Free Who Killed Mr. Garland's Mistress? by Richard; Forrest

Barton. Octavia Garland, West Hartford girl poetess. Good Lord, Reflections on Autumn. I think you write the same fucking poem every year and just change the meter.”
    She stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Haversham.”
    He grasped her wrist. “Hold it, Miss Octavia. Did you go to Miss Porter’s?”
    â€œNo. Winston Academy.”
    â€œThat’s just as bad. Sit down. Come on, sit down, I’ve already paid for the beers.”
    She sat reluctantly. “I didn’t come here for lessons in insult. If my research is ludicrous to you, we shan’t waste each other’s time.”
    His voice softened. “I understand you’re a good friend of Oliver’s, but if you want my information, be honest with me. I hate phonies. Christ, do I hate phonies.”
    â€œI am not a phony.”
    â€œThat crap about research. Lady, if that’s the real reason, you’re wasting time. You want to find out about Helen Fraser? Well, Hon, you have to climb into the sewer of a human soul. Murderers kill people, do away with them for real. It’s not like movies or plays. Afterwards the victims do not stand up and take a bow. They’re dead. That’s D-E-A-D.”
    â€œI’m not as naïve as I appear.”
    â€œGo back to your poems. Write something revolutionary like ‘Reflections on Spring.’”
    â€œMy poems were burned in a fire set by Helen Fraser, Mr. Haversham.”
    Will leaned back in the booth, ordered another beer, and appraised her silently. When he finally spoke his voice had changed. “Well. Mrs. Garland Perhaps we’re a little closer to the truth. Would you mind explaining?”
    â€œYou don’t think I’m writing a book?”
    â€œNot at all, Miss Reflections.”
    She took her notes from her handbag and handed them across the table. “I think this might explain.”
    He glanced through them quickly, and then aligned them neatly at the edge of the table. Donning a pair of reading glasses he went through the material again, this time slowly and carefully. Finished, he put his glasses back in his jacket and leaned back.
    â€œYou’re the type of researcher I could occasionally use myself,” he said. “Except you’ve left out something important.”
    â€œIs she capable of doing those things?”
    â€œI still want to know what you left out?”
    The humiliation of revealing Rob’s affair and the desire to have this man take her seriously fought within her. “My husband had an affair with her.”
    â€œThat explains it.”
    â€œWould Helen Fraser do those things to me?”
    â€œThe answer to could she is yes. She’s perfectly capable of carrying out a crazy plan like that. Would she? That I don’t know.”
    â€œWhat about her brother?”
    â€œA few of us wondered about that at the time. We knew she was bitter as hell, but she had an ironclad alibi. The day her brother disappeared she wasn’t even in the state.”
    â€œThe pattern’s the same. Airline hopping, a rented boat. Did anyone check?”
    â€œWithout real suspicion there would have been no reason in checking further than proving she actually was on a trip to California. I learned a long time ago that the police have a problem with the gap between what’s possible and what they can issue a warrant for. Hell, all kinds of things are possible.”
    â€œMr. Haversham … what kind of person is she?”
    He made a pattern of concentric rings on the table with the wet bottom of the beer mug. “Alas, poor Helen, I knew her well … and didn’t know her. I don’t think anyone ever knew her. Her mother sat through the trial with a completely bewildered look. Maybe that’s why the case fascinated me. On the outside, she’s a voluptuous and attractive woman, always assured and self-contained. After the brother testified and the defense made a plea on