Missing Pieces

by Heather Gudenkauf

  “Sarah, who the hell have you been talking to?” Jack asked angrily.

  “Does it really matter?” she asked wearily. “Practically the entire town thought you killed your mother, Jack. I’m sorry such a terrible thing happened to your family and I’m sorry you felt like you needed to lie to me about it. But I’m done. After the funeral I’m leaving.”

  Celia was coming closer.

  “Sarah, you’re wrong,” Jack said pleadingly. “I promise you, I never would have hurt my mother. Come back inside—we’ll talk. You know me. I couldn’t do something like that.” He wrapped his hand around her arm, pulling her close. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “Please, you’ve got to believe me.” His grip tightened, his fingers biting into her wrist. And for the first time she was scared of her husband.

  “Let go of me, Jack, or I’ll scream,” Sarah whispered. Jack dropped her arm.

  Celia moved closer, picking up her pace. “Is everything okay?” she called out to them.

  “Go tell your old girlfriend that everything’s all right,” she said bitterly. “I just want to be left alone.”

  “We’re fine,” he called back to Celia. “We’ll be right in.” To Sarah he said, “You’re wrong, Sarah. You are completely wrong about me. I shouldn’t have lied to you. But I didn’t kill my mother. My father did. Or do you think I killed him, too?”

  Sarah didn’t answer and in not responding she knew that she might have crossed the point of no return. For all intents and purposes, she had just called her husband a murderer or at least someone who could be capable of murder. He turned away from her, shaking his head in disgust, and joined Celia, who had stopped in the center of the yard. What if you’re wrong? she asked herself as she stood in the dark shadows of the barn and watched the two of them walk back toward the house. What if you’re wrong and you sent him right back into Celia’s arms? What if you’re wrong and you’ve lost everything?

  Sarah waited, shivering in the cool air, while Jack and Celia lingered on the front porch. Talking about her, Sarah was sure. What were they saying? Was Jack telling Celia that Sarah was acting crazy, tossing out all these conspiracy theories about how Jack was the one who murdered his mother? Were they laughing at her? Jack seemed genuinely hurt by her accusations. But was he rattled by her anger or just taken aback that she wasn’t going to let him get away with his lies anymore?

  She watched as they finally went inside the house and followed their movements as lights behind the drawn shades were switched off for the night. First the floodlights, and then the kitchen and living room lights were extinguished. A few moments passed and then one of the rooms on the second floor darkened. A figure stepped into view from behind another upstairs window. Jack. She would know him anywhere. His tall, angular frame, the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. Once the sight of her husband had brought happiness, a sense of relief. Now the image of him looming above her only brought a sense of trepidation. He remained there for what felt like ages, staring out across the farmyard. She felt his eyes latch on to hers and her heart thundered in her chest and she took three quick steps backward. Sarah knew he really couldn’t see her—she was obscured in shadow—but she felt as if he could see right through her, could feel her fear.

  Finally, he stepped away from the window and the room went dark. Only one light remained. The weak, cold light emanating from the listing front porch. The crime-scene photos marched mercilessly through her mind. The blood-smeared cellar door, the concrete floor, Lydia’s broken fingers, her crushed skull, the cloth draped over her eyes, the pool of blood, Jack’s hands. There’s no way, Sarah shuddered. There’s no way I’m going back in there tonight.

  15

  SARAH AWOKE EARLY the next morning. She blinked rapidly, and when her eyes adjusted to the meager light she found herself on Celia’s living room couch, a hand-knit blanket covering her.

  She had lasted about twenty minutes standing outside trying to decide where she was going to sleep the night before. She considered sleeping in her car and even in the barn, but the hushed sounds of the night, the ripple of air through the fields, the heavy wing beats and screech of a barn owl drove her inside the house.

  She had settled on the couch, not anticipating being able to sleep but grateful when it came. Someone must have laid the blanket over her sleeping form. A kind gesture made ominous because she’d slept so soundly through it.

