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

by W. H. Clark

  Ward was still paging through the album.

  John White at nine. At eight. And gradually, Newton’s mouth opened wider. Until she got to seven.

  “You know they sentenced John the Apostle to death. They tried to kill him but he miraculously survived. He lived to a grand old age. He got a second chance.”

  Newton took the photo of the little boy from his pocket.

  “You interested most in these ones,” Alice said, and she laid a few photographs on the small table next to her.

  Newton spread them out and picked one up. And there, looking up into the camera lens was the same little boy in the photo that Newton held in his hand, the photo that had once been in Bill O’Donnell’s room in Sunny Glade. Same clothes. Same scene. Same house. Alice White’s house. The house looked different now but it was definitely this house.

  “This is his grandson. Isn’t it?” Newton said just before Ward let out a gasp.

  “What you got?” Newton said.

  “He’s found the other John,” Alice said. “One who died.”

  Ward looked at her. Looked back at the album.

  “It’s a dolly,” Alice said.

  Alice White said, “I didn’t do nothing wrong,” after she had been read her Miranda rights by Ward. Again Ward felt strange after being in the house. Those words on the needlework occurred to him now. “Jesus is my savior. Christ is my redeemer.” He pushed the words out of his mind as he tried to piece together what was happening. His head felt twisted inside.

  “Don’t need no attorney, detective. I’ll tell you the truth and be represented by the Lord hisself.”

  “Okay, Alice. Tell me why a dead child comes to be alive again?” Ward said.

  Newton had sat this one out. He was talking to Gammond and sorting out a warrant to dig up the Novak baby’s supposed grave. The final resting place of a dolly.

  “It was back in 1986. Just past a year since Ryan went missing. One day there was a knock on my door. I answered it and there was William holding something in his arms. Didn’t need the little squeak that it let out to know what it was. Only one thing come in bundles like that. And held that way. I asked him who it was. He didn’t tell me at first. Just told me he would like for me to look after him. Well, I had doubts. Not of William. I told you he was a good man. I would never doubt him. I doubted myself. I had looked after many children. Even babies. But never delivered to me in this way. I lost my nerve a little but William said I’d be all right. And so I took him in.” She looked over Ward’s shoulder into the corner of the room as if something was there. It made him look around but there was nothing.

  “Go on,” Ward said.

  “William went away and brought back some supplies later. Baby supplies. I realized then that the baby didn’t have a name. So I asked William and he said the baby had none. ‘None!’ I say. ‘Every baby’s got a name!’ And William said it didn’t and he wanted for me to go ahead and choose. First name came into my head was John. After the Apostle. But I say I ain’t going to choose a name. That’s something parents do. And William told me his mama died in childbirth and I said that’s so sad. And then he told me his mama was Janice, his daughter, and then it all made sense.”

  Ward said, “Why did it make sense?”

  Alice said, “Child needs a mama.”

  “But he still had a father,” Ward said, and then he realized and he nodded. “Of course. Presumably he thought the baby was dead.”

  “Uh huh,” said Alice.

  “So how did a baby that was supposed to be dead… I’m not understanding this.”

  “I don’t know the part about how the baby gets declared dead. But of course they didn’t have a little body to bury. You’ve seen the photograph, detective.”

  “The dolly. You’re the Baby Dresser, right?”

  “That’s right. I admit right here and now that I dressed a dolly to look like the dead baby.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “William asked me to.”

  “Okay. And how did that fool everyone?”

  “Not many people to fool as it happens. There was no body to get rid of in the first place. I just had to present my own baby for the service. Only person who saw it was the father. He was so drunk I could’ve put a dead possum in the casket. After that, the casket was closed. Nobody else saw.”

  “Not even the undertaker?”

  “We didn’t use one apart from to supply a tiny casket.”

  “So how did the baby get to be pronounced dead? Presumably a doctor needs to pronounce?”

  “Like I said. I don’t know the details of that. Never wanted to. I just did my duty to William, the child and to God who I knew wanted me to do this for His glory.”

  Ward let out a few liters of air.

  “Detective Ward, William had good reason to do what he did. It’s not my business what the why was. You’ve seen John. He’s a good boy.”

  “He’s a suspect in a homicide,” Ward said.

  “Oh, moonshine. You know he didn’t do nothing to hurt his grandfather.”

  “Did he know his father?”

  “Knew of him, later. Eugene got hisself killed before John was old enough to understand. William explained when he was a little older.”

  “Okay, Alice,” Ward said. “I might have some more questions later. I’ll get someone to bring you some tea. And cookies.” He smiled.

  “That would be nice,” Alice White said. “Could I see John?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.”

  “You charge him with murder?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And you not going to.”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “You not going to,” Alice said firmly. “Let me ask you a question, Detective Ward.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You carrying something dark in your heart. I see it. Are you ready to meet your God?”

  Ward almost jumped at the question. He left Alice in the interview room and he nearly crashed into Newton as he strode through the door.

  “Ward,” Newton said. He had something in his hand. A copy of a document. “Take a look at this.” He jabbed the piece of paper.

