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

by W. H. Clark

By the time Newton, Ward, Mallory and Poynter rolled out of the station parking lot it had started to snow. Small flakes of snow that dusted the roadside and sidewalks. Mallory managed to pull out a skid as he joined the street. As they left a car pulled past them into the parking lot.

  “Internal Affairs,” Newton said. “Nobody’s told them. A long way to come for a wasted journey. We’ll let Gammond explain.”

  “Snow,” Ward said.

  “Been coming a while now,” Newton said.

  They pulled into the cemetery entrance and drove up a short ramp, then swung left onto the eastern pavement. They could see a gathering of people up ahead and others making their way from the parked cars. There were dozens of parked cars, recently arrived from the Westmoreland Gospel Church where they had whooped their hallelujahs and Bill O’Donnell had been commended to God, his redeemer and judge.

  Ward and Newton stopped a short distance away and Mallory and Poynter drew up behind them in their unmarked car. Nobody turned to look at them. Just walked with heads down, some bearing handkerchiefs, sobbing. A raven’s distant call, and then another closer, shot through the somber moans.

  And the people streamed up towards the grave and their numbers swelled. Many were black.

  “From his church,” Newton said but didn’t need to.

  They sat in the car as the flakes of snow settled on the windshield and then melted, fifty at a time, and then another fifty. There was a covering on the ground and Ward leaned forward and looked up at the sky.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Newton said, and he opened the door and squeezed himself from behind the wheel, holding his breath as his back threatened to spasm.

  They crossed to where the people snaked towards the graveside, moving slowly as if all were pallbearers carrying a giant’s burden. Newton and Ward joined them and Newton turned to check on Mallory and Poynter. He saw the fidgeting shape of Mallory with binoculars.

  They walked up the hill and as it leveled off the gathering masses of people had come to a halt and the people shook hands and they touched arms and some hugged. There was Principal Taylor. Other teachers and members of the school staff.

  A hand touched Newton’s arm and it was Alice White and her eyes were wet but her mouth smiled. Newton smiled uncertainly back at her and they walked together to the graveside, her arm intersecting his, and Ward followed behind, his eyes working through the people. There was a mist of calm cast over them all and the blanket of low snow clouds seemed to muffle the sobs and the murmured conversations as it came down thick and sticky.

  The casket was there, suspended on straps fastened to a metal frame which bordered Bill O’Donnell’s final resting place. Snow had already covered the top. The people circled it like crows in a meadow of marble and granite, and the sobs grew and silenced the murmurs. Reverend Adrien Baptiste weaved in and out of the gathering and offered comforting words in a deep rumble which seemed to spiral through his congregation.

  As Alice and Newton reached the graveside, people made way for them and Alice said “thank you” and Newton let her arm drop but she grabbed his hand and pulled him gently forward. They stood at the head of the closed casket and Newton stared at it with teddy bear eyes and a tear ran down his cheek and he almost coughed out a sob but choked it back. Alice noticed and she gently turned him to face her so she looked directly into his eyes.

  “He’s found his peace,” she said. “Now can you?”

  And the sob came out. And then Newton gulped in air and swallowed the rest of it, his eyes streaming.

  Ward had deliberately held back. From where Newton and Alice stood line of sight with Mallory and Poynter was lost, and Ward knew that Newton was lost now too. And he understood.

  The Reverend took his place beside the casket and the sobbing grew in intensity and then he started to speak. Ward tried to remain still but he struggled to see as many faces as he would like and he rocked on his heels, side to side, with the rhythm of Reverend Baptiste’s words and tried to crane a look at faces opposite, at faces beside him. None of the faces rang alarm bells. And as Reverend Baptiste’s words settled on him like the snowflakes falling from the heavens, Ward turned to look over at Mallory and Poynter.

