Where Truth Lies (16 page)
T
he lines on Ellie Colburn’s face and the perpetual slump of her shoulders attested that life hadn’t been easy for her. Barely past her sixtieth birthday, she looked two decades older.
Arthritic fingers gripped her front door as she inspected her visitor. “What do you want, Matt?”
Not the friendliest greeting in the world, but at least she hadn’t slammed the door in his face. “Good afternoon, Ellie. I was hoping you’d have a little time to talk to me.”
Suspicious eyes studied him. “About what?”
“Steven Hatfield.”
“The man is dead. Can’t you let him rest in peace?”
“I mean no disrespect, Ellie, but as you may have heard, I’m investigating Steven’s murder.”
“I heard.”
“That’s why I’m here—not because I think that you killed Steven,” he added quickly when she started to close the door, “but because there is a possibility that his death was linked to Felicia’s disappearance.”
The door slowly reopened. “Who told you that?”
“May I come in? Please? I don’t think we should discuss this on the front porch, do you?”
She opened the door to let him in, but didn’t invite him into the living room. She seemed content to stay where they were, in a small foyer with a credenza against the wall and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The house smelled good, like freshly cut balsam. She was impeccable herself, in inexpensive but well-pressed chinos, a crisp white shirt and sneakers.
“I understand that Steven was asking questions around town regarding the circumstances of Felicia’s disappearance. I was wondering if he came to see you.”
“What if he did? What are you going to do about it? Pick up where he left off and get yourself killed, too?”
Now that was an interesting comment. “You think that’s why Steven was killed? Because he got too nosy?”
“What difference does it make what I think? Nobody believes me anyway. When I found out that Steven was killed, I told the police about his visit. They took down every word I said and then they did zilch.”
“Who did you talk to?”
“Deputy Montgomery. He said he would talk to the chief, but he didn’t. Or if he did, Josh didn’t care enough to follow through.”
“I’ll find out if Rob talked to the chief, Ellie. I promise. In the meantime, are you willing to help me?”
She gave him a long, level look. This was not a woman you could easily intimidate. She’d had a tough life and had survived the worst, but he saw the spark of interest in those calm brown eyes, and something else, something he suspected she hadn’t experienced in more than twenty years—hope.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you,” she said after a while. “People say you’re smart, and hardheaded.”
Matt smiled. “My father will vouch for that.”
Her features softened. “Are you going to get my boy out of that cracker house?”
“I’d like to try.”
“He’s all I have, you know. They took my spirit away when they carted him off.”
There was still some of that old spirit left. “Has he ever tried to tell you what happened that night?”
“He doesn’t talk anymore. Either he can’t, or he doesn’t want to. The doctors say that’s what happens sometimes after a traumatic shock. That’s Dusty’s way of not reliving what he saw.”
He noticed that she said
what he saw,
not
what he did.
“You seem convinced that your son is innocent.”
“I
know
my son is innocent. The boy may have been a little intense at times, especially around girls, we all know that, but he would never harm anyone, least of all Felicia. He worshipped that girl.” Her expression turned bitter. “Not that she deserved it. That little witch was rotten through and through.”
“How’s Dusty doing now?”
Ellie shrugged. “He has occasional nightmares, but all he does is scream. He never says anything. He reads a lot, though, comic books mostly, as many as I can bring him.”
“You visit him often?”
“Every day. He’s my boy. He needs me.”
“Anyone else come to see him?”
“Steven went, just once. I told him it was useless, but he insisted, so I took him there myself.”
“What happened?”
“What I told him would happen. Nothing. Dusty didn’t say a word. He just sat there during the entire visit, looking through his comic books while Steven tried to make him talk. I never saw Steven again after that.”
“Did he tell you why he was so interested in Felicia’s disappearance?”
“I asked him. He gave me some cockamamie story about acquainting himself with New Hope’s past.”
“You didn’t buy it?”
“Hell, no, but I wasn’t complaining. I figured that maybe, if he poked around long enough, he might find something that could clear my boy. That’s why I went to the police after he was killed. I thought something smelled fishy, but I didn’t know what.”
“Do you know if Steven talked to anyone else about this?”
“He would have liked to talk to Cliff Barnard, but Cliff died about eight years ago.”
“That’s the man who saw Dusty and Felicia on Route 32 together.”
