Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (118 page)

Once she’d had three unsteady sips, she shook her head in dismay. “So you think Lawrence killed Derek?”

“That’s the way the evidence is leaning,” Green replied. “Knowing the family as you did, what do you think?”

“Lorrie was a very sick puppy, but he was always a gentle kid. Sensitive and sweet. He couldn’t stand meanness, and I never saw him fight back, even when kids picked on him.”

The use of the diminutive name startled Green, for no one, not even Sandy or Tom, had referred to the dead man as Lorrie. It occurred to Green that the nicknames of the Pettigrew children implied a family warmth that belied the bitterness of their later lives. “But people in the village seemed afraid of him,” he said. “Some parents wouldn’t let their children go to the Pettigrew farm because of him.”

“That’s just because they didn’t know him. And anyway, he worshipped Derek! Derek was the only one in the family who was nice to him. Now if Lorrie was going to kill anyone, I would have bet Tommy.”

“Why?”

“Tommy was so mean to him. And...” She flushed, giving him yet another glimpse of the softer woman inside.

“And?”

“And Lorrie believed in being good. He wanted people to be pure.”

“Which Tom wasn’t?”

She chuckled. “Hardly. Poor Lorrie worried so much about Tommy’s soul. Tommy didn’t give a damn about his soul.”

“Yet you went out with him?”

“Yeah. I sure pick ’em.” She began to swing her leg up and down, and a wistful smile curved her lips. “Tommy was like riding a roller coaster; the lows were scary, but the highs were really, really amazing.”

Green told her about the love letter Tom had written her. “Why did you break up with him?”

She looked surprised to hear about the letter. “Tommy wrote something? Boy, he must have been more desperate than I thought. Poor Tommy. All he ever wanted was to be a somebody, but he couldn’t read worth a damn, so he flunked out of high school and then got fired from all his jobs because of his temper.”

Green thought of Isabelle Boisvert and the boy in the back of Tom’s truck. Deftly he changed gears. “Tell me about his temper.”

“He wouldn’t learn to take crap, you know? Life is full of crap, from the Grade Two teacher who sticks you in the corner to the boss who yells because you ordered the wrong screw. Tommy’s gotta make an argument out of everything. And when we’d go out, any guy that looked at me sideways, Tommy would take him on.”

“Was he ever violent?”

“Sometimes, if the other guy wanted to push it too. Lots of times, Tommy would go home at night with a bloody nose.” A vivid picture was beginning to emerge in Green’s mind of family life at the Pettigrew farm. Of wild, headstrong Tom and gentle, timid Lawrence, of parents struggling to cope with the clashing spirits of their many sons. “What about Derek? Was he more like Lawrence or Tom?”

The mention of Derek erased the wistful smile from her lips. She dropped her eyes sadly. “I can’t believe he’s dead. What a waste! Everybody thought Derek would be a somebody. He was so smart. Like Lorrie, he’d never fight, kept everything in. But he was strong inside himself, you know? Like he knew where he was going and could leave all this family stuff behind.”

“Was Tom jealous of him?”

“Oh, totally!”

“Did he have reason? Over you, I mean?”

She shook her head, but alarm flashed across her face. “There was nothing there! Derek and me talked a bit. One day, especially, I was going out to the farm and—” She clamped her hand to her mouth in dismay. “Mamma mia,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought what if... No.” She whipped her head back and forth, as if to chase the thought away.

Green leaned forward sharply. “What if what?”

She chewed her lower lip and splayed her fingers to rearrange each ring in turn. Green waited until she finally made up her own mind. “One day I was going out to see Tommy, and I took the river path because it was dry enough.”

“When was this?”

“Just before I broke up with Tommy and left town.”

“When was that? Spring of ’84?”

She nodded. “May. Derek was just back from the university, maybe a couple of weeks. He was getting ready to go to the States.” She looked up in horror. “Jeez, you mean... he never even left?”

“Looks that way.” Green curbed his impatience with an effort, sensing the case was about to break open before his eyes. “Please go on, Sophia. You were going out to meet Tom.”

