Missing Pieces (15 page)

The next interviewee was a farmhand named Randy Loring, who worked for the Tierney family on and off. The first thing he did was establish that he had an ironclad alibi—he was at the hospital with his girlfriend, who was having a baby. He then went on to say that no, he had never seen John and Lydia Tierney argue, nothing more than a few sharp words, anyway. He did, however, see Jack argue with his parents on more than one occasion. Once even violently. Randy described one morning when he drove up to the Tierney farm and found Jack and his father shouting at each other. About what, Randy couldn't say, but Jack had a shovel in his hand, and for a minute there, Randy was sure that Jack was going to hit his father with it. Once Jack saw Randy's truck, he threw the shovel to the ground and stomped away. John Tierney had brushed off the incident, said that Jack was just a restless teenager who resented having to spend all his free time working on the farm when he could be out with that pretty girlfriend of his.

Sarah's stomach dropped. Celia again. She couldn't believe she was hearing her husband described in this way: short-tempered, violent, sullen. Yes, Jack could be withdrawn; she and the girls even would tease him about it.
Dad's going off into his own little world now, so if you need to ask him anything, better do it quick.

One thing was clear: no one, not one person that was interviewed who knew Lydia and John Tierney, could ever recall a fight, a disagreement or harsh words between them. But apparently one morning John beat Lydia to death and then disappeared.

Gilmore asked each and every person that he interviewed whether or not they thought John Tierney could have murdered his wife. They all said no except for one person. Dean Quinlan. Dean reported to Gilmore that yes, while Jack and his father argued, it was John who had the nasty temper, was the one who was hard on Jack, the one who got physical.
If anyone killed my aunt Lydia
,
Dean said,
it would have been my uncle John. I hate to say it, but unless it was a robber or something, he's the one who did it.

Why would Dean, Jack's cousin and best friend, be the only one able to envision John as the killer? Did Jack confide in his cousin, telling him about the terrible fights that he had with his father? Had Dean been a witness to the arguments? Or was Dean protecting his best friend by portraying John as overbearing and violent?

Even an eleven-year-old Amy told Gilmore that Jack and their parents fought over
stuff
.
When pressed as to what was the stuff they argued over, Amy's answers were short and hesitant. “School. Jack got off the bus but wouldn't always go into school,” she said shyly. “Mom would get mad and Jack would yell.” Her voice was barely audible. At eleven, there was no sign of Amy's tough facade or cutting remarks. Only one thing in Amy's voice sounded familiar—the bone-aching sadness. Sarah wondered if the loneliness was there before the death of her mother and disappearance of her father or if it was always there, in the fabric of her bones and sinew.

Several of those interviewed, people with names that Sarah didn't recognize, reported that Lydia and Jack fought over Jack's many teenage shenanigans. How he skipped school, how he was drinking and smoking with older kids like his cousin, Dean, the public arguments with his mother and father. The numerous occasions he had run away from home for days at a time. Still, none of this spelled out
murderer
.

The Jack described in the tapes was so different than the one she knew. While Jack retreated into himself now and again, he never ran away like he did when he was a teen and like his father ultimately did. He wasn't a big drinker and certainly didn't smoke. She had difficulty reconciling that they could be the same person, but there it was, right in the tapes. It was clear from Gilmore's questions that Jack was the main suspect, at least initially.

It wasn't until the later interviews dated a few days after the murder that it was clear that John Tierney was missing.

No one interviewed could imagine to where John Tierney would have run away to. His whole universe was Penny Gate. His grandparents were born here, his father was born here, he was born here, his children were born here. There was nowhere and nothing else that he could possibly have run to.

After the final interview, Sarah hit the stop button and slowly pulled off the headphones and laid her forehead against the steering wheel.

A persistent little thought tried to wheedle its way into her brain.
What if he did it?
the voice asked.
What if Jack killed his mother?
Then what happened to his father?
Sarah countered. Could she really have misjudged Jack for so long? Had she been fooled by his quiet reserve, mistaking it for shyness and sensitivity while really it was cold-blooded indifference? Had she all along been married to a monster?

