The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  Jessica was totally unaware at how she appeared. Pale skin. Eyes sunk back into her head. Her long hair hung in strings around her face. A strand of hay still clung stubbornly to her shirt. It was her hands and shirt which drew the most interest.

  They were filthy. Reddish brown streaks and black grime were caked onto them. Her right hand, now clenched into a tight fist held stiffly against the arm of the chair, had what looked like teeth marks and scrapes along the knuckles. A fitful night’s rest had worked apart most of the buttons of her splattered shirt, opening it far down the front. Coogan’s eyes swept over her smooth skin and lingered on the swell of her breasts. After a moment, he looked at her face. It was swollen from lack of rest and emotion, crisscrossed with dirt. Her mouth was pulled tight in an effort to control herself. But even the drawn mouth could not hide the cut lower lip which had swelled overnight and turned a faint purplish color.

  “Where were you last night, Miss Wyeth?” Detective Coogan asked again.

  “I told you already. I had dinner with Gus at the Black Swan. Please, I really want to be left alone.”

  “Where did you go after dinner?” The senior detective absently picked at a tuft of dust clinging to the fine fibers of his jacket.

  Jessica gripped her hair out of her face with one hand while the other nervously fidgeted with the arm of the chair. She discovered the wayward buttons and closed her shirt. She didn’t answer his question.

  “Can you tell us about your evening, Miss Wyeth?” Jessica was aware that the younger guy was busy scribbling notes.

  Jessica fought her building hysteria. “We went to the pub. I forgot about the lights on in the house, I mean the barn, I think, um... I thought I heard something.” The images in her head collided, looking for escape. Bury them. Keep it in. “I guess I walked in. No, I didn’t walk in. I think I saw a man. Was it? Yes. Gus. The horses began screaming. No, I mean, well, yes. I... I...”

  Detective Coogan gave a slight smile and looked over at Trooper Shea. His smile faded. “Go out to the car and get my reports file.”

  “Sir?” Shea asked in a surprised tone.

  “Just do it,” Coogan responded derisively. Shea’s stiffened back and expression of practiced diffidence said all it needed to about his dismissal.

  Jessica could feel Coogan’s eyes on her again. His look made her feel vulnerable, somehow open to attack. Prey and predator. He walked toward the front door and glanced out in the direction Shea had retreated. “Would you feel more comfortable if I asked you some more questions later after you calm down for a little while?”

  Jessica blinked slowly several times and gave a barely perceptible nod of her head which freed another strand of hair.

  Shea hurried back into the house. A manila folder filled with colored forms and papers in his arms.

  “I think she’s had enough of a shock for a little while, Officer. I’m coming back after she’s had a chance to adjust to the news.” Coogan took the file from his partner.

  Shea lowered his voice to not be overheard. “Excuse me, sir? I don’t think that prematurely terminating this interview is wise. It’s a breach of standard investigation protocol. Visual evidence raises this person to ‘suspect’ and we should read her Miranda rights immediately. Leaving would offer opportunity to alter any evidence and —”

  “Oh? You have something to say about how things are done? Well, that’s okay, Officer. I can brief you on the details of proper procedures at the station.” Coogan’s derisive tone cut through his mechanical smile. “Go ahead. Memorize the place. It won’t change matters and I determine she is not a suspect, as you say, but is a person of interest and is going to remain that way until I’ve had a chance to talk to her alone.”

  “That’s not proper procedure.”

  “I decide what’s legit and what’s not. Got it?”

  “Sir! I don’t th—”

  “I don’t tolerate insubordination. I gave you my orders.” He returned to his car leaving the stammering rookie and woman alone. Bursts of static from the radio floated into the house. Coogan’s voice could be heard giving commands.

  Anna bounded into the room from the direction of the back kitchen. “My God, Jessica! What’s going on? The place is crawling with cops!”

  Jessica was barely aware of her friend’s embrace, but she welcomed Anna with a brief kiss on the cheek.

