An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

“And what
about the guy you say you saw? You thought he was Ryan.”

“Could’ve
been mistaken. I was mistaken twenty-five years about O’Donnell.”

“We don’t
like him for O’Donnell? His prints were found on the windowsill of O’Donnell’s
room. But everything else about both scenes was clean. No prints anywhere else.
So he’s not our killer.”

“But we
still need to find him. Rule him out.”

“And find
out what the hell he’s been doing going in and out of O’Donnell’s room.”

Newton
turned the engine over and revved loudly. “All we know for certain is that piece
of shit Lafayette didn’t take Ryan.”

“He
really got to you.”

“That
thing in there?” Newton set the vehicle rolling. “There was some truth in it.
He was describing another homicide he committed. He’s down for two. Son of a
bitch was describing one of those. 1987. A year after Ryan went missing. He was
getting off on the memory. And I won’t tolerate that.”

“You take
his confession?” Gammond was more animated than normal. His cheeks were sherry
red. His thick mustache, gray for the most part, twitched on his lip as he
chewed on an imaginary tidbit.

“He
didn’t do it.”

“Come
again?”

“He
didn’t do it.”

“The heck
he didn’t.”

“Lieutenant,
he did not murder Ryan Novak.”

“The heck
he didn’t. You want to go tell the captain that? The heck he didn’t do it. I
spoke to the dang
deppity
warden myself. Heard what
the man said. He’s our man. It all fits.”

“You ask
me, it all fits a bit too neatly.”

“Too
neatly my backsides, Newton. The guy made a convincing confession. You took his
confession, right?”

“No, sir,
I didn’t. Because he didn’t do it.”

“Son of a
gun. You get back there and take his dang confession in writing. He wants to
claim a murder death, we let him.”

“That’s
just it, though. He wants to claim it. Another trophy. Why now? Why wait? He
didn’t do it. I’m not taking no confession. You want his confession, you go get
it. With the greatest respect. Sir. I have another homicide to investigate. The
Ryan case is in the past.”

Newton
stood up as straight as his body would let him and he walked to the door.
Gammond’s face was nuclear but all he managed was to sputter a few sounds that
approximated curse words.

His skin
itched to the tune of jazz piano. Worms poked at every pore. His skin felt hot
and tight and it hummed underneath the surface like a swarm of bees. He wanted
to scream but the scream would have to come out of his pores and the worms were
blocking them. He saw two tubes snaking over his stomach. One carrying blood
and the other carrying something that looked like strawberry milkshake. He
figured it was some kind of filtration system and he thought he saw insects in
the milkshake. He counted – one, two, three, ten, nine,
eight
– over and over again and he paced in the room. He hugged himself but the hug
took his breath as his broken ribs bent like rubber and then he thought he was
his own prom date and he kissed his arm and then bit it and almost drew blood
with his remaining teeth. He wanted to shit and so he tried to do it in his
pants. But he didn’t shit but he definitely pissed. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! No, no,
no, no, no, no, no…

He
smacked himself about the head with his fist. He screamed at the pain as the
impact reverberated like a broken cymbal and his cracked cheekbone exploded
into purple flame. And the scream came from the worms and they all stood off
his skin like fat hairs and they swayed in a nonexistent wind. He fell to his
knees. Scrabbled frantically in the debris on the floor and came up with
nothing. There was just the gun. He knocked it aside and found an empty pill
bottle, which he shook and shook but it made no noise. He’d done a dumb trade.
He knew it. And he hurt. And he gasped. And he wished he was still in the
hospital. And the worms screamed.

Larsson answered.
Ward asked him one question. Asked if the FBI investigated Kenny. He got his
answer and hung up the phone. He called his friend in the FBI’s San Antonio
field office.

Ward
said, “Hi, Jake. It’s Ward.”

“Hey,
Ward. How’s it going there, my friend? More to the point, where the hell are
you?”

“In
Montana.”

“Fuck.
Are you crazy? It’s fucking cold up there.”

“I know.
But it’s mainly manageable.”

