An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

The man
holds the boy in his arms. The boy’s eyes are open but don’t see. The man’s
eyes are closed but tears spring from them. He rocks the boy, then pulls him in
close. For minutes he stands there but he knows nothing of time. He holds him and
he wants to for an eternity. He yearns to swap places with the boy, and a groan
from the deepest depths of his soul escapes him. He sobs and looks towards
heaven, an attempt at a prayer, a plea for forgiveness and mercy. He suddenly
fears his final judgment. He stares into infinity and pities himself.

The
conversation with the nursing home manager, Grainger, had been brief. Ward had
asked him about any comings and goings on the day of the homicide, and Grainger
had sweated his way through the questions, ending each answer with a “yes,
sir.” Said there was a girl with the victim shortly before he died. Paid
regular visits. Ward had asked him about security and Grainger had pointed out
surveillance cameras and had told Ward that all visitors were obliged to sign
in on arrival and to sign out on departure. Yes, sir.

Ward had
asked who had been in the room since the old man’s death and Grainger had told
him that the room had been cleaned and gave Ward the name of the cleaner. Said
that he couldn’t account for everybody who might have been in the room as it
had not been locked. Ward had then asked him how drugs in the facility were
secured and Grainger had told him that the pharmacy was secured by lock and key
and that the on-call doctor and residential nurses had access to the key, which
was locked up in the safe, for which he, Grainger, held the key. Yes, sir.

He had
then asked Grainger to organize a full inventory of the pharmacy, make sure
nothing was missing. With particular attention to morphine. He would do that of
course, yes, sir. Ward had dismissed Grainger with a thank you and had told him
that there might be more questions later. Grainger had answered with a yes,
sir.

It was a
dark evening. Ward swung into the parking lot of the station, a modern building
with plenty enough glass and a bit of steel girder and dark wood siding. He
parked the car and turned off the engine and the rock music but didn’t remove
his seat belt. He stared straight ahead. He was still there when McNeely pulled
in beside him a couple of minutes later. McNeely got out of her car and came
over to him, tapped on his window. He wound it down.

“Welcome
to Montana,” she said.

Ward
popped the belt. “Let’s check this in. I’ll update the lieutenant. See if you
can find out what happened to the victim’s possessions.”

Newton
was sitting at his desk. He faced his box of possessions, chewing at his thumb,
occasionally examining it for intact skin to bite.

Ward
dropped his hat on the desk next to Newton.

“I’ll
move my things,” Newton said.

“No,
stay. I’m fine over here.”

Newton
looked way past retirement, his gray pallor underscoring the gloom of the day.
He spoke without looking at Ward. “He did it.” He glanced a hand across his
thinning hair.

“I’m
sorry?”

“Been twenty-five
years sorry.”

“We lose
sometimes.”

Newton’s
head cranked up to face Ward. “I worked the Ryan Novak disappearance for
months. Still working it in my head. Something like that stays with you.”

“We all
have the ones that we don’t solve.”

“The nature
of the job, son, I know, but this.”

“You want
to talk about it?”

“Aw shit,
I don’t know.”

“Okay,”
Ward said, and gave Newton room to continue.

“It takes
something away from you. It’s not the failure. Stats don’t count shit when it
comes to the disappearance of a child. That’s something that you’re measured
against differently and not by the department. By others. You front a failure
like this in a small town like ours and you’re the guy who didn’t protect one
of their children. You know how that goes down? You know what that does to you?
I couldn’t walk the streets without someone looking over at me and thinking,
‘There goes the cop who let that bastard get away.’ I still get that to this
day. I sense it. The truth, son, that’s all I need to know.” He stopped. Ward
saw the man of twenty-five years ago, scratching around for answers that
disappeared around corners and into the darkness of dead ends.

“I hear
you,” Ward offered. He stood there looking at the old man who was shrinking
before his eyes.

“Anyway,
it’s your case. I’ll keep out of your way.”

