The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (11 page)

“You need to talk to Eddie?”

“No. But I think you do.”

Wonderful. Just one more thing to add to the list. “I will, Charlie. And thanks.”

“Tim, I’m not doing you a favor. If it was anything I could sink my teeth into I wouldn’t be sharing this with you.”

“No, no, I understand. And I still appreciate it.”

“Now.” Tim heard the smile back in Charlie’s voice. “You need help with some old lady who wants to talk to her long-dead husband?”

“Asshole,” Tim said, but he was smiling. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard, actually. We’re—”

“I know where you are. It’s all over town.”

“Then you know why I’m calling.”

“It’s a closed investigation,” Charlie said. “So you just fill out some forms, you’re good to go. When’ll you be here?”

Tim felt everything speeding up. “Soon. It’s escalated.”

“How so?”

“The Rossellis’ son, Billy, ran away this morning. Can you keep an eye out and keep it discreet?”

“Jesus Christ, Tim. How are we going to keep it on the down low? You know this town. ’Sides, the more people that know, the faster he’ll get found.”

“Keep it to yourself for now. I’m sure if he doesn’t show up soon, Jackie will want you to take the leash off.”

“Nice fuckin’ metaphor,” Charlie said.

“Charlie, I have to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“The Moriarty kid, Eamon, the young one. Did you ever pick him up?”

“You askin’ if he ever ran away?” Charlie asked.

“I’m looking for patterns.”

“No, but he did run away from time to time.”

Tim got a chill. “Do you have a transcript of the interview with him?”

“Sure do. But I can do you one better,” Charlie said. “It was only three years ago, pretty high-profile … The tape’s probably still here.”

“Could we see that?”

“Only if you bring that librarian with you. I like the quiet ones. They’re animals in the sack.”

Tim chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. And she does have a name.”

“When did that happen?” Charlie asked.

“Let me make a call. I hope to be there within the hour.” It was good to talk to Charlie. Guy knew how to joke around but always got the job done. Eddie could be like that, if he wanted to.  The moment of levity was a welcome pause to an investigation that was now full-tilt and suddenly very intense.

Charlie said, “I’ll have one of my new recruits go dig up the files. I’m tired of paying them to do nothing.”

Tim hung up and dialed Moira’s number.

“Long time, no speak,” Moira said.

“Change of plans. We need to get over to the police station and go through their files, especially everything on William and Eamon. Forget the house history for now.”

“What’s happened?” she asked.

Tim told her about Billy running away.

“Evan’s got some material—some of his writing,” Moira said.

“Sounds good.”

After hanging up, Tim walked back down the drive. He just wanted a minute to think. He still didn’t know enough. He had to put everything together. Kids running away. The drawings of the houses. The name Billy. The more he compared the two families, the more they seemed alike.

The air shifted around him, turning cold. The hair on his arms stood up, gooseflesh came alive, and his chest suddenly felt heavy. He tried to call out to Eddie, Stan and Jackie, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t.

He felt paralysis. But how could one feel paralysis?

He could barely move. Each step difficult. He tried to raise an arm to signal Eddie. It was like trying to move through water.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked from the porch.

Tim opened his mouth to speak.

Eddie frowned. He took a step off the porch onto the walk. “Tim?”

Tim shook his head. He forced himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other. By the time Eddie got over to him, the feeling had passed. “I’m okay. I’m just … getting a bad headache, is all.”

Eddie eyed him. “You sure you’re okay?”

Tim nodded. “Jackie, I just talked to Charlie Waite. Moira and me are going to look through the Moriarty files. I’ll dig up as much as I can on Eamon. It turns out he had a habit of running away.”

“You think Billy’s copying Eamon’s behavior?” Jackie sounded incredulous.

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to rule anything out. If there’s a pattern, if Eamon went to a certain place all the time when he ran away, we might as well check there first.”

Eddie argued, “But he’s not talking to Eamon. He’s been talking to William.”

“We don’t—” Tim started to say, much too loudly. He lowered his voice. “We don’t know that yet.”

“Come on, Tim. It’s obvious. The spirit’s name is Billy,” Eddie said matter-of-factly.