  For a moment he didn’t see the man. He saw Poynter tug Mallory’s arm first. And then he saw him. Mallory was waving at Ward with both arms and indicating the man who strode towards him and Ward knew it was him. He wore a thick padded coat and a wool hat and an extra hood. He could take him before he got to the other grievers. Mallory and Poynter were out of the car, ready to make a move on Ward’s order. Mallory shifted from one foot to the other like he was wearing tight boots. Ward turned towards Newton, who had his back to him, but Alice White was looking at Ward and looking beyond Ward and her eyes closed for a second or two and she nodded her head slowly. When Ward turned back to the man he was almost upon them but still far enough away for Ward to slip out and take him but he didn’t. He settled into the service again and then he heard the footsteps running up the hill.

  Mallory was sprinting towards the man and the man turned and saw him. He turned to Alice and then back to Mallory and he looked to turn and run but Mallory was there then and Mallory dived for the man’s feet as the man made the decision to run too late and Mallory was on top of him as the man swung his arms, his scrambling feet struggling to grip on the snow-covered ground.

  The commotion had the congregation craning to see what was happening and shocked voices gasped and murmured. Reverend Baptiste stopped speaking and he rose up on his toes and he bellowed, “What is this?”

  Mallory was on top of the man, who wriggled desperately to be free, but Mallory had his giant hands around the man’s forearms now, pinning him to the ground. As the man struggled he tossed his head from side to side and the hat and hood shook free and Mallory looked straight into his face and he said, “It’s you.”

  Ward dragged Mallory off the man and Mallory fell back and sat on the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Ward said. “What the hell—”

  Mallory looked up at Ward and said, “I’m making an arrest.”

  “We won’t have this. Not here and not now,” the Reverend boomed.

  Ward said to Mallory, “Get away,” and he tried to take the hand of the other man to help him to his feet but the man waved Ward away and he just lay there with his hands in fists at his temple, his eyes shut tight and his clothes spattered with dirty snow. Ward thought he looked like a little boy who had been beaten on by a bully.

  It was Alice who went to him and calmed him down with soothing words. The man slowly and shakily raised himself up onto one knee and then both feet and Alice led him away, up to the top of the hill and the graveside where Newton still stood.

  Mallory got to his feet then and he turned and stomped back down the hill, the snow underfoot once trying to fell him. Ward watched him all the way back to his car and Mallory jumped straight in and slammed the door closed and then Ward heard the deep voice of Reverend Baptiste start up again.

  As Reverend Baptiste reached the end of the committal prayer a wail went up from somebody out of Ward’s sight and everybody said “amen.” Ward saw that Newton’s hand was covered in dirt and Alice White took hold of it. The casket began its descent and Reverend Baptiste led the congregation in the Lord’s Prayer and Ward joined them. The man’s arm was across Alice White’s juddering shoulders and Ward didn’t take his eyes off him.

  Then the Reverend started singing “Just a Closer Walk With Thee,” and around thirty voices joined him and it became darker around them all or so it seemed.

  “He’s one of my children,” Alice White said to Ward. Newton looked on and didn’t say anything. “He’ll come with you.”

  Ward had his hand on his handcuffs.

  “He’ll come. No need for handcuffs, detective.”

  Ward relaxed and he guided the man away. The man wiped his face on the back of his hand. And then again with the other hand. Ward waited until they were far enough away from
the others before he softly uttered the Miranda warning. The man nodded to indicate he’d understood Ward. The man then looked over his shoulder and Alice White held up her hand. Ward walked him down the hill to the car. Mallory and Poynter drove away before they got there. Newton joined them a minute later and the journey to the station was silent.

  65

  Bill O’Donnell is painting some ironwork. He stops as Newton’s car pulls into the school parking lot. Newton speaks from a distance and he notices O’Donnell’s free hand clench into a fist.

  “We found a truck, looks like yours.”

  O’Donnell waits until Newton has reached him before answering, and he speaks in a low voice, looking around him as he does.

  “I’d have preferred it if we could’ve kept this away from the school.”

