Where Truth Lies (18 page)
“I
can’t see a thing,” Grace said, peering through the windshield. “Are you sure you’re going in the right direction?”
“That’s the road to Erwinna. The mill shouldn’t be much farther.”
Grace’s phone conversation with Bernie had been brief. He had talked to his sister and knew that the police wanted him for questioning in connection to Father Donnelly’s murder. He didn’t want to run anymore. He was ready to talk, but on his terms, and not to the police, not until he’d had a chance to tell his story to someone he trusted. That someone was Grace.
Including Matt in the deal hadn’t been easy. Bernie liked Matt, but didn’t know him well enough to entrust him with what he knew.
“I vouch for him completely,” Grace had told him. “If you trust me, you can trust him.”
Reluctantly, he had agreed.
“I can’t believe he walked this entire distance on foot,” Grace said. “We must have driven close to ten miles.”
“He couldn’t take a chance on driving my father’s car. He would have been picked up within the hour.”
“He sounded so scared, Matt.”
“He has every reason to be. The police
and
a killer are looking for him.” He slowed down, looking for road signs.
“Is that the mill?” Grace pointed at a tall, narrow stone structure with a single window at the top.
“Looks like it.” Matt stopped and flicked his headlights on and off, as Bernie had instructed.
Within a few seconds, a head appeared from behind the building. Matt flicked his lights again. Bernie raised a hand and ran toward them.
Grace climbed in the backseat and opened the door for him. “Are you all right?” She handed him a quilt she had found in Steven’s closet.
Bernie wrapped himself into the spread’s cottony warmth and fell back against the seat, eyes closed. “I am now.”
“I was worried about you,” Grace said.
He reopened his eyes. “Thanks for coming, Ms. McKenzie. You, too, Matt. I know you’re taking a big chance.”
“Does your sister know that you’re here?” Grace asked.
“I wouldn’t tell her. I didn’t want to get her involved in my mess.”
“How much of a mess are you really in?” Matt asked.
Bernie looked down at his hands. They were thick and calloused. The hands of a hard worker, Grace thought. She refused to believe they were also the hands of a killer.
Sitting in the front seat, Matt turned all the way around so he and Bernie faced each other. “Look, Bernie,” he said calmly. “I can imagine what you’re going through right now, and while I would like to keep what you’re about to tell me confidential, if you’ve committed a crime—”
“What do you mean by ‘crime’?” Bernie asked.
“We could start with murder. Did you kill Father Donnelly?”
“No!”
“Do you know who did?”
“No, but I know
why
he was killed.”
“Why?”
“He knew who shot Steven.”
“He witnessed the murder?”
Grace held her breath.
“No, not exactly.” Bernie gazed out the window at the moonless night. “It looks so much like that night,” he said as though talking to himself. “No moon. Just the darkness and the bare fields.”
Grace and Matt exchanged a glance. “That night?” Matt repeated.
Bernie brought the quilt tighter around his neck. “I can’t go to the police,” he said again. “The chief would never believe me.”
“Why not?” Grace asked.
“Because what I have to say is not going to be easy for the townspeople to accept. They’ll say I made it up. They already think I made up the story of that green pickup truck pushing me into the river. Chief Nader told my sister that the green paint could have come from another scrape. As for the dents, he said they could have happened as I rolled down the embankment.”
“If you’re telling the truth,” Matt said, “I’ll make sure that the chief believes you.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you know who killed Steven, Bernie?”
“No, but…” He shrank back in his seat. “I’m pretty sure that it’s the same men who kidnapped Felicia.”
Matt sat up straight. “
Men?
How many were there?”
“Two.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”
He waited a second or two before dropping his bombshell. “Father Donnelly is a child molester.”
Grace drew a quick intake of breath. As Bernie had predicted, her first impulse was to not believe him. There had been many stories about abuse in the church over the last few years, and tons of negative publicity during which priests had had to either resign or stand trial, or both.
But Father Donnelly?
