Hand Me Down Evil (Hand Me Down Trilogy) (12 page)

I turned to face Sylvester who was glaring suspiciously at the two of us.

“Do you know where you live? What town are we in right now?” I asked.

“I live in Ohio, of course,” Sylvester replied.

“What would you say if I told you that you live in Gaylord, Michigan?”

The old man laughed out loud. “I’d say rubbish,” he snapped back.

“This is Michigan, not Ohio,” I explained.

“Nonsense!” Sylvester said. “Why, I’ve lived in Ohio all my life.” He burst out into laughter again, revealing a row of badly discolored, crooked teeth. He had probably smoked most of his life.

Mark nudged me. He was getting impatient.

“We don’t have much time,” Mark whispered in my ear.

“Do you know the names of your family members?” I asked.

Sylvester pressed his lips into a thin line, smirked, and gave a searching look. “Is this some kind of game?” He shrugged his shoulders as if he did not care whether or not I even replied, and then decided to answer the question anyway. “My wife was Catherine, but we got a divorce many years ago. She is the one who wanted the divorce. I loved her so. Even after all that she did to me and the tricks she played on me, I still loved her. But after she divorced me and moved away, I started to get sick. ” The old man coughed and cleared his throat.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Sylvester narrowed his eyes into slits and shook his finger. “I’m really sick now, you see. Brandon’s death has taken a terrible toll on me.”

“Was Brandon your only child? I asked.

Sylvester shook his head. “I had two boys, Peter and Brandon. But Brandon, well, Brandon... he died when he was only a few years old.”

The old man would not meet my gaze. He grimaced, a look of despair overtaking his otherwise relaxed facial features.

Sylvester looked down at the ground and appeared frustrated. “I did not hurt Brandon, did not kill him. He was just a couple years younger than Peter. I loved him. I just want you both to know that I loved Brandon very, very much.”

“If you didn’t hurt Brandon, then who did?” I asked.

Sylvester shook his head from side to side and hesitated for a moment. “I don’t remember exactly what happened that night. Ah, where did you say you were from, young lady? Did you say you were from the prosecutor’s office?”

“I am Catherine’s friend,” I replied.

Mark was staring closely at the old man.

“Tell us what happened the night that Brandon was killed. I heard that you and Catherine were arguing,” I said.

Sylvester scratched his head and frowned, deep crease lines forming above his brow. “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

“Celia.”

“Celia what? Do you have a last name, young lady?” Sylvester asked.

I smiled slightly. “Celia Kristine Lawrence,” I replied.

“Oh, listen, Celia Kristine Lawrence. You look like a pleasant kid. I wish I had a daughter. Now what did you ask me?”

“I asked you to tell us what happened the night that Brandon was killed,” I responded.

The old man wrung his hands together in a nervous gesture. “I was drunk that night. You understand? I was drunk all the time, it seemed. It was just a way for me to escape all my troubles. I know it’s wrong to drink. And believe me. I had plenty of troubles. Catherine played an awful trick on me.”

“What trick?” I asked.

Sylvester shook his head. “I’ve never talked about it to anyone. I would not want to shame Catherine. Even after what she did to me, and divorced me and all, I would never want to shame her. I won’t say anything to hurt her, even after she accused me of killing Brandon. See what a gentleman I am?” He chuckled lightly.

“Ok, so what happened the night that Brandon was killed?” I asked.

“I was completely drunk, totally wasted, you understand?” Sylvester asked. “I had gone to the bar, had a few drinks, and returned home late in the evening. Then Catherine and I started fighting in the living room. I don’t remember anymore why we were fighting. But I recall that Catherine threw a pillow at me. We argued a lot because that lunatic Edgar Humphries was always stalking Catherine, and I was so sick of having him peeping through our windows, and the police were so lazy. They refused to press charges against him for trespassing. It’s like they didn’t think that it was a serious matter. But I could not live like that. No way. You understand, young lady?”

