Parting Shot Page 12

  The comment wasn’t enough to re-lay the charges, but it was enough to persuade everyone Pierce was guilty, and not just folks in the Promise Falls area. The soundbite went viral. Craig Pierce became the world’s most despised man on the Internet for several days. There were emailed death threats, harassing phone calls. He’d had to go into hiding until things blew over, which took the better part of a month.

  Turned out not everyone had forgotten about him.

  Duckworth let Ruth Pierce continue with her story.

  “My husband was devastated by all of it. He was so . . . ashamed. He wanted to believe Craig was innocent, but he knew . . . we both knew he’d done what they’d said he’d done. But he had a sickness, you know? Something was wrong in his head. We were going to get treatment for him.”

  “About your husband,” Duckworth said, steering her back.

  “Then, when Craig was . . . when he was attacked, and the aftermath . . . When Craig finally came home from the hospital, Brendan couldn’t even go into his room, couldn’t bear to see him, the way he was. He couldn’t look at him. I don’t think it was shame by that point. He just couldn’t bear to see his son that way. I made him . . . I made him go up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Aren’t you going to have a scone?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Duckworth reached for one, buttered it, then scooped out some strawberry jam the woman had put out and dropped it onto the scone.

  Ruth smiled sadly. “I always used to love to watch a man eat.”

  Duckworth took a bite. “Wow. That’s fanatastic. It’s still hot. The butter’s melting.”

  Her smile faded. “But it’s hard to watch Craig have his dinner. I mean, there was so much damage.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. Duckworth waited for Ruth Pierce to finish her story.

  “So I said to my husband, he’s your son. You can’t stay out of his room forever. He needs you, I told him. I’d made Craig some lunch. Tomato soup with crackers. He’s loved tomato soup ever since he was three years old. He can make the crackers soft by putting them in the soup. That makes it easier for him. I said to Brendan, take your son his soup.”

  Ruth Pierce took a breath before continuing.

  “And he finally said okay, he would do it. He took the tray and he went up the stairs so slow. I stood at the bottom and waited. I heard him go into Craig’s room. I asked Craig later what his father said, and apparently he said nothing. Brendan came back down the stairs, and when he got to the bottom . . . he just collapsed.”

  Duckworth stopped chewing his scone.

  “What was it?” he asked.

  “They said it was a massive heart attack. They said he was gone before he hit the floor.” She looked at the detective with damp eyes. “I killed him. I killed my Brendan.”

  “No.”

  “I shouldn’t have made him go up. I shouldn’t have let him see how bad his son looked. Not until he was ready. He needed to do it in his own time. It wasn’t a heart attack, you know. It was a broken heart. That’s what it was. His heart was so broken he couldn’t continue.”

  Duckworth reached across the table for the woman’s hand and held it. “How long ago was this?”

  “Five weeks,” she said.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Duckworth said.

  “Oh my gosh, I forgot your coffee.”

  She jumped up from the table, filled a mug, and put it on the table in front of him.

  “Do you have any help?” he asked. “Other children, extended family?”

  Ruth shook her head. “Just me.” She wrung her hands. “I’m not quite sure what we’re going to do. I’ve had to quit my job to look after Craig. There’s some insurance money from Brendan’s policy, but it won’t last long. And then there’s all the reconstructive surgery that Craig needs. I don’t know how I’m going to manage that. He did qualify for some therapy, to help him, you know, psychologically, with what’s happened to him.”

  She glanced at the wall clock. “In fact, she’s due here pretty soon. But the surgery he needs—plastic surgery, other things—would cost a fortune. They have these things on the Internet, I think they call them crowd-funding? Where you ask people to donate a little money? And if enough do, then you can do whatever it is you need to do. But no one’s going to donate to help Craig.” She dug a tissue out of her sleeve and dabbed her eye. “No one cares. People think he got what he deserved.”

  Duckworth took a sip of his coffee and another bite of his scone.

  “Are you here because you caught them?” she asked. “Did you catch the people who did this to him?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I figured as much. You know, I like you, Detective Duckworth, I do. I think you’re a very nice man. But I can’t help but think that the police really aren’t trying that hard, you know? That they think Craig got what was coming to him too.”

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  “Then what have you been doing? It’s been three months. I heard you found out who owned that monstrous dog.”

  “Yes,” Duckworth said. “But the dog had been stolen. We don’t think the owner had anything to do with your son’s assault.”

  “No one saw anything?”

  “It was the middle of the night.” Duckworth grimaced. The park next to the falls the town was named for was getting something of a reputation for horrific crimes.

  “If you don’t know anything, then what point is there in talking to Craig? He upsets very easily.”

  Duckworth hesitated. “There’s been another incident.”

  “Oh dear me.”

  He raised a palm. “Not as serious as what happened to Craig. And it may not be related. But I’d like to speak with your son just the same. Maybe, since the last time we spoke, he’s remembered something else.”

  Ruth Pierce nodded resignedly. “All right, then. If you have to do it, you have to do it.”

