yesterday.”
I almost swallowed my tongue: a possible suspect leaves town and they sit on their butts! “Know where she works in Hampton?”
“Sure, at the watch factory. We phoned there, she wasn't to work yesterday or today. What you want to see her for?”
“To ask who she thinks will win the pennant!” I said, walking out.
He called after me, “Hell, I can tell you that—the Giants.”
Outside I sat in the car and got my pipe going—watching the people on the main drag—trying to figure my next step. I knew what I had to do but I didn't want to rush it, act like a jerk—the way I'd just done with the uniform-happy boy. One thing was for sure; I couldn't shake this village loose by myself.
I made a list of all the names I'd heard since coming to the Harbor—Jerry's, Doc and Mrs. Barnes, Chief Roberts, Jane Endin, Mrs. Bond, Larry Anderson, Pops (but what was his name?), even copied the names from the store windows on Main Street—obviously the big apples in the village. Getting a handful of change I put in a long distance call, which would also take it away from the ears of the local operators, to Nat Reed in New York. Nat and I shared a post for a brace of years before he quit to go into private work, ended up in a cushy spot with a credit agency. Credit outfits have become the largest snoop agencies in the country outside the government. They have complete files on millions of people. I gave Nat a fast rundown on what I was doing, the list of names.
As I expected, he said, “Matt, you know I can't give out info like that. It's only for our subscribers.”
“I know—that's why I'm wasting dough on a long distance call.”
Nat sputtered a little before he said, “Okay, I'll send you whatever we have, get it out today.”
“Put it in a plain envelope. Seal it good.”
“Things that bad?”
“I'm playing it safe, wind blows a lot of ways out here.”
“I'll mail it special delivery.” He laughed. “Going in for police work as a hobby in your old age?”
“Isn't it about time? And if I'm in my old age, where does that put you, you old belch? Thanks, Nat. Say hello to the wife for me.”
I drove along Main Street until I reached the picture-window white house set back on a neat lawn with Doc Barnes' shingle hanging from a post made to look like an old whaling ship's mast. I rang the doorbell and a stout woman with a healthy face and heavy gray hair in a big bun topping her head opened the door. A plain worn short red dress showed off arms and legs that belonged on a football team.
“Mrs. Barnes?”
“No, no, I'm only staying with Priscilla in her hour of need. I'm Mrs. Jenks.”
“Can Mrs. Barnes see people? It's important.”
The bright eyes in the large face turned suspicious. “You're new in the Harbor, ain'tcha?”
“Yes. My name is Matt Lund. I'd like to speak to Mrs. Barnes.”
“Well, you certainly don't look like a reporter. They've been ringing our phone like.... Well, I keep telling them all this excitement is bad for shock. My son is a doctor, too, you know. Practicing in Brooklyn. Edward urged him to come home and share his practice but Don thought there wouldn't be enough for two doctors to.... Say! You're that city police inspector!”
Gossip was promoting me fast. “Your son going to take over Doctor Barnes' practice now?”
“I should hope so. After all, Edward would have wanted it that way—he practically insisted Don go to med school. This is what I've been dreaming about—Don back in the Harbor, where he belongs and.... But this is no time to talk about such things.”
“Maybe not. Will you ask Mrs. Barnes if she'll Bee me for a few minutes?”
“Priscilla is piddling around in the kitchen. This morning she was busy with the funeral arrangements. You'll only upset her and she needs her rest.”
There was a moment of silence while we stared at each other. I suppose I should have gone away but I stood there, waiting. Finally she snorted, “Hmmm! I'll ask Priscilla,” and shut the door in my face.
A frail little woman with an unhealthy waxen skin and thin white hair opened the door a moment later. Her delicate features and mild eyes added up to a washed-out look, and the mouth was merely a faint pink line. She was wearing a white apron over a black dress. The apron was even starched. But the more I looked at her I realized she wasn't exactly frail—more on the wiry side. She had been a pretty woman at one time, in fact still had a kind of beauty—if you go for the fragile type of looks—which I don't. Her voice was a shock; it was far from delicate—it was hard, almost brittle, as she said, “I'm Mrs. Barnes. What do you wish to speak to me about?”
“May I come in?”
She seemed to wince and shake, as if I'd hit her. She closed her eyes for a moment and I had this feeling the very last thing she wanted was to talk to me—or even see me. Then she opened her eyes, stared at me boldly, and that strong, harsh voice said, “Of course. Excuse my manners.
