Free An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1) by W.H. Clark Page B

You don’t find that
odd?”
    “William
lived frugally, Mr. Ward, like a good Christian man. I don’t know any more than
that. Can only tell you what I know. And I been open about that.”
    Ward
tapped his bottom lip with his pencil. “Yes, you have, ma’am, and I appreciate
that. I have just a few more questions if that’s okay.”
    “That’s
fine with me. Fire away.”
    “When did
the payments start?”
    “A few
years after we met. I tried to refuse at first but he was insistent and I
figured if it could help the children it was a gift from God hisself and I never refuse that kind of gift.”
    “So that
would be, what, twenty years ago, give or take?”
    “Uh huh.
Give or take, I suppose.”
    “So that
would make it in the region of”—he did the math slowly—“a hundred and twenty
thousand dollars total. That’s a heck of a lot of money on a janitor’s salary.”
    “Like I said,
I don’t know where he got the money from. That’s the honest truth.” She then
reached behind her, twisting uncomfortably on her seat as she retrieved a
shoebox from the sideboard. “You might want to see this. It’s William’s
belongings from the nursing home.”
    Ward took
it from her.
    “In
there’s his worldly belongings. Don’t amount to much. A wristwatch he never
wore. A penknife. A Bible. Not a great deal else. Apart from his last will and
testament.”
    Ward took
a pair of gloves from his pocket, dragged them on and pulled out the will. He
opened it and read it to himself. He glanced over at Newton and tilted the
document so that they could both read.
    “He left
everything to you.”
    “Yes, he did.
God rest his soul.” And then the tear again rolling down her right cheek. She
let this one fall and it wasn’t followed by another.
    “Okay.”
Ward let out a sigh. “I will tell you now that we are investigating a homicide
here, Mrs. White.”
    “I know
that.”
    “And this
is potential evidence. Would you mind if we took these belongings for
examination?”
    “You take
whatever you need. I want you to find the person who took William.” Her smile
was still there.
    Ward
picked up the Bible and flicked through the pages. As he did so a photograph
fell out. It fell to the floor facedown and Ward saw the tiny hole where the
pushpin had secured it to the wall behind the picture of Bermuda in O’Donnell’s
room at Sunny Glade. A picture the old man kept just for himself. There was
writing on the back and Ward read it out aloud. “John 1 20.” He turned the
photo over and there, grinning up at the camera, was a small boy. About seven
years old. It looked like any other normal happy domestic scene. A little guy
standing in front of the TV, frozen for eternity. A single fading and creased
memory of a lost life. The photo was old and faded, wrinkled from being handled
regularly. Newton’s eyes widened.
    Ward
said, “Is this William’s grandson?”
    “Yes, it
is,” Alice said after a slight pause, and Newton nodded.
    “John
1:20,” Ward said again, and he flicked through the Bible. He knew where to find
John from his childhood. He could even recite John 1:29, the bit about
beholding the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. That had been
drummed into him at an early age. But he didn’t know what verse 20 said.
    And when
he’d read it silently, Ward simply showed it to Newton, who scanned it as
though he’d got a terrible itch in his eyes. The first line did it: “ ‘And he confessed, and denied not.’” Newton spoke the words
and looked straight at Alice White, who placed one hand on top of the other on
her lap.
    “I know
what it says,” Alice said. “And I know what you thinking, Mr. Newton. But you
taking that verse out of its true context. The full verse is ‘And he confessed,
and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Christ.’ John’s telling us he’s not
the Christ. That’s all.” She smiled.
    “That’s
the second time O’Donnell’s used that word,” Newton