Sylvester paused for a brief moment and folded his hands across his lap. “Anyway, that night Peter and Brandon were in the kitchen. The prosecutor said that I was in a drunken rage and that I went into the kitchen and started throwing things around. He said that I flung a flower pot at Brandon that hit him in the head and killed him. But that is not true.” He shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no. I never went into the kitchen. I know I was drunk, but I don’t remember going to the kitchen. I would never hurt Brandon. He was in the kitchen with Peter. You hear me? I never stepped foot in the kitchen. The only thing I remember is that Catherine threw a pillow at me. We yelled at each other for a moment or two, and then I collapsed on the sofa and dozed. That’s all. Then the next thing I knew, the police were putting handcuffs on me. Imagine that!” Sylvester explained. “That was the worst day of my life. I had lost my son, my liberty, and my wife. Catherine left me, you know. She said that I killed Brandon. But I did not!”

“What about Edgar Humphries?” I asked.

Sylvester let out an audible sigh. “Edgar used to follow Catherine around. I guess he was distraught that she broke off her engagement to him when she found out he was so weird. She moved from Michigan to Ohio just to get away from him. Catherine lived with her aunt in Ohio for only a week or so before I met her. We got married, or should I say we eloped a month after that. You see, I was in love with the girl. But then Edgar found Catherine and started stalking her. I could not handle that. It caused a lot of stress in our relationship. A couple of times we caught Edgar peeping through our kitchen window. He was dressed in women’s clothing, like he was a transvestite or something. I wish we had enough money to move away. But we could barely make ends meet.”

“Wasn’t Edgar at the house peeping through the kitchen window the night that Brandon got killed?” I asked.

Sylvester leaned forward, narrowed his eyes. “Why, I do remember something about that. Yes, yes, it’s quite possible. The neighbors had called the police that night because they heard a lot of noise coming from our house. My lawyer told me that when the police showed up at our house, they found Edgar peeping through the kitchen window. That lunatic was dressed in women’s clothing. Yes, now I remember,” Sylvester nodded his head. “When the authorities charged me with Brandon’s murder, my lawyer was able to convince the jury that perhaps it was Edgar, and not me, who killed Brandon. That’s why my trial resulted in a hung jury, and I was set free. Of course, the prosecutor refused to bring charges against Edgar. He said that there was no evidence that he ever even went into the house.”

Mark and I glanced at each other and then back at Sylvester.

“What was your relationship like with Catherine?” I asked.

Sylvester rolled his eyes. “Not good. Catherine was looking for a fool, and I was a fool. You know there’s one born every minute,” he said.

Mark did not seem amused. He met Sylvester’s gaze.

“What do you mean by that? How were you a fool?” Mark asked.

“Catherine knows what trick she played on me,” Sylvester said. “Go ask Catherine. Ask her how I fell into her trap.” His voice rose a pitch.

I threw Mark a searching look.

Sylvester was busy waving to a nurse’s aide to catch her attention. When the assistant, a short, thin blond woman in her early twenties, approached us, Sylvester told her that he was tired and wanted to go inside and rest. She smiled at us politely as she clutched the handles of the wheel chair and began rolling Sylvester toward the building.

Mark and I followed.

As we moved toward the rear entrance, Mark leaned down, put his hand gently on Sylvester’s back, and said, “Please tell me what awful trick Catherine played on you. I promise I will never tell a soul.”

Sylvester frowned for a brief moment, turned his head to one side, and sighed. Then he narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Catherine was two months pregnant when I met her. Peter isn’t my child.”

W
e followed the nurse as she rolled Sylvester through the double doors and into the lobby. Then she veered off to the left corridor and headed toward the patients’ rooms.

Bewildered and confused by Sylvester’s last remark, Mark and I just stood there in the lobby, not wanting to leave. I knew that Sylvester had valuable information, even more than he had revealed to us. Deep down, I realized that in a few months, maybe even a few weeks, Sylvester would no longer be around to give us any more information. And Catherine, who possibly had the most valuable knowledge about Amber’s fate, was already gone.

“If Peter was not Sylvester’s child, then whose child was he?” I asked.

Mark gave a perplexed look. “Well, he could be Edgar’s child. Or maybe Catherine met someone else. Who knows who Catherine had a relationship with when she moved to Ohio?”

