“Yes, it is I. Is that you, Sid?”
“It is. Listen, I’ve been through the archives of the Times and I’ve found something that may be of interest. Just over a year ago a young girl was found dead in a field in what were described as suspicious circumstances in Cambridge, New York, and a month ago a little girl was found drowned in a pond near Granville. A long way from her home. Too far for her to have walked alone. Coincidence maybe, but both girls were of similar age and appearance—”
“They were both fair-haired?” I asked.
“Yes, and around six years old.”
I could hardly breathe.
“Is this important? Does it mean anything to you?”
“I believe it does,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I could go back further in time to see if the other names appear in the newspapers,” Sid said.
“No, I think this is enough to go on.”
“Then I’ll come back to you. I don’t like to leave Gus holding the fort without me. Is she all right?”
“Doing very well, I believe. Kathleen has really taken to her and it seems Gus is really beginning to unlock her speech.”
“That’s Gus for you. Who could not warm to her?” A pause for a louder crackle. “On my way then. Tell Gus to be careful, won’t you? And you take care too. If someone has killed several people he will be desperate.”
The line went dead before I could say, “He or she.”
I hung the mouthpiece back on its hook and turned to see someone standing behind me. It was Terrence and he was leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Telephone call from home, Mrs. Sullivan?”
“Uh—yes, from my neighbor,” I replied, wondering how much of the information I had actually repeated was overheard. Not much, I thought, except that Gus was having success with Kathleen.
“Allow me to escort you back to your cottage,” Terrence said. “One can’t be too careful at the moment, can one?”
“Oh, I’m sure I can find my way without help,” I replied. “After all there are plenty of policemen around.”
“You never know,” he said. “We were all here when my uncle was murdered and yet we knew nothing.” He held out his arm to me. “Besides,” he repeated, “I enjoy escorting attractive women.”
I had no choice. I told myself that it was daylight, there were policemen within reach if I screamed, and I had been known to deliver a good kick where it hurt before now. We walked down the hall and the policeman opened the front door for us. We stepped out into sunshine.
“Lovely day again,” Terrence said. “Strange to be having all this fine weather when none of us feels like enjoying it. Amazing about little Kathleen, don’t you think? All this time and we never found out.”
I sensed that he was rattling on nervously. Then he lowered his voice and said, “You mentioned that you saw me leaving the house the night my uncle died. I’d rather you forgot about that, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” I faced him defiantly.
“Because I was meeting someone I’d rather the family didn’t know about.” He released my arm and turned to face me. “Look, I have a small problem with a drug habit. Not something I’m proud of, but one sort of slips into it. And once one is hooked … well. I owe a fellow quite a lot of money. And he’s been sending some nasty types to make sure I pay up. Uncle Brian was keeping me short of cash, so that I learned the value of money, he said. But it’s dashed embarrassing, and now all this has happened, I rather suspect that it will all come out into the open and I’ll be in deep trouble with my father. So any little you can do to help…” And he gave me that engaging smile.
I resisted his charm. Why was he telling me this now? Was it that he didn’t want me to suspect him of a more serious crime? He’d almost certainly benefit from Brian Hannan’s death, wouldn’t he? And as for Colleen and those dead girls in upstate New York … what could be easier than paying a visit to his priestly uncle from time to time in various charming spots along the Hudson Valley?
I was relieved when I saw the thatched roof of the cottage through the bushes.
“And you’ve been presumably helping yourself to money from the business to pay for your habit?”
“Maybe from time to time,” he said with an easy shrug.
“And ordered substandard materials?”
“Good God, no. I’d never do a thing like that.” He looked at me sharply. “That’s what caused the collapse, was it? Substandard materials?” He sighed. “If you want to know, that sounds more like my father. He keeps a rather expensive mistress. He thinks Mama doesn’t know, but of course she does. Everyone does. Such a farce.”
And he laughed.
“Thank you for escorting me home,” I said. “As you can see, we’ve arrived safely.”
He nodded. “By the way, Mrs. Sullivan, I just wanted to ask,” he said in a low voice. “Your husband—is he getting better?”