  Stiffly, Sarah swung her legs to the floor and ran a hand through the tangled mess of her hair. She longed for a shower but didn’t want to wake anyone up with her movements. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jack or Celia this morning. Had she overreacted last night? The contents of the case file still swirled around in her head. In the light of day she felt a little silly for being so afraid of Jack. He had never raised a hand to her, never had given her a reason to be physically frightened of him.

  Following the scent of coffee, Sarah made her way to the darkened kitchen. Someone had set the automatic coffeemaker and she helped herself to a cup. Sarah checked her watch. It was just before 6:00 a.m. and she knew that the rest of the house would be rising soon.

  Sarah had had every intention of making reservations to fly back home to Montana in the next few days, but all the revelations that she uncovered the past few days brought new questions. Sarah’s eyes fell to her purse where the unheard audiotape waited. Maybe it would have some answers. Maybe it could provide a tidbit of information that in her mind would absolve Jack or at least help her understand him better. Or, she thought, it could give her even more reason to doubt him.

  She needed somewhere private to listen to the tape. She glanced out the kitchen window and the large barn that the night before had seemed so nefarious now stood benign in the early-morning sunshine. Taking her coffee cup and purse, she stepped outside. The cold air bit at her nose and she longed to go upstairs to grab a sweatshirt but didn’t want to risk running into Jack just yet. Dew clung to the grass and her shoes quickly became damp as she walked toward the barn. She fumbled with the tarnished latch and pulled open the door. The interior of the barn was dim and cool, and Sarah rubbed her arms in hopes of warming up. An old barn jacket hung from a wall and Sarah lifted it from the rusty nail and pulled it on. The space was filled with a menagerie of old farm equipment and garden tools. On the walls hung sharp handsaws and corroded tools she couldn’t put a name to. A pile of tractor tires and stacks of terra-cotta planters sat in a corner.

  Sarah looked around for a place to sit that would provide her privacy as well as give her notice if someone entered the barn. She had no idea how she was going to explain why she was listening to an audiotape using a Walkman circa 1984. She spied a rickety wooden ladder that led up to the hayloft and she decided that would be her best bet. Carefully she tested the first rung and when it held she slowly made her way upward.

  Bits of straw dust plumed around her head and filled her nose, and she bit back a sneeze. The hayloft was empty except for a row of hay bales tied with twine lined up against one wall. The wide rafters above her reminded Sarah of the rib cage of some massive, ancient creature. Cup-shaped swallow nests made of grass, feathers and mud were tucked into crossbeams.

  Sarah settled onto one of the bales, and after making sure she could see if anyone climbed up after her, she pulled out the audiotape and Walkman from her purse. She had no idea as to what she was going to hear. It could be another sheriff’s department interview with Jack or with some other townsperson. It could be blank. She propped the earphones on her head and pressed Play.

  Gilmore: This is Deputy Sheriff Verne Gilmore. Nine thirty a.m. on June 1, 1985, interviewing, with parent permission, Celia Marie Parker, age fifteen. Celia, just answer my questions as thoroughly as you can. If you don’t know the answer to a question just say so. Do you understand?

  Celia: Yes.

  Sarah’s interest was immediately piqued. O
f course it made sense that Celia would be interviewed. She was Jack’s girlfriend, had most likely spent some time at their home and in the presence of his parents. Gilmore’s initial questions to Celia were basic. Her home address, her age, her relationship with Jack. Gilmore then asked Celia about her whereabouts on the day of the murder.

  Celia: I was at school.

  Gilmore: Did you see Jack Tierney at school on the thirtieth?

  Celia: Yes. I saw him in the hallway before our first class and then during second period. We have English together. Then we ate lunch in the cafeteria.

  Gilmore: Was that the last time you saw Jack that day? In the cafeteria?

  Celia: It was the last time I talked to him. But I saw him in the hallway later in the afternoon.

