The Charity (6 page)

His attention returned to Constable Bass just as the man’s eyes rested once more on his watch. The Constable then scuffed his way over to his cruiser and reached for his radio. Before he could make a transmission, another man took the radio mouthpiece and tossed it on the driver seat.

Shea took in details of the encounter. The contrast in the two men was striking. As rumpled and inept as the Constable appeared, the other man was hyper vigilant with quick movements and a don’t-mess-with-me manner. The gray suit he wore was the high quality, hand tailored stuff that was too expensive for most cops. Shea listened as the Constable was verbally dressed down for breaching protocol of an investigation by attempting to provide details to personnel outside of the core investigative team. It was obvious that this man was in control of everyone and everything and was not going to let some hack leverage knowledge of this murder into some fifteen-minutes-of-fame-beers-at-the-pub celebrity.

Shea was resigned to working with Detective Terrance Coogan for only as long as the mentorship of a junior detective was required. He checked himself, concerned that somehow his thoughts would show. Coogan remained rigid, eyes focused on the large cop who stood at least a head taller than him. If only that brick wall wasn’t his assigned mentor, Shea thought. Coogan choked him. A real control freak. Nothing ever surprised or impressed Coogan. No crime seemed to occur without Coogan knowing something or someone connected with it. It was like he knew it all even before it happened.

Shea was determined to show his stuff to this stiff detective and this murder was the perfect opportunity. His mind raced in overdrive preparing the right questions to obtain information he needed. Words. Actions. Scene. Tone. He was exhilarated.

The pounding was far off down the tunnel. It grew louder as its steady beat peeled away layers of deep sleep until it could no longer be ignored. Jessica rolled her legs onto the bare wood floor of her room and forced herself into a sitting position. Hunched over, she tried to open her eyes. They were dry, gritty against her lids and sealed shut. Something was wrong. What was it? Damn. Can’t think.

Her hand shook free of her shirt cuff and rubbed her eyes. Strands of hair entangled in her fingers. She threw her head back to allow her hair to find its own place out of her face, but the sudden motion made the room spin and her stomach turn. Rubbing her temples in time with the pounding, she raised her eyebrows hoping that they would pull her sagging lids off pumiced eyes. Sunlight and dappled shadows swirled across her ceiling.

It was bright. Too bright. Waves of sleep and dizziness washed over her, pulling her back down through layers of a brain still half-asleep. She braced herself. The pounding steadily meshed with the throbbing between her temples. Shit. Too many beers. It offered only slight relief that some of the pounding was coming from someone at the front door. What’s Gus so fired up about?

The room vexed her with a vicious swirl when she finally pulled herself to her feet. She grabbed her night table to steady herself. A small porcelain lamp of a girl in a hoop skirt that once belonged to Bridget crashed to the floor. Damn it, she thought. I really liked that light.

The pounding stopped at the sound of the crash. Deep voices and the crackle of a radio sifted up to her. Swaying slightly, she made her way out of her bedroom, carefully balancing herself down the stairs and into the main hallway. She steadied herself against the doorjamb with her shoulder. Thick fingers fumbled with the latch. With one great heave the thick wooden door swung open.

Reflexively, her hand shielded her shut eyes from the onslaught. The images before her were blobs of luminous red surrounded by the searing light of the late morning sun. Her hands covered her face as she tried to wean her eyes back into the day lit world.

“Jessica Wyeth? Are you Miss Jessica Wyeth?”

“Hum? Wh-What?”

“Are you Miss Jessica Wyeth?” The voice was more insistent.

Jessica lowered one hand. The fingers of the other rubbed her temple. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the glare. The blobs darkened into figures.

“Cut the crap, Gus. What do you want?”

“Miss Wyeth? I’m Detective Coogan and this is Trooper Shea. Did you know a Gus Adams?”

Jessica’s eyes were finally winning their battle against glare. The black figures further sharpened into two men. One wore a new police uniform. The other wore an expensive suit and asked a lot of stupid questions. A police radio crackled to life then spit itself silent.

“Hum? Wh-what? Yeah. I know Gus Adams.” Jessica’s eyes locked and focused on the face in front of her. It had small eyes and angular features. “What kind of stunt is Gus up to this time, guys? You can tell him for me I don’t like his humor.”

