by Pandora Pine
“No, Shawn. We had our lab run the opposite end of the murder weapon for DNA and yours was found. Your father’s blood and brains are at one end and your DNA is at the other end. The end the killer would have held when the wood was used like a club to bash your father’s skull in.”
“Or the end I would have held when it was run through the table saw.” Shawn cocked an eyebrow at Ronan.
Ronan knew that’s what Shawn’s comeback was going to be even before the words were out of his mouth. He looked up at Tennyson who simply shook his head no. Ronan’s own gut had been telling him all along that Shawn Owens had not killed his father, now Tennyson’s sixth sense was saying the same thing. “If it wasn’t you, Shawn, who killed your father?”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t know. My mother put up with his bullshit for forty years. She had to tell him where she was going, how long she’d be gone for and God fucking help her if she wasn’t back when she said she would be. Not to mention having to ask the asshole for permission to spend her own hard-earned money.” Shawn shrugged. “He was a dick in a different way to my sister. My father put her down constantly. Was always on her ass about her weight and constantly told her that she was never going to find a man to marry her if she had an ass the size of an aircraft carrier.”
“Did he control her money too?” Ronan asked.
Shawn shook his head. “No. I think he loaned her money for her associates degree, but after that, she paid for everything else herself. Her paycheck was her own.”
“That’s all good information to have, but it still doesn’t answer our question. Who do you think did it?” Tennyson prodded.
“If I had to make a guess, I would say it was my mother. She had to put up with his petty bullshit for the longest. At least my sister could have left at any time.”
“Why do you think she didn’t?” Ten asked.
Shawn shrugged, his disinterest obvious. “To protect my mother, I guess. I never asked her. We weren’t close.”
Ronan figured as much when Hope wound up with a broken nose courtesy of Shawn’s right hook. A knock on the two-way glass pulled Ronan out of his own thoughts about the Owens’ family dynamic. He knew that was Fitzgibbon’s way of telling him to wrap the interview up.
“What was your reaction to your father’s cancer diagnosis?” Tennyson asked.
Shawn shook his head. “What cancer diagnosis?” He looked completely blindsided.
Ronan exchanged a wordless look with Tennyson. “We went over the original autopsy with our medical examiner. He told us your father had advanced pancreatic cancer. He only had a few months to live.”
Shawn shrugged. “I never knew anything about that. I can’t imagine my mother or sister did either or whoever killed him would have just sat back and enjoyed the show. Let nature take its course.”
Ronan shook his head. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room with this asshole for another second. “Thank you for coming in to answer our questions, Shawn.”
“We may have more for you in the future,” Tennyson added.
Shawn muttered something under his breath that Ronan didn’t quite catch.
“So?” Fitzgibbon asked a moment later when he joined Ronan and Tennyson in the interrogation room. “Did you get anything from him at all, Ten?”
Ten shrugged, an uneasy look on his face. “I wasn’t picking up any guilt from him at all. I also don’t think he’s hiding anything from us. He really doesn’t know who killed his father. What’s worse though, is that he doesn’t care. He thinks his life and the life of his mother and sister, what little he cares about them, is much better without Harold Owens in it. What’s more, he doesn’t think whichever one of them killed Harold should be punished.”
“A true prince among men,” Fitzgibbon observed. “Who do you think killed him, Ronan?”
Ronan shook his head. It was the million-dollar question. “My gut tells me it was Maxine.”
“Really? Why?” Ten looked puzzled.
“Not only was she dealing with her own years of abuse, she was also dealing with the way Harold had treated her children. Are your Spidey senses telling you it was Hope?”
Ten nodded. “For the same reason. Hope was dealing with her own years of abuse, plus watching the way her mother suffered under his treatment as well.”
“Cap, what do you think?” Ronan turned to his boss.
“I think you’re both making excellent points, but there’s only one person, one spirit, rather, that can tell us for certain who killed him. You boys need to take a trip back to the Cape and pray like hell that Harold Owens is haunting his widow and daughter.”