“That’s right. She was hitchhiking. At eleven o’clock at night.” Ellie shook her head in disapproval. “The things that girl did. She drove her mother crazy. It’s a wonder she wasn’t killed any sooner.”
“You think she was killed?”
“A pretty girl like that doesn’t stay gone for twenty years. Somebody would have seen her.”
That was the general consensus. “So, at the moment, you are the only one who sees Dusty?” he asked.
“Except for Father Donnelly. He’s been so good to Dusty. Visits him every week, without fail. I don’t think he missed a single week in the last twenty years.”
“How can that be? Father Donnelly was transferred eighteen or nineteen years ago, wasn’t he? And didn’t return to New Hope until recently?”
Ellie nodded. “A year after Dusty was moved to the psychiatric hospital, Father Donnelly was sent to Harrisburg. He stayed there for a few years before being transferred to a small parish in Lancaster County. Eventually, he came back to New Hope, as a pastor.”
“And while he was away, he still came to visit Dusty? Even when he was in Harrisburg?”
“Yes, sir. He never missed a visit. Can you believe that? A few years ago, he gave Dusty his personal bible, the one he was given when he came out of the seminary. Dusty’s never been very religious, but for some reason, that bible helped him find the faith he never had before. He carries it with him everywhere he goes, and reads it every day. I think it’s brought him some peace,” she said with a knowing nod.
“I’m sure it has.” Matt looked at his watch. “I won’t take any more of your time. Thanks for talking to me, Ellie. You were very helpful.”
“You won’t disappear, like Steven did? You’ll keep me informed of what you find out?”
“That’s a promise, Ellie.”
“W
hy don’t you just move into my office?” Josh said sarcastically. “Take over and help yourself to anything you want?”
“Come on, Josh, don’t make it sound as if I’m asking for the moon. All I want is to take a look at Felicia Newman’s file.”
“And you still haven’t told me why you want to do that.”
Might as well tell him, Matt thought. He would cooperate more willingly if he was kept in the loop. “The case could be connected to Hatfield’s murder.”
At those words, Josh’s sarcastic expression vanished. “Where the hell did you hear a crazy thing like that?”
“I’d rather keep my sources confidential. The point is that a few months ago, Steven Hatfield became interested in the disappearance of Felicia Newman and started poking around for information.”
“That’s hogwash. If he was poking around, I’d have heard about it. Or one of my deputies would have. In fact, this department is the first place Hatfield would have come to for information.”
“But he went to see Ellie Colburn, and Ellie came here right after she heard about Steven’s murder. Rob didn’t tell you about that?”
Josh nodded. “He mentioned it to me.”
“What did you do about it?”
“What was there to do? Ellie Colburn’s agenda was always to get her son out of that mental hospital. Anything she says has to be taken with a grain of salt.”
“Maybe you should have followed through.”
Josh bristled. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that if you had investigated her claim, you would have found out that at Steven’s request, she took him to see Dusty. There will be a record of that visit.”
“And just what does that prove? That Steven Hatfield was nosy? Or maybe he was one of those amateur sleuths who think they’re better than police investigators.”
“And maybe, as he kept digging, he found something that the police didn’t. That could change everything.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Think, Josh. If Dusty Colburn is innocent and Steven was investigating a case everyone thought had been solved, the real killer must have been squirming.”
“Assuming that Hatfield had found something to squirm about.”
“Now you’re with me.”
“No, I’m not, because if he was in possession of new evidence, he would have gone to the police and we would have started a new investigation.”
“Unless Hatfield chose to keep quiet and cash in on what he knew.”
“You mean blackmail?”
“That would explain the quarter of a million dollars Grace found in his kitchen cabinet, don’t you think?”
Josh seemed to process that statement for a second or two. “You’re reaching.”
“We won’t know that for sure until I start looking into the original investigation.” He leaned back in his chair, feeling as if he had scored a goal. “Now, how about that file?”
Josh let out a long-suffering sigh, as though he was doing Matt a huge favor. Then, turning his head toward a door, he yelled, “Montgomery!”
Rob stuck his head into the opening. “Yes, Chief?”
“Bring me the file on Felicia Newman.”
Rob looked from Josh to Matt and back to his boss. “Felicia Newman? What for?”
“Matt wants it.”
“That case was closed twenty years ago.”
“I know that, Montgomery!” Josh said, exasperated. “Just get it and give it to Matt.” As Rob disappeared, the chief pointed a finger at Matt. “I want that file back on my desk in twenty-four hours.”
