The Charity (35 page)

“Hello! Glad to see you waited.” Shea dropped one of those huge, triple-sized briefcases at her feet. “Most of the evidence boxes have been archived. These are just the records I could get my hands on quickly.”

Jessica was relieved that he was finally there. “Where should we go? We can’t talk here.”

“I made arrangements for a private conference room upstairs. Let’s go.”

They pushed their way through the lobby toward the elevators. Jessica scanned the crowd and saw nothing but the usual mix of people. The elevator doors were about to close when she noticed a pair of eyes looking directly at them. The bright green eyes were surrounded by a head of curly red hair and freckles. What was most noticeable about them was that they belonged to a young boy, barely more than fourteen or fifteen years old. He seemed so out of place. He must be with his father on a trip or something, Jessica surmised.

The doors closed, and they were whisked upward. Shea led her down the corridor and opened the door with a card key he produced from his wallet.

The room was furnished in the standard taupe and sand color scheme that seemed to be the staple of all modern hotels. It contained a round table, just large enough to hold ten or so people. The far wall had a wet bar, small refrigerator and a setup of coffee and tea urns with a tray of muffins and cookies. On the conference table, pads of paper, a video recorder, and tape recorder sat waiting.

“Looks like you’ve been busy.” Jessica poured herself some tea, devoured a muffin and grabbed another.

“Right. I made arrangements for the room last night after I left you. My office uses this hotel for offsite meetings a lot. This is the usual setup we get.”

Jessica swallowed nervously and eyed the equipment. She nodded her head and made a decision. “The camera stuff is a good idea. I think we should keep it and the tape machine rolling the whole time we are here. We’ll put the tapes in different places just in case.”

Shea looked at Jessica. He was still trying to size her up. She was hard minded and knew what she wanted to accomplish. He liked her for it. “Right.”

“So, what did you find?” Jessica walked across the room and sat down in a mauve and tan checked chair.

Shea heaved the huge brown case onto the table. He quickly rolled the four-digit combination on the brass lock and flicked open the flap. A sheaf of files emerged.

He focused the camera in on Jessica’s face then switched it and the tape recorder on. “Before we look through this, I want to get a full idea of what you remember now, before we start feeding more impressions in on you.”

“Owen, I’m scared. I’ve started to remember things. It frightens me.”

“That’s a normal reaction. You’ve had those images stuffed inside of you for years. Get them out into the light, and we’ll make sense of them. I promise.” He paused for a moment. “Okay. Tell me your name and why you’re here.”

“My name is Jessica Wyeth. I am here today because I want to find out who killed Gus Adams. I am recording these sessions because I believe someone is trying to kill me for what I know.” She rolled up her sleeves. Several large burns could be seen. “For what it’s worth, I swear to God that everything I am about to say is the truth.”

Shea stopped her and placed her hand upon a copy of the bible he found in one of the desk drawers. “I am an officer of the court and am empowered by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to place you under oath. Raise your right hand. Do you Jessica Wyeth swear and affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God and that failure to do so may subject you to prosecution under the laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts?” He knew that swearing on a bible was no longer required, but it was a good touch to add to the solemnity of the occasion.

Jessica looked directly at him. “I do.”

“Good. Now tell me everything you know about the night Gus Adams was killed and about what you saw.” Shea rechecked the video settings and tightened the locks on the tripod. He sat down just outside of the picture.

Jessica swallowed. “I had just come back from college. Gus and I were great friends. More than friends, actually. He was a father to me ever since my family was killed in a car accident. I... I loved him as a father.” She thrust her jaw forward in a determined motion to rid herself of the emotions that were threatening to creep up on her. A trembling hand defied her.

“We had dinner that night together and a few beers. Gus was a hotheaded Irishman. He took his roles as head of the farm and a father figure to me seriously. When I said I wanted to work with him on the farm, to take my place in my family’s business, he would not hear of it. He said I needed to have more fun, more of a life before I got myself wrapped up in the business. We argued, but it was nothing serious. Anyway, he was pissed off at me, and we left. I remembered I had left the lights on in the barn. It was one of those little things that really got under Gus’ skin, so I figured he was mad enough as it was, and I went back to turn them off.” She found the sound of her voice and her words vaguely distant and somehow odd. The familiar throbbing returned as she recalled what happened next.

