by Rosa Sophia
“I’ll tell you from my perspective.”
“All right.”
“I have a ring on my finger. I found it in that house. I think Julie must have thrown it there when she and Phillip had a fight.”
“You’re exactly right,” Frank said, nodding. “She never found that ring again.”
“I figured as much.” Kat eyed Corry, who was staring at the both of them with rising interest. Returning her gaze to Frank, Kat continued. “I’d been having dreams about Julie for years. I’m not sure if they’ve completely stopped yet, or if they ever will. In any case, I went for a walk a day after finding this ring. I fell asleep in the woods and when I woke up, it was storming. I ran home, tripped, and found myself in the wrong year.”
“You must have been confused.”
“That’s an understatement. You were the first person I saw, Frank. You were in the kitchen window, reaching into one of the drawers. Then Phillip spoke to me. I don’t know how the hell I got there, but I think it was some sort of connection I seem to have with Julie, my grandmother. And maybe it’s the ring. I think it is. I think her energy is in this ring.”
“Possibly. If I didn’t know that you were there, in 1960, I would never believe all this, you know.” He sounded calmer, but still a bit skeptical.
“I know.”
“But what were these questions you wanted to ask me?” He stood up with his cane and went over to a CD player that sat on top of the bookcase. He felt around on the buttons, which had been affixed with Braille stickers. He pressed play. A few seconds later, Ray Charles came in and made himself at home. It seemed to make the old man more comfortable.
“I wanted to ask you about secrets,” Kat said. “Bad secrets.”
Frank froze where he was standing. He turned, tapping his cane along the carpet.
“What—what sort of secrets,” he murmured, his voice trembling.
“Jonathan Stark was convicted of killing people. How many?”
Frank tapped his cane along the floor as he made his way back to his armchair.
“He was put away for thirty years, but he was only convicted of one murder. The rest remained unsolved because of lack of evidence, but everyone assumed he killed the others. There were so many people who said no one in the Maslin family could have done it. Most believed Phillip was such a nice man.”
“Why do you mention Phillip?”
“Oh. No reason, really.” He settled into his chair.
“Why didn’t you say Julie, or Phillip’s mother or…or even you?”
“How could I kill anyone? I’m blind.”
“It could happen under the right circumstances, I guess.” The more she thought about it, the more she was forced to acknowledge how impossible it was. “Who do you think killed those people?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you have an idea,” Katherine countered. “I think you have a very good idea.”
“You think it was Phillip,” Frank said. There was no hesitation this time.
“I definitely think it was him. What I want to know is why? Why would he do it?”
“I guess that’s why he wasn’t charged for murder.”
“Why was Mr. Stark blamed?”
Frank’s empty eyes stared at the far wall. He settled back and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Phillip testified that it was because he was after Julie.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jonathan Stark wanted my sister, apparently bad enough that he was willing to kill for her. But that willingness to protect her soon turned to a jealousy to covet her. As the courts decided, he had killed Timothy Nyce, the first victim, because Tim had looked at Julie.”
“Were you and Tim friends?”
“We were. I went outside more often before all that happened, but after I testified for Jonathan to help prove his innocence in the matter, I—I wasn’t allowed outside any longer. I just didn’t think Tim would ever look at Julie. He loved his fiancée very much. Because of that, I deduced that Mr. Stark must be innocent.”
“I see. Frank, I’m very curious to know why you could never go outside.”
The blind man laughed, but it was a sad expression of false happiness.
“Phillip was very loyal to his mother. She decided I didn’t deserve to be seen by others because I was a freak of nature, an abomination. That’s really the only reason.”
Kat glowered at Frank. If she didn’t say it now, she might never get it out of her system. The only question being, was she right?
“Frank, tell me the truth. Did Phillip threaten you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you hear something that you shouldn’t have?”
“No, I—”
“Phillip and his mother had another reason for keeping you locked up.”
“Katherine, what are you getting at?” He sounded both afraid and angry. He was shaking again.
“I think that if you had tried to leave, you would have been killed. And what about your friend, Jacob Haisley?”
“What about him?” Frank muttered.
“Dav—my father told me about him. Did he ever try to get you to leave?”
“Many times, but—”
“But you always said no and you made up excuses when the real reason you couldn’t leave was because you feared for your life. I won’t tell a soul if you’ll just tell me the truth. Please.”
Frank stood up and nearly toppled over. “If you’re going to interrogate me, then get the hell out of here!” he shouted. “None of this is any of your business.”
“It is.”
“Hey, calm down, will you?” Corry had spoken. At some point, she had stood up. She placed her hand on Frank’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about this. We’ll get out of your way. But we’ll leave a number at the front desk downstairs, just in case you want to talk to her. The receptionist can have her come down again, all right? Come on, Katherine, we’re leaving.” Corry grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.
“There’s no way I’ll want to talk to her again.” Frank sat back down in his chair and put on his sunglasses. It was clear the two women had been dismissed.
Once they were outside, Kat grumbled to herself. “Frank’s hiding something.”
