An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1) (26 page)

Arthur
Kenny’s lawyer had kept telling Newton that his client would not answer
Newton’s questions. Arthur sat there in the interview room with his head bowed,
his baldness showing at that angle. And then his head snapped up.

“This is
ridiculous,” he said, and his lawyer tried to stop him saying anything else by
placing his hand on his arm but Arthur Kenny shook him off and carried on. “I
didn’t strangle that boy. I did run him down, though. I’ll admit to that. But I
didn’t strangle him. I mean, I ran over him but he must have been sitting in
the road or something. He went under the car. I didn’t see him.” And the lawyer
became red in the face and he threw up his arms in surrender.

“I
thought we agreed I would handle this,” the lawyer said. “You don’t need to say
anything that might incriminate you.”

“Aw, to
hell with that. I didn’t murder that boy. I’ll admit to running him down and
that’s that. It was an accident. An accident. I’m not sitting here and be
accused of murder.
It’s
plain ridiculous is what it
is.”

Newton
left him enough space to say more but Arthur’s head went down again and the
lawyer’s head shook from side to side.  

“We have
evidence says the boy was strangled and we can place you at the scene, now by
your own admission,” Newton said, and now the lawyer’s head went down. “We also
have witness evidence that you were there and you conspired to dispose of the
body with the help of others. You think a jury is going to believe you? Go
ahead and take your chance. You admit to it now and you’d be looking at a
reduced sentence. You deny killing that boy and you’re convicted, you’re
looking at a whole longer stay in jail. Might never get out. So, what do you
want to do?”

“I’m not
confessing to doing something I didn’t do. I’d rather take my chance with a
jury. I’m not a murderer. It was an accident.”

“Okay,”
Newton said. “Interview terminated at…” He looked at the clock on the wall.
“…eleven forty-seven.” He turned off the tape and stood. The lawyer was
rearranging papers in his briefcase and Newton addressed him. “You’ve got some
work to do with your client. I’ll leave you a spell to figure things out and
I’ll be back.” Before he reached the door Arthur Kenny spoke again.

“You
spoke to the little boy? I mean, he’ll be grown up now, but—”

“Little
boy?” Newton walked back to the table and his finger was over the button on the
recorder again but he didn’t press it.

“Little
boy who was there. I saw him hiding behind the tree and then he was gone. He
must’ve seen something… everything. He can testify for me.”

“Well,
this gets better and better,” the lawyer said. “Arthur, listen to me. I can
still help you but not if you won’t take my advice. You don’t need to say any
more.”

“Oh, shut
up,” Arthur said. And then he turned to Newton. “I’m telling you there was a
little boy there. He saw me run over that boy. He must have seen me not
strangle him.”

Newton
wanted to say there was no little boy but he just left the room to the sound of
the lawyer mumbling desperate appeals about his client being tired and hungry.
He went straight to his desk and dug his hands into a box. He came out with the
picture that old man Filmore had drawn. He saw the four stick figures and the
smaller shape of Ryan. His eyes then studied the other side of the road. The
trees. One tree with a pair of eyes drawn on it. He folded the picture and ran
to the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out. His footing was unsure on the
fresh snowfall but he didn’t slow down. He jumped into his SUV and he released
the parking brake and the vehicle was moving before the engine started.

“Where’s
Jen?”

“Hey, you
didn’t stamp the snow from your feet,” Mallory said.

“Damn the
snow.”

“It’s
just that when Jen gets back from shopping she’s going to be annoyed about the
snow in the house and she’s apt to be blaming me and I’m already in the
doghouse for trailing it in earlier, and—”

“I said
to hell with the snow.” Newton pushed past Mallory and walked through the
house. Mallory paused a moment and then followed. When he caught up Newton had stopped
in the living room and he had his back to Mallory. There was a well-made fire
and Newton stood close to it and looked at himself in the mirror that was above
the fireplace and he glanced at Mallory’s reflection. The room smelled of
burning trees and Newton thought it smelled of summer and winter at the same
time.

“Sit
down,” Newton said, and Mallory sat. “When you married Jen you became my son.
My own son don’t talk to me no more so… you’re my son.”

“Appreciate
that.”

