In Silence Sealed

by J. R. Lindermuth

  Though he’d been warned not to interfere in the State Police investigation, Aaron couldn’t help getting involved. Not while his daughter remained a suspect.

  With Harry’s assistance—necessary because of his lack of experience with the intricacies of computer use—he’d delved into Jason’s past. Harry was already involved, doing research for Hetrick. For the most part, it proved a waste of time. There were no outstanding warrants on Russell and, as far as Harry was able to discover, no police records involving the young man. Nothing had been found to corroborate the story Russell had told about the drowning incident. The university had confirmed Russell’s dismissal, but officials declined to divulge any information on the reason, citing privacy issues. Harry had also scoured the various social media sites—Facebook, Twitter, et al—in hope of finding more on Russell’s background. Russell had accounts, but content appeared benign and hadn’t been updated since the Stoneroad family moved to Swatara Creek.

  Aaron drew back his shirt sleeve and glanced at his watch. Might as well go home and see how the women are doing. I’m not accomplishing anything here. He leaned forward and was about to get up when his office door popped open.

  Joe Fishburn stuck his head in. “Wasn’t sure you were still here, Chief. Call for you on one.” He pointed at the phone on Aaron’s desk. The red light on the phone indicated a call on hold.

  Brubaker answered.

  “We found a gun,” Chris Runyan told him. “Probably your daughter’s, but I’d appreciate if you’d have a look to be sure.”

  Chapter 21

  Lydia felt as though she’d been cooped up for months rather than days. Normally a gregarious person, she wasn’t accustomed to the solitude she’d sought so eagerly after Runyan’s accusation. Her parents meant well, but their constant hovering and sympathetic looks were driving her mad. Clad in a ratty old Swatara Creek High School sweatshirt and jeans, she grabbed a heavy navy-colored hoodie off the rack in the hallway after dinner and sneaked out of the house while her family watched the TV news in the living room.

  Lydia had no destination in mind. She just wanted to escape the cloying atmosphere of home for a little while. Striding down the pavement toward town, she considered where she might go. Her normal hangouts and friends were out. She couldn’t abide the stares of those who might be aware of the situation or the sympathetic blathering of friends. Friends? Do I have any left? Flora had called twice and said she was available if Lydia needed to talk. And Harry had stopped by the house to convey the same message and tell her no one believed it possible she could hurt anyone. The Yoxheimers had sent a message of support, too. No one else had called. Not even Denise, who was supposed to be her best friend.

  Early on, her dad and Runyan did their best to limit news of Jason’s death. But they couldn’t keep it long from the press and the story had broken simultaneously in both the Patriot and the weekly Herald. The reports said police had a suspect, though neither mentioned her. Could rumors have spread? Some of her friends were aware of her relationship with Jason. Could they actually believe I’d have shot him? Lydia wasn’t sure. And the thought preyed on her.

  Though she had no wish to talk to Stoneroad, she’d called Jason’s mother to offer her sympathy and ask when services might be held. Nan Calder had answered and refused to call Mrs. Stoneroad to the phone. “I’m sorry,” she said, no sympathy obvious in her tone. “They don’t want to speak to you.” A call to Arnie Templin at the funeral home had revealed the Stoneroads had made arrangements for cremation and no services when Jason’s body was released. How can they do that? she mused as she strode along.

  Lydia wasn’t a person who normally walked the streets of her town. Before she’d gone two blocks she wished she’d thought to take the car.

  It had rained earlier in the day and the sidewalk glistened in the light of the street lamps. A sharp breeze had come up. Feeling the sharp edge of the cold against her face, Lydia drew the hood tighter and hunched her shoulders. The moon, a waxing crescent, was visible through the skeletal limbs of the trees overhead and its diminishing nature seemed a cold reminder of the state of her present life. Her breathing accelerated between parted lips and she fumbled in a pocket for her cigarettes. Damn, I forgot them.