“You two think he’s been talking to the ghost of the older boy that … used to live here?” Jackie asked, still on the porch.

Tim was seeing red. “We don’t know that, Jackie.”

“But it’s likely—” Eddie started to say.

“Eddie!” Tim shouted. Tim knew he shouldn’t be shouting in front of a client, but he felt it was the lesser of two evils, given the situation. He didn’t want Eddie feeding Jackie bad intel.

Jackie stepped off the porch and walked over to the two brothers.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “This is not going to turn into a fucking pissing contest between you two. You are here to do a job. I expect you to do that job as you promised. We’ve entrusted you with our wellbeing, with our fucking sanity. My son’s run away. My wife is scared to death. Pull it fucking together. Find me some answers or I’ll call someone else who will. Is that understood?”

Tim took his eyes off Eddie to look at Jackie. “Of course, Mr. Rosselli. I apologize for the outburst. It won’t happen again.”

The most important job they’d ever been on, and here they were bickering like school children in front of the man who’d hired them. Tim decided to sit Eddie down and have a long talk with him when it was appropriate. Eddie needed to be put in his place, as much as Tim didn’t enjoy having to do it.

Eddie said, “I’m sorry, too. It won’t happen again.”

“So what are the next steps?” Jackie asked.

“I’m meeting Moira at the police station ASAP,” Tim told him. “Charlie is going to keep a lookout for your son, but keep it quiet. Moira and I are going to review the police files. Eddie will stay here with Stan to help him set up the equipment for tonight. We’re going dark an hour or so after sunset. We’ll spend the night here trying to reproduce the phenomena you’ve described.”

Jackie folded his arms. He wasn’t impressed.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to help you find him,” Tim promised. “Can you give me a picture of him for Charlie?”

Charli
e
Waite and his crew were the last holdouts at the old police station. It was small, barely large enough to detain more than one person at a time. The new one was being built across town, already in use.

Tim held the door for Moira. A young, female duty officer sat at the front desk, going over some paperwork. She was uniformed and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Tim and Moira?” she asked.

“That’s us,” Tim said.

She stood. “I’m Kelly. It’s nice to meet you both.”

They all shook hands.

Kelly leaned over and punched a button on her phone. “Charlie, they’re here.”

“Send them on down,” Charlie said.

Kelly smiled. “Forgive the mess around here. We’re in the middle of moving.” She turned and pointed. “Head down that hall. Charlie’s office is last on the left. You can’t miss it.” Kelly gave them a look. “It’s the biggest and messiest one.”

“I heard that,” Charlie called.

They thanked Kelly and followed the sound of Charlie’s voice down the hall.

The walls had wood paneling on them, and the floor was linoleum tile that had once been white, apparently, but had taken on a yellowish tint. Old file cabinets lined the hallway, and cheap fluorescent lighting hung overhead.

“There he is.” Charlie stood behind his desk in the mess of his office. Three chairs faced the desk, and two of them had stacks of paperwork on them. The floor was littered with boxes. “See all the trouble we went to, finding these files for you?”

Tim took in the office. “I just figured it was the maid’s week off.”

Charlie laughed. “And how are you, Moira?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. Let me take you to the interrogation room. We’ve got the files we could find and the taped interview. There’s a VCR set up in there for you when you’re ready.”

Moira watched Charlie move his hulking frame, all six feet four inches of it, around the desk as he led them out of his office. He’d been the star basketball player in high school and had gotten a partial ride to State on an athletic scholarship. He had planned a career in sports—if not playing at the professional level, at least coaching or scouting. Fortune hadn’t favored him in college, though. He’d torn the anterior cruciate ligament, the death knell for basketball players. But he had stayed in school to get his degree in criminal justice, and found a home in the police department.

Charlie showed them into the interrogation room. An oblong table stood in the middle. Three boxes, all open, sat on the table. There were papers and folders jutting out of them. A VHS cassette sat on top of the paperwork.

The walls were gray, and a camera pointed at them from the far corner of the room near the ceiling. A TV on a mobile stand sat under the camera.

“Have at it,” Charlie said. “And give me a call if you need anything.”