  Gilmore: What time was that?

  Celia: Um...it was after sixth period. So at about two o’clock.

  Gilmore: Two? Are you sure?

  Celia: I think so. Yes, I’m sure. It was after my anatomy class. I saw him in the hallway.

  Gilmore: Did you speak to him?

  Celia: No. He was too far away. I just saw him from the back.

  Celia’s voice shook slightly. Sarah could imagine the nervousness she was feeling. Fifteen years old and your boyfriend is suspected in the murder of his mother. Under the circumstances, Sarah thought that Celia was holding up well.

  Gilmore: Now, Celia, you know that’s not true.

  Celia: No. I saw him. I remember. He was walking down the hallway toward his last class.

  Gilmore: Maybe you think you saw Jack. He wasn’t in school that afternoon. We already know that. Jack already told us he left school around one forty-five.

  Gilmore’s voice was gentle. Sarah could almost imagine him leaning forward in his chair toward Celia, his face kind, but his gray eyes sharp and missing nothing.

  Celia: But I did see him. I’m sure I did. I’m not lying.

  Gilmore: Jack’s your boyfriend. I know you want to help him and the best way you can do that is by telling me the truth. Do you understand?

  Celia: Yes. I think I saw him.

  Gilmore: But you’re not sure?

  Celia: No. I guess I could have the time wrong.

  Gilmore went on to ask Celia about Jack’s relationship with his parents. Did she witness any arguments between them, did Jack ever talk about any fights or disagreements?

  Celia: No. They got along fine.

  The self-assurance had returned to Celia’s voice.

  Celia: Jack wouldn’t hurt his mom. I know he wouldn’t.

  The interview went on in this vein for some time. Gilmore was asking pointed questions about the relationship between Jack and his parents, and Celia was responding that there was nothing wrong. Finally, with a sigh, Gilmore started to bring the questioning to a close.

  Gilmore: Did anything unusual happen that day? Anything at all that made you think twice?

  Celia: That morning I saw Jack’s dad. I was driving to school and I was running late.

  Gilmore: You have your school permit to drive? What time was this?

  Celia: Yes. I was driving on Highway 32 toward the high school. It was about eight o’clock.

  Gilmore: Was he in his vehicle?

  Celia: No. That’s why it was so strange. He was walking along the side of the road. I waved to him. But he didn’t see me. I slowed down to see if maybe he needed a ride, but when I looked in my rearview mirror, he was gone. It was like he just disappeared.

  Gilmore: What do you mean? Did he get a ride with someone else or turn down a different road?

  Celia: I figured someone else picked him up and took him home.

  Gilmore ended the interview with the direction for Celia to give him a call if she remembered anything else about that day.

  Was Celia just a young girl in love trying to protect her boyfriend? She sounded entirely believable. Even her account of seeing Jack in the school hallway when he couldn’t have been there, even by his own admission, sounded reasonable, an honest mistake. Would Celia have lied about seeing Jack’s father that morning walking along the road? Sarah couldn’t see why.

  The final interview on the audio recording was Gilmore interviewing Dean. Again, Gilmore first asked all the basic questions and then got down to business. Dean’s account of the day matched Jack’s. He picked Jack up at the school around one forty-five; they were going to go hang out at the reservoir north of Penny Gate, but Jack was in a bad mood and ended up telling Dean to just take him home. He dropped Jack off in front of his house at about two and then left, going to the reservoir on his own.

  Gilmore asked Dean if he was aware of any arguments between Jack and his parents. Dean grew quiet and Gilmore waited him out. The seconds ticked by. Finally Dean began to speak so quietly that Sarah had to turn up the volume on the tape player to hear him.

  Dean: Yeah, Jack and his parents fought. Like all of us do, I guess.

  Gilmore: Sure, kids argue with folks all the time. What kinds of things did Jack and his folks fight about?

  Dean: (Inaudible.)

