The large room was empty, but Jeffrey could hear voices from the back. There was a door behind the pulpit, and this time he did knock.
Paul Ward answered the door, shock registering on his face. 'Can I help you?'
He was blocking the doorway, but Jeffrey could see the family assembled at a long table behind him. Mary, Rachel and Esther were on one side while Paul, Ephraim and Lev were on the other. At the head of the table was an older man in a wheelchair. In front of him was a metal urn that probably contained Abby's ashes.
Lev stood, telling Jeffrey, 'Please come in.'
Paul took his time moving out of Jeffrey's way, obviously not happy to have him in the room.
'I'm sorry to interrupt,' Jeffrey began.
Esther asked, 'Have you found something?'
Jeffrey told her, 'There's been a new development.' He went to the man in the wheelchair. 'I don't think we've met, Mr Ward.'
The man's mouth moved awkwardly, and he said something that Jeffrey took for 'Thomas.'
'Thomas,' Jeffrey repeated. 'I'm sorry to meet under these circumstances.'
Paul asked, 'What circumstances?' and Jeffrey looked to the man's brother.
'I didn't tell them anything,' Lev said defensively. 'I gave you my word.'
'What word?' Paul demanded. 'Lev, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?' Thomas made a calming motion with a shaking hand, but Paul told him, 'Papa, this is serious. If I'm going to be counsel for the family, they need to listen to me.'
Surprisingly, Rachel barked, 'You're not in charge of us, Paul.'
'Paul,' Lev interceded. 'Please sit down. I don't think I've gotten myself into any trouble.'
Jeffrey wasn't too sure about that, but he said, 'Cole Connolly is dead.'
There was a collective gasp around the room, and Jeffrey suddenly felt like he was in some kind of Agatha Christie story.
'My Lord,' Esther said, hand to her heart. 'What happened?'
'He was poisoned.'
Esther looked at her husband, then to her oldest brother. 'I don't understand.'
'Poisoned?' Lev asked, sinking down into a chair. 'What on earth?'
'I'm pretty sure it was cyanide,' Jeffrey told them. 'The same cyanide that killed Abby.'
'But . . .' Esther began, shaking her head. 'You said she suffocated.'
'Cyanide is an asphyxiant,' he told her, as if he hadn't purposefully hidden the truth from them. 'Someone probably put the salts in water and poured it down the pipe –'
'Pipe?' Mary asked. It was the first time she had spoken and Jeffrey saw that her face had turned milk white. 'What pipe?'
'The pipe that was attached to the box,' he explained. 'The cyanide reacted –'
'Box?' Mary echoed, as if this was the first time she had heard it. Maybe it was, Jeffrey thought. The other day, she had run from the room when he'd started to explain what had happened to Abby. Perhaps the menfolk had kept this particular piece of news from her delicate ears.
'Cole told me he'd done this before,' Jeffrey said, looking at each of the sisters in turn. 'Did he punish the other kids this way when they were growing up?' He looked at Esther. 'Did he ever punish Rebecca this way?'
Esther seemed to be having trouble breathing. 'Why on earth would he –'
Paul cut her off. 'Chief Tolliver, I think we need to be alone right now.'
'I've got some more questions,' Jeffrey said.
Paul replied, 'I'm sure you do, but we're –'
'Actually,' Jeffrey interrupted, 'one of them is for you.'
Paul blinked. 'Me?'
'Did Abby come see you a few days before she went missing?'
'Well . . .' he thought about it. 'Yes, I think so.'
Rachel said, 'She took those papers to you, Paul. The ones for the tractor.'
'Right,' Paul remembered. 'I left them here in my briefcase.' He explained, 'There were some legal documents that had to be signed and sent off by close of business.'
'She couldn't fax them?'
'They had to be the originals,' he explained. 'It was a quick trip, down and back up. Abby did that a lot.'
'Not a lot,' Esther contradicted. 'Maybe once or twice a month.'
'Semantics,' Lev said. 'She would run down papers for Paul so he didn't have to take four hours out of his day on the road.'
'She took the bus,' Jeffrey said. 'Why didn't she drive herself?'