“Rather
you than me. I guess you’re running? You hear anything from her now?”

“No, I
don’t.”

“So, what
is it you want? You want something, right?”

“I need
some information. Public corruption case back in 1985, 1986. Name’s James
Kenny. Westmoreland, Montana. The case got canned but I wondered if you could
get your hands on some bank details.”

“What
kind of investigation we talking about?”

“City
Hall kickbacks. He’s a property developer.”

“You got
something new on him?”

“No. It’s
unconnected. Another investigation. Homicide.”

“Bro,
I’ll do my best for you. What is it you’re looking for specifically?”

“I need
his bank statements. Say for the entirety of 1986. I would expect the Bureau
investigation would have that.”

“That’s
if they haven’t been destroyed. In any case, it might take some time. What’s
your urgency?”

“Ten.”

“Okay.
I’ll see what I can do. Leave it with me.”

“Do your
best.”

“You know
it, bro.”

Newton
was sitting at his desk. He didn’t focus on much. Just sat. Gammond walked over
to him. He’d calmed down. He eyed Newton with concern.

“You want
to finish early, I’d understand that. You don’t need this.”

Newton
glanced at Gammond. “What about the investigation? Ward’s out of the picture.
Who’s going to run that?”

“We can
cover it. I don’t want you to go overstretch yourself. This thing might run for
a few weeks and you ain’t got that time.”

“I got
all the time in the world.” He drew himself up in his chair and tried for a
resilient look. “We’re getting closer anyways.”

Gammond’s
calm expression threatened to crack like old paint but his voice remained quiet
and full of concern. “You’re getting old, Adam. You know you don’t have nothing
to prove. Not to me, not to nobody. Heck, I’m getting old myself.”

Newton
didn’t say anything more.

Gammond
said, “Internal Affairs going to be here tomorrow. For Ward.”

Newton
nodded. Gammond hung around for a spell and then retreated.

He still
thought she looked beautiful even with her bruised face. Cherry was as busy as
ever, taking orders from customers who tried not to look as if they were
staring and wondering where she got those big purple trophies. Her confidence
had returned a little and she seemed to enjoy the intrigue she was creating.
She was wrong about one thing. It hadn’t damaged her business. The place was
busier than Ward had seen it.

She saw
him walk in and her face brightened and a smile nearly broke on her face. She
stifled the smile to avoid cracking open her split lip.

Ward took
a seat. He had to settle for a table tucked away in the back wilderness of the
diner beneath a half canoe that had been fixed to the wall. He sat for a while
before Cherry came over. Ward took off his hat and tipped his head politely.

“What, no
pooch?” Cherry said.

“I’m
working. He’s sleeping.”

Cherry
looked at him for a long while without saying anything.

“Working
unofficially.” He said it with a smile and he wanted to give her a hug but
didn’t.

“So, what
can I get
ya
?”

“Can we
start again?”

“That’s
exactly what we’re doing.” And Cherry smiled the half smile of someone with a
cracked lip and she tilted her head to one side, waiting.

Ward said,
“Well, ma’am, I’m feeling kinda partial to some cherry pie if you got some.”

“Certainly,
sir. And how would you like that? With whipped cream? Ice cream? Both?”

“I’d just
as soon take it dry, ma’am.”

“You got
it, mister. Coming right up.” Her hands were in the pocket on the front of her
apron and she bent down and kissed him on his cheek. He held her hand.

“Do all
your customers get a kiss?”

“Most of
’
em
. Yes.” A laugh escaped her lips.

It’s hot
outside and in the station. There are two interview rooms and Newton has picked
the starkest. It also happens to be the coolest room in the building but that
hasn’t suited Newton so he’s had a portable heater brought in and now the room
smells of scorched dust. Paint of an indeterminate color flakes off the walls
like sunburnt skin. A light in the middle of the room flickers. There are dead
insects – flies mainly, but not exclusively – in the yellowed plastic light
enclosure.

The old
police station had been falling apart at the seams for as long as Newton could
remember. A new one had been promised from City funds a million times but they
hadn’t started building it yet. Probably wait until some masonry falls on some
suspect, Newton thinks. Hell, they probably wouldn’t worry if some masonry was
to fall on him or his colleagues.

