A Fountain Filled With Blood

surprise. “Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson? I’m Russ Van Alstyne, the chief of police.”

Todd’s parents stood up, Mrs. MacPherson clinging to her husband’s arm. “You find the bastards who did this?” Mr. MacPherson asked. “It was a robbery, wasn’t it? I told that boy he needed real protection. Cash business like that. Bound to attract attention.”

“We don’t know who assaulted your son yet, sir. We’ve taken prints, and hopefully that will lead us somewhere. One of my officers is interviewing neighboring business owners to find out if anyone saw anything.” He looked around. “Is Tim MacPherson here? The one who found him?”

The brother stepped forward. “That’s me, sir.”

“You use a key to get into the store?”

“No, sir. The lights were off and the CLOSED sign was hanging on the door, but the door was unlocked. I told the officer who showed up after I called.”

Russ nodded. “That’s what he said. Just checking. Sometimes people remember more after they’ve had a chance to get over the initial shock.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t appear to have been a robbery. The till is full of cash and credit-card slips. It looks like whoever assaulted Todd either grabbed him outside before he had a chance to lock the door or did it inside the store and turned off the lights before leaving.” He replaced his glasses. “We found a ring of keys hanging on a hook in the back of a shelf beneath the cash register.”

“That’s where Todd kept his keys,” Trisha said. “I spoke with him on the phone maybe ten minutes before ten. He said something about cleaning up the mess in the store.”

“I’m thinking if someone got to him while he was locking the door, they wouldn’t have put his keys away in exactly the right place,” Russ said. “I think whoever did this went into the store, maybe right at closing time, and I think they were looking for Todd.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Do any of you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

The MacPhersons looked at one another. Something moved between them, a message or a collective memory. “No,” Tim said. “Not really.”

“Not really?”

“Well…” Mrs. MacPherson hesitated. “Todd used to have trouble back when he was in school. He was one of those kids who attracts the attention of bullies. He got beaten up a few times. We reported—I reported every instance to the principal. Some kids got suspended as a result.”

“For Chrissakes, Cathy, he finished school six years ago. Todd’s a grown man now. Nobody’s going to go after him because his Mommy got them suspended.” Mr. MacPherson shook his wife’s arm free. “Goddamn it, none of this would have happened if he had learned how to defend himself like I wanted. If you hadn’t stopped me from teaching him how to fight—”

“Dad, Todd was never going to be like that.” Tim’s even voice sharpened to a hard point. “Give it a rest.”

Russ glanced at Clare, then back at the family. “Is Todd gay?”

“No!” Mr. MacPherson said immediately.

There was another collective moment. Mrs. MacPherson glanced at her husband. “Yes,” she said. Russ looked at Trisha and Tim. They both nodded.

Russ exhaled. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Do you think that’s it? That’s the reason Todd was hurt? Because he’s…” Mrs. MacPherson pressed her lips together in a tight line. Her eyes filled with tears.

“There was no theft, no vandalism…. Did Todd sell drugs? Smuggle cigarettes from Canada? Was he a heavy bettor?”

“No!” Mrs. MacPherson said. “Todd’s not like that. He works incredibly hard at his store. He’s doing a lot better than so many people his age.”

Tim shifted and scratched the back of his neck. “He did, you know, smoke pot sometimes.” He shrugged at his mother’s expression. “Sorry, Mom, but he did.”

“Smoking a few joints isn’t what I had in mind.” Russ’s eyes flickered toward Clare, and she caught a glimpse of amusement before he looked back at the MacPhersons. “We’re going to investigate every possible angle in order to find out who did this, then put them away for a good long time. Mrs. MacPherson, if you and your kids could give me a list of those boys who were expelled back when Todd was in school, I’d appreciate it.”

He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. Mrs. MacPherson pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, there was Andy Poccala.” She looked at her other children as if for confirmation. Tim and Trisha nodded. Clare slipped away while Russ collected what information he could from the MacPhersons.

Mr. MacPherson was standing, his shoulders rolled forward in the posture of a usually erect man too tired to stand straight. He was staring with apparent fascination at a CNN reporter interviewing a movie star who was gushing with happiness over her new—and fifth—husband.

Clare drifted next to Mr. MacPherson and came to a parade rest, staring at the screen. “We are totally in love!” the improbably youthful actress was saying. “I’m so totally happy!” Clare waited.

“Your church,” Mr. MacPherson said suddenly. “Do they do anything to help boys like Todd. Any programs?”

“Help him? How?”

“You know. When a boy is confused. Help him see that he can be a perfectly normal man. It’s all conditioning; that’s what I’ve read. You just have to help them make the right connections.” He broke his gaze away from the television screen and looked at Clare. His eyes had a desperate quality to them. “I know he could stop being… that way if he just had some support. Like AA.” He shot a bitter look at the rest of his family, who were clustered around Russ. “They’re no help.”

Clare took a moment before answering. “I have heard of those programs. Attempting to convert homosexuals to heterosexuality. St. Alban’s—and the Episcopal church in general—doesn’t do anything like that, no. And from what I understand, the groups that do have a very poor long-term success rate.” She touched his sleeve lightly. “I