Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) (11 page)

"That would be nice."

"Grandpa was frozen to death. He was found stiff as a slate-top pool table in his own backyard. The report also said that he was drunk as hell."

"Doesn't sound like a murder so far. Grandpa has too much to drink, goes in his backyard to take a leak, passes out, and no one finds him till the next day."

"Now that would be a fine explanation except for the other details of the report that I was getting to before you went all freelance on me."

"Sorry. Instincts, you know." Despite all that was happening with Derek, something about speaking with Ralph Fox made him feel calmer. He felt that Ralph's wit and keen mind somehow provided protection, despite the many hours and miles that separated the two friends.

"As I was getting to, while being frozen was the final cause of death, and though being drunk did not help grandpa much, it was the blunt force trauma to his head that did all the dirty work. Grandpa was knocked out with something like a baseball bat, drug outside, and left half naked in a snowdrift. Exposure killed him, but the whack on the head gave Mother Nature a hell of a head start."

"And Jack Bryant was suspected as the person that delivered that whack to the head?"

"He and his mother."

"Mom's involved in this whole mess, too?"

"See, you used the past tense when you said 'was suspected.' Jack still is suspected, but back 20 years ago, his mom was where the police focused most of their attention. Seems she was home when the crime was perpetrated and didn't have any alibi excepting claiming she was asleep when grandpa stumbled on home. That didn't sit right with the investigators. They figured that either she done the whacking and the dragging or certainly would have heard someone else whacking and dragging. Either she was the killer or was covering for the killer."

"And that killer may have been her son, my client."

"And no mother can ever be forced to testify against her own children. So when the investigators started looking at Jack as a suspect, old Mama went silent. Turned out that she was nursing a couple of busted up ribs, and the investigators figured that she was in too much pain or had too many pain killers in her body to have done the whacking. Everything pointed to Jack, including fingerprints on an aluminum baseball bat."

"Which, I'm sure were easily explained. Jack probably said his prints were all over the bat since it was his bat that he probably used in Little League."

"Precisely correct," Ralph commended. "Not to go down a tangent, but I never did like aluminum baseball bats. Kind of takes the tradition out of the game. That's a conversation better had over a few cocktails, I suppose. Anyway, the police did what they could to pin the murder on Jack, but him being a minor at the time gave him all sorts of legal protection. Once his mom got him a lawyer, the police were left with nothing but suspicions to go on.

"After a few weeks of asking around town about the relationship between Jack and grandpa, they were slapped with a defamation of character lawsuit and were issued a cease and desist order. Shut down the case like a coffin top closing on its resident. My friend, who was familiar with the case but not one of the investigators, told me that the file and all the evidence was stored away in the department's basement and never looked at again."

"Doesn't prove that Jack did the whacking, though."

"No, it does not," Ralph said. "However, there was one piece of evidence that did prove that Jack did the deed."

"And that was?"

"Discovered by an illegal search. Your client, it seems, wrote out a three-page confession that he stored in his sock drawer in his bedroom. Don't ask me what the letter said exactly, just know that Jack said that he killed his dad, how he killed him, and why he killed him. It was one-half confession and the other half suicide note. Jack was gonna jump off some cliff and onto rocks in order to kill himself. Not sure why he didn't make that leap, but he obviously had a change of heart. One of the investigators was digging through Jack's clothes when he found the letter. He turned it in as evidence but since he did not have a warrant, the evidence was never allowed to see the light of a courtroom.

"There's a whole lot of evidence that points to your client being the one that killed his daddy, and he got away with it. You ask any of the investigators who knew anything about it and they'll all tell you the same thing. Jack Bryant killed Luke Bryant but will never go to jail for the murder."

"This case just keeps getting more interesting," Derek said as he pulled up the driveway to the nursing home. He was greeted by dozens of police cars, their lights flashing an angry red. "Listen Ralph, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your information. And I promise you that when this case is over, I will drive up your way, buy you all the drinks you can handle, and fill you in on everything about this case. But right now, I am in the parking lot of a nursing home where a man I interviewed yesterday was murdered."

"That is peculiar."

"You like that word, don't you?"

"Peculiar?"

"That's the one."

"I don't use many of those polysyllabic words, but I do like using peculiar."

"Last thing then I have to let you go. You said that someone else was recently digging into Jack Bryant's past. You find anything more on that?"

"Believe it or not, Cole, I do have a full-time job protecting the fine citizens of my town. But I will do some more digging in my free time. That I promise you."

"Thanks again, Ralph. Call me anytime."

Derek had no sooner ended the call with Ralph when his iPhone vibrated again.

"Derek, it's John. Where are you?"

"I'm in the parking lot, Father. You still inside?"

"Yes. You need to get in here."

"Not sure if the police will let a freelance detective waltz through their crime scene."

"That's why you need to tell them that you are my associate. I already told them that you may be joining me here. Just tell them that you are my associate, and you were asked to meet me in Ron's room. Okay?"

"By associate, do you mean fellow priest?"

"Yes, Father Derek, so act holy."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Father Flannigan is waiting for you in room 333."

The State Trooper offered to show Derek to the third floor, but Derek declined the offer, saying that he had visited Ron recently and was familiar with the layout of the third floor.

"Church getting pretty progressive, huh, Father?" the trooper asked.

"Pardon me?" Derek said, pulling out the most polite term he could think of instead of his normal response of 'what?'

"You're not wearing your black shirt and white collar. Thought you priests had to wear them whenever you were in public?"

"Well," Derek stumbled, "my white collars all got messed up in the wash and the black shirt just doesn't look good when you try to shove in a piece of folded up paper in the little collar holders."

"I suppose not," the trooper said. "So you're sure you know your way, Father?"

"I'm fine. And, um, bless you my child."