  “I want to thank you for the scone. I really shouldn’t have had it, but it was irresistible. The coffee, too.”

  “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

  “Do you get out?” he asked her.

  “Oh, yes. I mean, Craig can be left home alone. And sometimes I take him for drives. He likes to go for drives. If we’re out in the daytime, he’ll wear something on his head, so people can’t see him. He’s even been going out some on his own, but only late at night, when no one can see him and he doesn’t have to cover himself up. But I worry when he does that. If he has an accident or something, what will people think when they see him? When he’s with me, I can sort of run interference. You know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” said Duckworth.

  Given that Pierce was known to be a sex offender—although not an actual convicted one—Duckworth pondered the wisdom of him going out at night on his own. Although he didn’t quite pose the threat he might once have.

  “The best news is, he’s feeling a little more confident,” Ruth said. “He’s getting interested in things again, like hobbies. He’s been ordering little gadgets off the Internet.”

  Duckworth stood and waited for Ruth to get to her feet.

  “I’ll try not to be too long,” he said as he started to leave the kitchen.

  The woman reached out and gently took his arm.

  “There’s something you need to know before you see him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “First of all, he’s gotten a little . . . I don’t want to say crazy. But considering everything, he sometimes becomes quite . . . irreverent.”

  “And what else?”

  She let out a long breath.

  “The last of the bandages have come off.”

  EIGHTEEN

  THE Gaffneys were frantic.

  All evidence pointed to the fact that Brian had walked right out of the hospital. A nurse was pretty sure she had seen him pass her station in his clothes, but Albert wanted them to be sure his son had
not been transferred to some other part of the building or possibly sent to a lab or something for further tests.

  Hospital security guards were called, and a search of Promise Falls General was initiated.

  Albert was not only hoping they’d find Brian quickly, but that they would find him before Constance came back.

  Things did not work out the way he’d hoped.

  When Constance returned to the ER with Monica trailing after her, she spotted her husband standing in a hallway and said, “How is he? How’s Brian?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know where he is right now,” he admitted.

  “What’s going on? Have they moved him to a proper room?”

  Albert shook his head.

  “I don’t think so. Now, I don’t want you having a fit about what I’m about to say, but—”

  “Good God, what’s happened?” Constance asked.

  “They don’t know where he is.”

  Constance, wide-eyed, said, “They’ve lost Brian?”

  “No, it’s not that. It looks like he left.”

  Monica said, “Oh, shit.”

  Constance said, “You let him walk out of here?”

  “I didn’t let him walk out. When I came back, he was gone.”

  “We only left him for a minute,” Constance said. “He must have walked right past you.” She looked at the ceiling. “This is unbelievable. While you’re here, you should have your eyes checked.”

  “Maybe,” Monica said, “he went outside for some fresh air. Maybe he took a walk around the block.”

  “I’ve looked,” Albert said. “I’ve looked all over. I think he just walked out.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Constance said.

  “He can’t have gotten far,” Albert said, trying to put the best face on things. “He doesn’t have a car, he’s got no money. Unless he managed to call a friend to come and get him, he must have left on foot.”

  “We should split up,” Monica said. “Let’s go home first. We’ll each take a car and see if we can find him. And who knows, maybe that’s where he is.”

  “At least someone is thinking,” Constance said.

  They got in the car and went back to the house. Constance ran inside, hoping her son would be there, but he was not.

  Monica said she would get in her Beetle and search the streets around the hospital. Constance would check Brian’s apartment and Knight’s. That left the car detailing shop to be checked by Albert.

  Ten minutes later, he was there. He parked and ran inside. They knew him here. This was, not surprisingly, where he brought his pickup to have it washed. Whenever Brian was on duty, he’d hit the hot wax button without charging his dad for it.

  When he entered the office, a heavyset man behind the cash looked up and said, “Hey! Where the hell’s Brian been? I’ve been calling him for two days!”

  “Hi, Len,” said Albert. “Brian’s in the hospital. Well, he’s supposed to be in the hospital, but—”

  “Oh, shit, no, what happened?”

  Albert shook his head, a “don’t have time” gesture. “Have you seen him? I mean, in the last hour?”

  “Nope. I’d just about given up on him. Figured he didn’t want the job. I didn’t know he’d got hurt or anything.”

  “If he comes in, will you call me?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Len handed Albert a used envelope so he could scribble his cell number on the back. Once he’d done that, he turned around and went back to his truck.

  He debated calling his wife and daughter to see if they’d had any better luck than he’d had. But he knew Monica would call him if she found Brian. And if Constance found him, she’d probably tell Monica, who’d pass the news on to her father.

  Two blocks from the detailing place, Albert spotted him.

  Brian was walking slowly along the sidewalk, his back to Albert. But he knew his son, even from behind. The boy had always had a bit of a slouch. He slowed the car as he came up alongside, powered down the window, and shouted, “Brian!”

  Brian stopped, turned his head slowly, as if in a daze, then bent over slightly so he could see in through the window.