“Well, that’s more than obvious,” Corry agreed. “I think he wants to tell you. I wish you hadn’t sounded like such a bitch, though.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Kat conceded, her face heating with embarrassment. “But why wouldn’t he want to say something, after all these years?” She was about to climb in the driver’s side of her car when Corry intercepted her.
“Give me your keys, honey. I’m driving this time.”
Kat got into the passenger side and buckled up. “Why the honey all of a sudden?”
“Maybe because I’m worried about you.” Corry turned the key in the ignition. “Maybe because I think you should give this a rest for a while.”
“Fuck no.”
“I thought I told you to relax?”
“Only in your mind, Cor.”
“Well, do it. Relax.”
The car backed out of the parking space and Corry took them into early evening traffic. Kat’s interrogation of Frank Ruth had taken about an hour. It was five after five.
“Where to now?” Corry inquired.
“Quiet Meadows adult community, Hilltown. The address of Mr. Stark himself.”
***
It was five-forty when they reached Quiet Meadows. Kat fidgeted while Corry directed the car down Maple Drive.
“The house is number fourteen,” Kat said. “Should be right around the corner.”
Corry slowed down, glancing along the side of the road, watching each mailbox for the correct house number. When they found it, she pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the engine. They sat there for a few moments, taking it all in.
“Our Jonathan keeps a nice house,” Kat observed.
The grass was on the ta
ll side compared to his neighbors, but the gardens were beautiful. A small stone walkway led up to the door and just like at the Maslin house, Virginia creeper vine was making its way up to the roof of Jonathan Stark’s quaint abode.
Kat approached the house timidly, with Corry close behind her. Both of them were feeling rather apprehensive.
Just as Kat reached the front door, Corry grabbed her arm.
“I think we should turn around now,” she hissed. Her tone was pleading.
“Corry, it’s okay, he won’t hurt us,” Kat insisted. She turned to her friend and put an arm around her. “Everything will be fine. Hey, you can wait in the car if you want.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone with that maniac.”
“You can’t really believe he’s the killer?”
“I don’t know what to believe, Kat. All I know is, I don’t want to lose you.”
Kat pulled Corry into a tight hug. She kissed her cheek. “We’ll be all right. Are you sure you don’t want to wait in the car?”
“I told you, I’m not leaving your side. I might piss my pants in terror, but I’m not leaving you alone.” Corry chuckled nervously.
“All right. Ready?”
Corry hesitated. “Ready,” she mumbled. Kat rang the doorbell.
Even in his late seventies, Stark looked tough. His eyes were cold, but there was compassion behind them. He was very muscular and had lost most of his hair, all but a few wisps of white on the back of his head. Despite how frightening he had appeared when he’d first opened the door, he was very personable.
He apologized to Corry again and again, because as soon as she’d seen him, she had let out a little scream and, according to him, appeared as though she wanted to “run out in the middle of the street and play chicken.” After Mr. Stark laughed heartily and put his arm around Corry, she began to loosen up a bit. There was just something about Jonathan Stark that no one could possibly fear.
When Kat announced who she was and exactly why she was there, leaving out her time-travel experience, Mr. Stark immediately stood from his seat in the living room and pulled the blinds on all the windows shut. He had a big Doberman that growled at Kat a few times, but was otherwise quite sweet. The dog curled up against Jonathan’s feet once the old man had slumped into his seat again. He wasn’t totally relaxed. He kept tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair.
“Why do you want to know about the murders?” His voice was hushed and both Kat and Corry could tell that he was extremely nervous, even more so than Frank had been.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Stark—”
“Call me Jonathan.”
“Okay, Jonathan.” Kat glanced apprehensively at the floor, then back at Stark. “I don’t think you killed any of those people, not even Timothy Nyce. I think it was Phillip.” Jonathan’s eyes lit up. Kat couldn’t tell if it was relief or fear.
“Why? You are Phillip’s granddaughter. Wouldn’t you know him best? Everyone said he was a good man.”
“I used to think that. Until he tried to kill me.”
Jonathan Stark leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands before him.
“What?” he hissed. At that moment, Kat knew she had said the wrong thing. She knew he wouldn’t believe anything about her strange journey. How was she supposed to prove it?
“Forget I said that,” she decided.
“Oh, no.” Stark shook his head. “No way. When did this happen?”
Kat sighed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“When did it happen?”
“August thirty-first, 1960.”
Stark appeared to ponder this for a moment. “How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
Stark’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of a sick joke is this? That’s impossible.”
“It’s not a joke. Look, I sat with my grandfather and we talked about Macbeth that summer—”
“His favorite play.”
“Yes, and mine as well. I talked with Sleeper a few times, well, Frank Ruth. I became friends with my own father when he was eleven. I…I have to tell you, Jonathan.” Kat took a deep breath and realized she was trembling. “I witnessed another murder.”
His face grew pale and his eyes were fearful. Kat knew she had hit a nerve. She wondered if she should mention John. Would Stark even know about the murdered first son of Phillip and Julie? By the look on his face and the words that were forming on his chapped lips, he definitely knew something.
