The Charity (8 page)

Debris filtered through the trees and struck leaves and branches close to her ears. She didn’t know how long she remained still. Jessica scarcely breathed in fear that if she did so, she would disrupt the precarious balance that had kept her alive this far. She froze until the last fragments of the tavern fell to earth, with a soft ‘chick chick chick’ of debris against leaves. Silence fought its way back, but a dull rush of flames could be heard. Slowly, carefully she took a mental inventory of herself and her surroundings. She was safe for the moment. She rolled over and pulled herself into a sitting position.

The tiny dilapidated building was gone. The few shards which remained were fuel for the orange and red flames. The night was filled with the snapping of embers and the sigh of the trees saddened to see their familiar neighbor leave so abruptly. Both driveways could be seen clearly now and she looked for the charred remains of a sporty little car, or any car. Nothing. She looked for anything or anyone which may have been caught in the blast. Nothing moved but the dancing flames and the whispering trees.

Deeply, slowly, a fear began to claw at her. She brushed it away with the same level of concern used to brush away a hot ember that had come too close. She sat back in the trees, away from the edge of the roadside with her knees drawn up to her chest. Watching. Absorbing. Not seeing, but staring.

The shifting whispers of the trees slowly gave way to the deeply muffled sound of a finely tuned engine. Through the woods, a pair of headlights wound their way along the deserted road. It slowed upon rounding the bend and seeing the ruins of the tavern. The engine idled and the sound of the brake being engaged was heard.

Coogan stepped out of his car. Calmly and methodically he walked around and surveyed the scene. Arms crossed, he leaned back against his car. The red coal of his cigarette flared as he took a long drag on it. After a while, he stretched his back, got into his car and drove away. The sound of his engine was again swallowed by the woods’ sough.

Jessica stared at the scene before her, unable to completely comprehend its significance. Then slowly its truth pounded its way to the surface. She was intended to be one of the glowing coals falling from the trees, a direct target of the blast. Deep within the recesses of her mind she heard a voice shouting at her. ‘Run! Run! Hurry! Before he comes back for you!’

Survival instincts finally propelled her into motion. She was barely aware of the branches whipping at her face or of the brush grasping at her ankles with nettled fingers. She ran and stumbled for hours. Internal forces were pushing and shoving her to keep moving, always moving. ‘Run! Move! Don’t stand still! Protect yourself, protect us! Don’t stop! To survive you have got to keep moving. Just go! Just go!’

When the brush finally cleared she found herself running through a meadow. The soft grasses whisked and tugged at her cut shins. Owls hooted quietly in the distance and air began its shift from the night’s coolness to a new day’s warmth. Her legs were sodden with fatigue when they finally stopped their relentless trotting. Exhausted, gasping for breath, she staggered forward and placed her cheek on the side of an immense building.

It was her farm. The side of the barn felt cool and scratchy on her face, inside she could hear the soft stampings and murmurings of the animals carefully bedded down for the night. She felt her way to the barn door and crept inside.

The light from the full moon graced the inhabitants of the barn with a cool, blue hue. Jessica was immediately calmed by the sweet smells of salt hay and horses. This was the only place in the world where she felt she would be welcome. There, among her horses she found understanding and comfort. Most of all, she felt safe. Totally safe. She knew these creatures and understood their hearts.

Jessica walked over to the faucet that sprung from a pipe running along the far wall and took a long drink of the cool water. She cupped her hands and splashed her face, rubbing her eyes and cheeks vigorously. She felt the cold water and the friction caused by her forceful rubbing and she did not wake up from her nightmare. Instead, she realized just how exhausted she was.

She looked around the inside of the barn for a place to sleep. She would have readily bedded down with one of the horses in their stalls deeply layered with soft hay, but she feared discovery early in the morning when the grooms would come with sweet oats and water for the horses’ breakfast. Rather than risk discovery, she quickly climbed into the hayloft and worked her way carefully into a far corner. With the last vestiges of her strength fading, she pulled several hay bales up into a makeshift shelter as she had done countless times in her childhood. If anyone were to come into the loft while she was sleeping, they would not see her inside her hay igloo. Satisfied that she was safe, she lay down in the fragrant hay and fell asleep.

Information on the tavern fire was reported during their shift’s roll call, but it was of little interest to Shea and Coogan. Another team was assigned to investigate the apparent gas leak and resulting explosion. Now that they had secured a search warrant, Shea and Coogan’s first order of duty was to remain focused on investigating Gus’ murder and search Miss Wyeth’s home.

Timing was vital in murder investigations and Shea wanted to keep the investigation moving, especially with two suspects at large. Some quiet digging on his own concerning any sightings or unusual occurrences about two men found nothing. He took great care to stir up no dust of his own to bring unnecessary scrutiny to his inquiries. He was torn between proving himself to some thick-skulled detective or following orders which were in direct conflict to protocol and his own instincts. He knew the problems which could arise if he was seen as a rookie going off half-cocked on his own investigation without the explicit approval of his superior.

Most of his questions were about Jessica herself. Shea wanted to know everything there was about her. He was genuinely saddened for her when he learned that she had no one. Everyone he spoke with was unanimous in their opinion that Gus was her only surviving connection to family with the recent death of her aunt. By all accounts, it was only Gus who was able to console Jessica for that loss and that of her family years ago. Shea had made a mental note to learn more about who her family was. Freak car accidents often had more to them than most people wanted to talk about.

Shea went back to her home last night to ask her more questions and to try to get a description of the men. The house was dark, and the front porch light was on signaling she would be returning later. An odd shiver crept up his spine when there was no clue to her whereabouts. He tried to track down her friend and could not do that either. Making sure no one was looking, he tucked his card inside her kitchen’s screen door and left.