  “The death certificate. So—” Ward’s words chopped off when he saw it. “Doctor Brookline signed the death certificate.” He rubbed his eyes. “You think O’Donnell conspired with Brookline to fake the baby’s death? That’s what it looks like.”

  “It’s what it looks like,” Newton said. “He died a drug addict. My guess is O’Donnell offered him money to sign the death certificate. And Brookline signed the certificate and took the money to feed his habit. But if they were both murdered then it wasn’t for this. For faking the death of a baby? That don’t add up. It’s the only thing connects them far as I can see. Did Brookline also know what happened to Ryan? O’Donnell spoke his name. Something spooked O’Donnell. Something that got him and the doctor killed. I think we’re getting closer.”

  “Warrant come through to dig up the Novak baby’s grave?”

  “Should be soon,” Newton said.

  “What we going to charge Alice with?”

  Newton said, “We’re not. She can go.”

  Ward said, “Okay. We going to charge the guy with anything?”

  Newton took a deep breath. Shrugged. “We ain’t got a great deal apart from the fingerprints. If only he would talk he’d tell us he climbed into the window to go visit his old grandfather. I guess he was just keeping a low profile. He was supposed to be dead after all. I got no reason to suspect he’s done anything but be a dutiful grandson.”

  “So, we’re back to having nothing,” Ward said.

  “Not nothing. We’ve got the Brookline angle. The dead baby angle. We’ll work at those.”

  “Damn it,” Ward said.

  And then the interview room door opened and Alice White was standing there.

  “Let me speak to John,” she said.

  Newton looked at the frail old lady s
tanding there in the doorway and for a minute he thought it was his mother despite Alice’s color.

  “Okay,” Newton said. And he led her to the other interview room where John White—John Novak—sat, staring at the wall. He closed the door on them.

  “You sure?” Ward said.

  Newton went to the TV but it wasn’t switched on. He tried the on switch but it didn’t make any difference. He banged the side of it with his fist. Checked the cables. Still wouldn’t switch on. Then he dashed over to the interview room door and burst in. Alice White had John White’s hand in hers. She looked around at Newton.

  “He can take you to where Ryan is buried,” she said.

  “She said what?” Gammond said.

  “He knows where Ryan is buried. Ward’s going to take a team out there. O’Donnell used to take the boy to his brother’s grave. It’s out over in the National Forest.”

  Gammond seemed confused. Not sure where to put his hands. “That means O’Donnell’s the killer. You see?”

  “We’ll get the body and take it from there.”

  “But he must’ve done it. He buried the boy. You were right.”

  “Was I? What about Lafayette? You had him definitely done it.”

  Gammond’s words wouldn’t come out and he got red in the face.

  “You going with Ward?” Gammond said eventually. “It was your case.”

  “It’s Ward’s case now. I messed it up first time around.”

  “Okay,” Gammond said. He paused and then said, “Tell him he has everything he needs. Men. Chopper. All it takes.”

  “He’s on it.”

  “You get to wrap up this case once and for all. Now, it’s important you keep me informed on developments. This is a sensitive story still. And don’t let it out. We keep a lid on this. I need to get my head around this. Dang.”

  Newton stood in the parking lot. He looked up at the sky and it looked set to fall again and the day had darkened. He put his head in his hands and his fingers ran up through his hair. He felt a pain in his chest like a sharp object skittering around in there. And then he felt the cold hand grip his heart and he made to grab at his chest but his arm was weak. And then he fell.

  Newton was dead. That’s what they told him later. McNeely’s quick thinking and proficiency with the defibrillator which they kept at the station had cranked his heart back up. He would thank her later by buying her flowers. She would receive them graciously and then throw them into the trash on her way home as she’d always hated flowers. Remind her of funeral homes.

  68

  “It’s been six months.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Newton says.

  “That’s a hell of a quote,” Larsson says.

  “Listen here–”

  “Now, don’t let’s get falling out, detective. I’m just doing my job here. Throw me a bone. Some gristle if you want. I’ve got five hundred words I need to pluck out of somewhere. How do you want this to read? It’s basically your choice.”

  Newton takes in an ocean-deep breath and he silently mouths the numbers one through ten.

  “Anything. I’ll take some routine bullshit but I need to attribute it to a source,” Larsson says.

  After another short pause Newton says, “Make something up. Just… make something up,” and he bounces the phone back in its cradle.

  Bill O’Donnell is sitting in a tiny room which is filled with tools, cleaning equipment and a plethora of smells – oil, bleach, paint. The paint smell makes him feel nauseous and he thinks of Ryan. The only remaining piece of store cupboard realty is taken up by a child-sized chair which creaks under his weight. He just sits there. The door is all the way open and heavy footsteps pound towards the room as the school bell sounds. Newton appears, fresh snowfall melting on his shoulders and head.

  “Where is the body?” Newton says. It’s the first time he’s called the boy a body but not the first time he’s thought it. In fact, he’d thought it from the start if he was honest with himself. But honesty and denial had butted against one another for too long.

  Classroom doors can be heard opening and the muffled cheerful clamor of children zigzags the corridors above them.

  “How would I know that?”

  “How would you know that? You tell me. What did you do with Ryan’s body? You take it out in the woods? You bury it out there?”

