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

piss.
    Ward
popped McNeely’s cell phone closed and handed it back to her. McNeely stopped
taking photographs and slid the phone back into her pocket. “Everything okay?”
    “I guess
so.” Ward stroked his short-cropped beard, opened a drawer. Empty.
    “Any idea
what we’re looking for?” McNeely placed her camera on the small table by the
old man’s bed.
    “Nothing
much to see.”
    McNeely’s
eyes narrowed as she studied Ward.
    “I’m
still trying to work you out, detective. You’re different. No offense.”
    Ward
removed his Stetson and placed it on his heart. “No offense taken, ma’am.” His
pale blue eyes settled on McNeely and he held her gaze.
    “You’re
all right, though. Cowboy boots.” She laughed. “You got cowboy boots.”
    Ward
smiled briefly and reseated his hat.
    McNeely
studied the detective a few seconds longer. “You’re okay. Different okay. And
don’t pay no heed to Newton. He’s just playing out time. Running down the game
clock. Has been for a while now.” She reached into her bag for her fingerprint
kit. “I’ll dust around but it all looks pretty clean. Maybe too clean?”
    “Whole
building’s too clean you ask me,” Ward said. His eyes had settled on the
picture of Bermuda that adorned the wall. He cast a glance around the otherwise
austere room and then his eyes returned to the picture. “We need to find out
where his belongings went.”
    The door
opened and Newton lunged through. His speechless eyes fell on Ward. He pulled
his body straight. He was panting and he placed his hand on his chest. He took
a few sharp breaths before speaking.
    “What
have you got?”
    “Newton,
right?”
    Newton
said, “ Wha ’?” and then, “Yes, Newton.”
    “Okay,
Newton. Ward.” He pointed to himself. “And I got this,” Ward said. “If you can
tell me what you got and then you’re okay to go.” He studied Newton: the
erosion on his dimpled face, the dark crescents below his eyes and the
retreating gray hair. He thought sleep was a stranger to him. A kindred spirit.
    “Okay,”
Newton said. “William O’Donnell.” He waited a couple of seconds after speaking
the name and then continued. “Seventy-eight years old. Cause of death: morphine
poisoning administered through the foot. Approximate time of death: between
eight and midnight on Sunday.” He paused again and then said, “Guy’s a
murderer.”
    “Whoa,”
McNeely said, dusting the bedstead for prints as Newton bent to sit on the
mattress. “Not the bed.”
    He
straightened up again too quickly and pain showed in his eyes. “Bill O’Donnell.
He murdered his grandson.”
    “He did?”
Ward said.
    “Sure he
did.”
    “We’re
collecting evidence. For the homicide of an old man. You’re saying this old guy
murdered his grandson. He do time for it?”
    Newton’s
shoulders slumped and he took a fat swallow.
    “You’re
going to tell me what I’m missing here?” Ward said.
    “Okay,
some history,” Newton said. “Back in 1985 a seven-year-old boy called Ryan
Novak disappeared.”
    McNeely
nodded recollection.
    “The boy
was never found. No body neither. The main suspect was this guy, his
grandfather”—he pointed at the empty bed—“but there wasn’t enough evidence on
him.” Newton left a pause. Ward and McNeely didn’t fill it. Newton rubbed the
base of his back and with his other hand reached in his pocket for his pills.
He took them out and put them back. “The guy was never convicted.”
    “Okay,”
Ward nodded slowly. “And how does a twenty-five-year-old cold case help us with
this here homicide? Do you think they’re connected somehow, detective?”
    Newton
looked at McNeely and then back at Ward. “I think they might be.”
    “Might
be? Okay. Even if we accept that he killed the boy, as you say he did even
though he didn’t do time for it, who does that put in the frame for this old
guy’s death? We need to be mindful not to go confusing the two cases, don’t you
think? So, I