Mrs. Kelleher had a face like a deflated muffin-as though someone had taken a pin to it. Her flesh puckered softly, gathering under her eyes in doughy little pouches, lying in crinkled pockets around her small, pursed mouth, the flesh sinking into itself in tiny, concave crevices. Lee figured her for no older than sixty, but knew without asking that she was a longtime smoker. The room reeked of cigarettes.
Her husband was as square and hard as she was fleshy. Short and broad of shoulder, he had the rugged build of a miner or a construction worker. Wisps of curly graying hair clung to the top of his big, square Irish head. A road map of spidery red blood vessels sprouted on either side of his straight, high-ridged nose, but his blue eyes were clear. Lee concluded that the broken blood vessels were more likely from excessive sun and exertion than alcohol. Or, if he was a drinker, he was off the bottle now.
"Can you think of any reason that your daughter might have been a target? Anything at all?" Butts asked them. The opening condolences were out of the way, and he was zeroing in on the heart of the matter with his usual forthrightness-or tactlessness.
Brian Kelleher cleared his throat and looked down at his wife. "We're just simple people," he said in a throaty, faintly accented voice. "We've never been associated with bad people-you know, criminal types." A wave of stale tobacco floated from his clothing, the remnants of many cigarettes, and Lee realized that he, too, was a smoker.
"What makes you think we'd know our daughter's killer?" Mrs. Kelleher asked, her eyes wide with anxiety. "We don't know people like that."
Butts was fidgeting with his notebook, and his eyes roamed the room restlessly. "We're not saying you do," he replied. "It's just that sometimes people remember seeing and hearing something that can later be useful in an investigation. Can you think of anything that might stand out as strange or unusual in your daughter's life-especially in the last few weeks or so?"
The Kellehers appeared to consider his question, but to Lee it looked as if they were merely marking time. They frowned as if in concentration, studied their hands, and looked around the room. Finally Mrs. Kelleher spoke.
"I can't think of anything. Can you, dear?" she said to her husband. Mr. Kelleher looked at his wife-clearly, he took his cues from her.
He shook his big square head sadly. "Not really. Marie was a straight-A student, you know," he added, with a glance at his wife.
"Did you ever see her with anyone strange or unusual?" Butts asked. "I mean, anyone who set off alarm bells or anything?"
The couple looked indignant, as if he had called their dead daughter's virtue into question.
"Oh, Lordy, no," Mrs. Kelleher replied. "She was dating that nice boy. He was respectful. We liked him, didn't we, dear?" she said to her husband, who nodded obediently.
"He told us that he thought she might be seeing someone else," Butts said.
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Kelleher demanded. Her soft, round face resembled a recently vacated couch cushion.
"Did you know anything about another boyfriend?" Butts asked.
Mrs. Kelleher's prim face puckered like a prune. "No, of course not! Marie wasn't that kind of girl."
"What kind of girl is that?" Lee asked.
"The kind of girl who would be seeing two men at once, of course," she snapped back. "Marie wouldn't do that."
"Because she was a good girl?" Lee said.
"Because she was a good Catholic girl. And, I might add," she said, leaning forward and placing a plump hand on Lee's arm, "we both trust in the good Lord to bring her killer to justice. We know he's watching over us, and that he will help you capture this evil, evil man."
"I guess He was looking the other way when your daughter was murdered," Butts muttered under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Mrs. Kelleher said, her little button eyes bright with suspicion.
Lee felt sour distaste gathering in his mouth. Brian and Francis Kelleher held their faith in front of them like a banner. He recognized the smugness lurking behind her eyes: even devastated as she was by grief, Mrs. Kelleher's voice had the sanctimonious tone of the true believer. These people brandished their beliefs like a weapon. One sweep of the sword of their faith opened a swath between them and the world of nonbelievers-a swift and tidy demarcation.
It set his teeth on edge and angered him beyond reason. He didn't know why-perhaps he heard echoes of his mother's stalwart stoicism and superiority. It was hubris in the guise of humility, close-mindedness masquerading as wisdom.
He knew he would have to overcome his distaste, and tried to arrange his face in a proper attitude of sympathy and concern.
"You know, my wife and I worked long and hard to raise our girl with solid Christian values," Mr. Kelleher said, as if reciting a well-memorized speech. The words had all the spontaneity of a church litany. All the while, his wife watched him, smiling. Lee felt such a visceral distaste for them that he forced his thoughts once again to the unspeakable tragedy they had just suffered.
"You see, Inspector-" Mrs. Kelleher began.
"It's Detective," Butts corrected.
She was not deterred a bit, though, and continued without a pause.
"You see, Detective, the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. He must have had a reason for wanting our Marie up there with him-because that's where she is now, sitting in heaven beside God the Father. He must have some plan for her, or He wouldn't have taken her away from us like this."
"So your daughter was religious, too?" Lee asked.
Mrs. Kelleher shifted her focus to him. "Oh, goodness me, yes! She never missed church. Marie was the very best child that anyone could hope to have," she added, dabbing at her eye with the corner of a flowered handkerchief, which gave off an oppressively heavy floral scent. Lee tried to place it: Was it mimosa? Patchouli? Lilies of some kind?
Brian Kelleher put a protective hand on his wife's shoulder. Lee had more sympathy for him. It looked as though he was just playing along with his wife's religious passion, and that left to his own devices, he might be a sensible, rational man. Mrs. Kelleher sighed, though Lee had the impression that she was feeling sorry for herself rather than mourning her daughter. Something about this woman rubbed him the wrong way and set off alarm bells in his head.
Another half hour of questioning brought them no closer to useful information about poor Marie. Her parents merely corroborated everything they already knew about her. She was a good student, quiet but well liked. She honored her parents' faith by attending church regularly-she even worked as a volunteer to feed the homeless in a program her church ran at a local shelter once a month. After refusing another cup of lukewarm instant coffee, Lee and Butts made their escape. Lee felt the Kellehers' eyes on them as they walked down the short walkway to the street. Neither of them said a word until they rounded the corner toward the bus stop; then Butts exploded.
"What is it with people?" he bellowed. "Those two were more interested in their reputation than in finding out who killed their daughter." He snorted and pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. "What the hell," he muttered as he placed it between his teeth. "Sometimes I just don't know about people. I mean, why do we even bother, you know?" He bit off the end of the cigar and spat it out into the waste can. "You ever feel that way, Doc?"
"Yeah," Lee said, "sometimes." He didn't want to suggest or even hint to Butts how deeply he had drunk from the well of despair.
"I dunno," Butts said. "I just don't goddamn know."
Neither do I, Lee thought, but he said nothing.
"They're hiding something," Butts fumed, biting his lower lip. "I swear to God, they know something they're not telling. I just don't know what it is."