“Shut up.
You’re a poor substitute for a real son but for Jen’s benefit I’ve tolerated
you. Truth is, you ain’t worth half a thimble of shit. But for Jen’s sake…
well, I’ve said it. Thing is, parents have a responsibility to their children
and sadly for me I inherited that responsibility for you when Jen lost her
senses and married you. But I’ve got myself a dilemma.” He continued to look at
his own self in the mirror as he slowly removed the paper from his pocket.
“I’ve wondered for twenty-five years how this would end. That’s my dilemma
here.” He unfolded the paper, the drawing done by the crazy old man Filmore. He
held it down by his side. “I guess I’m looking for help. Help understanding all
this.” Mallory didn’t say a word. “I think I understand but maybe you can help
me. And help me solve my dilemma. You see, I’ve got a suspect down at the
station who has admitted to being at the scene of Ryan Novak’s death. He’s
admitted running him over.”

“That’s
good, no?”

“Didn’t I
tell you to shut up?” Newton turned around to face Mallory, whose face was pale
apart from the faint remnant shine of a bruise on the left side of his face
which Ward had left there. “But according to the ME, Ryan was strangled to
death. Thing is, our suspect denies doing that. And, you know what, I know he
didn’t do it. But he was there and things don’t look good for him. The first
part of my dilemma is this: do I let a man who I know is innocent go down for a
crime he didn’t commit?”

Newton
handed the drawing to Mallory. “You were there,” Newton said.

Mallory
looked at the drawing. He held it in both hands and stared down at it and he
took a deep breath and then took another before he said, “I don’t know what
you’re talking about, Dad.” He glanced back at the drawing and shrugged and
tried to hand it back to Newton.

“Don’t
you call me
Dad.
”

“Look,
what you doing showing me a picture? What is this? Are you okay?”

“You were
there. You would have seen it all. But you didn’t say nothing. All these years.
You didn’t say nothing. You were the last person to see Ryan alive. It’s what
you always said. A passing motorist saw you together. Thought you were friends.
But you didn’t say nothing about this. Never once said you’d seen Ryan run
over. Why is that? Why didn’t you say nothing about that? Look at the picture.
You’re there if you look hard enough.”

“You got
the guy did
it.
”

“Why
didn’t you say anything?”

“You got
the guy, didn’t you? He murdered Ryan. You got your guy. You can wrap this up.”

“Didn’t I
already tell you he didn’t kill Ryan?” Newton was breathing heavily now and his
hand found the tight place in his chest. “You can’t neck a chicken,” Newton
said, and his shoulders slumped. “Why are you so squeamish about wringing a
chicken’s neck, big man like you? My God, Mallory. I know what you did. Don’t you
dare deny it neither or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before you can
blink.”

“I know
you. What you got there?” Percy Mallory says to Ryan. But Ryan ignores him and
keeps walking at a pace. Percy scuttles up behind him and grabs at his arm and
tugs him so he spins around.

“I said
what have you got?” And then he sees the tears running down the smaller boy’s
face. “Hey, you crying.”

Ryan
turns away sharply but he doesn’t walk away, just keeps his back to Percy while
Percy circles him to get a look at those tears.

“Stand
still, will
ya
? You crying.”

Ryan
keeps his back to Percy but the bigger boy grabs his hand, which is clutching
something, and then Ryan turns sharply and shakes the hand free.

“What you
got?” Percy says again, and he makes another grab at the hand and this time his
grip is stronger than the smaller boy’s and he takes the hand with both his own
and he sticks his thumb in Ryan’s grip and starts to peel off his fingers as
Ryan tries futilely to resist. Ryan tries to pull away but he can’t so he jerks
his whole body right and then left as his small feet scramble on the road
beneath him but his hand is fast caught and it’s beginning to hurt under
Percy’s grip. And then Percy bends back one of Ryan’s fingers further than it
should go back and Ryan’s hand opens and a five-dollar bill falls out.

“Money,”
Percy gasps as Ryan turns and starts to walk away, shaking the pain out of his
hand. Percy stoops to pick the money up. “Hey, I ain’t taking your money.” He
looks at the money with twinkling eyes. “Unless it’s stole in the first place.
Is it stole?” He’s skipping after Ryan now and he gets in front of him and puts
his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and stops him dead and Ryan props his chin on his
chest and he cries silently with little involuntary shakes every now and then.