Tim produced the three by five school photo and handed it to him. “Here’s a picture of Billy.”

Charlie nodded. “What do you know about the kid? Does he have any friends? Does he play sports? Does he go to Beeler or Jaggard?”

“He’s thirteen,” Moira said. “So he’s probably in Jaggard now.”

“We don’t know much else about him.” Tim pulled out one of his business cards and scribbled the number on the back. “Here’s his Dad’s number. Jackie’s his name.”

“Good deal.” Charlie took the card. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Charlie shut the door behind him.

“Tape?” Moira said.

“Yeah.” Tim put it in the VCR. “Get ready. This is going to be freaky.”

They sat and Tim hit PLAY when his cell buzzed.

Michelle calling.

“One second.” He stood and left the room.

Moira paused the tape. On the monitor, the screen showed the interrogation room. The table appeared to be in the same place. A young boy sat in the chair she was in. Moira shivered as a chill tracked down her spine. The boy stared vacantly.

Probably in shock from having just watched his family murder each other.

* * * *

Outside the room, Tim said, “Hey, hon.”

“How are you? Been busy, I guess.”

“Um, yeah.” He realized he hadn’t called her yet today. He hadn’t had to remember to call anybody in a long time.

She asked, “So what’s going on?”

“A lot.” He gave her an abridged version of the day’s events, ending with Billy’s disappearance.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Tim’s head was spinning. Eddie and Stan were at the house. He and Moira were here, but there was a lot of paper.

“We could use your help. Come on down to the station. The old one.”

“Great. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too, babe.”

Tim hung up and walked back into the interrogation room to find that Moira had changed seats, and was now sitting along the wall. She shifted, looking unsettled.

“I am wearing deodorant,” Tim said.

“I’m not going to sit in the same seat he did.” Moira pointed at the screen. “Not while we watch this.”

Tim looked up at the monitor and saw Eamon Moriarty for the first time. The boy was only ten years old on this video, and he looked like a toddler next to the table. Tim recalled hearing from someone, probably Mrs. Dilworth, that Eamon had been small for his age. The perfect target for a bullying older brother.

“Before we start this,” he said, “Michelle’s coming to help us look through the files. She’ll be here in twenty minutes or so.”

“Should we hold off on the tape then?”

Tim considered it. Then he thought of Billy Rosselli. “No. We’ve gotta move on this.”

Moira unpaused the tape.

Eamon sat at the table with his hands folded. He was swinging his legs under the table.

Two men entered the room. The first was dressed in a shirt, tie and khakis. He sat on the lower part of the screen, with his back to the camera. Tim didn’t recognize him, but assumed him to be the cop. The other man was a bodybuilder and wore sweats and gave Eamon a big hug. Eamon barely responded. The bodybuilder sat next to Eamon.

“That has to be the uncle.” Moira checked her notes. “His name’s … Sean McKenna.”

“Hello, Eamon,” the cop said, his voice sounding far away and echoing. “I’m Officer Barnes.”

Eamon looked up at Barnes, then sheepishly away. He nodded twice.

Sean chimed in. “Officer Barnes has to talk to you. Is that okay?”

Eamon looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, with his head lowered. “Is my brother dead?”

Barnes cleared his throat. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry.”

Eamon said nothing.

“Would you mind if Officer Barnes asks you some questions?”

“That’s gotta be the uncle,” Moira said.

Tim nodded, transfixed. Something was off about this kid. He didn’t seem to be grieving. Of course, he could still have been in shock. Tim wasn’t sure how many hours after the murders this interview had taken place.

The boy said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Eamon …” Sean sounded surprised. He hugged Eamon’s shoulders.

“First of all,” Barnes told the kid, “I want to make sure you’re okay. Are you hurt in any way?”

Eamon nodded. “William beats me up.”

Tim noted the use of the present tense in that statement. But he also recalled Evan Ronan telling him that no one had discovered any evidence of trauma to Eamon’s body. If William had ever beaten him up, it hadn’t been for days before the Massacre.

“Did he hit you at all today?” Barnes asked.

“No. Today he just called me names. Earlier on.”

“What did he call you?”