Two nurses walked past us and went toward the narrow corridor.

The commercial playing on the overhead television in the lobby was interrupted by an announcement from the Crawford County Sheriff’s office. A spokesman revealed that the department was holding a briefing about the latest developments regarding Amber’s abduction. Mark went over to the television and turned up the volume.

While we waited for the Sheriff to make the announcement, I leaned toward Mark and whispered, “Do you think Edgar would have had a motive to kill Brandon because he was jealous that Catherine had married Sylvester? Do you think that Edgar might have had knowledge that Peter could have been his child and killed Brandon out of jealousy?”

Mark’s expression became puzzled. “All of this doesn’t make any sense. I guess Catherine and Sylvester kept up the charade pretty well since even Peter was under the impression that Sylvester was his father. Remember, it was Peter who moved Sylvester to the nursing home in Gaylord so that he could be close to him.”

“Is it possible that Sylvester is confused about Peter not being his son?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, Celia. But Sylvester clearly said Catherine was already pregnant when he met her. I can tell you one thing for sure, with each passing hour, I am getting more and more confused and worried that time is running short. I don’t know why, but I feel that we are missing something,” Mark said. “Anyway, Sylvester sounded pretty upset with Catherine. The issue about Peter must have been gnawing at him for a long time. He seems to think that Catherine tricked him in some way, not telling him that she was already pregnant when they got married. Maybe he thought that she was trying to save face by coaxing him into marriage so that she would not have a baby out of wedlock. That type of situation is very touchy. And on top of that, Sylvester may not even know who the father is. Perhaps Catherine never revealed to Sylvester the father’s identity.”

“I think Sylvester and Catherine had a pretty bizarre relationship with Edgar stalking them and all. It must have put a huge strain on their marriage,” I said.

“I bet it did, and then when Brandon was killed, that was probably the last straw.” Mark pressed his lips into a hard line and shook his head from side to side.

“If we can figure out who killed Brandon, then we would probably be safe to argue that that very person abducted Amber,” I said.

“It’s possible. It seems that Catherine was thinking about Amber’s abduction in that way, that she had always known who the perpetrator was, known his eyes. And she thought of him as being a male, not a female. Catherine believed that it was a male with makeup smeared all over his face. If it was Edgar who did this, then he would have probably done it when his female personality emerged,” Mark explained. “Edgar is the only person we have not talked to. We need to find out where he is.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be easy,” I replied. “Edgar, as I understand, is a strange man who wanders the streets. He does not have a home. Where would we find him?”

Mark shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me. And our other problem is that even if we locate him, would he even know what is going on? I mean, since he has at least two personalities that we know about, will he know if the other personality kidnapped Amber or killed Brandon? Does one personality know what the other personality is doing? That’s a tough question. So I suggest that we search for Edgar and then follow him around. That way we will see what he and his other personality are doing,” Mark said.

I weighed Mark’s suggestion and nodded my acceptance. If Edgar was not in a position to tell us what his other personality was doing, then we would just have to observe him, keep a close eye on him.

The television broadcast interrupted my thoughts.

The Crawford County Sheriff stood at the podium. “A couple of hours ago Catherine Singleton, perhaps the only witness to Amber Lawrence’s abduction, was taken off of life support. The doctors treating her concluded that she had no cognitive capabilities and would never regain consciousness,” he announced.

“That’s not true. Catherine was regaining consciousness,” Mark said under his breath.

The Sheriff continued talking. “At this time, police are searching for Edgar Humphries. They want to take him in for questioning regarding Amber’s abduction. I need to make it clear that he is only being sought for questioning and is not considered a suspect at this time. Edgar is a person of interest. If anyone has information regarding Edgar’s whereabouts, please call the Grayling Police Department or the Crawford County Sheriff.”

A photograph of Edgar was displayed on the television screen. Edgar looked like an elderly man who was grubby, frazzled. His thick brown hair was unkempt and greasy. He had a matching mustache and rumpled beard, and his round eyes were hollow, weary looking. There was an unsettled look on his face, but I could not tell if it was just the appearance of a lunatic or if he was truly startled.