“I’ve never allowed myself to think about that night. There were even times I could not remember why I left or why I stayed away. I was too afraid to remember. But now,” her voice trailed away as she thought of her reasons for talking, “now it’s different. I
have
to remember.”

The images of the brutal attack brought back fresh feelings of terror. She paused, looking around the room for something to hold on to. Her eyes met Shea’s.

“Go on. What happened then?” Shea’s voice was soft. He could see the fear just below the surface of her calm exterior and wanted to keep her talking. He knew it took a great deal of effort to control herself.

“I was about to walk into the barn when I heard these voices. Gus was standing in the middle of the barn’s main corridor. He was talking with two men.”

Shea broke in. “Did you hear what they were talking about?”

“Well, sort of.” Jessica closed her eyes and cocked her head to listen to the voices now resurrected in her head. “I was outside looking in, but I could hear some of what they said. Yeah. They were talking about me. Gus said something like I was not going to get into the business. Hearing that pissed me off. I mean, it was supposed to be my farm, my father left it to me and here was Gus, preventing me from working on it. He was really adamant about keeping me out. That’s when the old guy motioned that they were going to kill—”

The words stuck in Jessica’s throat as she remembered watching the brutal slaying of her beloved friend. She pressed her hands down on the table as if to ground herself in the present moment and not to be swept back into the torrent of the past.

Shea leaned forward and covered her hands with his. “Jessica. I’m sorry, but you have to tell me everything. Please. I know it’s hard. Just keep going.”

Jessica felt the warmth of his hands. She remembered talking to him the morning after the murder. Again, she sensed his genuine concern. Taking another breath, she continued.

“The younger guy took off his jacket and folded it as if he was just going to fight a round with Gus. I had seen Gus in a fight or two before, but this guy seemed a lot more dangerous than anyone I had ever seen. Gus wasn’t a match for two men, and the younger one was just so—I don’t know the words to describe it—but he was just so
skilled
at incapacitating Gus. After they got Gus trussed up in some ropes the old guy just stood back and smoked his pipe. The younger man had a knife. He simply rolled up his sleeves and sliced Gus open like it was nothing. The old guy kind of congratulated the younger one, patted his back like he was saying “Job well done” or something. They did what they had to do. Then they left. They walked right past me.” Jessica’s mouth was bone dry, and she again tried to ease the lump in her throat. The scene in her head was as vivid now as if she was seeing it for the first time. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her shaking hand quickly wiped them away.

The room fell silent, and the gentle whir of the tape machines could be heard against the backdrop of typical hotel sounds. A door closed down the hallway. An elevator bell chimed and announced its arrival. Muffled voices faded as footsteps padded down the carpeted corridor.

“Jessica. Go on.” Again, Shea’s voice was soothing. Encouraging.

“I couldn’t believe what I saw. I mean, it was like it was happening in a movie or something. I had to stuff my hand in my mouth to stop myself from screaming. I... I sometimes wish I had screamed. Maybe Gus would still be alive if I had only stopped them. If... if only I had only done
something
instead of just hiding.” More tears fell down her cheek. Her voice was no more than a whisper. She stopped talking for a moment, lost in her pain. She gathered herself and continued. “I finally went over to him. I rolled him over to see if he was still alive, but he was gone. There was nothing I could do.”

She looked out the window. “I truly don’t know what happened next. I was just so shocked at what I had seen. I was terrified that they might come back and find me there, so I went home. And that’s it. That’s when you and Coogan came to my door. That’s the next thing I remember.”

“Right. We came to your door to tell you about Gus’ death.”

“I was hungover and an emotional wreck. I just remember Detective Coogan bearing down on me. Nothing made any sense. I was afraid of what I saw. I mean, what if those guys came back for me? I remember telling you about the two men I saw. I told Coogan the same thing at the tavern.”

