Show of Evil

'There was a utility man near the house that morning, but we never could locate him.'

'A utility man? What company - '

'Lady across the street saw him walking down the road. Fact is, we never ascertained who he worked for.'

'And that was your only suspect?'

'Told you, Mr Meyer, she didn't have any enemies. Nothing was stolen. Some nut comin' through town, most likely. We worked on that case for about a month.'

'Fingerprints?'

'Nothin' didn't match up with the family and their friends.'

'We're interested in the condition of the body, Chief. Can you - '

'I'm not at liberty to talk about that sir. You might talk to Dr Fields at the clinic - if he'll talk to you. He's also the coroner.'

'Thanks, Chief. Do you have that number?'

Young gave him the number and hung up. He sat and stared at the phone for several moments, started to call Fields, and then changed his mind. Doc Fields was a grown man. He could tell this Meyer fellow whatever he wanted to tell him. Young turned his attention back to the mail.

Doc Fields was staring across a tongue depressor at the most inflamed and swollen throat he had seen in recent years. He threw the wooden stick in the wastebasket and looked sternly down at the six-year-old.

'You been smoking, Mose?' he asked.

The boy's eyes bulged and his mother gasped, and then Fields laughed.

'Just jokin', young fella. Got us some bad tonsils here. Lessee, you're Baptist, aren't you, Beth?'

The mother nodded.

'Those tonsils have to come out. Sooner the better.'

The boy's eyes teared up and his lips began to tremble.

'Oh, nothin' to it, son. Besides, for a couple of days you can have all the ice cream you want to eat. How 'bout that?'

The promise of mountains of ice cream seemed to allay young Moses's fears.

'Check with Sally and see when's the best time for both of us,' Fields said. But before the woman and her son could get up to leave, Fields's secretary peeked in the door.

'You got a long-distance call, Doctor,' she said. 'It's Chicago.'

'You don't say,' said Fields. 'Probably the university school of medicine seeking my consultation.' He snatched up the phone.

'This is Dr Bert Fields. What can I do for you?' he said gruffly.

'Doctor, this is Ben Meyer. I'm a prosecutor with the DA's office. You may be able to help me.'

'You ailing?' Fields said sardonically.

Meyer laughed. 'No, sir. We have a case in progress that may relate to a homicide you had down there.'

'The Balfour murder?'

'How'd you guess?'

'Only homicide we've had hereabouts in a dozen years. In fact, the worst I ever saw and I been the town doctor since '61.'

'I understand you're the coroner.'

'Coroner, family doctor, surgeon, you name it.'

'And you performed an autopsy?'

'Of course.'

'Do you remember any of the particulars?'

'Sir, I remember every inch of that child's corpse. Not likely to forget it.'

'Would it be possible to get a copy of your report?'

Fields hesitated.

'I can assure you, we'll treat it confidentially,' Meyer hurriedly