She looked at Matt and could see that he, too, was having difficulties coming to terms with what he had just heard.
“That’s a serious accusation, Bernie,” he said. “Do you have any proof?”
“Me,” he said in a low whisper. “
I
am the proof. Father Donnelly sexually molested me for months before I finally put a stop to it.”
Grace’s hands flew to her throat. “Oh, Bernie.”
“I was thirteen.” He sounded dispirited, but his voice was firm. “My mother was already sick. I knew she was going to die and I felt helpless and lost. Father Donnelly was there for me. He was a great comfort at first. He was kind, he gave me strength and lessened my pain, until one day, when his way of comforting me took a new direction.”
Grace felt sick. Matt merely waited.
“When I tried to stop him,” Bernie continued, “he told me that it was all right, that he was helping me cope with my mother’s illness. ‘Just let it happen,’ he kept saying. ‘Trust me. You trust me, don’t you, Bernie?’ He kept repeating those words over and over until I believed that everything he was doing was for my own good. At the same time, I felt ashamed and torn. Torn between the need to tell someone and the fear of betraying a man I had always trusted.” He bowed his head. “In the end, I decided to keep quiet.”
“How long did that go on?” Matt asked.
“Several months.”
“Tell me what you saw the night Felicia disappeared.”
“I was helping Father Donnelly prepare for the spring festival. The mayor had agreed to let us use the fairgrounds out on the county line. We were inside the concession stand. It was late and I wanted to go home, but Father wanted to show his appreciation for my good work in what he called his ‘own special way’. That’s when I saw her.”
“Felicia?”
He nodded. “I looked out the window, and there she was, carrying a flashlight and walking down the road. Father was standing beside me. He saw her, too.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes, but soon a car went by. For a while, I didn’t think it was going to stop, but then it backtracked. One man jumped out of the passenger’s seat and grabbed her. She started to scream, but he clamped a hand over her mouth and then the car sped away.”
“Did you recognize the man? Or the driver?”
He shook his head. “It happened too fast, and I was too scared. But Father Donnelly recognized them.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, but I could tell by the shocked look on his face. When I asked him if he knew them, he turned away and didn’t answer me.”
“And he didn’t go to the police?” Grace asked, horrified. “He let a poor, helpless man be put away for life for a crime he didn’t commit?”
“We didn’t find out about Dusty until several days later. I went to see Father Donnelly then and told him that we had to go to the police. We had to tell them that Dusty was innocent.”
Bernie pressed two fingers against his eyes. “He told me that going to the police was out of the question. Both of us would be questioned, and he didn’t think that I—an innocent, scared, impressionable thirteen-year-old—could handle a police interrogation. In his persuasive voice, he explained that the public wouldn’t understand the special affection he and I had for each other. They would look at our act of love as something dirty and shameful. The church would be disgraced, causing thousands of worshippers to turn away from God.
“‘Think of all the people I could no longer help,’ he told me. ‘The sick, the poor, all those who count on me from day to day.’ When I wasn’t convinced, he reminded me of what the truth would do to my sick mother, and my sister, who had just begun to work as an R.N. He talked for a long time, painting an ugly picture of what our lives would be if I went to the police.”
His voice nearly broke, but he managed to go on. “So I kept quiet. A week later, my mother died. I was devastated, certain that her death was God’s way of punishing me for my sins. That’s why I left the church. I felt too much like a hypocrite.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police at that time?”
“I was too ashamed, and worried about jeopardizing Judy’s career.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears. Twenty years later, Bernie’s pain was almost palpable. The thought that a priest, a man an entire community had held in such high esteem, had put that burden on those young shoulders was nothing short of despicable.
Those weekly visits to Dusty made sense now. They were meant to help Father Donnelly deal with his guilt. But what about Bernie? How had
he
dealt with the guilt?
Matt was the one who broke the heavy silence, but his voice was subdued. He, too, had been affected by Bernie’s candid confession. “How was Steven involved?” he asked after a while.