“Okay.”

Ward took
a step backwards and as he did he crashed into a uniformed officer, who fended
Ward off like a defensive lineman.

“Watch
where you’re going,” said the officer, a half smile,
half
grimace on his face. Teeth too big for his mouth and too white.

Ward’s
anger swelled but he didn’t allow it to overflow from his puffed-out chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said as his fists clenched and he bit his bottom lip. “Ward.”
He unclenched his fist and offered his open hand. The officer didn’t take it.

“No
problem. Officer Mallory,” said the officer, and he sat on the edge of Newton’s
desk, a smile running across his mouth.

Lieutenant
Gammond was a short butternut squash of a man with slicked-back hair and a
large mustache. Ward had knocked on the door and Gammond had said “come” but
Ward was already in the office by then.

“Just
come to update you on the homicide, sir.”

“Ah yes,”
Gammond said, and he waved a pudgy hand at a chair for Ward to sit. “The old
man. Hold it right there if you will.” And he tapped at a few keys on his
computer keyboard as slowly as he spoke. Ward sat.

“We’ve
done our—” Ward started but Gammond held up a hand and continued to type with
his other. Ward looked around the office, at the hunting photos, the photos of
Gammond in uniform, the set of golf clubs, the homemade sign that read, “You
don’t have to be crazy to work here,
you
just got to
do what I tell you.” He saw the gun cabinet with three hunting rifles in it. He
recognized the
Mauser
98 and the Remington Model 700
but couldn’t get the third.

“That
one’s a
Krieghoff
, son. Two rifle barrels and a
twenty-gauge shotgun barrel. That’ll bring down a dang country.” He still
tapped.

“You
shoot that thing?”

“I done
shot it once. Shoulder still smarts some.”

Gammond
stopped tapping, sucked through his bottom teeth as if he’d got a piece of meat
stuck there, and said, “Okay, where’re we at with the
ol
’
feller?” He picked at his teeth with a manicured fingernail.

“As I was
saying, sir, we’ve done our preliminary forensics gathering and taken
statements. Should have results soon. I’ll update you when we have something.”
He stood to leave.

“Sit down
there, detective,” Gammond said, and Ward hovered and then sat. “We ain’t had a
proper welcome sit-down-and-drink-a-whiskey
chat.” He reached
into a drawer in his antique oak desk that looked like it was made from a
single large tree and pulled out a bottle and two small glasses. “How we do
things up here.” He poured. “And don’t tell me you’ll pass because I won’t hear
a dang word of it.” He handed the glass to Ward and sniffed his own before
knocking it back. Ward did the same.

“See,
we’re civilized up in these parts.” He stroked his mustache with thumb and
forefinger. He stopped and seemed to lose his thoughts over somewhere else.

“I want
Newton on the case with me.”

“He’s
finished.”

“He’s got
a few more days.”

“What’s
he going to do in a few days?”

“Local
knowledge. He knew the guy.”

“Dang it,
you’re the homicide detective now, son. What’ll you do with an old—” He stopped
himself. “He’ll be apt to get in your way. It’s your job now. Why we got you up
here.”

Ward
remained silent. Just regarded Gammond with eyes that didn’t blink.

Gammond
looked around like he’d lost something. “Dang it. You sure you want him on your
case?”

“I am,
sir.”

“Well,
he’s still on the payroll, so I guess we got to put him to work. Okay, he’s
yours for the next two weeks.” He poured himself another whiskey but didn’t
bother to offer Ward one.

“He
mentioned the little boy who disappeared.”

Gammond
put his glass down heavily. “Well, detective, ain’t no gain in that line of
thinking. Totally unrelated.”

“He
doesn’t think so.”

