“Bad business, Roland. They tell me young Russell is dead. Very bad business. Probably a vagrant driven in by the storm. Seen anybody like that about?”
Who could this possibly be? Faith wondered. It had to be a mistake.
It wasn't. It was Francis Coffin, Byford's venerable chief of police.
“No, no strangers around." Dr. Hubbard looked at Faith. "Mrs. Fairchild here is not a resident but a volunteer stranded by the storm. She was sleeping in the room."
“And didn't notice anything? Young woman, you must be a sound sleeper indeed."
“I wasn't in the room when the murder took place." Faith hastened to correct any possible impression that she might be the most likely to perpetrate.
John Dunne was getting impatient. Francis Coffin was the reason Charley MacIsaac had called him. Francis Coffin was the reason he wasn't home lying next to his wife under an emperor-sized down comforter.
Dunne was from the Bronx and had moved to this alien territory to please his wife. She was from Maine—up near the Canadian border—but she knew she could push him only so far from his native turf. When Charley had called to tell him there was a problem in Byford, a murder no less, Dunne had moved heaven and earth to get there before the locals. Quaint, picturesque, whatever, but Francis should be in a rocker at Hubbard House, not investigating a murder there. Dunne found it typical of New England that the residents of Byford insisted Coffin keep his post, never thinking about what this might mean for their own health and well-being, just because he'd beenthere for fifty years. Francis Coffin was a living legend, with an increasing likelihood of the legend part overtaking the living.
Dunne took charge. No one objected.
“Dr. Hubbard, the state police are cooperating with the Byford police in this matter, and a crime prevention and control unit from the district attorney's office will be joining us soon. I'd like to wake the residents in turn, starting with this section. Is there a room we can use for questioning?"
“Certainly. You may use my office downstairs if you like."
“I'll start with Mrs. Fairchild, and perhaps one of the officers here could drive her home afterward." He looked at her sternly. Sure, thought Faith, find out what I know, then pack me off. She was used to Dunne's ways. It hadn't stopped her before.
“I'll show you my office, then. Francis?" Dr. Hubbard stepped forward, but Chief Coffin didn't follow.
“I haven't seen the body yet, man. Can't start asking questions until I've seen what happened." He rubbed his hands together. Francis enjoyed being a cop. Retirement wouldn't have been any fun. Not that much ever happened in Byford, but whatever did came his way.
Dunne had been afraid of this. If he let the old codger in, they'd have his prints—along with Faith's—to eliminate from everything.
“Detective Sullivan is going over the room now, and the CPAC guys will be here soon with the medical examiner, Frank. I'd appreciate it if you would come with me and assist, since your knowledge of the local scene is so much more extensive than mine." It might work.
Faith caught his eye. Dunne couldn't help a slight grimace, which on his very much less than handsome face contorted the expression into death throes. She took it for what it was and did her part.
“If there is some way of getting me home, I would appreciate it very much." And she would. She was struck with a longing for the parsonage, Tom, Ben, and her own safe, warm bed, for which she didn't need a ladder.
Her words got them moving. Dunne took the hall in two strides and was quickly out of sight while the rest straggled on behind Chief Coffin. Roland sprinted ahead to lead the detective to the office.
The clock struck three as they descended the stairs. Time was creeping by.
Faith felt a bit odd upon entering the room she had so recently been casing. All the lights were turned on and it was full of people now.
“Would you like to question Mrs. Pendergast, our cook, after Mrs. Fairchild? She too was forced to spend the night here and is in another room upstairs. When you are finished, she could provide us with some coffee.”
Dunne looked at Dr. Hubbard gratefully. This must be why everybody thought he walked on water.
“Great idea. Perhaps one of your guys would like to go with him, Frank"
“I'm sure the good doctor knows the way, Johnny," Chief Coffin said, and smiled at Roland.
Detective Dunne gritted his teeth, whether at being called Johnny or Coffin's ineptitude Faith couldn't be sure. Probably both.
One of the Byford officers stepped into the breach. "I'll go, Chief. No problem." He ambled out with the doctor. They were used to scenes like this.
Dunne sat down at the desk and Faith took one of the chairs in front. But this was no doctor-patient consultation.
“Now, Mrs. Fairchild. Faith," he said wearily. "What are you doing here?"
“There's a flu epidemic and most of the kitchen staff is out sick. I'm helping for a few weeks. When I left today, my car went off the road and I had to come back and spend the night." She looked him straight in the eye. Had Charley told him about Howard Perkins' letter?
Charley hadn't taken the time, but had said that Faith was over at Hubbard House snooping around like usual. Dunne looked straight back at Faith.
“I'm sure you are anxious to get home after the shock you've been through. I'll be by in the morning to talk to you further.”
So he did know, Faith guessed, but didn't want the others to know. Francis looked like a babbler.
“However, I do need a few more facts. What time was it when you left your room and how long were you gone? And"—it seemed to have oc- curred to him suddenly—"where were you going?"
“I woke up with a headache"—Faith was almost beginning to believe this herself—"and went to find some aspirin. I heard the clock strike one just before I left my room. I came downstairs to see if by chance Dr. Hubbard or someone else was still up, but there was no one around. I was probably gone no longer than thirty minutes.”
She saw Dunne lift an eyebrow. It was one of his endearing gestures.
“Thirty minutes to find an aspirin?"
“Well, I'm not sure of my way around yet," she demurred.
“I'll bet." He jotted something down. "Then you came back to your room, and tell us please exactly what you saw."
“I couldn't see anything. The room was dark.”
“You didn't turn on the light?" he interrupted. Faith flushed slightly, "No, I didn't want to dis- turb anyone."
“I see."
“Besides, there was so much light from the windows, I didn't need a light. I got into bed and reached over to pull the blanket closer.”
She shuddered. "Only I touched Eddie's neck instead. My hand was wet. Then I did turn the light on and I saw the blood and the knives and I think I screamed. I jumped out of bed and I know I screamed. Then I ran downstairs, called Charley, and went to get Dr. Hubbard."
“Was the door open or closed, when you went back upstairs the first time?"
“It was closed. And I had closed it when I left." Dunne wrote some more. "Was there anything else you noticed? Take your time.”
Faith thought. "I did think I heard someone in the hall when I was downstairs shortly before I went back to my room, and again upstairs in the rear of the house when I got to my door," she reported.