She nodded. Absently, her crimson nails carved deep indentations into the vinyl arms of the chair. “I heard yelling in the distance from the farm. Men’s voices, really loud. It made me nervous, because I knew Tommy and his father argued a lot, and it always put Tommy in a rotten mood. I didn’t really want to see him if he was so mad. So I waited in the woods, and suddenly I saw Derek coming down the path. He was kind of running, kind of limping, but his head was down so he didn’t see me. When he reached this big tree—the old maple with the tree fort in it—he leaned against it and started bawling. He had a big bruise on his cheek and kinda cradled himself like every sob hurt. I never seen a guy so upset, so I asked him what was wrong. That was the main time we really talked. He said he didn’t know what to do with his life, ’cause everything he wanted was against what his family believed, and he had to get out of here if he was going to survive.”

“Did he say who beat him up?”

She shook her head, but the crimson nails dug deeper, as if to suppress her unvoiced fear. “He talked about wanting to help people, maybe be a minister, but the kind that preached the true message that Jesus gave. Not the tight-ass, unforgiving types his family liked. But he didn’t know where he could go. We’d had a couple of talks before about how his parents wanted him to be an engineer, but he wanted to help people. Build spiritual bridges, he said. Not physical ones.” She blushed at the unfamiliar sound of the words from her lips. “Derek always had his head in the clouds.”

“Doesn’t sound like enough reason for a beating, or for tears.”

“Well, I think there was a woman too. That he loved, but couldn’t have.”

Green perked up. Maybe the mysterious “S” Derek was supposed to run away with. “Any name?”

“No, I just got the feeling it couldn’t work out.”

Green eyed her thoughtfully. She had relaxed slightly and was trying to smooth out the dents she’d made in the vinyl, but she still seemed spooked. Something about Derek’s beating and Tom’s jealousy troubled her. Because Lawrence had intercepted the note about catching the bus, perhaps she had never learned the full depth of Derek’s feeling. Could it be that she was just now putting the signals together?

“Do you think that woman might have been you?” he asked. “And that Tom suspected it?”

She looked shocked. “Oh Jeez, no! I mean...if Derek liked me, he never let on.”

Despite her pretense at shock, Green wasn’t convinced. “But you thought Tom gave him the beating because of you, right? Is that why you broke up with him?”

She looked up from her fingers to give him a reproachful frown, as if he was making her face possibilities she preferred to avoid. “Tommy saw us talking in the woods,” she muttered. “He saw me put my arm around Derek. He freaked out. I don’t know if he beat up Derek, but his freak-out scared me enough that I thought ‘I need to get out of here’. So I told Tommy it was over and then I asked my parents to put me on the first plane over to Italy.” She smiled. “Believe me, they were only too happy. Nona Vincelli was already fixing up the bedroom in Orvieto.”

Green’s instincts were screaming. Whatever the true extent of Sophia’s and Derek’s relationship, the final fateful days before the tragedy were slowly coming to light and the mystery of the stolen notes was falling into place. Tom—wild, dangerous Tom—had been in love with Sophia and insanely jealous of his older brother’s friendship with her. Then Derek was beaten up, Sophia suspected Tom was responsible, therefore she broke up with him. Lawrence stole Tom’s letter begging for a second chance, and Sophia left town, leaving a desperate, vengeful Tom blaming...who? Derek, who had stolen her affections? Or Lawrence, who had thwarted Tom’s attempt to win her back?

A number of questions remained unanswered. Namely, had Tom known that Lawrence stole his letter? Who had actually beaten up Derek, and who was the real object of his love? But one thing was becoming increasing clear, Green realized with a shiver of foreboding. Of all the members of the family, Lawrence was not the one with the most rage and the most compelling reason to murder Derek. Tom was.

Eighteen

 I
n the bright autumn sun, the Riverview Seniors’ Home looked less desolate, and even the stench of manure from the field across the road had dissipated in the crisp, dry air. Green swung the car into the parking spot next to the main entrance, marked Nursing Supervisor, and leaped out before the engine had even shuddered to a stop. As he sailed through the front door, he prayed that, like his own father’s, Reverend Taylor’s memory for what had happened twenty years ago was better than for what he’d said five minutes ago.

During the drive over, which had taken ten minutes even at his record-breaking speeds, he had tried to refute his new theory, but the more he considered it, the more horribly plausible it became. According to the letter he’d written Benji, Tom had been the one to discover the body. How simple it would have been to kill Derek himself and lay the blame on crazy, defenceless Lawrence?