Derek was still limping in pain as he exited the third floor elevator. Immediately, he could see several sheriffs and troopers assembled outside on the porch as well flanking both sides of the hallway. Yellow police tape stretched across the porch door, and as he passed the windows that overlooked the porch, Derek could see the body of Ron White slumped hard to his right in his chair beside his telescope. Though the lighting was poor, Derek could tell that the left side of Ron's head had suffered severe trauma.

Father John Flannigan was standing in Ron's room, speaking on his cell phone in comforting tones to someone who Derek assumed to be a family member of Ron White. Two troopers were going through Ron's dresser drawers, nightstand, and his MacBook Pro, apparently looking for anything that would shed light on why Ron was murdered and, more importantly, who the killer was.

Derek stood and watched how the troopers rummaged through potential evidence. He cringed when a trooper opened the lid on Ron's MacBook, fumbled with the keys, then closed the lid and put the laptop into sleep mode.

"You may want to save everything that was running on that Mac," he said to one of the troopers. "By the time forensics gets to inspect it, the battery may die and anything that Ron was working on will be lost."

"Not sure who you are," one obviously annoyed trooper said to Derek, "but our tech guys can strip a hard drive of data from a computer that's been at a bottom of the ocean for six months. You do your job, and we'll do ours. Speaking of that, what is your job, and why are you in this room?"

"He's my associate pastor," John said, his call having ended. "This is Father Derek. I asked him to join me to offer any counseling that any of the other residents may need."

"My apologies, Father," the trooper said to Derek.

"Um, you are forgiven, my son."

"When will I be able to give last rites to Mr. White?" John asked the trooper.

"I'll go check and see where they are with the body. We're just about done in here. I'll come back and give you a time frame, Father."

The two troopers placed a few items, including Ron's Mac into plastic bags, sealed the bags, and wrote the contents, date, and their names on the sealing tape. John and Derek stood in silence until the troopers finished their work and left the room.

"For someone raised Catholic, you sure make a horrible fake priest.
You are forgiven, my son?
" John said.

"I'm used to listening to priests, not being one. I actually said '
bless you, my child'
to a cop downstairs."

"I don't recognize any of the officers here so either they don't attend church or are from outside the area. I don't think they suspect anything with you, but, just to be on the safe side, leave the blessings to me."

"Deal."

"Ron White was killed sitting out on the porch, looking through his telescope. No one saw a thing. This nursing home is so out of date with technology that the only surveillance cameras are in the admin offices and near their loading docks. Whoever killed Ron may get away with murder," John said, filling Derek in with the little information that had been shared with him.

"Do the troopers have any leads? Any ideas at all?"

"Not that they shared with me," John said as he sat on the edge of Ron's bed. "Not that the authorities are known to share their investigation with local priests, but when I asked about the murderer, they told me that they're just gathering evidence and will be conducting a press conference soon. That means that don't have any ideas yet, right?"

"Tough to say," Derek said. "If Ron was just murdered and unless the killer is an obvious suspect, it's way too early to expect them to have any answers."

"I suppose."

"How was the victim, I mean, how was Ron killed?"

John took a long, deep breath before answering. "His skull was crushed on one side. They believe he was hit with some hard, blunt instrument."

"Like an aluminum baseball bat?" Derek questioned.

"I don't know what was used, but why did you suggest an aluminum baseball bat?"

"I'll tell you later when we have more time to chat."

John and Derek talked for a few minutes about Maggie and Robby and their relationship with Ron.

"I guess I should tell them what happened here tonight," Derek said.

"We'll tell them together," John insisted. "I don't like knowing what's happening to Maggie and Robby and not being able to help them. I was thinking about asking you to tell them about our conversations and to let them know that you don't have any suspicions about me negatively effecting Robby. That is, of course, as long as you don't have suspicions about me."

"Father," Derek said, looking John directly in his eyes, "I honestly don't think you would hurt a fly, or that you ever said anything about ghosts or spirits or the Phillip Experiment to Robby."

"Thank you."

Several minutes after he had left the room, the trooper returned to tell John that he'd be able to administer last rites in no more than five minutes.

"Our team is just about done out on the porch, Father. My captain wanted me to tell you he is sorry to keep you waiting so long."

"Tell him to take all the time he needs. Father Derek and I are in no rush. Isn't that so, Father Derek?"

"Yes. No hurry on our end."

Five minutes later, the trooper returned again and escorted John to the porch.

"Father Derek, if you don't mind, please stay here and watch my phone in case a family member calls."

"No problem, Father."

Once Derek was alone, he closed the door to Ron's room and began his own search for evidence. Like the troopers before him, he found nothing of interest in any drawer, under the mattress or tucked away on a sheet of paper serving as a bookmark in some nondescript book. Derek checked for any loose screws on the heating ducts and found that each was tightly secured, and the paint covering the screw heads was unmarked.

Derek moved his search into the bathroom. There, he quickly searched though the small bag of toiletries that Ron had placed near the sink. He then removed the cover from the toilet's reservoir and found only water and the expected plumbing parts.
 

It was when he spotted the scratched paint on the screw heads that secured the heating vent in the bathroom that Derek got excited. He moved out of the room to steal a quick glance down the hallway to make sure no one was heading back to Ron's room.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, Derek removed his Leatherman multi-tool from his back pocket, pried open the Phillips head screwdriver, and carefully backed the bottom two screws out. Once the vent allowed enough play, he reached his hand into the vent and felt a notebook. He quickly pulled the composition notebook from the vent and stuffed it into the back of his pants, being sure to cover the bulge with his coat.

As he heard voices entering Ron's room, Derek flushed the toilet and used the flushing sounds to cover any noises he made while he replaced the screws and sealed up the vent.