He’d been
friendly enough when O’Donnell had entered the station. He’d led him to the
interview room and had asked if he would like a coffee. O’Donnell had declined.
Newton had said he’d get himself one and had left O’Donnell alone in the room.

He
observes O’Donnell through the one-way glass. He tries to gauge his demeanor.
Tries to look for the usual signs of a guilty man. But he just sees a man
sitting, looking at his hands, which are placed flat on the table. O’Donnell
shows no emotion. Looks calm if anything. Newton goes toward the door and then
remembers the coffee he had gone to get. He snatches a Styrofoam cup off
somebody’s desk.
The somebody
complains. Newton takes
a sip as he enters the room. The coffee is awful. Bitter. Tepid. He suppresses
the urge to spit it out but instead sips contentedly.

“You sure
I can’t get you one?”

“I’m
fine, thank you.” O’Donnell is clean shaven. He wears a neat check shirt and
light cotton jacket. Newton had observed him during the searches and he had
looked like a wild man of the woods then. And now he looks smart. A different
shirt from the one he’d worn during the televised appeal for Ryan’s safe
return. Newton had studied the tape over and over again. He’d gotten a body
language expert to watch it. And then he’d gotten them to watch it again but
there was nothing there. No telltale signs of guilt. So he’d finally brought
him in.

“Firstly,
let me say we are still looking twenty-four hours a day for Ryan. The operation
has brought in extra men from neighboring counties as well as the Sheriff’s
office. The searches are continuing and we have cast the net farther afield.
Currently, we are following up on various sightings from members of the public
and we are still hopeful of a resolution.”

“You
expect to find him alive?”

“We hope
so, sir. We very much hope so.”

O’Donnell
nods. “It’s been four days now. Don’t they say you find them in forty-eight
hours or not at all?”

“We’ll
keep looking. And we’ll keep following up the leads. The trail isn’t cold yet.
Do you have anything else you would like to ask me?”

“No, sir.
I guess you got me down here to do the asking yourself.”

“Well,
I’ve got a few questions.”

Bill
O’Donnell says, “When will I get my clothes back?”

“We’ll
get them back to you as soon as we can.”

“Okay.”

“I should
make it clear, this is not an arrest situation. You have chosen not to request
that a lawyer is present. Okay?”

“That’s
okay. Ain’t got nothing to hide.”

Newton
takes a wander around the small room. He doesn’t look at O’Donnell but
O’Donnell’s eyes follow him around.

“Are you
and Ryan close?”

“Yes,
sir, we was. We are.”

“You say
you was. In the past tense there.”

“We are.
We are close.”

“You
spend a lot of time together?”

“Whatever
time I can manage, yes. I lived in the same house so I saw him a deal outside
of work. Before his bedtime.”

“You used
the past tense again there.”

“Sir, I
don’t mean to. I’m a little shaken is
all.
”

“Of
course. I understand.” Newton takes another sip of the awful coffee. “But you
didn’t see him before his bedtime the night he went missing?”

“No, sir.
I had to take care of something at the school.”

“Oh? What
something?”

“There
was a water leak in one of the bathrooms. You can check. I was seen there.”

“We will.
And when you came home you assumed Ryan was in bed, that right?”

“That’s
right.”

“And then
your truck gets stolen and you take off after the people who took it.”

“Correct,
sir.”

“Not
knowing that Ryan was missing. His bed wasn’t slept in.”

“I didn’t
look in on him.”

“You
usually look in on him?”

“No, sir.
Not always.”

“But you
were close.”

“Yes,
sir, but I don’t always look in on him.”

“Okay.”
He takes a slow breath. “Is Ryan a little wild
 
at
times?”

“Just a
usual kid. Not overly rambunctious but occasionally… You know.”

“He’s a
normal kid.” Newton smiles. “They get into things, don’t they?”

“He gets
into things, yes. But he’s mostly a good boy.”