  “I... I don’t know. Something happened last night and I... can’t remember.”

  Seizing the opportunity, Trooper Shea introduced himself to Anna. “Can you tell me about last night?”

  Anna related the night’s events as best as she could, all the time keeping a close eye on Jessica. Anna knew nothing about the events after she dropped off her friend and concluded by saying she was there to take Jessica back to get her car.

  Shea returned his focus to Jessica. “Look Miss. I know you’ve had a horrible shock today. But please think. There must be something about last night that stands out. I know it’s hard, but just think.”

  Jessica covered her face, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She stared absently toward the knees of the young officer. The battle in her head waged on. Images swam, leaving confusion in their wakes. “I want to help you, I really do,” her voice thin and shaky. “I th-think I saw something on the arm of a man, b-but I j-just don’t know. A scar or bruise or something. Right about here.” She motioned with her right hand toward a spot high up on her inner left arm. Nausea boiled in her stomach.

  “My God, Jessica! You saw the guy?” Anna exclaimed.

  Shea interrupted her. “A man? Take it easy now, Miss Wyeth. Tell me anything about that one man.” He brought himself to her eye level. Slowly, gently, he urged her to talk. His pale blue eyes looked directly at her with concern from beneath the broad rim of his hat. Tufts of shortly cropped curly hair escaped from underneath.

  “No. Not one man. Two. And Gus.” Another surge of bile stuck in her throat and she sputtered. Almost a reflex, Shea reached out and took her hand. It was like ice in her panic. He enveloped it in both of his hands and tried to warm it. For an instant, Jessica felt safe and tried to make sense of the molten visions.

  “I was looking through the door. I could see them both. One man, well, one just seemed familiar, somehow. I... I could barely see him. But I did see him just reach out and it w-was n-nothing to him.” Her face reddened in the effort to get the words out. “He just stood there while Gus died. It w-was... It was more than that, but I just can’t remember!”

  “Try. You’ve got to tell me what you saw.”

  “I’m trying... It’s just too much. I can’t think about this anymore. Please leave me alone!”

  At that, Coogan reappeared at the door, visibly angry. “I thought I made it clear that I was going to talk with her alone.”

  Shea stammered, then seemed to make a decision. “Yes sir.” He dropped his gaze and stood up. He used his most professional tone. “Please call Detective Coogan if you want to talk about this. You can reach him at the station if you need to. Good day, Miss Wyeth. I’m sorry to have upset you.” He walked to the door and looked out. Coogan had returned to the car and the crackle of the radio and Coogan’s voice filled the silence. Shea turned back to face Jessica.

  “Look Miss. Take care of yourself. Events like these don’t happen around here and rumors travel fast. A shock like this can bury memories pretty effectively if you don’t talk about it with someone you trust. If you do remember anything more about the men or about last night, don’t talk to anyone but me, Okay? Be careful.” And with that said, he left.

  Anna brought Jessica back to the Black Swan to retrieve her car. The hangover Jessica had was not abating even with the water and aspirin regimen Anna thrust upon her. Jessica decided that she did not want to return to her home right away. The farm was crawling with people and the phone was ringing off the hook. She just couldn’t cope
with the chaos. What she really wanted to do was jump on a horse and ride like hell, but what she decided to do was to drive around a while to gather her thoughts. She drove around in circles for what felt like hours and eventually began to get hungry. She was not that surprised to realize she ended up at one of her and Anna’s favorite getaways.

  The tavern was in an old building situated at the outskirts of a town not too far from Hamilton. Paint on the tavern was old and faded, and the shutters covering its paned windows were missing slats and in need of repair. The few upper windows were dark and Jessica could just make out the whispers of a curtain or two. The faint light from the dining room filtered out of dirty windows. One gritty spot light shone on the front door where the word “L O B S T E R” was slowly peeling away.

