of grief.
Bennett Rose emerged from the back and went to them and took the woman by the hand. He led Campbell and the woman up the stairs.
Hammersmith stood and saw that Day was awake, too. Hammersmith was nearly dry and felt marginally better than he had all day. He left his blanket on the chair and followed Day to the stairs, and the two of them went up. There was a gathering of villagers outside a room down the hall from Day’s, and the crowd parted for Day and Hammersmith to pass through. Calvin Campbell was standing just inside the door. He glanced at the policemen, but said nothing. The woman who had come with him was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at something there.
Hammersmith crossed the room, looked over the woman’s shoulder, and saw Oliver Price’s body. The woman was smoothing the baby’s wispy hair back from his pale forehead, absently repeating the same motion again and again. Hammersmith shuddered and looked away. Day gripped his arm and moved past him, put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, and waited until she looked up at him.
“Mrs Price?” Day said. “Hester, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
The woman blinked and a single tear escaped, ran down her face, and dropped from her chin onto the back of Day’s hand.
Day stepped away from her and nodded to Campbell before leaving the room. Hammersmith followed him. Bennett Rose stepped out into the hallway after them and shut the door behind him. They went quietly to the stairs and down before Hammersmith finally spoke. “Shouldn’t we question her?” he said.
“When she’s had some time,” Day said. “I have a feeling whatever’s happened here has reached its conclusion, and not in the way Hester Price hoped it would. She doesn’t have anywhere to go now.”
“Do you think she killed her child?”
“No,” Rose said. Hammersmith was surprised to hear him speak. “No woman would end her own child.”
“No,” Day said. “I agree, but not for that reason.” He and Hammersmith had both seen crimes against children. They were aware that mothers were as capable of evil acts as anyone else. “I think the only thing keeping her here was the hope that Oliver was still alive.”
Day crossed to the hearth and took a seat. Hammersmith reluctantly followed. Bennett Rose fetched mugs of beer and sat with them. He seemed to need something to do, and he seemed to want company.
After a time, Rose cleared his throat to get their attention. “I woulda made tea, but I don’t know about the water.”
“Yes,” Day said. “Beer might be safer at the moment.”
“I did somethin’ last night,” Rose said.
“You drugged us last night,” Hammersmith said.
Rose nodded and looked at his feet and mumbled something incoherent.
“I’m sorry?” Day said. “I can’t hear you.”
Rose looked back up at him. “It was the wrong thing to do, but I meant no harm by it. Just wanted to keep you somewheres Rawhead wouldn’t take you.”
“That’s foolishness,” Hammersmith said. “You might have killed us if you’d got the dosage wrong.”
Rose’s expression was pure misery. “I know it.”
“I’m afraid there will be consequences, Mr Rose,” Day said.
“All I’d ask is you remember why I did it. That I was tryin’ to help. A good night’s sleep’s all I wanted for you.”
“We’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Rose nodded again and slumped back in his chair. Hammersmith would have liked to be able to talk freely with Inspector Day, but even if Rose left the room, there was nothing to talk about. Not really. They had discovered two of the three missing Prices. The case was nearly finished and all the little mysteries of Blackhampton were resolving themselves. Sitting and waiting made him feel restless. All they needed to do was find Sutton Price and they could go home.
As if on cue, the inn’s front door opened and a man lurched across the threshold. He was disheveled and wore a week’s worth of beard. His eyes were wide and wild, and they settled on the two policemen before the man had come even three steps into the room.
“Who are you?” the man said.
Day stood up and adjusted his jacket. “More properly,” he said, “who are you, sir?”
“That’s Sutton Price,” Rose said. He jumped to his feet and pointed at the scruffy man, an outlet for the innkeeper’s guilt and nervous energy. “Where were you? Where were you when your son was dying?”
Sutton Price ignored the question. He pointed at the back door next to the bar. “Is my wife through there or upstairs?”
“She’s upstairs,” Day said.
Bennett Rose scowled and turned and walked away from them, disappearing into the dining room. The door swung shut behind him.
“Is she with him?” Sutton Price said.
“Who do you mean?” Day said.
“You know who I mean.” Price dropped his pack on the floor and rooted through it. He came up with a revolver, but he didn’t point it at the policemen. Instead, he moved toward the stairs. Day’s Colt Navy was in his hand instantly, pointed at Price’s center mass.
“Please put your weapon down, Mr Price.”
“I can’t do that.” Price’s voice was even and measured and reasonable.
“What do you have planned, sir?”
“I’m going to kill him and take my family back.”
“I can’t let you kill anyone.”
“I understand,” Price said. In one fluid motion, he swung the revolver up and pulled the trigger. There was a roar of exploding gunpowder and a piece of the mantel splintered away behind Day. Before Day could return fire, there was a corresponding blast from the back of the room and Price’s pack burst open, scattering its contents over the floor of the great room. Bennett Rose strode through the dining room door, a rifle held at his waist, pointed at Price.
“I meant to miss you with that shot, Sutton,” Rose said. “But I won’t miss again, trust me on it.”
Price’s revolver wavered, suddenly presented with three possible targets. Hammersmith used that split second of indecision to launch himself across the room. He rammed into Price, knocking him on his back, the revolver spinning away across the floor. Day walked calmly to Rose and pushed the end of the rifle’s barrel down toward the floor.
“Thank you, Mr Rose,” Day said. “That’s quite enough shooting for one day.”
“I’ve ruined my own floor,” Rose said.
“With good cause.”
There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and Calvin Campbell appeared on the landing.
“What’s happened?” he said. Then he saw Hammersmith helping Sutton Price to his feet and his face went pale. “Keep him away from her,” he said.
Price roared back at him. “She’s mine!” Hammersmith had to restrain him, pulling his arms up behind his back. It wasn’t easy to do given that the sergeant still felt weak and sick to his stomach.
“You’re a monster!” Campbell said. “You killed your own child!”
The fury went out of Sutton Price, and he sagged against Hammersmith. “He’s really gone, then?”
“You know he is,” Campbell said. “You’ve not only killed your boy, but Hester, too. She’ll never recover from this.”
“I didn’t do it.” Price’s voice was soft now, barely audible in the huge front room of the inn, drowned out by the sound of the crackling fires on both sides. “I’ve spent the week looking for him, hoping he was somehow alive.”
Campbell looked down at his feet. He was still blocking the landing, as if to keep Price from running past and up. When he spoke, his voice was as soft as Price’s, but there was steel in it and everyone clearly heard him. “Then you’re a fool. Even if that’s the truth, you’ve done everything wrong.”