  A little farther and she’d be downtown. She paused at an intersection, determined she didn’t want to chance meeting people she knew leaving restaurants or stores. Turning right took her into a more residential area. It was possible she might come across someone she knew here, too, though she passed no one on the quiet street and suspected most of the homeowners were occupied with the evening ritual of TV like her parents.

  Head bent, she pushed on, stepping carefully as she came across slick piles of fallen leaves. A truck rumbled by and, a moment later, the headlamps of a car bound in the opposite direction flashed over her.

  Then, as she waited to cross at a busier corner, a vehicle pulled into her path. A Swatara Creek cruiser. The passenger side window slid down and a familiar voice called to her. “Lydia. Where are you headed?”

  Lydia stooped and peered into the cab. “Just walking.”

  “Get in. Your dad called me.”

  Lydia huffed a breath. “I don’t need a nurse maid, Vastine.”

  Flora flashed a smile. “No one said you did. I just want to have a talk.”

  “I don’t need your damned sympathy.”

  “Please. Just do as I ask?”

  “What the hell.” Lydia opened the door and got in. “Tired of walking anyway.”

  “Buckle your seat belt.”

  Lydia did as told, and Flora pulled out. “Why’d my dad call you?”

  “He’s worried about you.”

  A few minutes of silence followed before Lydia spoke again. “They found my gun.”

  “I know. I’d just come in for my shift when the chief got the call. Are they sure it’s yours?”

  “Yeah. Dad identified it. He said it was wrapped in a plastic bag and stuffed into a hollow stump out in the woods. Runyan’s men found it. They haven’t done the ballistics yet, but they think it was the weapon that killed Jason.” Her voice broke. “I didn’t kill him, Flora.”

  “I know that.”

  Lydia gave a grim chuckle. “Welcome to the slim few.”

  Flora turned and gave her a sympathetic glance. “None of the people who know you believe you could have done it.”

  Lydia sighed. “Well, I hope they make up my jury.”

  “It’s not going to get that far. The whole thing is ridiculous. No one’s going to believe--”

  The radio squawked, cutting off Flora’s comment. “Flora, got a three. Out by Vinnie’s. Can you handle it?”

  “On the way.”

  “Let me know if you need assistance. I could send Brent.”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Taking a left at the next corner, Flora told Lydia, “I’ll drop you home on the way.”

  “What’s a three?”

  “Hit and run.”

  “Could be serious. Don’t go out of your way. I’ll go with you.”

  “You sure?”

  “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  * * * *

  Shivering in the damp despite her heavy down jacket, Vickie shoved her hands in the pockets and stamped her feet. The neon sign of the bar across the road shimmered in the ambient light reflected from the street. Other than that, the area surrounding her was swallowed up by darkness and the only sounds were the drip of moisture from the trees, the swish of vehicle tires out on the highway and the distant melancholic wail of a diesel passing through town.

  Why had the reporter insisted on meeting out here? Vickie finally had an opportunity to talk to Diana Wozniak that afternoon. She’d listened as Vickie repeated her belief Nan Calder was her sister and seemed interested. Diana said she wanted to hear more but had an errand to run after supper.

  “You know where the bar is—the one out on the highway?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How abou
t you meet me out there around eight? I’ll buy you a drink and you can tell me more about your sister.”

  “You’ll help me then?”

  “Sure,” Diana said with a grin. “Sounds like there might be a story in it for me.”

  Vickie had been reluctant about the meeting place. She remembered how frightened she’d been walking past the bar the night she arrived in Swatara Creek. She thought about asking Sally to give her a ride. But Sally had done so much for her already. It wasn’t so far she couldn’t walk it.

  Now Vickie wished she had asked for a ride. The cold crept up from the ground, Diana was running late and she’d already been creeped out when an old pickup drew up beside her on the walk and a guy asked if she wanted a ride. No thanks. Vickie didn’t plan to hitchhike ever again. She stamped her feet and drew her arms around herself. Damn, damn, damn. Hurry up.

