Dead Giveaway (15 page)

Brenda Novak

it was her father--and they'd only get into a yelling match if she answered.

Since Whitney was probably asleep, Allie wasn't in any hurry to return home. She decided to use the next two hours to interview some of the witnesses whose testimony she'd read in the Barker files. It was Sunday, so most of them should be available.

She planned to begin with Jed Fowler. He'd been at the farm the night Barker disappeared; he'd also attempted to confess to Barker's murder nine months ago, during the last police search.

And yet, apart from the three minutes it took to brush off enough dirt to determine that they'd dug up the skull of a dog and not a human, he'd never really been a suspect. Maybe he was strange, but he had no motive, nothing to gain from Barker's death.

Chances were much greater that he'd witnessed something and was keeping silent about it.

But if that was true, why would he confess to murder instead of pointing a finger at the real culprit?

From what she'd read in the files, Allie thought she could venture a guess.

Clay remained near the doors of the church, grappling with his anger over Chief McCormick's parting words. He considered walking out--and never coming back. He wasn't sure why he'd returned in the first place. He didn't need Allie, her father or anyone else. But he wanted to speak to Portenski before he left--if the man would ever acknowledge his presence. For the last few minutes, the reverend had been moving around the pews, putting away hymnbooks and tidying up as if he didn't know Clay was still in the room.

When Clay cleared his throat, the preacher finally looked up and glanced around, apparently shocked to find them alone.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Montgomery?" he asked. He had a mild voice and manner, which was fitting for a man in his position. And yet, as nice as Portenski was, Clay got the distinct impression that the reverend was reluctant to talk to him. Prior to what Grace had told him, Clay had simply assumed Portenski's reserve had to do with the fact that he believed what most people believed--that Clay or his mother was responsible for Barker's disappearance. Or if he wasn't certain, at least he wondered. But now Clay suspected there might be more to it.

"My sister mentioned to me that you spoke to her the other day."

A quick darting of the tongue wet Portenski's lips. "Yes, I--I wanted to make sure she felt welcome here. If she ever decides to join us again."

Clay took note of the color rising high on his cheeks. "You told her that God's wrath would destroy the wicked. Isn't that right?"

The reverend smoothed down the white tufts of hair growing over his ears. "I--um--yes, I did. It's true, after all, is it not?"

"Were you referring to my sister's destruction when you made that comment?"

The reverend's eyes widened. "Is that how she interpreted it?"

"Considering what most people in this town have accused us of, what else would she think?"

He flapped a hand in front of him. "That wasn't it at all! I was just trying to tell her that God knows all things and will set them right eventually. We must have faith."

"That's an interesting comment to make to someone you believe was involved in a murder."

The reverend muttered something, but Clay couldn't make out all the words.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I said I've never indicated that I believe Grace is
guilty
of any crime."

The inflection was too noticeable to be accidental.

Clay lowered his voice. "So you know." He wanted to add, "That Reverend Barker was a 68

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predator," but he had to be careful. He didn't need to reveal a stronger motive for murder than the greed they'd already attributed to him, especially on the heels of his supposed "confession" to Beth Ann.

Portenski's lips pursed. He seemed reluctant to respond--but he showed no curiosity or surprise.

"Reverend?"

The preacher remained stiff, uncomfortable. "I'm confident only of what I told her."

Clay stared at him for several seconds. "That God knows all things."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I told you, it's true."

"That's it?"

"Of course."

Whatever the reverend was thinking, he wasn't going to tell. And, judging by his attitude, pressing him wouldn't loosen his tongue. Portenski had the determined look of a man who'd dug in for a storm.

Clay refused to waste the effort asking for answers he wouldn't get. But he had other questions, questions that were, in their own way, every bit as important. Questions he'd wanted to ask someone like Portenski for years. "And do you find God particularly forgiving?"

There was a slight delay in the reverend's response, as if Clay's change in tactics had caught him off guard. "According to the Bible--"

"Don't quote me the Bible, Reverend. I'm asking what
you
think."

"I'm just a man."

"A man who's read libraries of books on theology, philosophy and sociology." Portenski was known for always having a book in his hand, and often quoted from a variety of works during his sermons. "If you're not qualified to form an opinion, who is? We're all just men."

Portenski lifted his chin. "I believe that, for the deserving, mercy tempers justice."

Clay nodded. Grace was right. The reverend had found the missing pictures or some letters or...something. He must have; he knew too much. He was keeping silent, but not because he thought Clay was innocent. The "deserving" part of what he'd said indicated that he thought God's mercy would be reserved for Grace alone.

And Portenski was probably right. Although Clay hadn't actually killed Barker, he'd indirectly caused the events of that night, and he'd definitely had a hand in the cover-up.

His desire for mercy, for forgiveness and peace of mind, had brought him back to church.

But he was wasting his time.

After living such a lie, he could never be called deserving.

As Allie parked her police cruiser at the curb, Jed Fowler appeared briefly at his front window wearing a stark frown. She wanted to believe it was because he didn't recognize her. But that couldn't be the case. She was the only female officer on the force, and her father had been taking their vehicles to Jed's automotive repair shop for the past forty years.

Jed knew who she was, but he seemed ill at ease around women and children. A simple person, he got up early, worked until late and returned home to the same two-bedroom house where he'd grown up. His father had been killed in an automobile accident while Jed was just a boy. His mother, a cantankerous old woman who used to sit on the porch and rock for hours, glaring at the children who streamed by on their way home from the nearby elementary school, had 69

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died while Allie was in college. As far as Allie knew, Jed had lived alone ever since.

She strode up the walk, wondering if his mother was the reason he'd remained a bachelor.