39
Tennyson
Tennyson had really been hoping that the next time he and Ronan were driving over the Sagamore Bridge it would be because they were on their way back to Sand Dollar Shoal for their two-week vacation on the Cape, but that wasn’t to be. Here they were driving back down to confront Maxine and Hope for what he prayed would be the final time.
“What are you thinking about?” Ronan asked from the driver’s seat of the Mustang.
“I’m hoping that Fitzgibbon is right about Harold haunting his family.” Ten’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t like these people, Ronan. I know Harold didn’t deserve to have his skull caved in by a discarded piece of wood, but I have to admit having that same kind of ‘who cares’ attitude that Shawn has and these people aren’t even my family.”
“Sometimes this happens, where the victim and the family are people you’d cross the street to avoid if you knew them under any other circumstances. Harold Owens still deserves justice. His killer deserves to be punished for what she did.”
“I know.” Tennyson did, he really did. He just couldn’t wait for this case to be over. He was restless and feeling a bit edgy. He’d left his unfinished packing list on his dining room table. What he wanted more than anything was to be back home in Salem finishing it up and doing laundry to get ready for his and Ronan’s trip which started in less than a week.
He knew it was dangerous to take his mind off the case at hand. After all they were driving to visit not one, but two possible murderers, but the draw of soft sand between his toes and two whole weeks of having nothing to do but relax and hang out with Ronan were irresistible.
“Here we are, home, sweet, home.” Ronan parked the car and looked up at the pretty little house.
“For how much longer though?” Ten wondered out loud.
“Let’s do this. The quicker we get in there and get our answers, the quicker we can get home and start packing.” Ronan brushed a quick kiss against Tennyson’s lips. “Look I know the captain and I are putting a lot of pressure on you here, but we both know that if Harold Owens spirit doesn’t show up, he doesn’t show up.”
It meant a lot to hear Ronan say that, but Ten was still going to feel like a failure if he didn’t connect with the dearly departed today. “I hear you, but like you said, let’s get this over with. I’m feeling a bit edgy.”
Ronan nodded and hopped out of the car.
Ten walked behind Ronan on the way up the stairs, taking a deep breath as Ronan rang the bell.
“Ronan! Tennyson! How nice to see you both,” Maxine Owens greeted them. “Come in. You must have news for us.” Maxine ushered them into the bright yellow living room. “I’ll get Hope. She’s lying down. Make yourselves at home.” Maxine hurried out of the room.
Tennyson walked around the great room. His aim was to find anything that belonged to Harold Owens or, failing that, anything the old man could possibly associate with. As with the first time they were here, the first thing Tennyson noticed were the brightly colored Caribbean paintings hung on the walls. “Boy, Harold, it must have frosted your cold, dead ass when Maxine spent your insurance money to go on these tropical cruise vacations with Hope, huh? I bet they went first class all the way booking a big cabin with a balcony and a bathtub.”
“What are you doing?” Ronan whispered. “Don’t tell me you’re try
ing to piss off Harold’s ghost.” Ronan snickered.
“You got a better way of bringing this guy out to play? Either help me or go sit down and shut up.” Ten’s tone was all business. He turned away from Ronan and moved toward the largest painting in the room which he knew depicted the scene high above Magens Bay in Saint Thomas. “Look at this one, Harold. Its Saint Thomas. Kenny Fucking Chesney has a house there. You know the country singer who’s always got a song out about running away to a tropical paradise? And look, your wife and daughter did just that very thing, with your money, after they killed you! Doesn’t that piss you off? Man, I’d be livid if my family bashed my skull in and was living the high life while I took a dirt nap.”
“Don’t those cruise ships have those all-you-can-eat buffets?” Ronan asked, his blue eyes sparkling.
“Yeah,” Ten agreed, “and the crazy thing about that is you don’t even have to finish what’s on your plate and you can get up for more food.”
Ronan shrugged. “Ten days on the high seas living it up like royalty, with all you can eat crab legs and prime rib, island hopping like pirates. All on Harold’s dime.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re one persistent little fucker, aren’t you?” Harold Owens barked.