He remained silent when he heard the warrant was sworn out for the search on facts observed at their joint interview with Jessica yesterday afternoon. Grudgingly he admitted that treating her as a suspect based upon her appearance was proper procedure, if a little late. What he learned in the academy was still fresh in his mind and conflicted sharply against how Coogan was handling the case. She did not have the strength to inflict that massive an injury on someone. Obviously, she was a woman in shock, but she
wanted
to talk and Coogan seemed intent upon stopping her. It was more than that. Jessica did not strike Shea as a murderer.

He met Coogan back at the farm immediately after roll call. His anger faded and curiosity instantly piqued when they arrived. The front light was still on and the edge of his card could still be seen wedged into the doorframe. He hid his card in his pocket before Coogan had a chance to see it. It would mean certain suspension if a junior detective were caught poking around a case unsupervised and he didn’t want to bring on unwanted attention.

Armed with the warrant, they were accompanied by a small contingent of enforcement personnel. Among them were a police photographer, a forensic specialist, and two other officers from their barracks. They were going to take every conceivable shred of evidence with them.

They forced the door open and began their search. Boxes of books from her recently completed classes were stacked in the study. They ripped them open and reviewed them page by page. Most of her clothes remained in the suitcases or garment bags plastered with polar bear decals they had traveled in from college. Each article of clothing was inspected for anything unusual. Sizes and styles were noted and documented. Even with this minute examination of her possessions, nothing was out of place or unusual.

Coogan began to show signs of impatience until they searched her trash. Shoved at the bottom of the garbage were the shirt and jeans she was wearing when they met her yesterday. They were still covered with blood and flecks of hay.

“Finally! Now we can send these to the lab and get some independent verification that this is ol’ Gus’ guts splattered on them,” Coogan prepared a black evidence bag to receive them. A satisfied grin grew over his face.

The police photographer snapped pictures of the trash from every angle. He stood back and took pictures of the room to show where the trash basket lay in relation to every object in the room. Reloading the camera, he inched up on the trash and took multiple pictures of the contents. Coogan knew the photographer was good at his job and knew that all of the pictures taken over the past day in the house and barn would be useful.

Coogan looked on with growing pleasure. “Too bad you were tied up at the barn scene yesterday. I would love to have gotten some pictures of her with these on with her bruised face. I guess they must have had quite a struggle.”

“How can you be so sure she did it?” Shea had his head down as he looked through some photo albums. He was looking at pictures of Jessica smiling with friends at a ski resort. On the next page were several pictures of Jessica and Gus together. Smiling, arm in arm. They were obviously close.

Coogan unleashed his readied defense. “Aaahh! Jesus Christ, kid! I thought you were supposed to have a nose for this kind of stuff. It’s soooo obvious!”

Shea felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle as he caught the barbed message of Coogan’s tone.

“C’mon kid,” Coogan continued, “take a look at what we’ve seen. Blood on her. Her clothes are covered with the stuff. A jacket that we can prove to be hers was in the barn and was used to clean the weapon. She was the last one to be seen with the victim and the only one to be seen leaving the scene of the crime at about the time of death. The vomit at the scene contains the food and drink the waiter at the pub said she had. They were having a heated argument there a few hours before. And now she’s taken for the hills and running like a rabbit. What more do you want? She’ll be lucky if she only gets life for this one. My money is that any judge will fry her.” Coogan was relaxed and smiling. Another job well done.

“Well, thanks for the recap,
sir,
but it doesn’t make sense. Why would a girl fresh out of college kill the guy who practically raised her?”

The other officers had paused in their work as they heard the tenor of the conversation change. Most were too embarrassed to look away from their tasks. Eyes remained glued on their jobs, but ears tuned in to the challenge given from the rookie cop to the seasoned boss.

“Hey. She was nothing but a spoiled loner with no ties to anyone.” Coogan easily wove a motive and a psychological profile of a murderess. “This guy just stood in her way for what she felt she deserved. And you said she was a together kid? I heard that she was a wild one, often taking to the hills for days without a word to anyone. Naw. She did it all right and now she’s disappeared. Look, no new dishes in the sink. I’ll bet she took off yesterday right after we left. She won’t get far. She’ll stand out in any crowd. Too good looking. We’ll have her back here by the end of the week.”

Shea tried the hot topic carefully. “Well, maybe she had more to say to us yesterday than she did. Yeah, she was upset all right, but what if she saw something or was involved in something that just scared the hell out of her? What if she was just too afraid to talk and needed a little time to get the story out?”

Coogan whirled around and brought his face up to Shea’s. The two men stood inches away from one another. Shea pulled his head back from the stench of Coogan’s breath.

“Perhaps you need your memory fixed, kid,” Coogan’s jaw clenched and his eyes locked onto his new prey. He raised his voice to satisfy the ears of his expanded audience. The tone he assumed was one of business. Strictly business. “We performed the standard investigatory visit to a friend of a murder victim. Upon arriving, we noted the appearance of the individual. She was highly disoriented and disheveled with what appeared to be blood on her. Questioning was unproductive and only proved to agitate the individual. The line of questioning proved fruitless,” Coogan added with additional emphasis. “A break in questioning was determined to be appropriate by the
senior officer
on the scene to allow her time to compose herself.
This
senior officer radioed in for verification of procedures and received approval from
his
senior officer.” The words were uttered with an increasing edge. “I see no error in the process. My superiors see no error in the process. I strongly suggest that you do the same.”