'Abby didn't like driving on the interstate,' Lev answered. 'Is there a problem? Do you think she met someone on the bus?'
Jeffrey asked Paul, 'Were you in Savannah the week she disappeared?'
'Yes,' the lawyer replied. 'I told you that before. I spend every other week there. It's just me handling all the legal business for the farm. It's very time-consuming.' He took a small notebook out of his pocket and scribbled something down. 'This is my Savannah office number,' he said, tearing off the sheet of paper. 'You can call my secretary there – Barbara. She can verify where I was.'
'What about at night?'
'Are you asking me for an alibi?' he demanded, incredulous.
Lev said, 'Paul –'
'Listen here,' Paul said, getting into Jeffrey's face. 'You've interrupted my niece's funeral. I understand you have to do your job, but this is not the time.'
Jeffrey stood his ground. 'Take your finger out of my face.'
'I've had just about enough –'
'Take your finger out of my face,' Jeffrey repeated, and, after a moment, the man had the good sense to drop his hand. Jeffrey looked at the sisters, then at Thomas, sitting at the end of the table. 'Someone murdered Abbey,' he told them, feeling a barely controlled sense of rage burning deep inside of him. 'She was buried in that box by Cole Connolly. She stayed in there for several days and nights until someone – someone who knew she was buried out there – came along and poured cyanide into her throat.'
Esther put her hand to her mouth, tears springing into her eyes.
'I've just watched a man die that death,' he told them. 'I watched him writhe on the floor, gasping for air, knowing full well that he was going to die, probably begging God to go ahead and take him just to release him from the pain.'
Esther dropped her head, crying in earnest. The rest of the family seemed shocked, and as Jeffrey glanced around the room, no one but Lev would look him in the eye. The preacher seemed about to speak, but Paul put his hand on his brother's shoulder, stopping him.
'Rebecca's still missing,' Jeffrey reminded them.
'Do you think . . .' Esther began. Her question trailed off as the implications hit her full force.
Jeffrey watched Lev, trying to read his blank stare. Paul's jaw had tightened, but Jeffrey didn't know if this was from anger or concern.
It was Rachel who finally asked the question, her voice quavering at the thought of her niece in danger. 'Do you think Rebecca's been taken?'
'I think somebody in this room knows exactly what's been going on – is probably a part of it.' Jeffrey tossed a handful of business cards down on the table. 'These have all my numbers,' he told them. 'Call me when you're ready to find out the truth.'
FRIDAY
THIRTEEN
Sara lay in bed on her side, looking out the window. She could hear Jeffrey in the kitchen, knocking pans around. Around five this morning, he had scared the shit out of her, jumping around in the dark as he put on his running shorts, looking like an ax murderer in the shadows cast by the moon. An hour later, he had wakened her again, cursing like a sailor when he accidentally stepped on Bob. Displaced from the bed by Jeffrey, the greyhound had taken to sleeping in the bathtub and was just as indignant as Jeffrey to find them both simultaneously in the tub.
Still, she was somewhat comforted by Jeffrey's presence in the house. She liked rolling over in the middle of the night and feeling the warmth of his body. She liked the sound of his voice and the smell of the oatmeal lotion he used on his hands when he thought she wasn't looking. She especially liked that he cooked breakfast for her.
'Ge
t your ass out of bed and come scramble the eggs,' Jeffrey yelled from the kitchen.
Sara muttered something she would be ashamed for her mother to hear as she dragged herself out from under the covers. The house was freezing cold even though the sun was beating down on the lake, waves sending coppery glints of light through the back windows. She grabbed Jeffrey's robe and wrapped it around herself before padding down the hallway.
Jeffrey stood at the stove, frying bacon. He was wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt, which set off his bruised eye nicely in the morning sun.
He said, 'I figured you were awake.'
'Third time's a charm,' she told him, petting Billy as he leaned up against her. Bob was splayed on the couch with his feet in the air. She could see Bubba, her erstwhile cat, stalking something in the backyard.