  “Oh, hi, Dad,” he said.

  He threw the car into park, got out, and ran over to his son. When he went to hug him, Brian raised a cautious hand.

  “I’m kinda hurt,” he said. “My rib’s really sore.”

  “What happened? Where did you go? You scared us all half to death.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Why’d you leave the hospital? What were you thinking? Why is there grass all over you?”

  “I fell down.” He reconsidered. “I got beat up.”

  “Christ, what’s happened to you?”

  Brian carefully pulled up his shirt to show the bruising around his ribcage. “I sort of got kicked.”

  “What? Who kicked you?”

  “She’s married,” he said.

  “Who’s married? Brian, start at the beginning.”

  “She never told me she was married. I didn’t have any idea.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Jessica.”

  “Who’s Jessica?”

  “Can I sit down? I’m really tired.”

  “Come, get in the car.”

  Albert led him to the passenger door, opened it, got him settled. He came around the other side and got back in behind the wheel.

  “You hurt bad?”

  “Sorta,” Brian said.

  “I’m taking you back to the hospital.” He moved to put the truck into drive.

  “Not . . . yet. Can I sit here a minute?”

  Albert turned the ignition key to the off position, killing the engine. “Sure. What happened, Brian? Talk to me.”

  The young man was struggling not to cry. “So I met this girl. Jessica. We went out a few times. I thought she was kind of nice.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was supposed to call her. But then this thing happened, and this shit got written on my back, and I lost the last two days, so I didn’t call her.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand.’

  “Yeah, well . . .”

  “What?”

  “I wanted to explain to her why I didn’t call. They . . . they stole my cell phone and my wallet and everything, so I decided to walk to her house. I knew where she lived. But she didn’t know that.”

  Albert had questions, but decided to let Brian tell the story his own way.

  “A little girl answered the door. And I thought, whoa, has she got a little sister or something? And then Jessica came to the door, looking all scared shitless, you know. Telling me to go. And then this guy appears.”

  “Oh oh,” Albert said.

  “It was her husband.” His eyes searched his father’s. “I didn’t know. Honest. I wouldn’t go out with someone who was married.”

  “I believe you.”

  “You raised me better than that.”

  “Sure.”

  “I wanted to explain. But then Ron—”

  “Ron?”

  “That’s her husband. He wouldn’t let me, and then he pushed me off the front step. And then he kicked the shit out of me.”

  Albert felt a hot wave of rage wash over him. “No,” he said.

  “He said something like I deserved everything that happened to me. I think he knew that Jessica was seeing me. He called her a whore. I think . . . I think maybe she was seeing other guys, too.”

  Albert was replaying in his head what the man had said to his son.

  “He said you deserved everything that had happened to you?”

  “Something sort of like that. I got what was coming to me, I think it was. Maybe, if he knew Jessica was foolin’ around on him, he’d been following her around. Maybe he saw us when we went to the BestBet.”

  “The hotel?” Albert said. “On the highway to Albany?”

  Brian looked sheepishly at his father. “Don’t be mad. I wouldn’t want Mom to know
I did that. Going to a hotel with a girl without, you know, being married.”

  “It’s okay,” Albert said softly, putting a hand on his son’s arm.

  Brian sniffed. “I liked her. I thought maybe there was something there.” He bit his lip. “I’m such a dumbass. I should have known better. Maybe she thought I was good enough to cheat with, but really, why would anyone want to be with me for the long term?”

  Albert squeezed his arm. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

  Brian sniffed again. He popped open the glove box with his free hand, found a tissue, and dabbed his cheek. “I’m a nothing.”

  “Stop it. Stop it, Brian.” Albert paused, then said, “Tell me again about Ron, what he said and what he did. Everything you can remember.”

  Brian went over all of it again.

  “If he knew you’d been seeing his wife,” Albert said, “he’d have plenty of reason to be mad at you.”

  Brian blinked away some tears. “What are you saying?”

  Albert hesitated. “Maybe he’s the one. Maybe he’s the one that did that to your back.”

  Brian contemplated the possibility. “I don’t know. But what’s the part about Sean mean?”

  Albert thought about that. “I don’t know. Maybe this Jessica was cheating on him with another guy with that name. And he thought you were that guy.”

  Brian nodded his head slowly. “I guess that’s possible. I could tell that guy from the police.”

  “You could,” Albert said. “That’s a good idea. That’s what we’ll have to do.”

  “Except,” Brian said, “what if it isn’t?’

  “What do you mean?”

  “You should have seen her face.”

  “Whose face?”

  “Jessica. After Ron kicked me, and went back in the house, she looked terrified, you know? Really scared. If the cops come by and see him, he might go crazy. He might hurt her. I mean, she really messed me up, she lied to me, but I don’t want her husband to kill her or anything.”

  “The man attacked you,” Albert reminded him. “Even if he didn’t put that tattoo on you, he attacked you.”

  “I know, but . . . I mean, I did sleep with his wife. Like, if I was in his shoes, I might have lost it and done the same thing.”