away, shaking his head. Green picked up the cross-examination technique. He pointed towards the woods in the direction of the river. “Were you walking over there, Kyle?”
“Kyle’s not allowed to go in the woods, Mr. Green,” came a sharp voice from behind them, as Edna McMartin strode into view from the interior of the barn. Her grey hair stood on end and wisps of straw stuck to her clothes.
Kyle shook his head vigorously. “I didn’t. I didn’t go there.”
Her eyes were hostile, and Green felt all chance for cooperation slipping through his fingers. He thought he knew why; they had not informed her of their arrival nor asked permission to speak to her son. Kyle had come out to greet them and, hoping to keep the interview as casual as possible, they had simply slid right in.
He apologized to her as humbly as he could and explained the importance of pinpointing the discovery of the chain. “We believe the dead man was probably Derek Pettigrew and that this chain was lost by him shortly before his death. We’re trying to trace his movements leading up to his death.”
Edna McMartin fixed Kyle with a firm, unwavering gaze that Green suspected would see through anyone’s subterfuge. “Did you go to the woods near the river, Ky?”
He swallowed and shook his head. “No, Mom. Never.”
“Then where did you find the chain?”
“I was walking to the village. Through the field.” Kyle pointed across a stubbled field towards the distant church spires of the village. Green studied him thoughtfully. The boy was lying; he had earlier denied this. But why?
“Why is Kyle not allowed to go in the woods?” he asked the mother casually.
“Because of the river, of course,” she answered in a tone that implied a silent “you idiot.”
“Of course. Have you lived on this farm long?”
“Long?” She snorted. “Is all my life long enough?”
Green felt as if he had hit a gold mine, if he could only figure out how to mine it. “Then you would have known the Pettigrew boys before they all left.”
Her gaze grew wary. “Some. We stay pretty busy on the farm.”
He turned abruptly towards Hannah. “Sorry, honey. I need to have a few words with Kyle’s mother inside. Do you think you and Kyle can amuse each other out here for a while?”
Poor choice of words, Green thought with a grimace as he ushered the reluctant mother into her house. She seemed as uneasy about leaving them alone as he was, no doubt for opposite reasons.
“I don’t know what I can tell you,” she said as she perched on the edge of her sofa, looking ready to bolt at any moment. Unlike last evening, she made no effort to remove the quilt or offer him a drink. “I haven’t seen any of the older children in years. And I never had much to do with him—” She jerked her head in the direction of the Pettigrew farm. “—since he started pickling himself in booze and bawling at the moon at three in the morning. Could hear it clear across to the village some nights.”
“Were you friends when the wife was alive?”
“Well, close enough when the boys were at school together. We were in the same church, and my Sandy was friends with their Lawrence—”
A distant bell of recognition rang in Green’s head. “Sandy Fitzpatrick? The real estate agent? He’s your son?”
Her lips formed a tight, wary line. “How do you know Sandy?”
Green gave her the short explanation—that Sandy had provided Robbie Pettigrew’s address. That seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded and actually volunteered some information. “Sandy’s father is dead, fell under the baler. Jeb McMartin is my second husband.”
Green absorbed the coincidences of village life. That made Sandy and Kyle brothers, despite the probable twenty-five year age gap. Both were burly and full of health, although beyond that he could see no resemblance.
Edna flushed, as if having two husbands somehow made her a harlot. “His boy needed a mother, and I needed a man about the farm. This life is hard, Inspector. You take from it what you have to.”
Green nodded sympathetically. “I understand life was hard for your neighbours as well. What can you tell me about Lawrence? Do you know where he is?”
“St. Lawrence Psychiatric Hospital in Brockville, last I heard.”
“What happened to him?”
“Went crazy. His folks locked him up.”
“How long ago was that?”
She pursed her lips as if dredging her memory. “In Grade Eleven. I remember because he and Sandy were in the same grade, and Lawrence just stopped coming to school. Wandered around the place talking to himself, or suddenly you’d turn around and there he’d be standing, staring at you. Gave everybody the willies.” As the bearer of grim news, she seemed to lose her frostiness. “They tried to get him help up in Ottawa, and then one day they packed him into the family’s old pick-up and drove straight to Brockville. I don’t think the mother ever recovered, and then when her Benji was killed, well, that did her in.”
Green had a sinking feeling. A cursed family, the villagers had called them. “What do you mean?”
“Killed herself. Took years building to it, mind. Sinking deeper and deeper, with him not helping a bit, and poor little Robbie just raising himself. About ten, twelve years ago, I guess she figured he was raised enough, and so she called it quits.”
* * *
Green struggled to steer with one hand as he punched numbers into his cell phone with the other. Extreme rock pulsated through the car, and Hannah was bobbing her head with a secretive twinkle in her eyes.
“Do you want me to drive?” she shouted.
“In your dreams, honey.” She pulled what he recognized as a classic Hannah pout. Pro forma, with no outrage behind it.
“Back home I had my learner’s permit.”
“And we’ll have this discussion when you’re back in regular school.”
“I like Alternate Ed. The kids are way cooler, and I get to do this part-time work in the real world.”
He flicked off the radio and turned his attention to Gibbs, who had finally answered his phone. It was nearly five o’clock, but Green had known the man would still be hard at work. Green filled him in on Edna’s revelation about Lawrence Pettigrew.
“I’m ahead of you, sir,” Gibbs said. “One of the villagers told me, and I’ve already contacted the hospital personnel.”
Which is why I love you, Green thought with admiration. “What’s the news?”
“He was in St. Lawrence Psychiatric Hospital from 1984 till 2000, but he’s been in a supervised group home since then until just a couple of months ago.”
“What happened a couple of months