  “Don’t you want to know about your truck? I would’ve thought that would be your main concern.”

  “My main concern is the whereabouts of Ryan.” He unclenches his fist.

  “Of course. Of course. But it’s good news about your truck at least.”

  “You’re trying to get a rise out of me, detective.”

  Newton smiles. “I’m just the bearer of good news.”

  O’Donnell returns to his painting and he turns his back on Newton.

  “Just doing some tests on it. And then you can have it back.”

  O’Donnell stops painting again. He turns to Newton and his tired eyes become smoldering firecrackers. “I’ll be out looking for Ryan after work. I’ll let you know if I find anything,” he says. He dips his brush in the pot of paint and pulls it out clumsily, splashing paint around Newton’s shoes. Newton steps back quickly and glares at Bill O’Donnell. Bill O’Donnell sloshes paint onto the ironwork.

  66

  “We need the death certificate for the Novaks’ stillborn child,” Newton said to McNeely. “And run the prints you’ve just taken against the ones from the windowsill. As soon as you can.”

  McNeely watched Ward lead the man to one of the interview rooms.

  “That our killer?” she asked Newton.

  Newton shrugged and he still had the dirt on his hand. He went into Gammond’s office. Moments later he left Gammond’s office and Gammond followed, his face red and stern.

  Ward was sitting opposite the man who looked like Ryan and Newton entered the room and sat next to Ward. Ward turned on the tape recorder and read the man his rights again. The man nodded again to show he’d understood and his eyes bulged as if he was fighting back tears.

  “You should have an attorney present, son,” Newton said.

  The man looked up at Newton and then looked up at the camera and shook his head jerkily.

  “You have a name?” Ward asked.

  The man looked beyond Ward. Didn’t say anything.

  “How should we address you, son? John?” Newton said.

  Nothing came back. Newton looked at Ward, who just eyed the prisoner.

  “Can we get you anything? You thirsty? Hungry?” No response to Ward’s question.

  “Okay, we’re going to ask you some questions. We proceed on the assumption that you understand what’s happening here as you nodded to indicate as such.” Newton said it for the tape and the camera and the man nodded.

  “Are you currently taking drugs?”

  No response. Just the long stare, bloodshot eyes. Newton let the question breathe.

  “Do you have access to drugs? Legal drugs? Medical drugs?”

  No response.

  “Can you account for your whereabouts on Sunday, January twenty-fourth?”

  Just the stare.

  “Were you in or near the Sunny Glade Nursing Home? You remember?”

  A couple of quick blinks.

  “Do you know William O’Donnell, known also as Bill O’Donnell?”

  No response.

  “We found some fingerprints on the windowsill of Mr. O’Donnell’s room up at Sunny Glade. I think they’re yours, aren’t they?”

  The man looked confused and trembled as if he was about to cry. He looked down at the ink on his fingers.

  “Okay. We need to make the questions easier.” He invited Ward into the one-way conversation.

  Ward said, “Did you murder William O’Donnell?”

  The man’s eyes focused on Ward. Ward waited for the question to settle.

  “I’ll ask you that again in case you didn’t get it the first time. Did you murder William O’Donnell?”

  The man’s distant stare returned and tears started to form and he bit his bottom lip. Ward looked at Newton and Newton stood up and indicated for Ward to follow him out of the room.

  “Please would you excuse us,” Newton said.

  Outside the room Gammond was watching the interview on a small screen. McNeely was there. And Poynter.

  “Talkative little shithead, ain’t he?” Gammond said.

  Newton turned his back on him and said to Ward, “You think he could have killed O’Donnell?”

  Ward shook his head. “No. But it would be nice to know what he’s been doing up there.”

  “You think he’s a bit simple?” And he pulled Ward away as Ward shrugged. Out of Gammond’s hearing range. “Alice said he’s her boy.”

  “We need to go talk to her anyway,” Ward said. “We bring her back in? See if she can get him to cooperate?”