“Another murder.” Stark gulped. “August thirty-first. Jesus Christ. I need a drink.” He stumbled over to a small cabinet, where he pulled out a bottle of scotch and immediately took several large gulps from the bottle. Then he poured some into a tumbler and slammed the bottle down on a scuffed table. Kat decided to take a leap. First, she glanced over at Corry, who was frozen on one side of a dark blue loveseat. Kat sat down beside her.
“So, you know about John Maslin?”
To her surprise, Stark was shaking so badly that he dropped his scotch on the floor, spilling it on the carpet.
“Fuck!” He lumbered into the kitchen to retrieve a towel. After tossing it over the spill and stomping on it a few times, he drank from the bottle again and sat back down, his hands shaking so violently that Kat thought for sure he was about to have a heart attack or an aneurysm or something.
“It’s okay, Jonathan,” she insisted, in as soothing a tone of voice as she could muster.
“It goddamn isn’t!” he shouted. “It—it’s far—far from all right!” He covered his face with his hands and rocked back and forth a few times. Then he looked back up, shaking his head. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about tell you.”
“We promise. Right, Cor?” Kat turned to her best friend.
“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding. She was shaking too, and probably still working on the theory that Jonathan Stark was a sociopath.
“Go ahead. You can tell us.” Kat appeared to be the only calm one in the room, other than the Doberman. The quiet dog had whimpered once, when the man dropped his scotch. Jonathan sighed and took a deep breath.
“Don’t be surprised if I’m dead by next week,” he muttered.
“Why?”
“Never mind. You asked me a question, I’ll tell you about John.” He hesitated, then continued. “That kid always liked me. He liked being out by the barn and that’s where I was most of the time, taking care of the animals. They arrested me for the other murders in 1959. Timmy Nyce was eighteen and he was the new milkman. He disappeared in fifty-seven, and I had come to the area in fifty-five, when your granddad hired me.”
“Don’t call him that, it gives me chills.”
“All right. Anyway, all the others were murdered in between 1955 and 1959. Some of those men had been lusting after Julie for years.”
“Do you think maybe Phillip waited until he had someone to blame before he turned to murder?” Kat inquired hesitantly. Jonathan shrugged.
“I won’t say. I’ll just give you the facts.”
“Fair enough. You were saying?”
“When I was arrested, I went to court on five counts of murder, including Earl Woodworth’s. I don’t think his body was ever found, but they assumed it was me, because…”
“What?”
“Julie testified against me. She said I was always trying to touch her. She nearly suggested I had raped her. She swore on the bible and said that.”
“Oh, my God. Why?” She didn’t want to ask him if he had, for fear that he might go ballistic and prove her prior suspicions drastically wrong.
“I never raped her,” he insisted, shaking his head. He was still nervous, but Kat could see the truth in his eyes. She wondered if Corry could. “It still hurts me that she would betray me like that. They couldn’t find any evidence supporting the allegations that I had murdered Woodworth, and they couldn’t support three of the other murder charges either.”
“Why did you get put away for Nyce�
��s death?”
“They only found one piece of really good evidence against me. The murder weapon. My fingerprints were all over it.”
“But—you didn’t kill him, right?”
“No!” Stark snapped. “It was an axe I had in the barn. Honestly, I blame myself a lot of the time. I was stupid. I saw the axe lying there on the floor, half covered in hay. I picked it up. Then I saw the blood all over it. That’s how they got the evidence that I had done it. That and one of my handkerchiefs fell out of my pocket while I was in the barn. Goddamn it. If I hadn’t had a hole in my pants, maybe they wouldn’t have convicted me.”
“An axe. That’s what John was killed with.”
“How did you know that?”
“It’s all I can think about. I can’t get the sight of blood out of my mind. This is driving me nuts, you know? I witnessed the murder.” Kat leaned toward Jonathan Stark, shaking her head in sorrow. She felt her eyes filling with tears. “I ran from him when he saw me there.”
“I don’t understand how that could have happened, Katherine. How were you there? You weren’t even born yet.” The alcohol had dimmed his senses. If he’d been sober, perhaps he would have immediately dismissed Kat’s claims.
Katherine lifted her hand, which until now, she had clasped in her lap, almost completely concealed by her knees.
“Do you recognize this ring?”
“That’s Julie’s wedding band. How did you get it?”
“I found it. How did you get close enough to her to remember what it looked like? You never got that close to Julie, did you? How do you know about John’s murder, and how do you know that Phillip did it?” Kat was on a winning streak, or so she thought. She was sure she could figure out all the details and hand it over to the FBI for a quick closure.
Tears came to his wrinkled eyes. He tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. A moment later, Kat found herself on the other side of the room, her arm around him. She patted his back. She even kissed him on the forehead. It was a very motherly gesture, because something about him reminded her of a child, but nothing would lessen his grief. He wept for several long minutes. Corry went into the other room and retrieved a box of tissues.