“Miss Wyeth, Gus Adams is dead. He was murdered last night here on your farm. Jason Cressup found his body this morning.”

“Jason? Oh, yeah right. Jason.” Jessica remembered the black haired Jason as the groom Gus relied upon to ready the horses for their morning workouts. “Jason’s dead?”

“No Miss. Gus Adams was stabbed to death last night. I would like to ask you some questions.”

“Gus is dead? What are you talking a—” Shadows from last night jumped to the surface. She gasped and staggered backwards under their force. Blood rushed from her face and the pounding in her temples grew. Rubbery knees gave under her weight and she grabbed the doorjamb for support.

“Miss Wyeth? Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?” It was a different voice asking these questions. Younger. Nicer. The detective blocked his way.

“Where were you last night, Miss Wyeth?”

It was the detective’s voice again. Jessica decided she didn’t like him.

“I was with Gus. We had dinner together and... and... Oh, God! Gus!” The last words came out as a moan. Jessica had trouble thinking. “I do need to sit down.” She stumbled for the thickly padded armchair closest to the door. Her hand motioned the men toward the living room.

The two men looked at one another. Detective Coogan paused in the entryway and looked around.

It seemed like he nodded a silent approval of the finely appointed home. The detective walked across a worn oriental rug and absently fingered the cut glass vase which sat empty upon a small table. Eventually, he returned his attention to the girl.

Jessica was totally unaware at how she appeared. Pale skin. Eyes sunk back into her head. Her long hair hung in strings around her face. A strand of hay still clung stubbornly to her shirt. It was her hands and shirt which drew the most interest.

They were filthy. Reddish brown streaks and black grime were caked onto them. Her right hand, now clenched into a tight fist held stiffly against the arm of the chair, had what looked like teeth marks and scrapes along the knuckles. A fitful night’s rest had worked apart most of the buttons of her splattered shirt, opening it far down the front. Coogan’s eyes swept over her smooth skin and lingered on the swell of her breasts. After a moment, he looked at her face. It was swollen from lack of rest and emotion, crisscrossed with dirt. Her mouth was pulled tight in an effort to control herself. But even the drawn mouth could not hide the cut lower lip which had swelled overnight and turned a faint purplish color.

“Where were you last night, Miss Wyeth?” Detective Coogan asked again.

“I told you already. I had dinner with Gus at the Black Swan. Please, I really want to be left alone.”

“Where did you go after dinner?” The senior detective absently picked at a tuft of dust clinging to the fine fibers of his jacket.

Jessica gripped her hair out of her face with one hand while the other nervously fidgeted with the arm of the chair. She discovered the wayward buttons and closed her shirt. She didn’t answer his question.

“Can you tell us about your evening, Miss Wyeth?” Jessica was aware that the younger guy was busy scribbling notes.

Jessica fought her building hysteria. “We went to the pub. I forgot about the lights on in the house, I mean the barn, I think, um... I thought I heard something.” The images in her head collided, looking for escape. Bury them. Keep it in. “I guess I walked in. No, I didn’t walk in. I think I saw a man. Was it? Yes. Gus. The horses began screaming. No, I mean, well, yes. I... I...”

Detective Coogan gave a slight smile and looked over at Trooper Shea. His smile faded. “Go out to the car and get my reports file.”

“Sir?” Shea asked in a surprised tone.

“Just do it,” Coogan responded derisively. Shea’s stiffened back and expression of practiced diffidence said all it needed to about his dismissal.

Jessica could feel Coogan’s eyes on her again. His look made her feel vulnerable, somehow open to attack. Prey and predator. He walked toward the front door and glanced out in the direction Shea had retreated. “Would you feel more comfortable if I asked you some more questions later after you calm down for a little while?”

Jessica blinked slowly several times and gave a barely perceptible nod of her head which freed another strand of hair.

Shea hurried back into the house. A manila folder filled with colored forms and papers in his arms.

“I think she’s had enough of a shock for a little while, Officer. I’m coming back after she’s had a chance to adjust to the news.” Coogan took the file from his partner.