  “Worth a try.”

  Newton said, “Looks like Ryan grown up, don’t he?”

  “He his dead brother? That would make him O’Donnell’s grandson. I guess that’s a reason for the visits.”

  “Why through the window?”

  “Because he doesn’t exist. He’s a secret. And secrets don’t walk through the front door.”

  “We need Alice to make sense of this. McNeely. You got that death certificate yet?”

  “On it, sir,” she said. “The prints. Positive match.” And she skipped away.

  Newton took the copy of the photo of the little boy from the evidence board as he and Ward grabbed their coats, Ward grabbed his hat, and they left.

  67

  The snow had stopped falling and already the thin covering had frozen to a crunch. Blue sky cracked through thinning cloud and javelins of sunlight stabbed the earth.

  They were at Alice White’s house inside of ten minutes despite the slow drive. Alice was at the open door and she disappeared inside as they walked up and they followed her in. They both stamped their feet. Ward left his hat on.

  “Wonderful service. So glad you could make it,” Alice said. “You two detectives like a drink?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “No, Mrs. White. Thank you,” Ward said.

  “Oh, we getting formal now, Detective Ward? It’s Alice. Still Alice. I know you got to be formal in certain circumstances but won’t have you call me nothing but Alice.”

  “We got your boy, Alice, but he isn’t talking,” Ward said. “He is your boy, isn’t he?”

  “I told you he’s one of my children.” She led them into the parlor.

  “He have a name?” Newton said.

  “Sir, he does.”

  “Would you like to tell me what it is?”

  “He’s called John. John, in the name of the Apostle. Says so on the back of that photograph you took.”

  “His surname?”

  “Why, Detective Newton, he took my own. White. John White. But I guess you got him as John Doe or else you wouldn’t have asked me that. He don’t talk much and he’s probably a little scared. He’s not altogether bright schoolwise but he knows the rights and the wrongs.” She seemed to lose her breath a moment and then she continued. “You know there’s a theory about the painting of the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci says Mary Magdalene is actually in the painting. Now if that’s true, it means John has disappeared. Where’s John?”

  Newton saw that Ward was examining the photographs placed all around the room, some on walls, the others on any surface that offered enough space. They overlapped in some places.<
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  Newton said, “We have John.”

  Alice White chuckled and then said, “He’s a good boy. He didn’t hurt William. You all know that.”

  “Who is he?” Newton said.

  “I just told you, he’s called John White.”

  “Alice. We need you to be truthful with us here.”

  Ward looked around at the photographs.

  “I ain’t told a lie, detective. The Lord strike me down if I have. I’m cooperating.”

  “He one of these?” Ward said, indicating the photographs.

  “No, sir. He ain’t.”

  “Like John missing from the painting,” Ward said.

  Alice White smiled. “I suppose that’s right.”

  “Do you have any photos of him? Photos you might have taken down recently?”

  “I do,” Alice said. “Would you like me to get them? They’re just here in this cupboard.”

  Ward said, “Yes, please.”

  Alice bent down with effort as she opened the cupboard. She fished around inside.

  Ward saw the framed needlework that read “Jesus is my savior. Christ is my redeemer”. That’s why he’d written it down in his notebook. Figured he must’ve done it absent-mindedly. He then noticed the photograph album he had flicked through the last time he had been there. The one with the dead babies. He opened it. He started to turn pages slowly.

  Alice straightened up with Newton’s help and she had in her hands a small grayed shoebox full of photographs, some in frames, some loose. The topmost ones were recent. She took one out.

  “This is John,” she said, handing the photo to Newton.

  Ward was still flicking through the album, slowly.

  “Do you have any older ones than that?” Newton said as he studied the photograph in his hand.

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  She dug into the box and came up with a handful. She started to flick through them. As she did so, Newton saw John White’s life played out in reverse. There he was at eighteen. And then at fifteen. And now twelve.