Knowing Tom, it was probably not a premeditated killing but an explosion of the rage he was famous for. But when he’d found himself covered in blood and Derek dead, he’d thought up the perfect way to conceal his crime. Why should he ruin the rest of his life for one brief moment of blind madness, when Lawrence was already beyond the hope of a normal, fulfilling life? Treatment in a mental hospital was no less than he needed and deserved anyway.

Green could almost hear Tom’s infamous, self-justifying excuses rushing to his aid. No wonder he had been so quick to identify Lawrence’s body as Derek, thereby heading off any further inquiry into Derek’s disappearance twenty years ago. No wonder he had been desperate to find the letters he’d written to Benji and to prevent Green from talking to his father. “Gom”, the father had said. Did the old man know something? Suspect something?

And most telling of all, the theory also gave a much more compelling motive for Tom to murder Lawrence. Not to avenge the death of Derek and the ruination of all their lives, but quite simply to shut him up. Which showed just how deadly Tom really was, and the lengths to which he would go to protect himself.

Green’s pulse hammered with excitement. The theory was all circumstantial, based on hints and suppositions, and there were few people still around who might know what had happened back then. His instincts told him Taylor was one, if he could ever get at the memories Taylor had jumbled inside.

As it turned out, that was not as difficult as Green had feared. Taylor had just finished his afternoon rest period and was freshly dressed in preparation for his daily walk. Green caught him just putting on his old-fashioned brimmed hat. His blue eyes were bright, and he actually remembered who Green was.

“Nice day,” he remarked, swinging his cane. “You fancy a turn outside, boy? Hate to miss one of the last fine days of fall.”

Taylor walked with the gait of an old military man, shoulders squared and eyes straight ahead, but his stride was short and his progress slow. Green was able to stroll comfortably at his side and concentrate on a wise choice of words.

“I need your recollection of events twenty years ago, Reverend.”

“That should be no problem, my son. Twenty years ago is clear as crystal.”

“The Pettigrew family. If you recall my visit last Monday, one of the sons—turned out to be Lawrence—died in your church yard.”

“Lawrence, eh? Pity. Always wondered what happened to the poor lad. He was ill, you know, hearing voices and seeing angels all over the place.”

“I’m told you helped him. Gave him chores and even let him have a key to the church. Is that correct?”

“Lawrence only wanted to help. Poor boy got so confused when they took him over to that other church. I promised him he’d always have a place in my church too. Although I never expected him to—” Taylor blinked. “Oh, dear.”

“To do what?”

“To jump to his death. I thought I was helping.”

“I’m sure you were. But I have more bad news, sir. It seems highly likely that twenty years ago, instead of leaving for California, the oldest son, Derek, was murdered and his body concealed by the family.”

Taylor made an odd sound, half-moan and half-grunt. He lurched forward, forcing Green to dive for his arm. Holding him steady, Green gestured to some nearby Muskoka chairs sitting in a cluster around an empty fish pond.

“Perhaps we’d better sit for a moment, Reverend.”

“Eh?” Taylor straightened and shrugged off Green’s hand. “Nope, have to finish my walk. Have to keep the legs strong and the mind sharp. Derek dead? Dear, oh dear.”

“I understand he’d been going through a bit of a personal crisis the last year or two. Thinking about his future, not sure what path he should follow. Did he confide in you?”

Taylor swivelled his head carefully to study Green, his eyes shrewd beneath his bushy white brows. “Who you been talking to, boy?”

Green was surprised at the accusation in the man’s tone. His sixth sense stirred. There was something more to this story, and he hated having no idea what it was or how to get at it. He decided to take a wild guess.

“The Pettigrews were an extremely traditional family. I know they disapproved of your liberal views and moved over to a stricter—” He groped for words in the unfamiliar landscape of Christian allegiances.

“Narrow-minded. Un-Christian,” Taylor snapped.

“Yes. You said you continued to help Lawrence, and I’m assuming you continued to help Derek too. I think he used you as a sounding board to help him sort out what he was going to do. I’m not criticizing you for that, believe me.”

“Plenty did. Norm Pettigrew did. Told the whole town I was leading his boys down the path to perdition. People are what God made them, Detective. The only sin is in condemning them for that.”