Bernie looked down at the quilt’s colorful squares. “That was my fault, too. Making a new friend, especially one as nice as Steven, was a new experience for me. I found that I could talk to him about everything, my work at the cemetery, my mother’s death, my sister’s sacrifices. I hadn’t planned on telling him about my relationship with Father Donnelly, but, somehow, I did. As I talked to him, I started feeling better, almost as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.”
“Did you tell him about seeing those two men who had abducted Felicia?”
“Yes.”
“That was risky, wasn’t it? Steven could have gone to the police.”
“I made him swear not to, and he didn’t.”
“Didn’t you wonder why?” Grace asked.
“I knew why,” he said simply. “Steven was my friend. Friends don’t betray each other.”
Or, Grace thought, Steven had realized the potential value of his silence.
In the Jeep’s dim light, Grace saw Bernie’s expression turn mournful. “Six months later, Steven was killed. I started thinking of all the bad things that happened because of me—Dusty’s arrest, my mother’s death, my abandonment of the church, Steven’s murder and the attempt on my own life. I decided that no matter what happened to me, I had to come forward and tell the truth. That’s why I went to see Father Donnelly tonight. I wanted him to know what I was going to do and why.”
“How did he take it?”
“Not well. He begged me to reconsider, to think of all the pain I was about to inflict on him, on my sister and on the Catholic church. I was more disappointed than angry. I thought he would understand. I thought he would feel my pain, but all he cared about was the church’s reputation. And his.”
“What made you run out the way you did?” Grace asked.
“I saw someone step out of the confessional booth. I knew he’d heard me. I got scared and ran.”
“Man or woman?” Matt asked sharply.
“A man, I think, but it was too dark to see clearly.”
“You were lucky,” Grace said.
“I know.” He looked from Grace to Matt. “I don’t want to run anymore.”
“You won’t have to,” Matt said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
P
ersuading Bernie to go along with the plan hadn’t been easy. Wrapped in the quilt, his face solemn, he had listened to Matt’s idea, or part of it, before he started shaking his head. It had taken Matt another twenty minutes to convince him that the police station was the safest hiding place at the moment, and that turning himself in was the only way to catch the killers.
Josh was a harder sell. Grace watched him closely as Bernie talked. The expression on the chief’s face as he learned that Father Donnelly had been a child molester was one of shock and disbelief. To his credit, he didn’t interrupt. When Bernie had answered his questions and signed a statement, the chief instructed his deputy to lock him up. Then, he listened to Matt’s plan.
When Matt was finished, the chief still didn’t look convinced. “You’re asking me to believe that a man an entire community has revered for almost a quarter of a century was a
child molester?
Why don’t you try convincing me that the moon is made out of green cheese?”
“It’s not the first time a priest strays from his vows and it won’t be the last.”
“But Father Donnelly? Did you see what’s going on in front of St. Peter’s Church? Two hundred people are holding a candlelight vigil for him. Bernie’s lucky if they don’t march in here and lynch him.”
As if to confirm the chief’s words, Deputy Montgomery rushed in. “The press is out there, Chief. They want to talk to you.”
“It’s ten o’clock at night, for God’s sake. I’m going home.”
Matt shook his head. “They’re not going to leave until you talk to them, Josh. The sooner you deal with them, the sooner they’ll be out of your hair.”
“What the hell am I supposed to tell them?”
“Give them an abridged version of the truth. Bernie has been arrested on suspicion of murder. The motive is still under investigation.”
“What will that do?”
“It will buy you some time, ease the town’s anxieties and give the killers a false sense of security. Remember,” Matt added, “it’s your show, not theirs. Take questions, and only answer those you want to answer. If it gets ugly, leave.”
For a moment, Grace thought the chief was going to ask Matt to come out with him, but after a short hesitation, he put his hat on and walked out the door.
“He doesn’t look comfortable,” Grace said as she went to stand at the window with Matt.