“Like I
said, ain’t no gain in that line of thinking. What we don’t want is for
Detective Newton to go reopening
ol
’ wounds. ’Stead
of thinking down that track, see to it that he sticks to this here case. Use
him by all means. He got nearly thirty years’ experience. But that little boy
case. That stays closed. And I got to be getting on now.” He knocked back his
second whiskey and Ward knew it wasn’t his second of the day. “Good
t’have
you here, detective. And Ward, son, I want to be
kept in the loop with ever’ detail of this investigation. Ever’ development,
ever’ line of inquiry, I need to know. Captain’s orders.”

“Why, who
was this guy?”

“Jus’ an
ol
’ man.”

The
medical examiner’s assistant was still there when Ward arrived. He buzzed Ward
in. The mortuary was locked down after five. Presumably to stop any of the
guests leaving.

“You must
be Detective Ward,” Dave Turner said, standing at the end of the corridor, mop
in hand and wearing a blue plastic apron. “You’ve come to see our latest
arrival?”

“If I
could.”

“No
problemo
. This way, hombre. Weather like this I don’t know
why we bother refrigerating them. Would be cheaper to just open the windows. If
we had windows.” He led Ward down a corridor and through a door which opened
into the cold chamber. He walked, slumped shoulders, into the corner of the
room and released the brake on a gurney with his foot, spinning it around and
wheeling it over to one of the doors. He released a catch on the door handle,
threw back the handle and opened the door. He placed the gurney in front of the
drawer, locked the wheels, and slid out the tray which contained the old man’s
body. He unzipped the body bag and pulled down the sides so the old man’s head,
torso and arms were visible.

The old
man’s skin seemed to be slipping off his body and his underlying rigid muscle
structure seemed tauter because of that. He was a scaled-down model of what
he’d been thirty years ago. In good shape for a dead old man. Ward reached for
the zipper and glanced over at Dave.

“Go
ahead, my friend,” Dave said.

Ward
pulled the zipper all the way down to reveal the cadaver’s feet and he examined
the tiny entry wound, as deadly as a bullet but more subtle, he thought. He
stepped back and pinched his chin, grabbing and stretching his beard as he
pulled his fingers away. He was quiet for long enough to prompt Dave to speak
again.

“You still
in the room, amigo?”

Ward
looked at Dave. “He look like a killer to you?”

“No, he
don’t, hombre. He looks
 
killed to me.”

Ward
smiled and his eyes narrowed. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“It’s
half past eight, detective. Penny has her homework,” said the man who had
answered the door halfway through Ward’s second knock.

“I
promise this won’t take long, sir,” Ward said, chilling on the doorstep and
removing his hat in an effort to show respect. “I just need to ask her a few
questions. A man has died.”

“Yes, you
said.”

“And
Penny was one of the last people to see him alive.”

A tall
young girl, all legs and arms, appeared in the hall, half out of a doorway.
“I’m okay, Dad. I heard about Mr. O’Donnell. Was he murdered?”

“I just have
a few questions Penny,” Ward said, ignoring Penny’s question. “Then you can
finish your homework. Sir?”

Penny’s
father stepped aside and let Ward into the house. As the heat hit him, his
tensed muscles relaxed.

“The
music room.” She smiled at Ward. “This way.”

Ward sat
down on the piano stool while Penny settled herself onto a large cushion
decorated in what looked to Ward like a Persian design. He’d seen lots of
similar patterns before. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her
knees.

“Don’t
worry about my dad. He’s overprotective sometimes. Still thinks I’m twelve.”

Ward
smiled. “He’s okay.” He took out his notepad and pen. “I guess I have a few
questions, but firstly I’d like you to tell me what happened the last time you
met with Mr. O’Donnell.”

Penny
tossed her hair out of her eyes.

“I go in
to read to him.”

“Okay.”

“It’s
community work. My dad encourages it. Wants me to be an upstanding citizen.”

“You
enjoy it?”

“I guess
so,” Penny said, her nose wrinkling a little. “Although it does smell of pee.”

Ward
smiled. “What sorts of things do you read?”

“Sometimes
a book. A magazine. Whatever.”

