“Well, yes. Because my garden has always been better than hers, all the time this Bond woman must spy on me. I said that to the doc, but only as a joke.”
“If it was such a joke, why were you shouting it at the top of your lungs?”
“Ed—Doc Barnes—used a hearing aid but it wasn't working so good. Maybe the batteries were weak. So we were talking loud. Now you talk as if you don't believe me, Mr. Lund.”
“Look, I have to ask questions because I need the complete picture if I'm going to be of any help to you. Now what happened that night?”
Jerry shrugged. “Nothing happened. I keep telling you that.”
“Damn it, Jerry, wake up! Can't you understand this isn't a game or a... look, tell me everything you did from the time you dropped me off at Bessie's cottage.”
“That was the last train for the night, so I went home for my supper. I had a couple bottles of beer. After I eat I'm listening to the radio—music—and I begin to feel sick, real dizzy. I know an attack is coming on so I phoned the doc. I'm feeling miserable until he comes over and he raises sand because I'm off my diet. The doc was sore at me. I told him, like I always do, to fix me up, that I'm too old to worry about a diet, eating is one of the few joys left in life for me. He said that if I didn't stick to the diet he wouldn't be responsible for my life. So making a wisecrack, I tell him nobody but God is responsible for life. He didn't hear and I yelled I wouldn't be responsible for his life either. He gave me an insulin shot, and a pill to make me sleep. Edward said he had to see the old goat, then he could get some sleep himself. Then he left.”
“What's this 'old goat' mean?”
Jerry shrugged. “That he had another call to make. I didn't ask him.”
“What time did he leave?”
“Maybe nine thirty, maybe ten. The pill made me sleepy and I went to bed at once. In the morning I took some ladies to the train, you saw me at the station, and there I hear about Edward being killed in an accident. It upset me, like I said, I admired him. In the afternoon they come and arrest me. You see it's a frame. They kept asking can anyone prove I was at home all night That's silly—they right well know I live alone.”
“Did you tell Roberts about the 'old goat'?”
“Sure. I told him exactly what I told you.”
“Where's the medicine bottle the doc gave you, the stuff that put you to sleep?”
“What bottle? He gave me one pill.”
I tried to think of something else to ask but my mind was going in circles. “I don't believe they have anything on you that will stand up in court, a jury will find you not guilty and....”
“But in the eyes of the Harbor I will always be a murderer! Bad enough for me in town up to now.... Even if I'm free, I will have to leave the Harbor.”
“Jerry, you either have to fight this or give up. First step is to get a lawyer, a young kid just starting out, if you can. A Riverside lawyer. A kid will act like a legal-eagle because an acquittal means good publicity for him. You want Bessie to find a lawyer for you?”
“All right, I'll get one.”
“Okay, but do it at once. Did anybody in End Harbor, or in any of the other burgs around here, have any reason for killing the doc? Did he have any enemies, any at all?”
“No, no. Edward is—was—the only doctor in the Harbor, a big man in the town.”
“But you just told me the Harbor didn't have much use for him either.”
“I don't like to repeat... gossip. They keep this quiet because Barnes was the mayor at one time, an important man in the church... but he told them all to go plum to hell, even his wife.”
“Told them to go to hell about what?”
“You know how the town got its name, End Harbor?”
“I suppose because it's at the end of the bay.” He shook his head. “A long, long time ago a tribe of Indians lived there, part of the Shinnecock Nation, called Endins—sounds like Indians. That was a couple hundred years ago. When I first came to the Harbor there were still several Indian families, but they moved away. Only one family left, Joe Endins and his daughter Jane. Jane grew up to be a fine girl but there was nothing for her in the Harbor, no job, no man to marry—because she's Indian. All she can do is work as a maid. Her papa died and she still hung around, maybe she's twenty-three, twenty-five, a very lonely young woman. Then the story starts she is going with Doc Barnes. That was about ten years ago. This is all gossip, you understand, but this I do know, Edward trained her to be a nurse and took her on all his calls. His wife is mad as the devil and the town is buzzing with whispers. After a year or so, Jane stops working for the doctor. She still lives in the Harbor but works in a Hampton factory. But the doctor, he keeps seeing her, you can usually find his car parked boldly in front of the Endin house a few times a week. Gossip is the devil's tongue in a small town. Because Priscilla Barnes helped Art Roberts, sort of kept an eye on him when his mother died, why some dirty people hinted....”
“Wait up, Mrs. Barnes and Chief Roberts are an item?”
“No, no! She's old enough to be his mother. I merely show you the evil power of gossip... and how well I've known that power!”
“But this other bit, Doc and an Indian gal, jeez! Changes everything, gives the doc's wife a motive for the killing.”
Jerry patted my knee, as if he was talking to a kid. “Indeed not. You shock me, Mr. Lund. But of course you don't know Priscilla Barnes. A very quiet and meek woman. If she stood the cross of gossip all these years, when Jane was working in the Barnes home—Edward had his office in the house—why should she get angry sow, when the affair, if it was that, seemed to be dying out?”
“Some people carry a long fuse and you never know—when....”
The attendant rapped on the bars. “Time's up.”
“Think hard: the doc didn't give you any hint as to who the 'old goat' might be? Didn't say in which direction he was driving to see the goat, for example?”
“Nope. He said it in passing; you know.”
“Let's go, break it off.” The cell block attendant opened the door.
“Whatsa the bigga rush with you?” Jerry mumbled.
“When you get that lawyer, I want to see him. And don't talk to anybody but the lawyer,” I told him.
“What is there to talk about?”
I stood up. “Maybe I'll be back to see you tomorrow, or the next day. Need any cigarettes, cigars—anything?”
Jerry shook his head. “I am glad you came, Mr. Lund,” he said, getting up and shaking my hand. “You made me feel better—a little.”
Bessie was sitting in the car, puffing on a cigarette, bags of groceries on the rear seat. She started pumping me with questions and I said, “Relax, Jerry is fine. Bessie, the whole Harbor is lying in their carefully brushed teeth.”
“But why? It's such a peaceful community—I know they dislike Jerry, but to frame him for murder—that I can't understand.”