’Donnell. Tells me the same person killed both of them. And Kenny was
there at Sunny Glade the night O’Donnell was killed. He would know how to get access
to the pharmacy.”

Gammond
paused a few seconds, staring at Ward, then said, “Dang it, that’s not enough
to get someone like James Kenny into this police station. You ain’t thinking
clearly is
all.
”

“And I
think he’s connected to the death of Ryan Novak.”

Gammond
backed away and sat down and the color seeped from his face. “How… you… you
have something?”

Ward
said, “I have something.”

Gammond
said, “What?” And his voice was in another room.

“I’d
rather not say at this point because I’m still gathering things together.”

“Tell
me,” Gammond said.

“Sir, I
can’t betray my source.”

“To me,
yes, you can. Tell me.”

“Lieutenant,
sir, no, I can’t. Way I do things is I always protect my sources.”

Gammond
said in a tiger’s growl, “Son, you going to tell me or I’m pulling you off this
case.”

“Well,
that makes things difficult, then. I’ll go see the captain.” Ward made to leave
Gammond’s office.

“Hold
on,” Gammond said. “Hold on. Evidence from a source you can’t name isn’t
admissible. You know that, right?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“You’re
not bringing in Kenny. Get me something else.”

Ward’s
blue eyes fixed on Gammond. Then he walked out of the office.

Ward was
at his desk going through the interviews and statements of people at the
nursing home again. McNeely was making Jesús feel special over at her desk.
When he got to the young girl Penny Gilfoyle’s statement he read it and then
paused. He knew Kenny had been there that night. The girl hadn’t mentioned him
and Ward hadn’t known to ask. He hadn’t been aware at the time he’d gone to see
her that Kenny had been there on the night of O’Donnell’s death. He’d go and
see her again. No, he’d call.

He spoke
to the girl’s exasperated father first and then the girl came onto the phone.
She sounded excited to hear from him but at the same time disappointed that he
hadn’t been in touch earlier. She spoke first.

“Detective
Ward. It’s Penny. So nice to—”

“Penny,
this is urgent and you could help me clear something up. Something very
important to my case.” He could hear the click of her smile.

“I’ll try
my best.”

Ward
said, “On the night of Mr. O’Donnell’s death did you speak to anyone before you
left Sunny Glade? Any of the staff there?”

“I spoke
to the lady on the front desk.”

“Anybody
else?”

She went
quiet.

“Did you
tell anybody else what Mr. O’Donnell had said to you?”

“I can’t
remember. I can’t…” She went quiet again, and then, “Yes. This old guy… I think
he owns the place… he was there.”

“Okay,”
Ward said. He twirled a pencil in his fingers.

And then
Penny said, “He spoke to me.”

Ward sat
up. “What did he say? This is important, Penny.” He could almost hear her
thinking. It took a while for her to speak again.

“He… he
asked me what the old man had said.”

Ward
said, “Good, Penny, good. And what did you tell him?”

Penny
said, “I told him what he said. About a confession.”

Ward was
on his feet. “Was there anything else?”

“I don’t
think so. I told him he’d shouted ‘Doctor Brookline,’ that’s all.”

Ward
said, “Well, thank you, Penny. Thank you so much. That’s really useful.”

“Cool. Do
you need me to come down the station to make a statement?”

Ward was
staring across at the evidence board. “I’ll be in touch, Penny.”

His eyes
darted across the board. Looked at the photo of John White. Looked at the various
scrawled words and phrases. Tried to put them together to make something. He
was sure that Kenny was somehow involved in the old man’s death. Ryan’s too,
almost certainly. But he didn’t know exactly why. Couldn’t work out his
connection to Ryan. O’Donnell must have died because he’d known about the boy’s
death. He’d taken him and buried him in the forest. He hadn’t killed him so
someone else had and O’Donnell knew who and had kept quiet about it. There had
been a cover up. Someone else knew and had been paid off, Ward was sure of
that. Kenny’s bank withdrawals, from the FBI corruption investigation, which
his friend Jake had faxed over to him, suggested that. But not O’Donnell,
despite his regular payments to Alice White. That money was his own hard-earned
cash. To pay for the upbringing of John White. And then there was the
suggestion of police involvement from what O’Donnell had said to the
journalist, Larsson. Ward didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him and he
pushed that aside for now. Knew it would be answered soon. All the pieces were
coming together now.

He
fidgeted in his seat and kept the questions coming and one above all begged for
an answer. Why kill O’Donnell now? Why after all these years of keeping the
secret of Ryan’s death had Kenny decided to kill him or have him killed? What
was it that had spooked him? What was it that had almost certainly made him get
rid of Doctor Brookline too? Was it just the fact that O’Donnell had mentioned
the doctor’s name? What did the old man mean by the word ‘confession’? Was that
what had spooked Kenny? But why would the old man just come out and say it? Why
would he all of a sudden get agitated and come out with that? What was his
confession and why didn’t Kenny want him to make it?