Jeffrey had already gotten out the eggs and sat the carton beside a bowl for her. Sara cracked them open, trying not to drip the whites all over the counter. Jeffrey saw the mess she was making and took over, saying, 'Sit down.'
Sara sank into the stool at the kitchen island, watching him clean up her mess.
She asked the obvious. 'You couldn't sleep?'
'No,' he told her, tossing the rag into the sink.
He was worried about the case, but she also knew that he was almost as troubled about Lena. Their entire relationship, Jeffrey had been in some state of concern for Lena Adams. In the beginning it was because she was too hot-headed on the street, too aggressive with her arrests. From there, Jeffrey had been worried about her competitiveness, her yearning to be the best on the squad no matter what shortcuts she felt she had to take. He had trained her carefully as a detective, partnering her with Frank but taking her under his wing, grooming her for something – something Sara thought the other woman would never get. Lena was too single-minded to lead, too selfish to follow. Twelve years ago, Sara could have predicted he would still be worrying over Lena today. That she was mixed up with that Nazi skinhead Ethan Green was really the only thing that had ever surprised her about the other woman.
Sara asked, 'Are you going to try to talk to Lena?'
Jeffrey didn't answer her question. 'She's too smart for this.'
'I don't think abuse has anything to do with intelligence or lack thereof,' Sara said.
'That's the reason I don't think Cole went after Rebecca,' Jeffrey told her. 'She's too willful. He wouldn't pick someone who would fight back too much.'
'Is Brad still looking over in Catoogah?'
'Yeah,' he said, not sounding hopeful that the search would yield anything. He skipped on to Cole Connolly as if he had been having a different conversation in his head. 'Rebecca would've told her mother what was going on and Esther . . . Esther would have ripped out Cole's throat.' Using his good hand, he broke the eggs one by one into the bowl. 'Cole wouldn't have risked it.'
'Predators have an innate ability to choose their victims,' Sara agreed, thinking again about Lena. Somehow, the circumstances of her damaged life had taken over, making her an easy target for someone like Ethan. Sara completely understood how this happened. It was all logical, yet knowing Lena, she was still having trouble accepting it.
'I kept seeing him last night, the panic in his eyes when he realized what was happening. Jesus, what a horrible way to die.'
'It's the same thing that happened to Abby,' she reminded him. 'Only she was alone in the dark and had no idea what was happening to her.'
'I think he knew,' Jeffrey said. 'At least, I think he figured it out in the end.' There were two mugs in front of the coffeemaker and he filled them, handing Sara one. She saw him hesitate before taking a sip, and wondered if there would ever be a time when he could drink coffee without thinking about Cole Connolly. In the scheme of things, Sara had a much easier job than Jeffrey did. He was out there on the front line. He saw the bodies first, told the parents and loved ones, felt the weight of their desperation to find out who had taken away their child or mother or lover. It was no wonder that cops had one of the highest suicide rates of any profession.
She asked, 'What's your gut feeling?'
'I don't know,' he answered, mixing the eggs with a fork. 'Lev admitted that he was attracted to Abby.'
'But that's normal,' she said, then backed up, 'Well, normal if it happened the way he said it did.'
'Paul says he was in Savannah. I'm going to check that out, but that still doesn't account for his evenings.'
'That could just as easily point to his innocence,' Sara reminded him. She had learned from Jeffrey a long time ago that someone who had a pat alibi was generally a person to look at closely. Sara herself couldn't come up with a witness who could swear Sara had been at home alone all night when Abigail Bennett had been murdered.
'No news on the letter you were sent yet,' he said. 'I doubt the lab will find anything anyway.' He frowned. 'It's costing a fucking fortune.'
'Why do it?'
'Because I don't like the idea of somebody contacting you about a case,' he told her, and she could hear resentment in his tone. 'You're not a cop. You're not involved in this.'
'They could have sent it to me knowing that I would tell you.'
'Why not just send it to the station?'
'My address is in the phone book,' she said. 'Whoever sent it might have worried that a letter would get lost at the station.' She asked, 'Do you think it was one of the sisters?'
'They don't even know you.'
'You told them I was your wife.'
