last I saw of him.”
“Where did you drive to, once you left?”
“I needed gas, so I drove over to the Quik-Fill that’s by the Kmart. I was seriously shaken up by the weird stuff that had happened. I didn’t want to go straight home. So I went to Clare’s house.”
“Why Reverend Fergusson?”
Debba tilted her head, twisting another strand of hair around her finger. “She had told me, when we… during that thing at the clinic”-she glanced over at Burns, checking to see if she was on dangerous ground-“that I should come talk to her anytime. I thought… I had a lot of stuff in my head, and I thought she could help me sort it out and make sense of things.”
Russ nodded. “When you say that’s the last you saw of Dr. Rouse, do you mean alive? Have you seen his body at any time after you left him Friday?”
“Ugh. No.”
“Have you seen him alive any time after you left him Friday?”
“I told you, no.”
Burns tapped the table. “Don’t badger my client, Chief Van Alstyne.”
Russ ignored him. “You say after you reached the trailhead, you took a closer look at Dr. Rouse’s injury. How did you do that? With his flashlight?”
“Yeah. He sat in my car and I turned on the lights and took a look. He had a handkerchief, a real cloth one, and he kept it pressed against his cut.”
“A few minutes, maybe. He seemed really exhausted. That’s when I tried to get him to let me take him home, or to the hospital or something.”
This was not what he wanted to hear. Rouse taking a breather in the car was totally plausible. There wasn’t any other sign of him in the car-no indication that she had stuffed him in the trunk or laid him out in the backseat. If Lyle and Kevin didn’t find anything in her house, there was no way they were going to connect Clow with Rouse’s disappearance. The DA wouldn’t even bother with their paperwork-it would go straight into the circular file. “What time was it when you left Dr. Rouse?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe seven-thirty or so?”
“And it took you an hour to get gas and reach Reverend Fergusson’s house?”
“I guess. I wasn’t in any hurry.”
“Did you make any other stops?”
“Nope.”
“What time did Dr. Rouse contact you?”
“It was after dinner, so… between six and six-thirty.”
“Which?”
She looked at Burns before answering. “Closer to six, I guess.”
Burns placed both hands on the table. “I think that just about covers it, don’t you, Chief?” He stood up. “Ms. Clow has covered all the events of that night in which she played any part. She’s been nothing but cooperative, both today and during the night Dr. Rouse disappeared. I trust there won’t be any need for further questioning.”
Debba glanced at Russ, then at Burns, checking to see if she really could just get up and leave.
“I’m sure Debba here understands that we need to do everything that we can to find Allan Rouse,” Russ said.
Burns hooked a hand under Debba’s arm and levered her out of her seat. “Then I suggest, Chief, that you stop hounding my client, get off your butts, and start tracking the man down.”
Chapter 27
Tuesday, March 29, 1955
Allan checked the address on the mailbox against the one scrawled on the paper in his hand. This was it? This cruddy little house on Ferry Street was where his last hope for med school lived? If he didn’t know that Dr. Farnsworth had no sense of humor, he’d think the old guy had been jerking him around. But he was the one who had set up this meeting between Allan and the founder of the new clinic. There must be more to Mrs. Jane Ketchem than met the eye. Allan looked at the peeling green paint on the door of the tiny barn and the front room’s sun- bleached curtains, whose barely discernible pattern was distorted through the ripples in the window glass. There certainly couldn’t be less.
He took the granite block steps in one stride and knocked on the door. It jerked open, startling him so he nearly tumbled backward off the top step. The woman standing there stared at him. “You must be Allan Rouse,” she said.
He recovered his balance. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Mrs. Ketchem. You’re late.”
He saw she was buttoned into a navy coat, with a knit hat tied beneath her chin. Oh, Christ, had he blown it without ever getting a chance to present his case? “I’m sorry,” he began, “I was-”
“I’m due to volunteer at the clinic. You can walk with me.” She reached behind her and snatched a purse and gloves from a hall stand. He jumped out of her way as she swung out the door, shutting and locking it in one efficient movement. She tugged on her gloves and narrowed her eyes as she gave him the once-over. “Is that all you’re wearing?”
“Uh…” he gestured toward his mom’s Chevrolet. “My coat’s in the car. Can I drive you?”
“I’d rather walk. It keeps your joints young.” She nodded toward the car. “Well? Better get it if you’re coming along. It’s raw out today.”
Allan stumbled down the steps and loped across her bath mat-sized lawn. He retrieved his coat, a long, heavy thing that had been his brother Elliot’s, and slipped into it while following Mrs. Ketchem down the sidewalk. Evidently, she didn’t wait for stragglers. He fell into step beside her, and studied her in quick glimpses that could be passed off as checking out the ways home owners had tried to individualize this row of identical houses. If Mrs. Ketchem’s joints were young, they were the only part; she was gaunt and rawboned, with deep grooves running from her nose to her chin and tomahawk-slashed creases radiating out from her eyes.
“Dr. Farnsworth tells me that you want to become a doctor.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Why?”
None of which was what financial-aid boards and admissions officers wanted to hear. “Because I want to use my gifts-my facility with science, my curiosity, my empathy-to help people. Not in a lab, but hands on. One-on- one.”
“Have you thought about alternate careers? Medicine should be a calling, you know, not something you pursue because you can’t think of anything better.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a doctor, ma’am. Since I was a kid. I was the one who was always collecting hurt pets and trying to treat them.”
“But you don’t want to be a vet?”
He risked a grin. “People don’t bite you.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.” The reached the corner and crossed the street, to where the new cemetery lay behind a squared-off granite wall. That was another thing he wanted to put behind him, a place where something
