Under other circumstances, Ronan would have laughed his ass off, but that dog looked and sounded like it would have no problem tearing them limb from limb.
A loud screech sounded when the screen door on the trailer opened. A large, disheveled man shouted at the dog to shut up before motioning for them to get out of the SUV. “Don’t got all fucking day!” Michael called to them.
“Let’s get this over with.” Fitzgibbon didn’t sound thrilled by the prospect. “Is anyone armed?”
Ronan shook his head. It hadn’t crossed his mind to bring a weapon. He also hadn’t realized how out in the middle of nowhere Sullivan’s property was. It would take the cops a while to get there if trouble started.
“I’ve got my knife,” Jude said, not looking or sounding at all comforted by that fact. “Let’s do this. Sullivan looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”
When Ronan got out of the vehicle, he saw Michael sitting at the picnic table, smoking a cigarette. In front of him was a can of cheap beer. It was easy to see that neither was his first of the day. “Mr. Sullivan, I’m Ronan O’Mara, and these are my partners.” He introduced Fitz, Jude, and Tennyson.
Ronan took a seat at the picnic table and was soon joined by Ten and Jude. Fitz sat beside Sullivan and wore a look that said he wished he were anywhere else. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see us this morning.”And for meeting with us outside, he thought to himself.
Sullivan coughed. It was a hoarse, rasping sound that came from years of smoking. “You mentioned something about Tommy. Look, I don’t know what kind of bullshit scam you’re pulling here. My brother’s been dead for over fifty years. You better have a damn good reason for being here today.” His bloodshot eyes were pinned on Ronan. Both the look and Sullivan’s tone said he meant business.
Torn as to how to approach the ornery man, Ronan took a deep breath. Sullivan didn’t seem like the kind of guy who believed in psychics, but at the same time, Ronan knew coming straight at him with questions about Tommy’s death didn’t seem the right way to go either.
“What do you remember about the day Tommy died?” Tennyson asked.
Sullivan swung his head toward Tennyson, seeming to size him up. “Why the hell do you want to know?”
“I’m a psychic medium,” Ten said simply. “I spoke with your brother’s spirit, and he isn’t at rest. It’s my hope that with a little bit of information from you, I’ll be able to cross him over to the other side.”
Sullivan barked a laugh, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. “Cross him over to the other side? What a crock of bullshit. I knew this was a fucking sham.” Sullivan stood up from his seat. “You do this to the other kids’ families too? Try to use this crap on them?”
Tennyson shook his head but remained silent.
“You’d best fucking believe that after I call the cops on you, my next call will be to Katie’s sister and Paul’s mother. Now, get the hell off my property before I let Rocky loose.” Sullivan looked angry enough to do just that.
Ronan had no doubt Rocky was the dog. He opened his mouth about to ask if his parents killed Tommy when a shake of Ten’s head stopped him in his tracks.
“Your father says you weren’t worth the powder to blow you to hell, and your mother couldn’t be bothered to show up here at all.” Ten didn’t look as if he were enjoying this revelation; neither did he look frightened of Sullivan’s possible reaction.
“What did you fucking say?” White-hot rage burned in Sullivan’s deep-set eyes.
“You heard me. Those were your father’s last words to you.” It wasn’t a question. Ten sat quietly, watching Sullivan sputter. “We’re here because we know Marie Fairbanks didn’t murder your brother or the other kids. Her legacy has been tainted long enough.”
“Herlegacy?” Sullivan repeated on a roar. “From the moment that bitch died, my parents were blamed for killing her. Not a day went by when someone didn’t look at them funny or cross the street to get away from them. They were bad parents before Tommy died, but after, they were worse. I got double the beatings. Double the chores. Double everything! Don’t fucking sit there and tell me how that woman suffered in death when I’ve lived through hell every damn day of my life!”
“We think your parents tried to kill both of you,” Ronan said, his full attention on Sullivan. The man looked like he could snap at any second, and he needed to be ready when that happened. “They were sick and tired of being tied down by the two of you and found a way to eliminate both of you by poisoning your lunch and letting the blame fall on someone else.”
Sullivan laughed at Ronan’s hypothesis of how Tommy died. “My parents were too stupid to have thought of a plan like that. All they cared about was booze. Nothing else.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Ten muttered, alarm growing in his dark eyes. “They might have been too stupid, butyouweren’t,” he said, sounding breathless.
Ronan went instantly into cop mode. Obviously, Tennyson was reading something in Sullivan. Something sinister and ugly. He wished he’d brought his gun along.
Sullivan stood stone-still. His eyes were filled with rage.
“You hated Tommy. Hated that he was your parents’ favorite. Hated that you were tasked with looking after him instead of being free to play with your friends like a normal eight-year-old. You figured if Tommy was dead, your parents would suddenly love you. They’d stop drinking and realize the error of their ways like some television sitcom family.” Ten spoke matter-of-factly, with no hint of emotion in his tone.
Was it possible for an eight-year-old to commit premeditated murder? Ronan was blown away by what Tennyson was saying. With each word out of his mouth, Ronan could see Sullivan getting angrier and angrier. It wasn’t going to take much more before the man charged at Tennyson like an enraged bull.
“None of that happened, of course,” Ten said mildly, as if the result had been inevitable. “Being a child yourself, you had no way of knowing the town would turn on your parents for thinking they’d killed Marie Fairbanks and that you’d become the object of your father’s hatred. Hell, the man cursed you with his final breath.”
“They should have loved me!Me! I was their oldest son! I was smarter than my shithead brother. A better athlete. A better everything! Nothing I did made a difference. Good grades, game-winning touchdowns in peewee football games. Nothing! After Tommy died, I should have gotten double the love, but instead, I got beaten every fucking day until I was big enough to defend myself. That was the day my father kicked me out. On my own at fifteen. I never had a chance to make something of my life. I ended up working in the same goddamned factory my parents worked in. Fifty-hour weeks in a stinking, sweaty machine shop. I should have gone to college. Made something of myself, but instead, I ended up just like my father. A fucking drunk with lung cancer.” As if to illustrate his point, Michael started to cough. His face turned an alarming shade of purple.
Fitzgibbon was on his feet and guiding Michael back to the picnic table. When Sullivan got his breath back, he drained the rest of his beer.