“Can you
remember what you were reading on the day?”

“Yes, I
can. It was the
Westmoreland Echo
.”

“Okay,”
Ward said, writing in his notepad. “Did Mr. O’Donnell appear to you any
different on that visit?”

“Only the
fact that he scared the shit out of me.”

Ward
instinctively looked around to see if her father had heard her curse, but he
wasn’t in the room.

“How did he
scare you? You say you were reading the newspaper to him.”

“Yes,
that’s when he freaked out.”

“You were
reading and he freaked out suddenly? He’d been quiet until then?”

Penny
nodded.

“What was
the story, you remember?”

“No, I
don’t. Hang on. We might have a copy in the paper recycling.” She left Ward
alone in the room. He turned and lifted the piano lid and pressed a key down.
Then another. Then he wished he could play like Jerry Lee Lewis. He lowered the
lid as Penny returned.

“You’re
in luck.” She opened the newspaper and jabbed a page. “This was it. This woman
without any dignity selling herself on a billboard. Looking for a boyfriend.”
Her face showed disgust. “That story there.” She handed the newspaper to Ward.
He read the first few lines of the story about a Westmoreland woman and her
quest to find a suitor by advertising herself on a billboard. He flicked
through the paper and skimmed over various headlines.

“Just two
seconds.” He took out his cell and pressed a few digits. “Hey, it’s Ward. We
need to get somebody down to Sunny Glade tonight to go through the dumpsters.
We’re looking for a newspaper, the
Westmoreland Echo
. This is potential
evidence.” He paused for the reply, smiling at Penny, who was positively
beaming back at him. “Thanks.” He put the phone back in his pocket.

“Was he
murdered? Am I a suspect?” she said, still smiling broadly.

Ward
shook his head. “No, but you’re very important to this investigation.” Penny
nearly burst at that.

“This is so
fucking weird,” she said, and this time it was she who looked around to make
sure her father hadn’t heard. She said the curse word as if testing a new
mouth.

“Okay,
you said he scared the… Mr. O’Donnell freaked out. What happened?”

“Only
that he burst out shouting.”

“Shouting?”
He held his pen ready to write.

“Well, he
never said a word normally. Never said a word ever. Most of them, they just
gawk at the wall like zombies.”

Ward
sighed.

“But this
day he said something all right. He asked for somebody called Doctor Brookline.
He was kinda loud.”

Ward’s
head snapped up. “Anything else?”

Penny
made an effort to look like she was thinking hard. She hitched her dress up a
little too far and started to scratch her knee. Ward saw her white panties and
he glanced down at his notepad. Thought she was maybe enjoying the attention a
little too much and becoming distracted. He carefully lifted the piano lid with
his elbow and let it drop, the bang startling Penny back into the room. “Sorry,
I must’ve caught it,” Ward said.

The young
girl pulled her dress back over her knees and wrapped her arms around them
again. “I can’t think of anything,” she said, and this time he could see that
she really was making an effort to recall something.

“You’re
sure of that?”

“Oh, hang
on. He did say something else. Right after he’d asked for Doctor Brookline, he
said something about…” She cast her head back. “Something about confessing. No,
that wasn’t it. Hang on. He just said ‘confession.’ That’s what he said. That’s
all he said. And the Doctor Brookline thing.”

“Can you
think of anything else that happened that day? Anything, no matter how
unimportant it may seem to you.”

“I can’t
remember anything else. It was just the same as always. Apart from those two
things I told you he said.”

“Well,
thank you, Penny. That’s it.” Penny looked downcast. “But I might need to ask
you more questions at a later date. And if you think of anything else please
contact me at this number.”

He
scribbled the number in his notepad, tore out the page and handed it to her,
and at that she smiled again.

“Don’t
detectives usually have business cards?”

“They
haven’t come back from the printers yet,” Ward said, and he offered her a
smile. “Do you mind if I keep this newspaper?”

“No, of
course not.” She beamed.