  The building itself was perched on top of a small hill with two dirt driveways leading up to it from different directions. The drives were hardly more than two worn tire tracks with weeds sprouting up the middle. The lack of customers made her think it was closed, but lights glowed softly inside.

  The place was more run down than she remembered and today it disgusted her. Jessica was accustomed to the nooks and dells of the North Shore. They seemed to offer countless stories and discoveries and this tavern was one of them. She and Anna would run away to this place because they felt no one would recognize them and make them go home. Well, home was always back to the farm for Jessica. Anna really did not have a place to return to. The memories of them there made her smile, but the tavern itself had run down to the point where it had become the kind of place her aunt told her never to go into alone, or at all if she could help it. She made a mental note not to come here again.

  Jessica sat herself at a booth and gave her order to a man she recognized from years past. He was obviously the owner/waiter/cook. The tavern must never have gotten busy enough for him to hire anyone else to work there. Jessica was glad for the lack of people. She still felt the eyes of the patrons from the Black Swan on her back and welcomed a moment of privacy. Her hamburger and fries were delivered to her after a long while and Jessica ate them slowly, not wanting a reason to leave.

  She was gazing out the dirty window and was amazed when Coogan sat down opposite her.

  She did not know how to react. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re easy enough to find,” Coogan responded as he looked around. He raised his chin at the owner and held up one finger then pointed down to the table in front of him. His coffee arrived in a smudged mug. He seemed relaxed, almost eager. He looked around at the empty establishment and began to ask his questions.

  “Did you think of anything more about last night that you want to tell me about, Miss Wyeth?” The tone of his voice was gentle, coaxing her to talk.

  “No. Nothing more. I just don’t remember anything more than what I told you and Officer Shea this afternoon.” Jessica’s voice was a monotone. Detective Coogan made her skin crawl.

  She tried to remember, but her mind was too clever for that. All she could think about was that she needed to put fresh flowers at the cemetery for her aunt, mother, father, and sister. She couldn’t decide what kind of flowers would be best. Daffodils? She liked the sunny yellow blooms of spring but then remembered that it was too late to find them growing wild. Ah! Mountain Laurel. Her mother and Bridget loved the Mountain Laurel sprinkled among the hillsides of their home. She resolved to go out and pick an armload of the flowers in the morning.

  “Why didn’t you tell us that Gus Adams was trying to take the farm away from you and prevent you from working on it?” There was an edgier quality to his voice and Jessica thought he looked excited.

  “What? Oh. No. No. No,” Jessica sighed, “Gus loved working with me on the farm. He loved my family and we trusted him. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Miss Wyeth, I want you to consider carefully what you’re saying here. Was Gus Adams preventing you from taking control of your own farm?” Coogan leaned across the table on his forearms. His thick eyebrows slanted down toward the bridge of his nose, brown eyes looking directly at Jessica.

  “No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, eyes downcast.

  “Look. I think you should know that we have statements from patrons of the Black Swan who state that you were seen having a heated argument with Gus Adams. Certain witnesses quote you as saying that he shouldn’t stand in your way or he could be sorry.”

  “Seriously. Don’t be ridiculous. Gus loved me working on the farm with him. He just wants, um, wanted me to have more of a life before I got sucked up into the business, that’s all. What’s all this about?”

  “Tell me about the ‘business.’”

  “What’s to know? Gus is, was the best trainer and breeder around. He knew which bloodlines to mix and when. He knew the precise amount of potential he could pull out of every horse he trained. And there was no one like Gus for picking a winner. He understood handicaps for thoroughbreds better than anyone—even better than my father. He taught me all he could about breeding, training, and winning. He tried to teach me a sense about the horses. But I never could pick them like he could.” Words poured out of her to feed Coogan’s seeming hunger. Nothing made sense.

  “What about the money? Did he ever tell you where it came from or where it went?”

  “What about the money? Aunt Bridget and Gus took over the farm. He did a great job for me and my family. Gus was like a father to me.”