  She’d just about given up and was debating whether to go across to the bar and get a drink or start hiking back to town when a car pulled up and stopped across the road. The driver got out and waved at her. Diana. At last!

  Vickie started across to meet her just as another vehicle turned in from the direction of the highway. She stepped back onto the berm.

  The vehicle accelerated and then, nearing her position, swerved and struck Diana, knocking her back against her car. Vickie cringed at the sickening thump. “No!” she cried out in shock. Glancing around for other traffic, she dashed across to where Diana lay on the roadway.

  Brakes squealed as Vickie reached Diana’s side. The driver roared in reverse at a high rate of speed. Vickie jumped aside, gazing in horror as the vehicle crunched over Diana’s prone body, then rolled over her again in the opposite direction. As the vehicle passed, Vickie got a brief glimpse of the driver. Gorge rose up in her throat. She bent at the waist and spewed vomit into the dirt at her feet. The vehicle roared off in a spray of gravel, leaving a miasma of exhaust behind.

  * * * *

  “Relax,” Flora said. “Just take your time and tell me what you saw.”

  Vickie kneaded her knees with her fists and struggled to regain her composure. She couldn’t stop shaking, but eventually she managed to ask, “Diana—is she going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Lydia said. “They put her in the ambulance and left.”

  Flora knew the answer to the question. Better not to answer it now. She was glad Lydia hadn’t remained in the cruiser as she’d told her when they arrived. It had taken the efforts of both of them to calm Vickie down and get her to come with them into the bar.

  The three of them were seated around a table just inside the front door. The initial excitement over, other patrons had returned to their favored pursuits except for Fingers Schurke who drew up a chair beside them.

  “Drink this, miss,” Vinnie said coming up and handing Vickie a tumbler. “It’s brandy. You might not like the taste, but it’ll help.”

  Vickie swallowed the liquid and grimaced. “Thanks,” she said, managing a weak smile.

  “Thanks, Vinnie,” Lydia added, taking the glass and handing it back to him.

  “You girls want anything?” he asked.

  “Jameson—on the rocks,” Lydia said.

  He glanced at Flora.

  “Nothing for me.”

  “You forgettin’ me?” Fingers asked.

  Vinny ignored him. “Be right back.”

  Flora turned her attention back to Vickie as he left. “Anything you can tell me will help,” she urged. They’d found the girl huddled over the victim’s still form when they arrived, surrounded by bar patrons and passersby who’d been drawn to the scene like flies hovering over a corpse. Fingers had been the one to suggest bringing Vickie inside after the ambulance arrived. Brent Taylor appeared in tandem with the ambulance and immediately took over traffic control so Flora could give her time to the only apparent witness to the crime.

  Vickie gazed at her with wet eyes. “It was horrible. Miss Wozniak just got out of her car and, and…” She threw her hands over her face, giving into another round of shuddering.

  The pool shark patted her shoulder. “Take your time. Diana’s a tough broad. She’s gonna be all right,” he told her.

  “You know the woman?” Flora asked, surprise in her tone. She knew him by name and reputation but hadn’t encountered him on the job before.

  “She’s been comin’ out here since she got to town,” Fingers said. “We been gettin’ to know one another.”

  “Did you know her, Vickie?” Flora asked. “I understand she’s from the Philly area, too.”

  Vickie heaved another sigh. “I just met her at the restaurant. Sally thought she might be able to help me. Diana—Miss Wozniak—asked me to meet her here tonight—to talk about my sister.”

  “You didn’t come together then?”

  “No. I walked. She told me she had to go someplace else first and would meet me here around eight. She was late, and I thought she’d stood me up. I thought about leaving. Then she came. She’d only got out of her car when the other driver hit her.”

  “So it might have been an accident?” Lydia suggested.

  Vickie shook her head, vigorously. “No. No, it wasn’t. After the first time…” She paused, glancing from one to the other. “The driver reversed and drove over her again. And then, a second time.” Her face went white. “I heard the bones crunch as the tires rolled over her. I’m still hearing that horrible sound now.”

