head. âNo, Mom. Never.â
âThen where did you find the chain?â
âI was walking to the village. Through the field.â 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?
âWhy is Kyle not allowed to go in the woods?â he asked the mother casually.
âBecause of the river, of course,â she answered in a tone that implied a silent âyou idiot.â
âOf course. Have you lived on this farm long?â
âLong?â She snorted. âIs all my life long enough?â
Green felt as if he had hit a gold mine, if he could only figure out how to mine it. âThen you would have known the Pettigrew boys before they all left.â
Her gaze grew wary. âSome. We stay pretty busy on the farm.â
He turned abruptly towards Hannah. âSorry, honey. I need to have a few words with Kyleâs mother inside. Do you think you and Kyle can amuse each other out here for a while?â
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.
âI donât know what I can tell you,â 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. âI havenât seen any of the older children in years. And I never had much to do with himââ She jerked her head in the direction of the Pettigrew farm. ââsince 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.â
âWere you friends when the wife was alive?â
âWell, close enough when the boys were at school together. We were in the same church, and my Sandy was friends with their Lawrenceââ
A distant bell of recognition rang in Greenâs head. âSandy Fitzpatrick? The real estate agent? Heâs your son?â
Her lips formed a tight, wary line. âHow do you know Sandy?â
Green gave her the short explanationâthat Sandy had provided Robbie Pettigrewâs address. That seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded and actually volunteered some information. âSandyâs father is dead, fell under the baler. Jeb McMartin is my second husband.â
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. âHis 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.â
Green nodded sympathetically. âI understand life was hard for your neighbours as well. What can you tell me about Lawrence? Do you know where he is?â
âSt. Lawrence Psychiatric Hospital in Brockville, last I heard.â
âWhat happened to him?â
âWent crazy. His folks locked him up.â
âHow long ago was that?â
She pursed her lips as if dredging her memory. âIn 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 youâd turn around and there heâd be standing, staring at you. Gave everybody the willies.â As the bearer of grim news, she seemed to lose her frostiness. âThey tried to get him help up in Ottawa, and then one day they packed him into the familyâs old pick-up and drove straight to Brockville. I donât think the mother ever recovered, and then when her Benji was killed, well, that did her in.â
Green had a sinking feeling. A cursed