“Who’d
you steal this money from?
It’s
five bucks. Hey, I’m
talking to
ya
. You can’t speak? Somebody stole your
voice?” He hears a car approaching and he steers Ryan off the road with his arm
around his shoulders. “Better get off the road or you’ll get knocked.”

As the
car passes the driver looks at the two boys and smiles and Percy raises an arm
in something of a wave.

“I know
him. I know you. Where you going?” Percy says, and then he sees the fresh
bruising on Ryan’s left cheek. “Hey, you been hit. Come here, let me look.” But
Ryan shakes his head and turns away. “
Lemme
look, I
said.” And Percy clutches the tops of Ryan’s arms so he can’t wriggle away and
he smiles as he says, “Woo. You caught a good one there. I hope you got a few
licks in yourself. My dad always says to hit back and hit back harder. You
catch him with one of your own? Woo, that’s a good one. Gonna turn black and
blue. I can see it’s swelled. Bet it smarts.” He lets go of Ryan and Ryan just
stands there, his head down and his eyes about closed. “Bet you stole this five
bucks off them that did you that. You want it back you have to fight me for it
seeing as that’s how you come to have gotten it. I’ll let you take the first
swing.”

Ryan just
hangs there like he’s on a clothesline but his own clothes are a few days
dirty. Percy pokes the little boy’s arm and Ryan jerks it away and wipes the
snot from his nose on his sleeve.

“C’mon,
have a shot,” Percy says, and he sticks his face in front of Ryan’s and he taps
his own chin, goading the smaller boy. “In the face if you want.” But Ryan just
shakes his head.

“You are
fighting me for this money I said so take your swing or you forfeit and I
swing. It’s your choice. Hit me. Go on. Hit me.” The little boy just stands
there so then Percy starts to jab at Ryan’s chest. “Hit me, boxer. Box me. Hit
me.” And he jabs and jabs but Ryan takes a step back every time a bit further
into the road. Then Percy gobs on his hand and wipes the gob on his forehead
and straightens out the bill and slaps it on there. “Here, you got a target.”
And he gently swipes the side of Ryan’s face with his spit hand. Ryan wipes his
face and anger flashes briefly in his tormented eyes. “Hit me,” Percy says, and
then he starts dancing around like Muhammad Ali. He darts in and out, slapping
a bit harder each time he moves in and Ryan takes another step back and then
another.

Then, as
Percy comes in again, Ryan shoves him with both hands and Percy rocks back and
his eyes widen and he smiles. He resumes his taunting and he dances and slaps,
dances and slaps and this time Ryan lunges and pushes harder and Percy is
caught off balance and he nearly falls over and the smile leaves his face and
he stops dancing.

“I wasn’t
ready. But we’ll count that as your punch. My turn.”

Ryan
doesn’t move but looks at Percy as if he’s transparent. Percy clenches his fist
as tight as a clam and he swings at Ryan and he catches him on the side of his
head. Ryan rolls back and sits messily on the road, the jolt of the punch and
the fall vibrating through his entire tiny frame. Percy peels the five-dollar
bill from his head and says, “I win.” He stuffs the bill in his jeans pocket
and he shakes the tingling out of his hand.

Before
Percy can say anything else Ryan is up on his feet and he charges unsteadily at
Percy, swinging both arms like a windmill and Percy takes a step back and then
lunges at Ryan and his hands find the boy’s throat.

“We
finished and I won,” he says in a gasp. “Money’s mine. Fair and square.”

Ryan
tries to scratch at Percy’s face but Percy leans back so his face is out of
reach and he squeezes harder.

“Hey,
hey. Fight’s over. I won. Fair and square,” and he continues to squeeze and
Ryan snatches at Percy’s shirt and he gets a grip on it but the grip isn’t
strong. “Fair and square. Fair and square,” Percy keeps saying and he keeps
squeezing as his face gets red and ugly and Ryan’s gets bluish and then
something sort of pops under Percy’s thumbs and immediately he lets go and Ryan
folds up and hits the ground like an empty sack and he doesn’t move again.

Percy
looks down at the little boy laid out in front of him and he kicks at his foot.
“Hey, don’t play possum. I know you playing. And I won that five dollars fair
and square and you ain’t getting it back and that’s the end of it. Hey, get up.
Please get up.” A wet patch spreads on the crotch of the little boy’s pants.