“Hello, Harold!” Tennyson grinned from ear to ear. “It’s nice to finally meet you at long last.”
Ronan crossed his arms over his broad chest. He was wearing his own self-satisfied smile.
“You ever think maybe I didn’t want to talk to you? Little piss-ant.” Harold spat back.
“Oh, I know you didn’t want to talk to me. Not only am I a medium, I’m also psychic. So I’ve got you coming and going. I also knew you wouldn’t be far from the people you loved to torment so much in life.” Ten had been right on the money with his original assessment of Harold Owens. He was just as disgusting in death as he had been described as being in life.
“You mean these stupid bitches?” Harold smirked. “They have no idea I’m here. I try to knock shit over and make things go bump in the night and they don’t even notice.”
“God, you really are a piece of work.” Ten turned to Ronan. “He tries to torment them here in their own home, but says neither of them take notice of his parlor tricks.”
Ronan laughed. “Well, I assume that’s because they think their long nightmare died with you, Harold. When you died, they figured they had nothing to be afraid of anymore.”
“You two jokers act like you don’t want my murderer to get caught.” Harold folded his arms over his chest.
Tennyson half expected the ghost to stomp his feet like a two-year-old having a tantrum at naptime. “Harold, Ronan and I have worked for weeks now trying to solve your murder. We’d like nothing more than to know who killed you. Just so we don’t have to deal with this case or your family any longer.”
“Amen to that.” Ronan held his left hand up toward the ceiling.
“He’s got a fucking mouth on him!” Harold said sourly.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened the night you were killed. Maxine is going to be back any second now with Hope and then we won’t be able to speak as freely.”
“My good for nothing son punched my equally good for nothing daughter in the face, huh? Sorry I missed that. I would have enjoyed seeing them all slugging it out.” Harold chuckled.
“You realize your family is in tatters because of you, right?” Tennyson didn’t bother to hide the disdain in his voice. “It’s obvious to us that whoever killed you did it because of the money. We found the cancelled checks in your wallet and we know Maxine wasn’t allowed to have any control over the money she earned herself. Christ, I’d kill you myself if I needed your God-damned permission to buy feminine care products or a friggen ice cream cone. The fight in which your wife, daughter, and daughter-in-law were all injured was witnessed by your granddaughter. Now, I know you’re a son-of-a-bitch, but from everything I’ve heard about you, I know you loved Ophelia.”
Harold’s face softened. “Yeah, I do love that kid. I wish I could have seen her grow up.”
Tennyson had a nasty comeback for him about how he would have charged her interest on her tuition money too, but he let it slide. It wouldn’t do to enrage the spirit any further. All he needed right now was to find out who killed him. “Harold, what happened on Christmas Night, 1997?”
“Shawn and Debbie left early because it was snowing and the baby was sick. Ophelia was always a good baby. She never cried, but she’d been fussy all day. All Shawn did was bitch about the weather all day and how he’d have to drive back to New Hampshire in the snow. Well, no one told him to live up in that fucking no man’s land. Hope and Maxine cleaned up after Christmas dinner and we watched the Holiday Hotel movie they liked. When it ended, Hope went upstairs to read a book she’d gotten for Christmas and Maxine stayed downstairs to read a book of her own. I changed the channel to some fishing show and fell asleep.”
Ten shook his head. “Harold said the women cleaned up after dinner and watched Holiday Inn together. After the movie, Hope went upstairs to read and Maxine stayed downstairs with Harold who watched a fishing show and fell asleep.”
“Where were you sitting when you fell asleep?” Ronan asked.
“Where I always sat, in my recliner.” Harold shot Ronan a dirty look.
“What do you remember happened next?” Tennyson asked. This was it. They were finally going to find out what the hell happened to Harold Owens.
“I felt this flash of pain that startled me awake. My whole fricken head felt like it was on fire. I tried to throw my hands up to protect myself, but I couldn’t move them. When I opened my eyes, I saw…”
“Here we are,” Maxine announced. “Hope was sleeping, so I had to wake her up. What is it that you needed to tell us?”