Quite possibly, the old woman had been so demanding that he was unwilling to welcome another female into his home. The stories that circulated about her were a bit scary. Allie remembered a group of her friends telling her they were walking home from a party late one night when they were startled by Mama Fowler. Jed's mother was sitting on her porch in the dead of winter, all bundled up in coats and blankets, and brandishing a shotgun, pointing it at anyone who so much as looked at the house.

With that background, no wonder he's odd, Allie thought.

She reached the stoop and lifted a hand to knock. But the door opened before she could touch it, and Jed's craggy nose and rheumy eyes appeared in the crack.

"Mr. Fowler?"

He made a noise that might've been a response, but he didn't open the door any wider.

Allie leaned close, hoping to win him over with a polite smile. "May I have a word with you?"

He glanced behind him as though he was looking for an excuse not to admit her.

"We could talk out here on the porch, if you like."

Yanking on the red ball cap she'd seen him wear around town, he stepped out, leaving the door ajar. Because he'd been reluctant to invite her in, Allie had assumed the house might not be neat enough for company. But from what she could see, there wasn't a thing out of place.

"You've probably guessed why I'm here."

The frown had left his face. Now he just stared at her, his bushy eyebrows forming a prominent ledge over his deep-set eyes. "No, ma'am."

"I'd like to talk to you about Lee Barker."

His eyes narrowed. "You're reopening the investigation?"

"No. Not officially. I'm doing what I can for Madeline."

"You want to help her?" he said.

"That's right."

"By finding out what happened to her father."

"Yes. I used to be a cold case detective before moving back here," she explained. "I learned a few things that I'm hoping will make a difference. Madeline deserves to know what happened, don't you think?"

Allie wasn't sure what kind of reaction she'd been expecting, but it wasn't the one she got.

"Better off without him, if you ask me."

"What did you say?" He'd mumbled the words.

He pulled the bill of his cap lower. "Nothin'."

"You didn't like Reverend Barker?" Jed had been a regular at Barker's church until a few years before the reverend went missing. One day, Jed got up and walked out in the middle of the service and never returned. She remembered her mother launching a fellowship crusade to reclaim him, but nothing Evelyn or anyone else did made any difference. Jed had never joined the congregation again.

"Can't say as I did."

"I'd be interested to hear why, if you wouldn't mind telling me."

"He's gone. Don't matter now."

"It might," she said. He still didn't volunteer the details she was after, so she resorted to the questions she'd planned to ask in the first place. "You were at the property, fixing the tractor in the 70

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barn the night Barker disappeared. Is that correct?"

A single dip of his head served as confirmation.

"In the reports, you said Barker didn't come back to the farm that night."

No comment.

"Is that true?" she prompted.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would you have seen him, or at least heard his car, if he did?"

"Tough to say."

"You had the radio on, right?"

"Yeah."

"Was it louder than you normally play it at your shop?" Allie knew he always had his radio tuned to a country-western station.

"Maybe. The kids were the only ones home, so I wasn't worried about botherin' anybody."

"The kids?"

"The Montgomery girls."

"Irene wasn't there? Clay wasn't there?" She knew they weren't, of course. She'd read the statements. But she needed to hear the words directly from Jed in order to get a sense of how he felt about the night's events. And to see if his story had changed over the years.

"Mrs. Montgomery--"

"Wasn't she Mrs. Barker then?" Allie asked, watching closely for his reaction.

He seemed undisturbed by the question. "I guess she was."

"Do you remember when she went back to her former name?"

If Allie was right about Jed's motivation for his strange and sudden confession at the farm--if it was true that he carried a torch for the attractive Irene Montgomery and had been trying to protect her--he'd be able to give her this information.

But his expression remained blank as he shook his head.

"Okay," Allie said. "Back to the night in question. Did you see Mrs. Montgomery that night?"

"She came out to the barn to tell me she'd be gone for a spell."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Somethin' to do with the church."

Records confirmed that she'd attended choir practice at Ruby Bradford's. She'd headed home thirty minutes after her husband had supposedly started in the same direction. "Did she seem eager to be on her way?"

He frowned as if this was a question he hadn't been asked before. "I don't know."

"How was she acting? Agitated? Worried? Preoccupied? Resigned?" Irene hadn't sung with the church choir since. When asked about it, she admitted that it was the reverend who'd insisted she join. He wanted her to set the proper example by supporting his auxiliary programs.

"She said she had to go and left."

"And then you were alone with the girls."

"No. Clay was there. At first."

"What were they doing? Do you recall?"

He shrugged. "I was just there to fix the tractor."

"Did anyone else come or go that night?"

"I heard some kids stop by."

"When?"

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"Maybe half an hour later."

So he'd heard one car. "What happened then?"

"I saw Clay climb into a black truck with some other kids. They drove off a second later."

Those "other kids" were Jeremy Jordan and Rhys Franklin. They'd gone over to the home of Corinne Rasmussen, a girl Clay had been dating at the time. Corinne had since moved away, but she'd confirmed the visit in the original investigation. The files contained these details.

"So thirteen-year-old Grace and eleven-year-old Molly were home by themselves?" Allie clarified.

"I guess."

"It didn't concern you that they were alone?"

"Why would it? Grace was old enough to take care of her sister. Anyway, it wasn't any of my business."

"You were just there to fix the tractor."

"Yes, ma'am."

Frustrated, Allie studied him for a moment. He wasn't doing a heck of a lot to help her out.

He offered only as much as he had to in order to answer each question. Was it just his taciturn manner? Did he distrust her because she was a woman? Or did he have some other reason for keeping quiet? "How well do you know Irene?" she asked, trying that tack again.

"She brings her car in now and then."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Were you friends at the time the reverend went missing?"

"She was his wife."