look bigger, but he did not fly away.
“Do they know each other already, you think?” I said.
“Perhaps. Poe is often at the dump, and the Travers place is nearby. I have never seen that bird remain so calm around a four-leg, though. Maybe he’s waiting for your dog to get close enough so that he can get a peck in.”
I tensed, ready for a nasty flurry of feathers and teeth. It didn’t happen. The dog and bird were close enough now to touch each other. Lug-nut whined once and Poe croaked, then the dog sat. Poe croaked a few more times and took off in a leisurely fashion, sailing over our heads and making for the farm house. Lug-nut, ignoring us, jumped out of the truck and followed.
“What was all that about?” I said.
George was shaking his head in amazement. “Never seen anything like it.”
We unloaded the grain and drove back up to the house. The dog was sitting waiting for us on the porch, the bird perched on the railing a few feet away.
I got the dog’s feed bowl out of the cab and filled it from the bag of kibble.
“Lunch,” I said, putting it down. We left dog and bird, happily sharing the feast, and headed for the kitchen. I had to use the phone.
Before I called Becker, I told George about finding the truck in John’s garage.
“That is a very strange story,” he said.
“Yup. What’s even stranger is that the cops didn’t find it first. Aren’t they supposed to go over everything with a finetooth comb when someone gets murdered?”
“You would think so,” George said.
“Still, Becker told me this was his first homicide. I guess he’s making it up as he goes along.”
“This news is going to anger him, Polly.”
“Yup. Sure is. Not only because he overlooked the obvious, but if there were any tell-tale tire tracks in the driveway, they’ll be gone by now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s say the killer arrived, shot John, then used John’s truck to take his body to the dump and then drove the truck back and hid it in the garage. That would mean the killer’s car would have been standing there for a while. It might have left, I don’t know, tire tracks. Oil-stains. Something.”
“Unless the killer arrived on foot,” George said.
“Where from? You mean he parked on the road?”
“I mean he, or she, might not have been very far away.”
“You mean a neighbour?” I said. “Who? You think Eddie did it? Or… oh, no, George. If you think Francy did it, I’m going to be really, really pissed off.”
“You did say that she can’t remember what happened,” George said.
“I can’t believe you’re saying this. I thought you liked Francy.”
“I do like her, Polly. All I’m saying is that she had every reason to do it, and she’s the most obvious choice. I think you should prepare yourself for it to be so. Francy was most likely the only one to know there was room to hide the truck in Travers’s garage.”
“Everyone else is prepared for it to be so,” I said, trying to keep my temper. “I seem to be the only one who is willing to entertain the possibility that she didn’t do it.”
“What would happen if her memory comes back and she admits it?”
“You mean when hell freezes over? I’ll be too busy trying to keep warm to care.” I turned my back on him and reached for the phone.
A woman answered the Laingford Police line and I asked if Becker was in. He wasn’t, and I left a message to have him call me as soon as possible.
George had made tea for both of us, so I sat with him and tried to swallow my disappointment in him. It wasn’t easy—particularly because he started in on Becker’s favourite theme: Stay out of it.
“Look, I can’t drop this now,” I said. “Look at the truckthing for instance. If I wasn’t involved, the cops would still be scouring the back roads, wasting their time. All I’m doing is giving them a little boost.”
“But, as far as they’re concerned, the truck hasn’t been found yet. They may still be scouring the back roads,” George said. “Why did you not just leave the information over the phone? Why did you have to speak to that policeman personally?”
There was a little pause.
“Ah,” he said. “Like that, is it? I thought it was so.”
My face went hot. “Like what? What do you mean you thought it was bloody so?”
“Which is why I didn’t tell you where Francy Travers is. I knew you would not be able to lie to that big, handsome policeman.”
“What? You know she’s at Susan’s? You knew already?”
“How do you think she got there? She was in no shape for walking. I drove her, after your policeman left.”
“He’s not my policeman. You mean she was there when we were all talking here before Becker came up to the cabin?”
“She was hiding in the barn. She followed you down here, Polly. She knew I was safe, she only had to wait until you and the policeman were out of the way.”
“Until I was out of the way? Why? Doesn’t she trust me anymore? God. I’m the one who’s been defending her all this time.”
“She knows that,” George said gently. “But she knows you better than you think. Something you said, perhaps, when she was with you. She knew she had to get away, so she came to me and I took her to your aunt. Don’t look so betrayed. It was all for the best.”
I was devastated. My best friend didn’t trust me. After all I had been doing to try and clear her name, she was trying to get away from me.
“So why are you telling me now?” I said.
“She decided to turn herself in.”
I stared at him, my mouth open.
“You mean she did do it?” Impossible.
“Not necessarily. She still can’t remember, but she wants to go home, and Susan told her that to speak to the police would be the quickest way for it. Susan telephoned a short while ago. They were headed over to the police station together. She’s probably there now.”
I couldn’t speak, I was so angry. I felt like the kid that everybody has labelled a tattletale, not to be trusted with any secrets. I felt left out. I felt like a jerk. But was it true, what George was saying? What Francy had told him? That I was so transparent I was dangerous? Then I remembered that I had told Becker she was up at the cabin. I had led him to her, in fact, except that she wasn’t there. That made me feel even worse.