Shea lowered his voice to not be overheard. “Excuse me, sir? I don’t think that prematurely terminating this interview is wise. It’s a breach of standard investigation protocol. Visual evidence raises this person to ‘suspect’ and we should read her Miranda rights immediately. Leaving would offer opportunity to alter any evidence and —”

“Oh? You have something to say about how things are done? Well, that’s okay,
Officer
. I can brief you on the details of proper procedures at the station.” Coogan’s derisive tone cut through his mechanical smile. “Go ahead. Memorize the place. It won’t change matters and
I
determine she is not a
suspect
, as you say, but is a
person
of
interest
and is going to remain that way until
I’ve
had a chance to talk to her alone.”

“That’s not proper procedure.”

“I decide what’s legit and what’s not. Got it?”

“Sir! I don’t th—”

“I don’t tolerate insubordination. I gave you my orders.” He returned to his car leaving the stammering rookie and woman alone. Bursts of static from the radio floated into the house. Coogan’s voice could be heard giving commands.

Anna bounded into the room from the direction of the back kitchen. “My God, Jessica! What’s going on? The place is crawling with cops!”

Jessica was barely aware of her friend’s embrace, but she welcomed Anna with a brief kiss on the cheek.

“I... I don’t know. Something happened last night and I... can’t remember.”

Seizing the opportunity, Trooper Shea introduced himself to Anna. “Can you tell me about last night?”

Anna related the night’s events as best as she could, all the time keeping a close eye on Jessica. Anna knew nothing about the events after she dropped off her friend and concluded by saying she was there to take Jessica back to get her car.

Shea returned his focus to Jessica. “Look Miss. I know you’ve had a horrible shock today. But please think. There must be something about last night that stands out. I know it’s hard, but just think.”

Jessica covered her face, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She stared absently toward the knees of the young officer. The battle in her head waged on. Images swam, leaving confusion in their wakes. “I want to help you, I really do,” her voice thin and shaky. “I th-think I saw something on the arm of a man, b-but I j-just don’t know. A scar or bruise or something. Right about here.” She motioned with her right hand toward a spot high up on her inner left arm. Nausea boiled in her stomach.

“My God, Jessica! You saw the guy?” Anna exclaimed.

Shea interrupted her. “A man? Take it easy now, Miss Wyeth. Tell me anything about that one man.” He brought himself to her eye level. Slowly, gently, he urged her to talk. His pale blue eyes looked directly at her with concern from beneath the broad rim of his hat. Tufts of shortly cropped curly hair escaped from underneath.

“No. Not one man. Two. And Gus.” Another surge of bile stuck in her throat and she sputtered. Almost a reflex, Shea reached out and took her hand. It was like ice in her panic. He enveloped it in both of his hands and tried to warm it. For an instant, Jessica felt safe and tried to make sense of the molten visions.

“I was looking through the door. I could see them both. One man, well, one just seemed familiar, somehow. I... I could barely see him. But I did see him just reach out and it w-was n-nothing to him.” Her face reddened in the effort to get the words out. “He just stood there while Gus died. It w-was... It was more than that, but I just can’t remember!”

“Try. You’ve got to tell me what you saw.”

“I’m trying... It’s just too much. I can’t think about this anymore. Please leave me alone!”

At that, Coogan reappeared at the door, visibly angry. “I thought I made it clear that I was going to talk with her
alone
.”

Shea stammered, then seemed to make a decision. “Yes sir.” He dropped his gaze and stood up. He used his most professional tone. “Please call Detective Coogan if you want to talk about this. You can reach him at the station if you need to. Good day, Miss Wyeth. I’m sorry to have upset you.” He walked to the door and looked out. Coogan had returned to the car and the crackle of the radio and Coogan’s voice filled the silence. Shea turned back to face Jessica.

“Look Miss. Take care of yourself. Events like these don’t happen around here and rumors travel fast. A shock like this can bury memories pretty effectively if you don’t talk about it with someone you trust. If you do remember anything more about the men or about last night, don’t talk to anyone but me, Okay? Be careful.” And with that said, he left.

Anna brought Jessica back to the Black Swan to retrieve her car. The hangover Jessica had was not abating even with the water and aspirin regimen Anna thrust upon her. Jessica decided that she did not want to return to her home right away. The farm was crawling with people and the phone was ringing off the hook. She just couldn’t cope with the chaos. What she really wanted to do was jump on a horse and ride like hell, but what she decided to do was to drive around a while to gather her thoughts. She drove around in circles for what felt like hours and eventually began to get hungry. She was not that surprised to realize she ended up at one of her and Anna’s favorite getaways.