  Gilmore: Can you speak up so the tape recorder picks up what you are saying?

  Dean: Celia. They fought about Celia Parker. They thought they were getting too serious.

  Gilmore: Were they?

  Dean: I don’t know. I guess so. Jack talked about the two of them running away together sometimes.

  Gilmore: Did their parents know about this?

  Dean: I don’t know.

  Gilmore: Come on, Dean. You’re Jack’s cousin. If Jack’s going to talk to anyone, it’s you. Did his mom find out?

  Dean: Jack’s mom knew.

  Gilmore: How’d she find out?

  Dean: I think she found some notes between Jack and Celia when she was cleaning Jack’s room.

  Gilmore: Were you there last week when they were arguing or did Jack tell you about it? Say yes or no, so the tape recorder picks up your voice. Were you there?

  Dean: Yes.

  Gilmore: When was this? What day?

  Dean: I’m not sure. About a week ago, I guess.

  Gilmore: How did she react? Was she angry?

  Dean: They were yelling. But it was no big deal.

  Gilmore: So they fought a lot? Jack and his mom?

  Dean: Maybe. I don’t know.

  Gilmore: They argued. It was no big deal. What did Mrs. Tierney say?

  Dean: She told him she didn’t think that he should see Celia for a while. They were getting too serious. It was interfering with his schoolwork, his work on the farm.

  Gilmore: What did Jack say?

  Dean: He told her to mind her own business. To stay out of his room.

  Gilmore: Those were his exact words?

  Dean: He said to mind her own effing business and to stay out of his effing room.

  Gilmore: I bet that didn’t go over well.

  Dean: No, she was mad. Told him not to talk that way in her house and he said, “Fine, I’ll leave.” She tried to stop him.

  Gilmore: How did she do that? Did she physically try and keep him from leaving the house?

  Dean: She grabbed his arm and Jack pulled away and we left.

  Gilmore: That’s it. Nothing else?

  Dean: That’s it.

  Gilmore: Come on, Dean, what aren’t you telling me? We’ve got pictures of the crime scene. Someone beat your aunt’s head in, left her to die on the cellar floor. We need to figure out who did it.

  Dean: It wasn’t Jack.

  Gilmore: How do you know that? You just got done telling me that they argued. She grabbed Jack’s arm. Some of the bruises looked old. About a week old, I’d say. Maybe when Lydia grabbed Jack’s arm he grabbed back.

  Dean: He didn’t mean to. He was just tryin
g to get her off him.

  Gilmore: So he hit her?

  Dean: No, it was more like he pulled away. Hard. And she fell down. He didn’t mean to hurt her.

  Gilmore: She was hurt?

  Dean: No. I mean, not really. She fell forward, on her hands. Like this. I think she hurt her wrist.

  Gilmore: What did Jack do? Did he apologize? Did he help her up?

  Dean: (Inaudible.)

  Gilmore: Speak up.

  Dean: No, he left. We left. She fell...

  Gilmore: She fell or was knocked down?

  Dean: He didn’t mean to knock her down. It was an accident.

  The tape ended and Sarah remained sitting on the bale of hay, trying to make sense out of what Dean had said. Jack and Celia had talked about running away together? To where could two fifteen-year-olds possibly run? And Jack, accident or not, had knocked his mother to the ground and left her there.

  Sarah stood and went to the large door that looked over the farm. She stared out at the blue sky that was just beginning to smudge with pearly gray that bled into the landscape. The cornfields were recently harvested, the hay fields newly shorn, the remaining stalks chewed down to jagged nubs, and large barrel-shaped bales of hay sat in wait across the pasture as if anticipating the upcoming winter. Big bluestem lined the ditches and black-eyed Susans bobbed their weighty yellow heads. Her eyes fell on the overgrown, weedy farmyard, the low-slung red barn, the tall silver silo. Such a beautiful landscape, Sarah thought, hiding such an ugly history.