  Vinnie returned with drinks on a tray. He handed Vickie another brandy. He had the whiskey for Lydia and even a free beer for Schurke. “You sure you don’t want nothin’, officer?” he said to Flora. “How about a soda or a coffee?”

  Flora hesitated. Her mouth was dry. The man was being a lot more compassionate than expected by the stories she’d heard about him. What could it hurt? “A Coke, if you don’t mind.”

  Vinnie nodded and walked off.

  “Did you happen to get a look at the driver?” Flora asked.

  Vickie nibbled her lip and tipped her head forward. “I’m sorry,” she said in a weak, little girl voice. “I was too upset. All I could think about was her—what happened to her. Oh, God! You think it was my fault? If I hadn’t asked to talk to her…”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Lydia said. “Don’t even think that. She was the one asked to meet here. How could it be your fault? It was that damned hit and run driver. Probably drunk or on something.”

  Flora studied her witness. Despite it being night and Vickie being upset, how could she have avoided seeing the driver if he’d come back to make two more passes over the body? And she didn’t agree with Lydia. This wasn’t the result of a drunk driver. This was an intentional act.

  Chapter 22

  “I guess a muckraking reporter like her had lots of enemies,” Fred Drumheiser said.

  “Maybe back on her own turf,” Harry told him. “But here? How many even knew she was in Swatara Creek?”

  “Got me. It was just a thought.” Fred gathered up his gear, preparing to leave. Like Flora, he’d been on the night patrol and they’d arrived at the station at the same time at the end of their shifts.

  Flora hung on, anxious for Fred to go so she could have a few moments alone with Harry before heading home. Diana Wozniak had been DOA on arrival at the medical center. Brent Taylor, who’d been concluding his shift, volunteered to take Vickie and Lydia home while Flora hung around the bar in hope of finding other witnesses to the hit and run. It soon became apparent Vickie had been the only one.

  The remainder of Flora’s night passed with only minor incidents, providing her with opportunity to stop at the station and search the Internet for Wozniak’s next of kin. A sister in Delaware proved to be the reporter’s only living family. Flora succeeded in contacting a local police department and they consented to relieve her of the burden of conveying the news over the telephone.

  “I guess I’ll see you tonight, toots,” Fred said with a grin and a mock salute as he swaggered off.

  “I thou
ght he’d never leave.”

  “Well, let’s have a kiss before somebody else walks in,” Harry told her, coming around the desk and folding her into his arms.

  They’d just ended their embrace when Aaron Brubaker entered the squad room. “Flora. Glad I caught you. Thanks for talkin’ to Lydia last night.”

  “We didn’t actually have much chance to talk. That hit and run--”

  “Yeah,” the chief said. “I know about that. But Lydia is grateful for the support you’ve given her and so are Helen and me. She’s been so down since it happened, and we been at our wits end not knowin’ what to do for her. You know how independent she’s always been. Jason getting killed was bad enough, but having some believe she had something to do with it—well, it’s just taken a lot out of her.”

  “Harry and I—we’re willing to do anything we can to help.”

  Aaron gave her a broad grin and an appreciative nod. “This hit and run—do we know anything more?”

  She told him about notifying the next of kin and Vickie Walker being the only witness. “I think she’s hiding something. She couldn’t even give a description of the vehicle. She claims it happened so fast and everything is just a blur to her.”

  “Give her some time, then talk to her again,” Harry said. “It was a traumatic experience and, with everything else going on in her life, we know she’s one confused young lady.”

  “Harry’s right,” Aaron added. He clapped Flora on the shoulder. “You go on home now and get some rest. You’ve had a long, trying night yourself. And thanks again for talkin’ to Lydia.”

  * * * *

  Aaron had barely got to his desk and begun going through the other reports of the night’s activities when his office door was thrust open and Israel Flint burst into the room.