  “You dug up my garden.”

  “We’ll dig up the entire National Forest if we have to but you could make it a hell of a lot easier on yourself if you just tell me where it is.”

  “This is harassment, sir,” Bill O’Donnell says, and he stands up suddenly and faces Newton. “Do you have no respect? Do you know what you’ve done to me?”

  Newton takes a step forward and bends down into O’Donnell’s face and their noses almost touch.

  “You killed him. I know that. And you’re going to tell me where the body is. Right here and now. Let’s go, you son of a bitch. Game’s over.”

  O’Donnell stands and finds himself toe to toe with Newton.

  “You get satisfaction from harassing a grieving grandparent? That it? Shame on you, sir. Shame on you.”

  “You killed that boy,” Newton says, but his previously gusting words are a breeze now.

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” O’Donnell says. “Thing is, you can’t handle the fact that you ain’t done your job. You ain’t found the boy. You ain’t done nothing but come at me.”

  “And I’ll keep coming till it kills me,” Newton says.

  O’Donnell’s eyes linger on Newton’s and then he sits down.

  “I wish I could tell you more. I really do. Fact is, we both know Ryan is dead. Fact is, neither of us knows where he is. Fact is, you’ve gotten nowhere with this. You ain’t even looking no more. Be honest. Fact is, you’ve tried your best to pin this on me. And for what? What you got against me? I’m also a victim in this. Can’t you see that? Ryan was my grandson. My flesh and blood. You think I could’ve killed my own grandson? You got children of your own? You could kill them? You don’t know me. You’re clutching at straws. After all this time you’re still clutching at straws. Well, I ain’t having no part of it no more. I’m done answering questions. I’m done being harassed. I want to get on with my life best I can. It’s not easy but I take it a day at a time. Sure, I have guilt. But it ain’t the kind of guilt comes with taking another’s life. It’s the guilt says I might have been able to stop Ryan being taken in the first place. The kind that says I should’ve been there for him. I wasn’t, though. And that guilt will live with me forever. I carry it around like an overcoat on a sunny day. So with respect, detective, I’m done with helping you. You go on and get on with your life. Look at you. Just look at you.”

  It’s a while before Newton speaks. His eyes are heavy with fatigue. His jacket has stains on it. He smells sour.

  “You killed him” is all he says, and he draws the words from his shoes but they die off in the traveling. They are to be the last three words he will ever say to Bill O’Donnell.

  Newton doesn’t hear the last words O’Donnell will ever say to him as he is already down the end of the corridor when they are said. O’Donnell just says, “I know where Ryan is buried but I didn’t kill him.”

  69

  McNeely noticed that Ward’s left leg was set to jiggling.

  “You go,” she said. “I’d like to stay. That okay?” The question was directed at a nurse, who was injecting something into a tube that ran into the back of Newton’s hand. The nurse nodded.

  “You his wife?” The nurse said.

  “His wife is on the way here. I’m a colleague.”

  “Strictly speaking it should be next of kin only,” the nurse said, and Mallory and Jen walked into the room.

  “We’re his family,” Mallory said.

  Jen had been crying. She said, “Oh my…”

  “How is he? Is he going to be okay?” Mallory said, his voice a little shaky.

  “He needs rest,” the nu
rse said.

  “But he’s going to be okay, right?” Mallory said.

  “He’s poorly but he’s going to be okay,” the nurse said. “And it’s getting a bit crowded in here.”

  “We’re his family,” Mallory said, and he glared at Ward and McNeely.

  “We’re going,” Ward said, and he stood and saw the look of anger swelling in McNeely’s face. He gestured with his head for McNeely to go with him.

  Ward turned to Jen and said, “Tell him… when he wakes up tell him I’ve gone to bring Ryan back.”

  Jen nodded. Mallory just gawked at Ward with his mouth working an unformed sentence. Ward put his hat on and stood at the bottom of the bed where Newton slept. The man in the bed lay like a toppled statue.

  “And tell him… just tell him to take it easy, okay?” He took McNeely’s arm and led her away.

  “I saved his life and goddamn Mallory—”

  “It’s okay. You go home and get some rest.”

  “That son of a bitch—” McNeely said, and she punched the air in front of her.

  “I know it but it don’t do no good to let him get to you.”

  McNeely just growled and she walked away from Ward and he stood there and watched her and he could hear her grumbling as she walked. He turned and headed towards his car.

  The cold was intense. Tiny ice crystals fell from the sky, seemingly jewels shaved from stars, and they blew in his face and stuck to his beard. It was still light but only just. The helicopter would be here soon and they had to move quickly.

  He knew the chopper wouldn’t fly if this weather got worse. He knew that he had limited time to get to the burial site before it was completely covered under a significant snowfall. He knew they had to go now to stand any chance of getting the job done before springtime. The job of getting Ryan’s body back. And he knew that Newton needed the little boy.

  He called the station. Poynter picked up. Asked for news on Newton. Ward told him he was stable. He would be okay. Then Ward checked with Poynter if they’d got all the equipment ready. They had. They would be navigated by John White, who was still sitting in the interview room at the station.