12

SARAH ARRIVED AT
DELIA'S
, just two doors down from the Penny Café, twenty minutes before Margaret was due to arrive. It was a typical small-town bar. Dim and dated with walls filled with pictures of locals posing with a dark-haired woman whom Sarah assumed was Delia.

Five men and a woman lined the bar, deep in debate over the baseball game that was on the TV above the bar. As she passed by the crowd, the hum of chatter quieted. Three old men, dressed in coveralls and seed hats, hunched over their plates, watched her covertly out of the corners of their eyes as they chewed. She wondered if they knew who she was, and if they had heard about what happened to Julia.

The woman behind the bar had hair dyed an unnatural black with a purple sheen and large brown doe eyes. She looked eerily similar to the woman in the photos and Sarah wondered if she could be Delia's daughter. “Dinner?” she asked, and Sarah nodded.

“There will be two of us,” Sarah said as the waitress led her to the dining room. “Could we have a corner booth?”

“Of course. Are you new to the area?” the waitress asked. “You don't look familiar to me.”

“No, I'm visiting family.”

“Who's that?” the waitress asked.

“The Quinlans. I'm married to Jack.”

“Oh, I remember Jack. I'm Clarice Jantzen,” the woman said with a kind smile. “Sheriff Gilmore is my dad. I heard about Julia. I'm so sorry. She was the sweetest lady.”

“Thank you,” Sarah murmured as she sat, accepting the menu that Clarice offered.

“How's the family doing?” Clarice asked. “I bet Amy's just devastated.” Sarah couldn't tell if the woman was prying for gossip or simply making conversation. Sarah nodded tentatively, not comfortable sharing information with this stranger. “What can I bring you to drink?” she asked, taking the hint.

“An iced tea, please,” Sarah said as her cell phone vibrated, displaying a number she wasn't familiar with. “Excuse me,” she said to Clarice. “But I need to take this.” Once Clarice moved out of earshot Sarah answered.

“Mrs. Quinlan?” a young male voice asked.

“Yes?” Sarah responded.

“This is Arthur Newberry. You left me a message regarding representation of your sister-in-law?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, taken off guard. The voice on the other end of the line sounded much too young for someone who had attended law school. “Do you think you would be able to help?”

“Yes, of course. I can start right away,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement. Sarah wanted to ask him how old he was, but figured that she was fortunate that he had called her back.

Arthur said he would head right over to the sheriff's department. “I'll call you after I talk with Amy. You and I can meet to discuss her case.”

From across the room Sarah caught sight of Margaret entering the pub. She thanked Arthur and disconnected.

Sarah stood when Margaret arrived at the table and Clarice approached, her forehead furrowing in confusion. “Hi, Clarice,” Margaret said. “I'll have a Bloody Mary. Oh, don't look at me like that, Clarice. I'm not working tonight.”

Once Clarice was out of earshot, Sarah leaned forward and whispered, “Did you know that's Gilmore's daughter? Do you really think it's a good idea to be meeting here?”

Margaret waved her red-tipped fingers dismissively. “Of course I know that. I went to high school with Clarice's older sister. I work with her father. We're fine.” She picked up her menu.

Sarah opened her own menu. “Do you know if the sheriff arrested Amy?”

Margaret nodded, pursing her lips together tightly. “I don't know many details but I do know he read Amy her rights.”

“I figured as much.” Sarah dropped her menu to the table. “I got her a lawyer. His name is Arthur Newberry.”

“Nice boy,” Margaret commented. “Took over his grandfather's practice about a year ago. He'll work hard for Amy.”

“Do you think Amy really could have done it?” Sarah asked, unwrapping her silverware from the napkin. “I don't know her well, but I just can't understand it all.”

“It's hard for me to believe, too,” Margaret agreed. “Amy has always been a lost soul, but a killer?” Margaret shook her head. “I don't see her knocking Julia in the head, making her fall down the stairs. It's probably all a big mistake. The sheriff will figure it out.”