  “Don’t be loyal to a dead man. Worldwind Farm had some of its most successful strings of winners after your father died. Didn’t you ever wonder where the prize money went for all of Gus’ success? Who took notice of the stud fees? How can you be so sure that Gus brought you every check like a faithful dog? The farm’s accountant said it’s barely working in the black despite the consistent wins. I can’t believe you’re as naive as you seem.”

  “What are you talking about? Raising thoroughbreds is an expensive undertaking. The animals themselves cost tens of thousands of dollars and stud fees for animals from other bloodlines can be staggering. And think of the upkeep of the property itself. Even something as simple as maintaining a fence line can be expensive.” Jessica was breathing harder now and color had risen into her cheeks. It seemed the more anxious she became, the more Coogan enjoyed himself.

  Coogan gave an odd little smile. “Yet, as one of the country’s most renowned farms, Worldwind flirted with operating at a loss with only enough money to keep the creditors at bay. As long as Wyeth’s Worldwind Farm operated at a profit, it could never be sold.”

  “Who told you the terms of my trust?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that your faithful Gus just kept skimming the cream off the surface to his own pockets and hoped you would never catch on. But you did. And when he blocked you from coming into the business you snapped.”

  “I what?” Jessica slammed her hand down on the table with enough force to slosh the coffee out of its mug. “Gus Adams was my best friend. He would never do what you’re saying.”

  Coogan sat back in his chair, folded his arms and broadened his smile. “That’s quite a temper you have there, Miss. I’ll bet you would do anything to protect your little farm with your precious horses. Face it, Miss. You are the last person to have been seen with Gus that night. You were drinking and had an argument. The groom saw you leaving the barn this morning. I saw you with my own eyes this morning with blood on you. You killed Gus Adams.”

  “No! You’re insane! I did not kill Gus! I saw two men argue with him about something and one of them killed Gus! I saw them!”

  “If you saw them, then tell me about the men! Tell me what you saw!”

  Coogan’s eyes honed down to slits. They had Jessica in a vise and would not let go. Why was he so agitated that she witnessed something? Didn’t Officer Shea report their conversation? She looked across at Coogan. He seemed bigger, inflated.
His inexplicable manner unnerved her. It seemed that he knew the effect he had on her and pushed her that much harder.

  Enjoying himself, he sat back. “Go ahead, tell me everything.”

  “I can’t! I’m trying to but I can’t! I’m telling you they were there. Two men. One was older than the other. They were there! They did it! Each had on a jacket and one wore a hat!” Jessica’s words were slurring in her panic. She was trying to grasp at the images weaving in her head, but she could not. Each time she thought she had an image cornered to capture into speech, it would dodge and slither away.

  “You said you saw them, now describe them! Tell me what you saw!” Coogan barked the order at Jessica.

  “I can’t! Oh God!” Damn it, think! Did she see anything? Think! Everything was jammed in her head. “I thought I saw them but I can’t remember what they looked like! I don’t know what I saw!”

  “We only found your footprints by the body and those of the groom. We also found a jacket identified as yours with blood smeared onto it, as if it was used to clean the weapon.”

  “I can’t remember any more.”

  His voice deepened. “Miss Wyeth, you are in a great deal of trouble. If you are not responsible for Gus’ death, then I suggest you tell me all you know about what happened last night. Where were the two men standing? How big were they? What did they have on? Now SPEAK!”

  The last words were yelled across the table at the frantic woman. It had its desired effect. Jessica jumped back, and then sat trembling.

  Her voice was barely a whisper. The shock of what the Detective was implying was numbing. It was true. She was responsible for his death. For everyone’s death. Voices from somewhere were telling her she killed them. She could have saved them all but didn’t. She didn’t lift a finger to help anyone. Her head slumped forward. “I don’t know if I’ll ever remember. I just thought I saw something. I just don’t remember.”