gave me this.”
She held out a drawing that had been done on the back of a paper place mat from the Broiler, a pencil portrait of her. She looked very pretty and a little sad.
“Helped?”
“Yeah, it helped.”
“Here you go,” Jo said.
Annie took the plate. “Is it all right if I eat in my room?”
“Sure. Just bring the dishes down when you’re finished.”
Annie moved toward the living room, then stopped and glanced back. “I love you guys.”
“Good night, sweetheart,” Jo said. She watched her daughter head upstairs and she smiled. “Think she’s okay?”
“She’ll work it out. Good head on her shoulders,” Cork said. “And quite lovely. She gets that from you.”
“Thanks, cowboy.” She bent to where he sat at the table and kissed the top of his head. “I’m going up to check on Stevie and get him into bed.”
Cork went back to studying the files, looking for anything he might have overlooked before or seen and too quickly dismissed. It took a while before something dawned on him. When it finally did, he grabbed the documents that dealt with the night Fletcher Kane killed himself and Solemn, and he scanned the autopsy report for each man.
He went to the telephone table in the living room and pulled out his address book. He took it back to the kitchen and made a long-distance call. Jo came downstairs just as he was finishing.
“Stevie’s asleep,” she said.
“Sit down, Jo.”
She heard the taut pitch of his voice. She took a chair at the table. “You’ve found something.”
“Maybe.”
Jo looked at the phone on the table. “Who were you talking to?”
“Boomer Grabowski in Chicago. Remember him?”
“Sure. But you haven’t talked to him in years.”
“I called him last week actually.”
“What about?”
“To see if he’d be willing to investigate Mal Thorne.”
“Why?”
“It was part of due diligence. But he was busy on a case in Miami, and then my head got all turned around for a while and I didn’t follow up with him right away. That was a big mistake, because Annie got me to thinking tonight, Jo. We believe that someone was with Charlotte and ate food while she died. Now take a look at this.”
He handed her the autopsy report on Fletcher Kane.
After reading it for a minute, she asked, “What am I looking for?”
“Stomach contents.”
“There’s not much.”
“Exactly. Olga Swenson set a good pot roast dinner down on the table for Kane the night he killed himself. Somebody ate a lot of that food and drank a good deal of the wine that went with it.”
Jo’s eyes went down to the document in her hand. “It wasn’t Fletcher Kane.”
“That’s right.”
“Solemn?”
“He’d been fasting for several days, and his autopsy confirmed that.”
Jo frowned. “You’re talking about Annie’s sin eater comment.”
“Yeah.”
“Cork, that was just joking. A sin eater? That’s crazy.”
“Whoever killed Charlotte Kane wasn’t exactly sane. Who told Annie the sin eater story?”
Jo thought a moment. “Father Mal.”
“What do we know about him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. What do we really know about the man who’s the parish priest?”
“Why is this even a question? Because he told Annie the story?”
“Humor me.”
“He’s a good priest.”
“He says he’s in love with Rose. He wants to marry her. Is that the behavior of a good priest?”
“I like him.”
“So do I, but that’s not relevant at the moment. What do we know about his past?”
“He ran a homeless shelter in Chicago. I’ve heard he risked his life to keep money for the shelter from being stolen.”
“Maybe that’s the story he tells to explain his scars. Is it true? What else do we know?”
“What do we know about anybody except what they tell us? My God, Cork, some things you just have to accept.”
“Not when murder is involved.” He nodded at the kitchen telephone. “Boomer agreed to check out Mal, find out about the incident that resulted in his scars, anything else he can turn up about the priest’s background.”
Jo shook her head. “This feels wrong.”
“If Boomer comes up with nothing, fine. No harm done.”
“Why don’t you just ask Father Mal where he was the night Fletcher and Solemn died?”
“He’s dead drunk right now. And there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t lie.” Cork sat back suddenly. “But there is someone who might be able to help. What time is it?”
Jo glanced at her watch. “Nine-thirty.”
“It’s not too late.” Cork got up.
“Where are you going?”
“To the rectory to talk to Ellie Gruber. Jo, believe me, I’m hoping she’s able to give Mal an alibi.”
The housekeeper answered the door in her robe.
“I’m sorry to come knocking so late, Ellie.”
“That’s all right, Cork. I’ll be up until Father Mal comes in. Was it him you wanted to see?”
“You, actually. Do you mind if I ask you a question about Mal?”
“I won’t know until you ask me, now will I? Would you like to come in?”
“No, thanks, Ellie. This will only take a moment. I don’t know how to phrase this delicately. Have you noticed him acting a little strange lately?”
“Well.” She clutched her robe tight at her throat.
“I’m a little worried about him, is all,” Cork went on. “A lot of us are. Do you have any idea what’s troubling him?”
“If I did, Cork, I’d be doing my best to help him.”
“Ellie, think about the night Fletcher Kane and Solemn Winter Moon died.”
“Lord, that’s one night I’d rather forget.”
“Do you remember Mal? How he seemed?”
“That was a bad night, to be sure. He got a call and went out. When he came back, he was very upset. Then a bit later he got the call from the sheriff’s office about Dr. Kane. What a terrible, terrible night.”
“Do you know who that first call was from?”
“No.”
“What time did he go out?”
“Oh, it must have been around nine.”
“When did he come back?”
“About an hour and a half later.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not that I recall. He’s usually so pleasant. He likes a little Irish coffee before bed, so I had everything ready.