'I still don't like it,' he said, dividing the eggs between two plates and adding a couple of slices of toast to each. He veered back to the original subject. 'The cyanide is what's hard to connect.' He offered her the plate of bacon and she took two pieces. 'The more we look into it, the more it seems like Dale is the only possible source.' Jeffrey added, 'But Dale swears he keeps the garage locked at all times.'
'Do you believe him?'
'He may beat his wife,' Jeffrey began, 'but I think he was telling me the truth. Those tools are his bread and butter. He's not going to leave that door open, especially with people coming through from the farm.' He took out the jelly and passed it to her.
'Is it possible he's involved?'
'I don't see how,' Jeffrey told her. 'He's got no connection to Abby, no reason to poison her or Cole.' He suggested, 'I should just run the whole family in, split them up and see who breaks first.'
'I doubt Paul would allow that.'
'Maybe I'll tag the old man.'
'Oh, Jeffrey,' she said, feeling protective of Thomas Ward for some unknown reason. 'Don't. He's just a helpless old man.'
'Nobody's helpless in that family.' He paused. 'Not even Rebecca.'
Sara weighed his words. 'You think she's involved?'
'I think she's hiding. I think she knows something.' He sat beside her at the counter, picking at his eyebrow, obviously mulling over the niggling details that had kept him up all night.
Sara rubbed his back. 'Something will break. You just need to start back at square one.'
'You're right.' He looked up at her. 'It keeps going back to the cyanide. That's the key. I want to talk to Terri Stanley. I need to get her away from Dale and see what she says.'
'She's got an appointment at the clinic today,' Sara told him. 'I had to fit her in during lunch.'
'What's wrong?'
'Her youngest hasn't gotten any better.'
'Are you going to talk to her about the bruises?'
'I'm in the same boat as you,' she said. 'It's not like I can back her into a corner and get her to tell me what's going on. If it were that easy, you'd be out of a job.'
Sara had experienced her own guilt last night, wondering how she had seen Terri Stanley all these years and never guessed what was happening at home.
She continued, 'I can't really betray Lena's confidence and for all I know, it'll scare her off. Her kids are sick. She needs the clinic. It's a safe place for her.' Sara assured him, 'If I ever see so much as a hair disturbed on those kids, yo
u'd better believe I'll say something about it. She'd never leave the building with them.'
He asked, 'Does she ever bring Dale with her when she comes to the clinic?'
'Not that I've seen.'
'Mind if I stop in to talk to her?'
'I don't know if I'm comfortable with that,' she said, not liking the idea of her clinic being used as a second police station.
He told her, 'Dale has a loaded gun in his shop, and something tells me he doesn't like cops talking to his wife.'
'Oh,' was all she could say. That changed things.
'Why don't I just wait around in the parking lot for her to come out?' he suggested. 'Then I'll take her to the station.'
Sara knew this would be a lot safer, but she still didn't relish the thought of being involved in setting up Terri Stanley for a surprise attack. 'She'll have her son with her.'
'Maria loves children.'
'I don't feel good about this.'
'I'm sure Abby Bennett didn't feel good about being put in that box, either.'
He had a point, but she still didn't like it. Despite her better judgment, Sara relented, 'She's scheduled to come in at twelve fifteen.'
Brock's funeral home was housed in a Victorian mansion that had been built in the early 1900s by the man who had run the railroad maintenance depot over in Avondale. Unfortunately, he had dipped into the railroad's coffers in order to finance the construction and when he had been caught, the place had been sold at auction. John Brock had purchased the mansion for a ridiculously low sum and turned it into one of the nicest funeral homes this side of Atlanta.
When John died, he passed the business on to his only son. Sara had gone to school with Dan Brock and the funeral home had been on her bus route. The family lived above the business, and every weekday morning, she had cringed as the bus pulled up in front of the Brocks' house – not because she was squeamish, but because Brock's mother insisted on waiting outside with her son, rain or shine, so that she could kiss him goodbye. After this embarrassing farewell, Dan would clamber onto the bus, where all the boys would make smooching noises at him.
A Grant County Collection Page 70