A Fountain Filled With Blood

The surgery waiting room was full of anxious MacPhersons. The bride-to-be was curled up on a sofa in the corner, clutching her mother’s hands. The groom rubbed the back of his fiancée’s neck, while the father of the bride sat four-square and straight-backed, leafing through a two-year-old copy of Field & Stream. Half of the low artificial-leather chairs were occupied by people Clare had seen yesterday evening at the rehearsal. Some were watching a CNN anchor report on a possible pilots’ strike; others were paging restlessly through magazines. The best man stood with his back to the wall-mounted television, talking into a cell phone in a low voice. Everyone looked up as Clare entered, then let out a collective breath of relief or disappointment.

Clare crossed to Trisha and her family, expressed her condolences, and sat down to listen to whatever they needed to say. She again heard from Kurt how Todd had been found unconscious in his store earlier that morning. Trish told Clare about her brother’s errand to deliver candles. She heard about what a sweet, inoffensive, good boy he was from Mrs. MacPherson. Mr. MacPherson grunted something about a shotgun being better than insurance. She approached the brother who’d found Todd, a soft-spoken young man named Tim, who kept glancing worriedly at his obviously pregnant wife. Clare had to draw his story out in a backward spiral, first talking about canceling the caterer, then about speaking with the police at the scene, and finally about finding his brother’s battered body. “I can’t tell them,” he said, looking at his parents and sister. “They only saw him prepped for surgery, cleaned up and covered by sheets.” His eyes teared up. “But, oh God, I can’t stop thinking about what he looked like.”

After an hour or so, a doctor came in with a report from the surgical team. They had removed Todd’s spleen. His liver was undamaged. There might be a problem with his kidney functions later on, but they would simply have to wait and see. They were closing up now and the surgeon would come in with more news soon. Yes, there was no question he would survive—he was young and healthy and should make a good recovery.

The atmosphere lightened after that, and when the door opened again, everyone looked up with expressions of bright expectation, but instead of a surgeon, they saw a cop. His short-sleeved uniform shirt was tucked into jeans, and he was wearing sneakers instead of shiny brown shoes. Clare guessed she was the only person in the room who knew he was normally off duty on Saturday morning. He caught sight of her and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson? I’m Russ Van Alstyne, the chief of police.”

Todd’s parents stood up, Mrs. MacPherson clinging to her husband’s arm. “You find the bastards who did this?” Mr. MacPherson asked. “It was a robbery, wasn’t it? I told that boy he needed real protection. Cash business like that. Bound to attract attention.”

“We don’t know who assaulted your son yet, sir. We’ve taken prints, and hopefully that will lead us somewhere. One of my officers is interviewing neighboring business owners to find out if anyone saw anything.” He looked around. “Is Tim MacPherson here? The one who found him?”

The brother stepped forward. “That’s me, sir.”

“You use a key to get into the store?”

“No, sir. The lights were off and the CLOSED sign was hanging on the door, but the door was unlocked. I told the officer who showed up after I called.”

Russ nodded. “That’s what he said. Just checking. Sometimes people remember more after they’ve had a chance to get over the initial shock.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t appear to have been a robbery. The till is full of cash and credit-card slips. It looks like whoever assaulted Todd either grabbed him outside before he had a chance to lock the door or did it inside the store and turned off the lights before leaving.” He replaced his glasses. “We found a ring of keys hanging on a hook in the back of a shelf beneath the cash register.”

“That’s where Todd kept his keys,” Trisha said. “I spoke with him on the phone maybe ten minutes before ten. He said something about cleaning up the mess in the store.”

“I’m thinking if someone got to him while he was locking the door, they wouldn’t have put his keys away in exactly the right place,” Russ said. “I think whoever did this went into the store, maybe right at closing time, and I think they were looking for Todd.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Do any of you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

The MacPhersons looked at one another. Something moved between them, a message or a collective memory. “No,” Tim said. “Not really.”

“Not really?”