“So that's what the cause of death was? A blow to the head?” Sarah asked, hoping Margaret might offer some information about the possible use of poison.

“As far as I know,” Margaret answered. “Why? Have you heard something else?” Margaret looked at her curiously.

“No, I was just wondering. It's all so crazy. I just am having trouble wrapping my head around everything.”

Margaret didn't seem to have knowledge of the toxicology report linking the poison to Amy's home or at least she wasn't letting on that she knew anything.

Clarice set their drinks down in front of them. “So how do you two know each other?” she asked after jotting down their dinner orders.

Sarah froze, not expecting this question from their waitress let alone the sheriff's daughter. What possible reason would two virtual strangers have to meet for dinner? Margaret plucked the celery from her Bloody Mary. They couldn't very well tell her that they were colluding to access case files that they had no permission to view.

“Julia Quinlan's funeral dinner. I'm in charge of organizing the desserts.” She crunched into the stalk. “I'm making my lemon squares. Do you think you could bring one of your strawberry-rhubarb pies?”

Clarice narrowed her eyes with suspicion, but didn't press further. “Sure, I'll make two,” she said as she walked away.

“I listened to the audiotapes. They were...” Sarah searched for the right words. “Hard to listen to,” she finished. “Thank you for getting them for me.”

Margaret patted Sarah's hand. “I know Jack, I know Amy. I knew Lydia and John Tierney. I want to help.”

Sarah squeezed her lemon wedge into her iced tea. “I'm embarrassed to admit that I have to rely on someone I barely even know to fill me in on the details of my husband's life.” She shook her head ruefully. “I just can't get Jack to talk about it and I don't know why.”

Margaret looked at her with sympathy. “You didn't know about any of it? How Lydia died?”

“No.” Sarah blinked back sudden tears. It was difficult to admit that her husband couldn't trust her with this information, that he never had.

“It's understandable, I guess.” Margaret took a sip of her drink. “Think about it. His mother was beaten to death in the cellar of their home and he discovered her body. I heard that one of the young deputies who responded to the call went inside the house, took one look at Lydia, ran up the stairs and outside and quit. Turned in his badge and gun right on the spot. This horrible thing happened to Jack's family, and when he was finally able to leave Penny Gate, he could put it all behind him. He went off to college, moved to another state, started a new life where no one needed to know what happened in the past.”

“I don't know...”

“Then—” Margaret held up one finger to show that she wasn't finished “—he met you and he was faced with the choice of telling you about how his father murdered his mother and then disappeared or taking the hard way out.”

Sarah gave a short laugh. “The hard way out? How do you figure?”

“Listen, honey,” Margaret said kindly. “I know I'm not that much older than you, but I've been married twice. My first husband I divorced because I caught him cheating on me. My second husband died of prostate cancer.”

“I'm sorry about that, but I'm still not quite following you,” Sarah admitted, wishing that she had ordered something stronger than iced tea. “How is
not
telling me the hard way out?”

“Now bear with me. My second husband had cancer for six months before he told me. Later he told me that he wanted to try the
active surveillance
—” she lifted her fingers to create air quotes “—treatment option first and didn't want to worry me.

“What I'm saying is, my first husband lied to me because he was a shit. My second husband lied to me because he wanted to protect me and I loved him for it. Now, I'm not saying I wasn't pissed off. I was, believe you me. But after I got over being mad I realized he was just trying to spare me from any pain for as long as possible. Understand?”

Sarah thought about this. Could Jack really have been trying to protect her? Had he had her best interests in mind all along? Sarah nodded reluctantly. “I think I do.” Still, she couldn't turn to Jack for any reliable information.

“Right now you're in the pissed-off stage,” Margaret went on. “Once you get back home, you'll have all the time in the world to talk it through.”

Clarice brought out their food. A tenderloin sandwich for Margaret and a hamburger and fries for Sarah. “Can I get you ladies anything else right now?”