“Right. I have my private notes on that investigation, and they reflect your statement on the two men. How did you get to the tavern?”

“I... I drove myself there.” Jessica paused, confused.

“Are you okay?” Shea asked.

“I... I think so. I just feel like there’s more somehow.”

“We can take a break if you need one.”

“Um, no. Let’s keep going. Whatever it was will come to me.”

Shea agreed and prodded. “So Coogan met you there?”

“Well, um, kind of. He said he tracked me there. That I was easy to find. I told him the same thing I had told you earlier. He was convinced I was lying. He scared me. He said he knew I was the killer and that it was all over for me. I just knew that nothing I said would convince him otherwise. I just thought he was the guy with all of the answers and he was there calling me a murderer so I just thought he must be right; That I killed Gus. I didn’t know which end was up and needed to get some air. Coogan left to get something, so I walked outside and the place blew up.”

“What did you see then?”

“I thought it was kind of funny that there was nothing around the tavern but trees. Nothing. But then Coogan drove up and just stood there watching the place burn. Very calm. That’s when I ran back to the barn.”

“The barn?”

“Yeah. I hid in the hayloft for the next day. I heard everything that was going on. I saw you and Coogan talk to Jason Cressup, the hand. Coogan was announcing I was the murderer and that I died in that fire. I stayed up there long enough to realize that whatever it was I had, it was gone. No family. No future. Nothing. Well, nothing except feeling like I was responsible for Gus’ death by not doing something to stop that guy and wondering why a cop wanted me dead. I just figured that if that detective guy was so convinced I was guilty, the rest of the world would be too. So, that was it. I borrowed some cash and the truck and drove to the bus station. It was seven years before I stopped running long enough for someone to recognize me. And then, twice, someone’s tried to kill me.” Jessica nodded her head to punctuate the end of her story. She smiled weakly at Shea. “You know. It feels good to finally talk to someone about this.”

“Right.” He smiled back, reached for the stack of files and began to sift through them. “Before we launch into these, is there anything more that comes to mind about that night. How about a description of the men?”

Jessica sat back and screwed up her mouth in an effort to force definite shapes on the images in her head. “The older man was about my height. A little heavy, not by much, though. About sixty, sixty-five years old. He was wearing a hat, but I saw white hair. He had very bushy eyebrows. White. He dressed in typical clothes. You know. Dark pants, white shirt, tweed jacket. And he smoked a pipe.”

“Would you be able to identify him if you saw him again?”

“Yes. The younger guy definitely treated him like he was special, a boss or a father or something.” She looked at Shea and shook her head. “The younger guy was, I don’t know, familiar somehow. I still can’t put my finger on it. He was taller than the old guy. Strong. Real strong. It was like he was coiled up ready for action. When he rolled up his sleeves, he had a mark on his forearm, right about here.” She motioned to a spot on her inner left arm.

Shea cocked his head. “Mark? What kind of mark? A scar? Bruise?”

“No. It, hmm. It was a tattoo.” Jessica threw her head back, closed her eyes and let her mind drift. It was there. She had seen it. There. And again. Her finger absently traced out a pattern on her arm as she was trying to think. “I’m sorry. I know I saw it. There was something else about that guy. When he was killing Gus, he laughed. He just had this shrill kind of cackle when—”

Jessica snapped her head forward. “That’s it!” Her eyes widened in the wake of her memory. “That’s it! That laugh!” Past and present memories rammed into one another in an effort to find the light. A fragment of memory that was seven years old struck a more recent one and joined with it. There could be no mistaking the sound. “He was the other guy who broke into my house that night. He was the one with the knife! That sound he made. It sounded like an animal. A jackal or a hyena or something. Not human. No way did he sound human.” Her voice rose as the vapor-like images solidified into a complete picture. “Curly hair. Narrow eyes. And a scar that forced his mouth up to a grin. Eerie. Really weird.”

The sharpness of the recollections fueled her. Having both a conscious and subconscious connection to her past finally spreading to the surface was exhilarating. It was not yet complete. More was still inside. She knew it, but she also knew it would emerge eventually.