“He’s not used to being in the limelight,” Matt replied. “Neither was my father, but when push came to shove, he could handle it. Josh surprised me. I had expected a little more guts on his part.”
Together, they watched the chief answer one last question, then he turned his back on the crowd and walked back into the station.
Deputy Montgomery had just hung up the phone. “That was Paul Doone,” he said to the chief.
“If it’s about his neighbor’s fence encroaching onto his property again, tell him to get a surveyor to handle the problem. I have no time for that crap now.”
“It’s not about the fence. He says he saw a pickup tear out of Main Street at about the time Matt and Grace found the body. He thinks the truck was dark green.”
Grace stiffened. “That could be the same truck that pushed Bernie into the river.”
The chief shook his head. “We don’t know that.”
“Why else would he tear out of Main Street?” Matt asked.
“Get off my back, okay, Matt? And stop telling me how to do my job.”
Matt put his palms up in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. I was under the impression that you wanted my help.”
“I don’t.”
“In that case, we’re out of here.” He took Grace’s arm. “Take good care of Bernie,” he said as they walked out.
“Are you sure that Bernie will be all right in there?” Grace asked when they were in Matt’s Jeep.
“I was hoping my father would still be there to keep an eye on him, but they finally transferred him to the county jail.” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry about Bernie, okay? He’s tougher than he looks. Did you see him when Rob took him away? Mr. Calm and Collected.”
“Thanks to you. That man-to-man talk you had with him before we left Erwinna did wonders for his self-confidence. What did you tell him anyway?”
Matt put the Jeep in gear. “It wouldn’t be a man-to-man-talk if I told you now, would it?”
“True.” She leaned against the seat back and stifled a yawn.
Matt threw her a quick glance. “Tired?”
“It’s been quite a day.”
“Will you be all right at home by yourself? If not, I’d be glad to stay.”
Grace laughed. “Do I look that tragic?”
“Are you kidding? You’re a rock. I just thought you might want some company.”
“If I do, I’ll call Denise. She looked a little offended earlier when you told her
you’d
be staying with me.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking of her feelings at the time, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with her.” He pulled into the driveway. “Here you are.”
“Thanks, Matt. And thanks for being so patient with Bernie.”
He took a fistful of her jacket and gently pulled her to him. “Is that the best you can do to show your gratitude?”
She let out a nervous laugh. How long had it been since she had practiced the complex art of flirting? A year? More? What if she said something stupid? “Now that you mention it—”
“Shh. No more talking.” His hands slid behind her neck, drawing her even closer.
She wasn’t sure what startled her more, the heat of the kiss, or the way he moved his mouth, forcing hers open without seeming to force it at all.
Warning bells went off in her head while her old buddy, the Voice of Wisdom, tried to worm its way into her head.
He can’t possibly be as fantastic as he seems. Something is wrong with him. You’ve been there before. Back away before it’s too late.
It would have been so easy. One little push against that hard, comforting, amazing chest and he would be gone. Instead, she found herself leaning into him, responding to his kiss while some distant part of her mind continued to transmit warning signals.
She ignored them all. Overwhelmed by sensations and longings she hadn’t experienced in a long time, she shuddered, aware of a delicious ache deep within her.
The alarm bells started ringing frantically.
This time, she listened. Gently, reluctantly, she pushed him away. “Wow.”
Wow?
Was that all she could say to discourage him?
She half expected him to kiss her again, or to invite himself in now that she seemed more willing, but, being the gentleman that he was, he let her off the hook. “Call you in the morning?” he said lightly.
She picked up her purse from the floor. “I might be a little late. I’m meeting with a couple of artists whose work is presently on consignment. They heard about the forgeries and want to talk to me.”
“Do you anticipate problems?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they just need reassuring, although I wouldn’t blame them if they decide to take their paintings back.” She finally felt brave enough to meet his gaze. “What about you? What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?”
“Me?” He looked smug. “I’m going shopping for a green pickup truck.”