“Thanks, Josh. You’re a real prince.”
A cold front had moved in during rush hour, bringing temperatures into the forties and sending shoppers scurrying for warmer surroundings.
Wishing she had packed a warmer coat, Grace raised the collar of her leather jacket and kept her head down as she walked toward the church, where she hoped to find Father Donnelly preparing for the eight-o’clock evening mass. Matt hadn’t believed that the priest would be able to convince Bernie to go into protective custody, but knowing what she knew about Father Donnelly, she felt differently. And if he couldn’t help, at least she had tried.
As she neared the parking lot, the back door to the church flew open and a man ran out. It was Bernie, heading toward Ferris Street.
“Bernie!”
He didn’t stop, or acknowledge her presence in any way. How could he not have heard her? He was only a few feet ahead of her. “Bernie!” she called again. “Wait!”
He turned the corner without looking back.
She stood in the church’s empty parking lot for a moment, looking at the old stone building, remembering Denise’s words:
“Bernie never stepped into that church again, not even for Steven’s memorial service.”
What had brought him back tonight? And why hadn’t he stopped?
The door to the church stood ajar. On impulse, Grace walked up the steps and went in. The room was empty, dark and smelled of incense. The only light came from a row of candles, their flickering flames casting oddly-shaped shadows on the walls. Pews on each side of the aisle led to the altar, where a tall pillar candle burned.
“Father Donnelly?”
The silence turned oppressive, and the unpleasant sensation she’d had earlier seemed to intensify.
“Father Donnelly? Are you there? It’s Grace McKenzie.”
Standing in front of the altar, she looked up at the statue of Jesus on the cross. She felt both apprehensive and foolish and didn’t know why.
“Are you looking for me, Ms. McKenzie?”
Grace let out a small cry and spun around. Father Donnelly stood a few feet from her, his expression serene, his hands folded across his midriff. “Father.” She placed a hand over her heart. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. Have you been here long?”
“Yes. No. I mean, I called your name several times.”
“I just stepped out for a moment. I didn’t realized you were here until I walked back in.” He smiled. “What can I do for you, Ms. McKenzie?”
Her heartbeat was slowly returning to normal. “I just saw Bernie come out of the church and I was hoping to find out if—”
He frowned. “Bernie Buckman?”
“Yes. I saw him running out of the back door.”
He shook his head. “You must have been mistaken. Bernie wasn’t here. He hasn’t set foot in this church since his mother died.”
“I’m not mistaken,” she said maybe a little too sharply. “It
was
Bernie. He ran out of that door.” She pointed. “The same one I used to come in.”
“There was someone in a back pew, praying, but it wasn’t Bernie.” His smile was gentle, comforting. “What’s bothering you, Ms. McKenzie?”
“I don’t understand why Bernie didn’t stop when I called his name.”
“Maybe whoever it was didn’t hear you.”
“He heard me, Father.”
“I don’t think Bernie would have ignored you. I’m aware of what you did the other night. I talked to his sister the following day and she told me how grateful she and Bernie were for your heroic action.”
He closed the distance that separated them and together, they started walking down the main aisle, toward the front door. “Bernie is a good man. He was once very devoted to the church, and to God. His mother’s death changed all that. I tried to help, but…” He lifted both arms and let them drop in a gesture of helplessness. “Sometimes even the best efforts fall short of our expectations. I would like to believe that Bernie was here, that he was ready to make peace with God and with the church, but as I said, I was at the altar for nearly an hour, praying, before I went into the sanctuary. If Bernie had been here, I would have seen him.”
How could she doubt him? Men of the cloth didn’t lie. Maybe something had spooked Bernie, forcing him to run out before Father Donnelly returned from the sanctuary. “You must be right. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Father.”
“No need to apologize.” They had reached the door. “However, I am holding you to your promise of attending Sunday mass.”
She would have to make the effort now. She owed him. “I’ll be there. Good night, Father.”
“Good night, Ms. McKenzie.”
She walked out onto the parking lot and took a deep, steadying breath. Hands in her pockets, she headed back toward the gallery where she had left her car. Just before Bridge Street, she turned around for one last look at the spot where she had last seen Bernie.
Father Donnelly was still there, standing in the church doorway.
The gentle, comforting smile was gone.