Percy
starts to bend down to pull Ryan up but he hears the engine of a car and he
starts to jump around and wave his arms at the little boy. “Hey, you better
move or you’ll get knocked. There’s a car coming.” He beckons Ryan to get up
but the boy doesn’t move. “Hey, come on. Car. You better get up now. Please.
This ain’t funny.” And the growl of the engine is getting closer and Percy
backs away from Ryan and walks backwards off the road, motioning with his hands
for Ryan to get up. “Get up now. This ain’t funny no more.” His bottom lip
starts to stiffen and then to quiver and his eyes become tear-filled and
bloodshot. “Aw, come on. Please get up. I ain’t playing. I ain’t playing no
more. Fair and square. Fair and square.” And then he turns and runs, crying as
he goes.

He can’t make
me do nothing I don’t want to do. I’m not interested in stupid Harvard stupid
Law. I told him but he’s such a—Goddamn it, I’ll show him.
Arthur Kenny,
driving and banging his hands on the steering wheel. Seething. Turning the
rearview mirror to look at himself and growling at his reflection and the
reflection growling back. Invincible Arthur. To be reckoned with. Not a pansy
lawyer, this one. Not Arthur Kenny. He’ll take a sports scholarship. Flexing
his muscles. A lawyer doesn’t have these.
These will take me to the
Superbowl
. Quarterback for the Giants. Goddamn it, father.
No. Hell no.

Ejecting
the cassette tape from his car stereo and tossing it onto the passenger seat
and grabbing another and dropping it into the
footwell
of the car.
Damn it. Damn you, Father, and your stupid Harvard
Law.
Looking at the road ahead. All clear. He reaches down to retrieve the
damn tape. Fingers seeking amongst the scrunched beer cans. He touches the
tape. Grabs it. Sits up. Nothing in the road. But bumping over something and
braking quickly.

Then he
climbs out of the car to see what it is and expects to see a damn stupid stray
dog or something.

He sees
the body of the little boy with just his top half visible, the bottom half
beneath the car, illuminated in blue light from the neon undercar lighting. He
knows he is dead but he doesn’t see any blood and he doesn’t allow his eyes to
dwell on the body for more than a few moments. He casts a look around in a full
circle to see if anybody is about and he sees a small shape over the other side
of the street, hiding behind a tree, but then the shape is gone. He turns back
to face the other side of the street and he sees the house, set back from the
road and maybe obscured by the trees that flank it either side. He turns back to
the other side again and he sees the little shape, a boy, fleeing behind trees
and he thinks to call after him but then thinks again and doesn’t call.

He climbs
back into the car and his first instinct is to drive away so he fumbles with
the gear shift but the car engine is not running. And then he sees, in his
side-view mirror, the patrol car pulling into the street a hundred yards behind
and he slumps in the seat and he puts a hand on his head. He doesn’t feel
invincible anymore. Just feels like he could puke. And then he remembers the
beer cans and he tries to scrape them under the passenger seat out of view and
then the patrol car is stopped behind him, lights flashing, and the cop climbs
out.

“Oh
my—dang. Is he? He’s dead, isn’t he? You hit him? Oh, dang. I’ll call this in.
You felt for a pulse?” Officer Gammond is in Arthur’s face now and he smells
the sour smell on his breath. “Say, you been drinking?”

Arthur
just stands there without voice, his eyes blankly staring at the cop. Gammond
gets down on his knees and pulls the boy from under the car and feels for a
pulse. He begins to pump at the boy’s chest. He works the chest and feels for a
pulse. Puts his face close to the boy’s mouth to feel for life breath. Goes
back to pumping the chest. After a minute or so he sits back and stares at the
boy.

“Dead.
Dang.”

Gammond
stands and starts to walk back to his car at a half trot and Arthur calls to
him.

“No.
Don’t do that. Don’t. My father is James Kenny. Please.”

Gammond
stops dead and turns around to face the young Arthur Kenny.

“Oh,
dang,” he says.

“Can… can
we call him? I’ve got a portable phone in the car. Let me call my daddy.
Please.”

“Oh,
dang, let me think,” Gammond says. “Let me think.”

Bill
O’Donnell has been driving around in his truck close to home looking for Ryan
and he pulls into the street and sees the police car’s flashing lights and he
pulls up his truck behind it. He sees the three men as he climbs down. Then he
thinks
it’s
two men and what looks to him like a boy.
And then he sees the tiny shape lying in the road.