Free The Sabbathday River by Jean Hanff Korelitz Page B

they’re known as unique living examples of an original American folk art.”
    â€œMy grandmother hooked rugs,” he said. “I still have a few myself.”
    Naomi looked at him, then at Nelson for help. His silvery hair fell forward over his eyes. She found, suddenly, that she could not remember the color of his eyes and almost asked him what they were. Thankfully, the moment passed. “How goes your investigation?” she said instead.
    â€œIt is continuing,” Charter said, his voice even. “It is narrowing.”

    â€œWell, I hope you haven’t come to accuse me .” She was arch.
    â€œI have not,” he concurred.
    â€œYou had a word with my doctor, then.”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œPatient-doctor confidentiality be damned!”
    Charter smiled. “Within the context of a murder investigation, yes, I think that’s appropriate.”
    â€œOf course, women shouldn’t patronize male doctors at all,” Naomi said, a little wantonly. “That’s my view. Women’s health in the hands of women, don’t you think? Our bodies, ourselves, that’s the ticket.” She really detested him. “I suppose I should be grateful that you talked to my doctor, under the circumstances. It’s inconvenient being considered a suspect. One’s neighbors tend to react badly.”
    He sighed. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I had my reasons. I should tell you that over the years I have consistently lost faith in the power of chance. Sometimes, when I finish with a case, I lay it out on paper. Easier than keeping it all up here.” He tapped his temple with a long finger. “Like a family tree: the victim, the perpetrator, the person who called the police, the witness. Not necessarily an actual family, but all connected nonetheless. Just like a family tree, Mrs. Roth. Everyone who touches the crime advances it in some way, or advances its solution. Believe me, there is very little in the way of random influence. Everyone has a role. Just now, I believe I understand a part of your role in this crime. Perhaps, when it’s all behind us, I’ll understand the rest.”
    She was staring at him. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I hope you know that.”
    To her surprise, Charter smiled. “I do know that.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small spiral notebook, its coil of metal clogged with strips of paper left behind when the sheets were torn away. “And now, I wonder if you might help us with a small problem.”
    Dimly, she noted that the grader had stopped. They were speaking more softly now. In the next room, the women, too, had stopped speaking.
    â€œYou may have heard about some of the directions our investigation has taken,” Charter said.
    â€œSure,” Naomi said. “Through-hikers, impoverished women, women who’re living in sin with men they’re not married to. I naturally assume you’ve hauled in every prostitute in the state of New Hampshire.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Do you think there are any?”

    â€œI know there are many,” he said grimly. “But no, I don’t think a prostitute is responsible for this baby. I think the person responsible is an ordinary woman, in extraordinary circumstances.”
    Naomi shook her head. “Can you just explain to me why you’re not even considering 49 percent of the population—the 49 percent that’s responsible for almost 100 percent of the crime? It could have been a man, you know.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a man.” His gaze drifted to the window. “But a man might have known, or might have helped. Mrs. Roth,” he sighed. “I am not here to justify my deductions to you. I am very good at what I do. I will be making an arrest very shortly.”
    She stared at him, then at Nelson. His face gave