Ronan’s eyes were bugged out like he was about to have a stroke. He strode across the room and whispered, “Jesus, Tennyson, please tell me you got it.”
Oh, he got it all right. Ten stretched up on his tiptoes and whispered the murderer’s name into Ronan’s ear.
40
Ronan
Ronan felt like laughing. He hadn’t been working on the Owens case for that long, but Jesus H. Christ, it felt like it had been years. From being apart from Tennyson while he’d been finding himself in the wilds of Maine to then discovering that Ten had lost his gift, to then dealing with the members of the Owens family, it had been one long haul to get to this moment in time. Here he stood now at what he hoped was the finish line.
Yes, he knew, finally, who killed Harold Owens, but that wasn’t going to amount to a hill of beans if the killer didn’t say the words out loud. Tennyson couldn’t testify in court that Harold Owens’ spirit told him who the two-by-four wielding murderess had been. It was his job now to make the killer confess her sin.
“Hi, ladies,” Ronan greeted mother and daughter. “Why don’t we all have a seat and we’ll tell you why we’re here.” Ronan loved the buzzy feel of nervous energy flooding his body. As a cop, these were the moments he lived for.
Maxine and Hope sat next to each other on the sofa and turned their attention to Ronan.
“We had the murder weapon re-tested for evidence,” Ronan started.
“For heaven’s sake why?” Hope asked. Her dark eyes narrowed in on Ronan.
Ronan studied Harold’s daughter. Both of her eyes were still blacked from celebrating her brother’s birthday. The woman looked genuinely surprised that the BPD would still be investigating Harold’s murder. “In the twenty years since your father was murdered technology has advanced. We’re able to test smaller samples of DNA than ever before and get a viable result.”
“I assume you have a DNA match, otherwise you wouldn’t be here to tell us in person, detective,” Maxine said. She set a hand on Hope’s right knee which was bouncing up and down like a jackhammer.
Ronan smiled at Tennyson. This is where he started to close the trap. Telling the mother-daughter duo about Shawn’s DNA was going t
o put their guard at ease. “We found Shawn’s DNA on the murder weapon.”
Hope shot her mother a shocked look, before she managed to school her features. Ronan had caught the look though.
“Well,” Maxine said, shrugging her shoulders, “Shawn never did have a very good relationship with his father. Harold was always demanding he pay back the damn tuition money.”
“I guess being hounded about money can wear a person down over time,” Ronan said.
“It sure can,” Maxine said on a weary sigh.
“Who did the Christmas dinner dishes that night, Maxine?” Tennyson asked casually.
“I always wash. Hope always dries. It’s just a habit we’ve gotten into over the years. Why?” Maxine tucked a stray hank of hair behind her left ear.
“That brings me to the other piece of evidence we found on the murder weapon.” Ronan was having a hard time containing his excitement. He was practically smiling like a groom on his wedding day.
“Was there more DNA?” Hope asked. There was a nervous edge to her voice.
Ronan shook his head no. He scooted forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, there was no other DNA, aside from Shawn’s, but we did find dish soap on the wood.” Ronan looked up at Maxine and let his words hang heavy in the room.
Maxine burst out laughing. “You found soap on the murder weapon? Well, I can tell you, Detective O’Mara, that my son never once did the dishes in the twenty years that he lived in my house.”
“I assumed as much, Maxine. He doesn’t really seem the helpful sort.” Ronan grinned.
“He was more like his father. You know, go sit in the living room and fart before he fell asleep in front of the television.”
Tennyson laughed, but the laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What did you get for Christmas that year, Maxine?”
She seemed surprised by the question. “Oh, I don’t know. It was twenty years ago, Tennyson.”
Hope gasped. “I remember. Dad got you that cookbook from that Italian chef on PBS when what you’d asked for was that diamond tennis bracelet since it was your thirty-year wedding anniversary.”