time.
With an air of proprietorship, the mayor settled in a straight chair facing the chief’s desk. She began without preamble. “The City of Adelaide has suffered a grievous loss with the death of Susan Pritchard Flynn, one of our most respected citizens.” The mayor’s voice rose with platform unctuousness. “Susan’s generosity to her community, her selfless devotion to her family and her church, and her honorable character will always serve as a sterling example to those of us who remain.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah.” I clapped my hand over my mouth.
The mayor’s face quivered. “What did you say?”
Chief Cobb’s expression was peculiar. “I didn’t say anything. The heating makes funny noises sometimes.”
The mayor’s head switched back and forth. “I heard a woman’s voice.”
I kept my fingers pressed to my mouth. I must not succumb to the temptation to confound her as I had on a previous occasion when she’d attempted to interfere in a murder investigation. Wiggins had scolded me for that incident.
“Some kind of high sound.” Her gaze moved up to the heating register.
“I turned the thermostat up when I came in. Maintenance always lowers the heat over the weekend. Probably we heard some kind of”—he was making an effort not to smile—“funny wheeze.”
It was a good thing I was pressing my fingers against my lips.
Her plump face pink, her eyes glittering, the mayor gave a short nod. “As I was saying, we have suffered a grievous loss. However, not”—great emphasis—“
I floated to the blackboard on the opposite side of the room behind the mayor. It was quite clean. The chalk lying in the tray was fresh. I picked up a piece of pristine white chalk and immediately felt as though I were back in a classroom. One of the pleasures of teaching English had been the dissection of character, Bob Cratchitt, Pip, Lady Macbeth, Holden Caulfield, Madame Bovary, Heathcliff, Huckleberry Finn, Jo March.
“—was an entirely separate matter.” The mayor was brisk, a woman sure of her facts.
Behind his desk, Chief Cobb looked immovable as a mountain, a big, solid man. He listened, his blunt face expressionless.
I rolled the chalk in my fingers, such a familiar sensation. My hand rose. I printed, the slight scratch of the chalk lost in the mayor’s volume:
“Moreover, as we all know, at the moment of death, there will often be a magnificent, though doomed, struggle. None of us”—the mayor’s tone was lugubrious, but brave—“go willingly into that dark night. Our dear Susan no doubt had some intimation, perhaps piercing pain. This would explain the posture in which she was found. Think of Susan in pain, gasping for breath—”
The chalk moved:
“—seeking ease. She must have stumbled from her bed, clutching the pillow, only to fall and embark upon that last great journey which we all shall take.”
“I trust everything is clear now.” She spoke with finality.
“Facts are helpful, Neva. I’m sure you will be interested to know that Susan Flynn didn’t die on the floor. Someone put her there and placed the pillow over her face. A shift in the lividity of the body proved she was moved after death. That’s a fact.” He tapped the papers on his desk. “Susan Flynn died from an overdose of digitalis. That’s a fact. My job is to figure out whether the overdose was accidental or deliberate. And, if deliberate, whether she committed suicide or was murdered. Moreover, I intend to find out who moved the body after death.”
The mayor wasn’t fazed. “Sometimes facts must be interpreted to be understood.” She fluttered a pudgy hand in dismissal. “Could there be a reasonable explanation for the placement of the body? Of course. Who can ever know how death strikes an intimate of a family?” Her tone was kind, as if encouraging a listener who might not be attuned to human vagaries. “Reactions are often impulsive, hard to explain, hard to understand. There are many possibilities. Distraught by the finality of death, quite likely someone pulled Susan from the bed and tried to revive her. When it became heartbreakingly obvious that resuscitation wasn’t possible, the pillow was blindly placed over Susan, to hide the unalterable image of death.”
“We’ll do our best to find out what happened.” His voice businesslike.
“It’s good we had this chance to visit, Sam. It is important for me, as mayor, to be certain all of Adelaide’s public servants are focused on our primary task”—great emphasis here—“
“—and not twist our thoughts seeking complicated solutions. Dear Susan.” Sympathy oozed from her voice. “No doubt she felt so ill she misjudged how many pills she took. Or”—she lifted her heavy shoulders, let them fall —“though there’s never any need for public revelation of suicide, illness sometimes is too great a burden to be borne.”
Despite her unattractive bulk and bullying nature, Neva Lumpkin was nobody’s fool. Suicide was a lovely resolution.
