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

steering
wheel.

27
    The Alfa pulled
into the station parking lot and the headlights lit up two figures by the
entrance. Newton recognized one of them right away and said, “What the hell are
they doing here?” And Ward knew them to be local press. One photographer and
one reporter. The camera flashed immediately as Newton hauled his body out of
the car gingerly, his back going into spasm and wringing an anguished look onto
his face. He held up his hand as the camera flashed again and again, at him,
not Ward.
    “Come on,
guys,” Ward said, and Newton lunged forward to knock the camera away as the
photographer swerved his swipe.
    The
reporter whose name was Larsson said, “Can we have a comment on the Bill
O’Donnell homicide case, detective?”
    Newton
squared up to him. “Go and nicely fuck yourself.” Larsson shrunk back,
apparently fearing one of Newton’s clenched fists connecting with his face.
    “I’m just
doing my job. Same as you are. No need for the unpleasantries there.”
    Newton
swung into the station and tested the door’s durability as it crashed against
the stopper behind it. Ward was two paces back and Larsson made as if to grab
his arm but thought better of it. It was enough to make Ward pause, and he
looked Larsson in the eye. Larsson offered his hand and Ward waved   him
away like a shit fly. Then he noticed the card in Larsson’s hand.
    “You want
to speak to me,” said Larsson. “You need to speak to me. Take it.”
    Ward
stood there and faced up to Larsson.
    “This is
not about you,” said Larsson. “This thing goes way back. I guess you already
got that. Take the card. Call me.”
    Ward took
the card. Larsson smiled like a hyena. Ward tossed the card back at him and
walked into the station.
    “You know
where to find me,” Larsson shouted after him. “You will want to talk to me.
Trust me.”
     
     
    “How the
hell did they get this? How the hell did they get this?”
    Ward
could hear Newton’s voice as he entered the building. McNeely was hunched over
her computer and a couple of uniforms hovered around, clearly wishing they had
been patrolling somewhere. Newton jabbed his finger at one of them, Poynter.
“You?” Poynter shook his head. Newton turned to the other. “You?” The other cop
held up his hands in a submissive denial. “Then who in hell leaked this?
Anybody want to tell me?”
    McNeely
was the only one who spoke after a couple of beats. “They’ve been there a
while. Hour or so. Nobody has said a word.”
    And then
Newton swayed, resembling a leggy sapling blowing in a strong wind. He grabbed
the back of a chair and slumped down on another, just catching enough of his
backside on it to stay seated. McNeely jumped up and grabbed his arm to steady
him, as his unfocused eyes twitched in their sockets momentarily before they
closed.
    Gammond
emerged from his office as fast as his pudgy legs could carry him. Ward noticed
he wore stacked heels and wanted to laugh despite the current emergency.
    “What the
heck in the heavens is going—” He saw Newton. “Get a doctor. Get him some
water.”
    “I’m
okay. I’m okay,” Newton said windlessly. “If I find that one of you sons of
bitches has leaked this thing I will rip your heart out. I will rip your heart
out of your chest. You hear me? You hear me?”
    Nobody
said a word and Newton closed his eyes again and drew a deep breath.
    The next
day’s Westmoreland Echo would run with the headline “Cop in Boy’s Disappearance
Case Investigating Murder of Grandfather. Detective Out to Make Amends for
Botched Case 25 Years Ago.” Complete with a picture of Newton – no Ward in shot
– grimacing at the camera, clearly hurting.

28
    Cherry
smiled a cat-just-fed smile at Ward as he entered the Honey Pie Diner, Jesús on
a leash. Jesús kept focused on the ground as Cherry fussed over to him, cooing
and gooing while stooping, showing cleavage and
knowing that Ward was enjoying the view.
    “My two
new BFFs came back.