“He called me a fag. He always called me a fag.”

“Why did he do that?”

Eamon appeared to think about his answer. “Because he was an asshole.”

Under any other circumstance, it would have been funny to hear a ten-year-old use the word “asshole.” Tim thought Eamon was being pretty callous, especially considering that his brother was dead. Even when you don’t get along with family, you’re still upset when they die. This kid was weird.

“How was he an asshole?”

Sean squeezed Eamon’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You can tell Officer Barnes everything.”

Eamon looked from his uncle to Barnes. Then he looked down at his hands. “I called Daddy and told him that William wasn’t doing his school work and that Mommy was letting him not do his school work.”

“Why did you do that?” Barnes asked.

“Because he wasn’t doing his school work.”

“Did that bother you?”

The kid nodded. “I always did mine. And Mom thought he was better than me. But he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. And he kept making fun of me all the time. But Mom never listened.”

“I know what you mean. I had an older brother like that.”

Barnes let that sink in for a moment.

“So what time did your Dad get home tonight?”

“After work. I don’t know.”

“What time does he usually get home?”

“I don’t know.”

“What happened tonight when he got home?”

Eamon looked at his uncle.

Sean said, “It’s okay. You can tell Officer Barnes. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Mommy and Daddy got into a fight in the kitchen.”

“What were they fighting about?” Barnes asked.

Eamon hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess it was about William not doing his work.”

“You didn’t hear what they were fighting about?”

Eamon shook his head. “No. No, no, I didn’t.”

Barnes scribbled something on the legal pad in front of him.

Moira paused the tape. “I didn’t even see that pad in front of Barnes.”

“Yeah, the camera angle,” Tim said. “We need to find it.”

“Let’s start digging.”

They both took a box. Tim leafed through his and saw nothing resembling a legal pad. After opening the folders and finding only police forms and official-looking documents, he backtracked through the box to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he moved onto the next box. He flipped through that and pulled out a few notebooks, but couldn’t find any legal pads.

“Here.” Moira found paper torn from a legal pad, stapled together. The top page was dated, and there were notes scribbled in all directions.

Eamon Moriarty was written under the date and underscored.

“The first thing under the name reads…” Moira squinted her eyes, trying to make it out. “Fight between M and D. Eamon lying.”

“That’s gotta be it,” Tim said.

“I didn’t think the kid was lying, though.”

“He definitely was.”

Moira rewound the tape, and they replayed Eamon’s reaction several times.

Tim said, “He’s way too emphatic about his answer. Why wouldn’t he just say no?”

“Maybe he’s afraid he’ll get into trouble. Maybe he’s embarrassed to tell what they were fighting about. Maybe he was yelled at for eavesdropping before.”

“He doesn’t seem scared, though.”

Moira hit PLAY again, and Barnes asked, “So were they just yelling at each other first?”

Eamon nodded.

“And where were you sitting when this happened?”

“I was in the other room, watching TV.”

“The room connected to the kitchen?” Barnes asked.

“Yes.”

Tim paused the tape. “M, there’s no way he didn’t hear what they were saying. The kitchen and the family room are next to each other and there’s no wall between. You would hear everything.”

Tim hit PLAY.

“And at some point, did they start hitting each other?” Barnes asked.

Eamon’s lip quivered. “Yes.”

“Did you see them fight?”

Eamon nodded, keeping his eyes on the table in front of him.

“What happened next? Did Billy come downstairs?” Barnes asked.

“His name’s William.”

Barnes folded his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry, Eamon. Did William come into the kitchen at some point?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what happened?”

Eamon choked on his words. The man next to him watched him for a moment, then gave him another hearty hug.

Barnes leaned back in his chair. “Would you like to take a break, Eamon?”

“Yes.”

Barnes left the room.

Tim pointed at the screen. “Camera’s still rolling.”

Sean and Eamon sat in silence.

“Did Mrs. Dilworth say the McKennas lived nearby?” Tim asked.

Moira nodded. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we should talk to Eamon.”

“Yeah, good luck.”

“We can ask Eamon if he used to hide in certain places. Maybe if he ever saw anything in the house, out of the ordinary.”