Page 39 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

“You can’t blame that on my stepmother’s church.” He glared at her. “Do you know how many snakes there are in Georgia or the southeastern United States? They’re everywhere. In the wild and in homes as pets. Or used for research or whatever.” His lips pursed angrily. “All I’m getting at is that now I see things more clearly. Much more clearly. I see them for what they are. When I testified, I was a kid and I was scared. I just did what I thought I should . . .”

Morrisette waited. Here it comes.

He swallowed hard. “I was kind of talked into saying what I did.”

“That your mom shot you,” Morrisette reminded.

“Maybe bullied is the right word. That detective, Mr. Beauregard, he was nice to me and . . . and I wanted to please him.” A drip of sweat slid from his temple to his chin. Absently he swiped at it with the back of his hand.

“You’re saying Detective Beauregard asked you to compromise your testimony?” Reed put in. “To lie?”

“No! Not directly . . .” Niall blinked and shook his head. “He just kind of steered me into what he deemed was the ‘right’ direction. I couldn’t talk to my mom, and my dad was just angry all the time, furious at what had happened. Whenever her name came up, he went through the roof.

“But Detective Beauregard took time with me. Gave me soda and cookies out of the vending machines, that kind of thing. It meant a lot to me.” After another glance at his lawyer, he folded his hands on the scarred table. “In response to his kindness and because I wanted to please him, I was influenced by him and what he wanted from me.”

“Which was,” Morrisette encouraged.

“To testify against my mother.” He let out a long sigh. “So I did.”

“Are you now saying you didn’t see her shoot you or Amity?” Morrisette asked. She didn’t much care for Flint Beauregard or his uppity son, but this total turnaround smelled of something rotten.

“A faithful witness will not lie: but a false witness will utter lies. Proverbs 14:5.”

Morrisette caught Reed’s eyes and sent him a “Can you believe this?” look. To O’Henry, she said, “You’re quoting Bible verses now?”

“Yes!” Niall was emphatic, one hand slapping the table. “I’ve found the Lord, and I cannot shame Him. I’m a follower of Jesus Christ, our Savior, and I cannot bear false witness! That’s the ninth commandment.”

“I know it’s a commandment.” Morrisette let her annoyance slip into her voice.

David Blass held up a calming, diplomatic hand. “Mr. O’Henry is cooperating,” he reminded them. “Trying to help you with your investigation of his own volition.”

“You’re not just trying to spring your mother?” she asked Niall.

“I just want to tell the truth!” Niall was glaring at Morrisette now, his eyes narrowing in a newfound hatred.

Well, fine. Morrisette knew he’d found God, had taken his father’s and his stepmother’s extreme religious views to heart. She also knew this weakling facade was just that—window dressing—because she’d checked. Niall O’Henry now worked on his father’s farm, pitching in with the hard labor, so he was tougher than he looked. Also, he wasn’t just a devout Christian, he was a card-carrying member of the NRA and had joined a vigilante group that was considered extremist, like his father. Married, with a wife and two sons, he seemed intent on policing his own property and keeping others away as if it were Fort Knox.

“You and your father,” she said to him, “you’re tight, right? Good buds.”

“I like to think so,” Niall said cautiously.

“You work for him, on the family farm?” She already knew this much, but wanted to see his reaction.

Blass was obviously irritated. “Where’s this going, Detective?”

“Just checkin’ my facts.” Morrisette saw Niall’s clenched fists, the vein beginning to throb near his temple. He might be all dressed up and putting on the soft-spoken act, but Morrisette wasn’t buying it. She hadn’t from scene one in front of City Hall. The guy had been coached and prompted by David Blass as much as he had by Flint Beauregard twenty years ago. She couldn’t help but wonder what really made him tick, deep down in the darkest parts of him. She suspected he was a bomb about to explode. “What’s your father think of your change of heart?”

“What does Calvin O’Henry have to do with any of this?” Blass demanded.

“Calvin O’Henry’s gone on record for years about how he feels about his ex-wife. Now his son wants to get her out of prison?”

“Be that as it may, it’s Mr. Niall O’Henry’s testimony that concerns us here. This has nothing to do with Calvin.” Blass was riled now, two points of color showing on his face.

“Okay.” Reed, who’d stayed back and let her run with the interview, now gazed over Niall’s shoulder at her before turning on his “good cop” charm. “We’re here to listen, Mr. O’Henry,” he said equably. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember of that night? In your own words. No pressure. Okay?”

“Maybe this is a mistake,” Blythe said, second-guessing herself as she glanced at her watch. They were seated in her living room, she in her wheelchair, her back to the dining area, Nikki on a sleek modern couch in front of the window. Two other chairs, one black leather, the other a leopard print, faced a flat-screen TV that was flanked by four guitar stands, each displaying a different type of electric guitar.

“Do you play?” Nikki asked as the black and white cat strolled across the living room.

---