I followed her into a spotlessly neat living room: a mixture of old-fashioned heavy furniture, a big new TV, and two modern plywood chairs. Everything was neat-as-a- pin-so. She was a real Dutch housewife, as they used to say in my day. She pointed toward a stuffed leather chair and I sat down while she perched on the edge of a plain maple stool. Maybe she wasn't as old as I figured—her legs were pretty good, hardly a vein showing. I fooled with my cap as I said, “I realize the strain you're under, Mrs. Barnes, and I wouldn't be here... if a man's life wasn't at stake.”
“I understand, it's your job.”
“Yes, it is, if you believe it's every citizen's job to uphold the law.”
“I respect the law, I always have. But you might as well know this: I do not—I cannot—believe Edward was murdered.”
“Then all the more reason to aid a man under arrest for his murder. I'll be blunt, Mrs. Barnes, do you really want to find the murderer of your husband? The rest of End Harbor doesn't seem....”
“I can't stand the sound of that word—murder!” Her hard voice rose in a wail; brought the picture of an icicle to my mind. I noticed the swinging door that led to the kitchen move slightly—where Mrs. Jenks was at her listening post. “Ed—Doctor Barnes—devoted his life to the health and welfare of people. Who would want to kill a saint? Why, why?”
“Do you think Jerry killed your husband?”
“No. I refuse to believe he was killed by... anybody! It was an accident.”
“Mrs. Barnes, did you act as a secretary for your husband, keep track of his calls?”
“Naturally, if the phone rang and Edward was out, or busy, I took it.”
“I understand Jerry phoned the doctor at nine P.M. Did you take the call?”
“Yes. That is, we both answered. Edward had this stranger in his office, but as I picked up the extension, Edward answered, so I hung up. But I knew it was Jerry.”
“What stranger?”
“Why, some elderly man, a Mr. Nelson, drove up to ask if Edward knew about a man he was looking for, an old army friend, a Mr. Hudon... or some name like that.”
“Why did he think your husband would know him?”
“I don't know exactly, I didn't pay much attention to it. Mr. Nelson was driving along the Island and his friend was supposed to be living in the Harbor, at least he sent Mr. Nelson a card from here a few years ago. Since Mr. Hudon suffered from gallstones, Mr. Nelson thought Edward might have treated his friend. It's all rather complicated and of no importance.”
“It may be of great importance. Did you say Mr. Nelson was an elderly man?”
“Oh, yes. But very tall and well preserved for his age. Edward had never heard of the other man, so Mr. Nelson left.”
“Does Chief Roberts know about Mr. Nelson?”
“Yes, I mentioned it to Artie.”
“Did Nelson say where he was staying in the Harbor?”
“No.”
“Are you certain Doctor Barnes had never seen Nelson before? Did he act excited, or upset after Nelson left?”
“Edward never put eyes on the man before. I gathered that Mr. Nelson was merely passing through the Harbor. Really, Mr. Lund, I don't see the point of all this.”
“Jerry claims the doctor told him he was on his way to make another call, that he had to see the 'old goat.' That might have been this Nelson.”
“That's ridiculous, Nelson wasn't a patient.”
“Have you any idea as to who the 'old goat' might be?”
“No.” She suddenly batted her ear nervously with a finger. “And Edward had no other calls except Jerry's.”
“How do you know, Mrs. Barnes?”
“Sir, are you doubting my word?”
“No, ma'am, merely checking. I don't have to tell you that if I can prove Doctor Barnes had another stop to make after he left Jerry, it might set Jerry free. Are you positive there wasn't another phone call after Jerry's?”
“Edward never said a word about it and he always told me where he was going, in case of an emergency. I was sitting here watching TV and after Mr. Nelson took his leave, as the programs were changing, Edward came out of his office and was rather angry. He hated night calls. He said there was nothing wrong with Jerry if he'd watch his diet.”
“How do you know he wasn't angry over something this Nelson said?”
“I know. I mean he wasn't really angry. Lands, Mr. Lund, this Mr. Nelson merely dropped in to ask some information. Only reason Edward took him into his office was to check his files for the other man's name. As Edward left, a few minutes later, Mrs. Jenks came over to watch TV. She stayed when I became nervous, that is, when it neared midnight and Edward didn't return.”
“What did
