The hole in the earth was like an open wound.
The grass seemed to end abruptly, and the freshly turned earth began in moist rich darkness, its virgin aroma carried on the air. The grave was long and deep. The coffin was suspended over it, held aloft on canvas straps attached to the mechanism that would lower it gently into the earth.
The sky was so blue.
They stood like uneasy shadows against the wide expanse of sky and the gaudy exhibitionism of the autumn trees. They stood with their heads bent. The coffin was poised for disappearance.
He looked at the black shining box and beyond that to where a man was waiting to release the mechanism. Everything seemed to shimmer in that moment because his eyes had suddenly filled with tears. A hand touched his arm. He turned, and through the glaze of tears he saw Claire’s father, Ralph Townsend. The grip tightened on his arm. He nodded and tried to hear the minister’s words.
“...above all,” the minister was saying, “she goes to God even as she was delivered from Him: pure of heart, clean of spirit, honest and unafraid of His infinite mercy. Claire Townsend, may you rest in eternal peace.”
“Amen,” they said.
Chapter 12
Mrs. Glennon had had it. She had had it up to here. She didn’t want to see another cop as long as she lived. She had identified her daughter at the morgue before they had begun autopsy and then had gone home to put on her widow’s weeds, the same black clothing she had worn years ago when her husband had died. And now there were cops again — Steve Carella and Meyer Meyer. Meyer, in true private eye fashion, had swum up out of that pool of blackness, had had his cuts and bruises dressed, and now sat wearing a serious look and a great deal of adhesive plaster. Mrs. Glennon faced them in stony silence while they fired questions at her, refusing to answer, her hands clenched in her lap as she sat unflinchingly in a hard backed kitchen chair.
“Your daughter had an abortion, do you know that, Mrs. Glennon?”
Silence.
“Who did it, Mrs. Glennon?”
Silence.
“Whoever did it killed her, do you know that?”
Silence.
“Why didn’t she come back here?”
“Why’d she wander the streets instead?”
“Was the abortionist in Majesta? Is that why she was there?”
“Did you kick her out when you learned she was pregnant?”
Silence.
“Okay, Mrs. Glennon, let’s take it from the top. Did you know she was pregnant?”
Silence.
“How long was she pregnant?”
Silence.
“Goddamn it, your daughter is dead, do you know that?”
“I know that,” Mrs. Glennon said.
“Did you know where she was going Saturday when she left here?”
Silence.
“Did you know she was going to have an abortion?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Glennon,” Carella said, “we’re just going to assume you did know. We’re going to assume you had foreknowledge that your daughter was about to produce her own miscarriage, and we’re going to book you as an accessory before the fact. You better get your coat and hat.”
“She couldn’t have the baby,” Mrs. Glennon said.
“Why not?”
Silence.
“Okay, get your things. We’re going to the station house.”
“I’m not a criminal,” Mrs. Glennon said.
“Maybe not,” Carella answered. “But induced abortion is a crime. Do you know how many young girls die from criminal operations in this city every year? Well, this year your daughter is one of them.”
“I’m not a criminal.”
“Abortionists get one to four years, Mrs. Glennon. The woman who submits to an abortion can get the same prison term. Unless either she or her ‘quick’ child dies. Then the crime is firstdegree manslaughter. And even a relative or friend who guided the woman to an abortionist is held guilty of being a party to the crime if it can be shown that the purpose of the visit was known. In other words, an accessory is as guilty as any of the principals. Now how do you feel about that, Mrs. Glennon?”
“I didn’t take her anywhere. I was here in bed all day Saturday.”
“Then who took her, Mrs. Glennon?”
Silence.
“Did Claire Townsend?”
“No. Eileen went alone. Claire had nothing to do with any of this.”
“That’s not true, Mrs. Glennon. Claire rented a room on South First Street, and she used Eileen’s name in the transaction. We figure the room was intended for Eileen’s convalescence. Isn’t that true, Mrs. Glennon?”
“I don’t know anything about a room.”
“We found the address right here! And the note clearly indicated that Eileen was supposed to meet Claire Saturday. What time were they supposed to meet, Mrs. Glennon?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Why was it necessary for Eileen to take a furnished room? Why couldn’t she come back here? Why couldn’t she come home?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Did Claire arrange for the abortion?”
Silence.
“She’s dead, Mrs. Glennon. Nothing you say can hurt her any more.”
“She was a good girl,” Mrs. Glennon said.
“Are you talking about Claire or your daughter?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Glennon,” Carella said very softly, “do you think I like talking about abortion?”
Mrs. Glennon locked up at him but said nothing.
“Do you think I like talking about pregnancy? Do you think I like invading your daughter’s privacy, your daughter’s dignity?” He shook his head tiredly. “A man murdered her, Mrs. Glennon. He slaughtered her like a pig. Won’t you please help us find him?”
“And do you want more killing?” Mrs. Glennon asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Do you want someone else to be killed?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve met my son.” She nodded her head and fell silent again.
“What about him?”
“You see what he did to this fellow here, don’t you? And that was only because the man was questioning me. What do you think he’d do if he found out Eileen was... was—”
“Who are you afraid for, Mrs. Glennon?”
“My son. He’d kill him.”
“Who would he kill?”
“The... the baby’s father.”
“Who? Who is he?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Mrs. Glennon, we’re cops,” Meyer said angrily. “We’re not gonna go telling your son—”
“I know this neighborhood,” Mrs. Glennon said wisely. “It’s like a small town. If the police know, everyone will know. And then my son will find the man and kill him. No.” She shook her head again. “Take me to jail if you want to; hold me as an access... whatever you called it. Do that. Say that I murdered my own daughter because I was trying to help her. Go ahead. But I won’t have more blood on my hands. No.”
“Did Claire know all this?”
“I don’t know what Claire knew.”
“But she did arrange for your daughter to—”
“I don’t know what she did.”
“Wouldn’t this guy marry your daughter, Mrs. Glennon?” Meyer asked.
Silence.
“I’d like to ask one more question,” Carella said. “I hope you’ll give us the answer. I want you to know, Mrs. Glennon, that all this embarrasses me. I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t like to think about it. But I know you have the answer to this question, and I want it.”