“Wouldn’t
run away? Isn’t the type to up and wander off on his own?”

“Not the
Ryan I know. No. Wouldn’t normally do that.”

“Any
reason recently why he might feel the need to do that?”

“I don’t
know what you mean.”

“You
know. Is he happy? At home?”

“He was
happy as I saw it. Like I said, he’s a usual kid.”

“Yes.
Yes. He ever get into a sulk? When you had to chastise him?”

“Didn’t
need to chastise him, mostly. Again, like I said. He’s a good boy.”

Newton
nods and smiles. “I’m not surprised to hear that. It’s what everybody is
saying.” Newton suddenly sits down and looks directly into O’Donnell’s eyes. He
sees now that they’re bloodshot. His heavy lids seem to cast shadows that sit
below the eyes. “So you never had to raise your voice to him?”

O’Donnell’s
gaze has become stuck to Newton’s. “Can’t ever recall, sir. No.”

“How
about his parents? They ever raise their voices at Ryan? They ever need to
discipline him?”

“That’s
something maybe you should ask them.”

Newton
smiles. “I’m asking you.”

“They’ve
done their best, I’m sure about that.”

“His
father ever raise a hand to him?”

“No, sir.
Not outside of the usual.”

“The
usual?”

“Sir, I
can’t recall ever seeing anything. Would tell you if I had.”

“No, no,
that’s fine. We have to ask these questions. Sometimes they seem pointless but
it helps build up a picture of Ryan and his home life. Anything. Any little
thing might help us to find him. You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“So, this
truck of yours. You reported it missing the night before Ryan was discovered
missing.”

“That’s
right.” Bill O’Donnell moves for the first time. Adjusts his seating position.
Then returns to the calm, almost serene stare.

“You said
some young boys took it.”

“That’s
right, sir. I saw ’
em
.”

“Oh. I
thought you said you didn’t see them.”

“I meant
I saw ’
em
before. Ran ’
em
off. I’m guessing it was the same lot.”

“And you
can’t give me a description of them.”

“It
would’ve been dark. My eyes ain’t what they was.”

Newton
smiles again. “You wear glasses for that?”

“No, sir.
I manage.”

Newton
turns the coffee cup in his hands. O’Donnell’s eyes focus on Newton’s hands.
When Newton looks up, so O’Donnell looks up. As if coming out of a trance,
Newton thinks.

“You went
to church. We have people say they saw you.”

“You been
asking questions about me?”

“You went
to church.”

“I did.”

“To pray
for the return of your grandson?”

“No. I
went before I knew Ryan was missing.”

“To pray
for the return of your truck?”

“No,
sir.”

“You a
regular churchgoer?”

“No, sir,
I was passing.”

“You were
passing and you suddenly felt the urge to go in? It was a black church, no?”

“Yes,
sir. They was mainly negroes.”

“So,
suddenly you go to church for the first time in what, ever?”

“I been
to church before.”

“But not
for a while.”

“No,
sir.”

“And you
chose a black church.”

“That’s
right.”

“Why did
you suddenly get the urge to go to church?”

“I was
passing.”

“That it?
You were passing. No other reason?”

“No, sir.
I was passing.”

“Can you
understand how that might look a bit odd to me?”

“I can,
sir. But I went in and that’s all there is to it. Nothing more.”

“Do you
know what’s happened to Ryan?”

The
question wakes O’Donnell’s eyes. “Seems to me you could’ve asked me that
question to start with.”

“Well,
I’m asking you now, Bill. Do you know where Ryan is? If you do know anything
you should tell me now. Were you in that church praying for your mortal soul
for what you did?”

O’Donnell
closes his eyes. He opens them and stands up. His eyes settle on Newton’s.
“Sir, I appreciate what you’re doing to find Ryan. I genuinely am appreciative
of that.” And then he opens the door. He stands in the doorway with his back to
Newton for a few seconds.

“Where is
he, Bill? Where’s the boy, Bill?”

And then
Bill O’Donnell leaves. Newton remains seated and he drums his fingers slowly on
the table, sweat bathing his face.