Margaret held up her glass. “I'll take another one of these.”

Sarah looked at her iced tea. “Why not? I'll have what she's having.” Clarice picked up their empty glasses and retreated back toward the bar.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sarah wolfing down her hamburger. “I'm just so desperate to know what really happened,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “And not just the basics, you know. I know it sounds morbid, but every small detail I learn makes me want to know more. Especially since Jack said he thought he saw his father at the hospital the other day.”

“What do you mean, Jack saw his father?” Margaret asked, setting her sandwich back on her plate. A crumb was stuck to the corner of Margaret's glossy lips and Sarah wiped at her own mouth.

“I know he didn't really see him, but the look on Jack's face...” Sarah shook her head at the memory. “Part of me is worried about Jack, and part of me is just sick and tired of all the smoke and mirrors.”

“Jack's dad back in town?” Margaret pushed her plate away and poked her tongue into the corner of her mouth, catching the crumb. “Now that would be something else.” Clarice returned with their drinks and again they fell silent until she was well out of earshot.

“Do you think it's possible?” Sarah asked, taking a deep drink of her Bloody Mary. For the first time she wondered if Jack actually did
see
his dad at the hospital. What if it wasn't just a trick of light or an overactive imagination?

“No,” Margaret said quickly. “Why would he come back? That'd be crazy. He would be arrested. No, I'm sure Jack just saw someone who reminded him of his dad.”

“Do you believe the case is solved?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, I think it was John Tierney. I know that Jack didn't do it. No, he was a good, kind little boy. He would never purposely hurt someone.”

A pressure eased in Sarah's chest. It was immensely comforting to her to know that Jack's childhood babysitter knew in her heart that Jack couldn't have done this. But still, there were so many unanswered questions. Why had John Tierney murdered his wife and whatever happened to him?

“I hope you're right,” Sarah said, reaching for her purse slung over the back of her chair. “It's just that so many strange things have happened in the past few days, I feel like anything is possible.”

Margaret leaned toward Sarah and asked conspiratorially, “So what did you find out from the tapes?”

Sarah's meal felt like a rock in her stomach. “That most of the town thought that Jack was guilty. Nearly every single person had an example of Jack arguing with his parents. It wasn't until no one could find his dad that they became suspicious of him.” Sarah pressed her fingers to her forehead. She shouldn't have ordered the Bloody Mary; vodka always gave her a headache. “Have you heard the tapes?”

Margaret tipped her glass back and chewed on some ice. “I skimmed through the transcripts quickly before I gave you the envelope, but I didn't actually listen to the tapes,” she admitted. “Tough reading, though.”

Sarah leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table. “Margaret, I know you've already gone out on a limb for me, but is there any way you can get me more of the case file?” She readied herself for Margaret's refusal. She already had put her job in jeopardy for Sarah.

“I figured that when you sent me the text saying that you wanted another
recipe
from me that you really meant you wanted more information,” Margaret said, pulling her pocketbook from her purse. “This is my treat.”

“Oh, no,” Sarah protested, reaching for her own billfold.

Margaret placed her hand over Sarah's. “You've had a tough day. Let me.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said quietly, touched by Margaret's thoughtfulness.

“You might not thank me after you see what's in the trunk of my car. Come on, let's go.”

Sarah followed Margaret as she moved through the bar, past patrons who greeted her heartily and teased her good-naturedly. Margaret seemed not to hear but rushed past them without a word. They stepped from the dark restaurant and squinted into the early-evening sunshine. Sarah welcomed the subtle warmth after the chilly, poorly lit interior of the bar. Margaret scurried down the street and around the corner to a green VW Beetle that looked out of place among all the trucks and SUVs parked along the curb.

Margaret glanced around to see if anyone was looking their way, clicked the remote locks and the trunk sprang open. They both bent down to look inside. Margaret pulled away a jacket and revealed a large box. On the side, printed in black block letters was
LYDIA TIERNEY 1985
.

“You said you wanted all the details, well, this is as detailed as you get,” Margaret said proudly.