Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

“No one is under suspicion.” Jake looked out the back door; the driveway was full of cars, including the county crime scene van. I hadn’t gone out there; I knew I’d just be in the way even though my days of being told, “Back off, kid; nothing for you to see here,” were over. Many of them knew me and had even spoken to me in a friendly, familiar way when we crossed paths. I was Herbie Sawyer, son of Sergeant Valari’s suicidal girl friend. I was Herbie Sawyer...

“Though I do have a man talking to the neighbor — Mrs. Jean Pritchard, is it? She might be able to tell us when she last saw Dan Church.” Jake sort of shrugged. “Though I think this one’s going to turn up accidental death due to blunt trauma to the head. That door must weigh a good sixty pounds, at least. Oak, Abe Anderson says, and Abe knows his wood.”

“Why would he go down into that cellar?” I asked. From the kitchen door I looked out at the shed. Small, drab, and dilapidated in the drizzle, it looked like a miserable place to die. Members of the state forensics crime lab were out there now. I’d seen them arrive with the usual equipment: cameras, bags, small suitcases. Every few seconds there was a flash of light from the shed.

“Well, he was Sophie Carter’s handyman. Maybe he was looking for a tool, or putting something away.”

“Is it a root cellar?” I asked. “The house has got a big cellar with lots of junk down there. Are you going to take a look around here, too? I mean, in this house?”

“As soon as we contact Frances Carter, maybe.”

“Maybe she’s just out,” I suggested. Jake had been trying to reach Frances, using the number she’d given me, ever since I’d found the body, about eighteen hours ago, and still no response from her. And if I knew Jake — and I did — he had the New York police looking for her right now.

“No one’s seen or heard from her since last Wednesday,” Jake said.

“So,” I swallowed, felt my heart skip a beat. “She’s out of town. Took a few days off.”

“Frances Carter resigned from her job a week ago, Herbie.” Jake walked across the kitchen floor and turned on the gas to make a cup of tea. I remained in the doorway, watching as the professionals outside did their work. Jake had been out there with them but came into the house as soon as Abe dropped me off. “She worked for a nonprofit conservation group in New York. It was put together by some philanthropists about thirty years ago. She was in their research division.”

“Conservation,” I murmured. “She’s not a suspect, Jake. She wasn’t here when this happened. If anything, maybe her sister...” I bit down on my lip, turned back. They were removing Dan Church’s body in a black body bag. Large, silver-colored raindrops bounced off the thick plastic. “And so what if she resigned from her job? She told me she was planning to move back here, that’s why she’s fixing up the house.”

“In the spring.”

“So she’s on vacation.”

“If she is, she told no one about it. I’ve spoken to her colleagues, Herbie. They were very surprised she resigned like she did. She gave no notice, just put a letter on the chairman’s desk and walked out the door. She had already emptied out her office.”

“Does that mean she’s a murderer?” I demanded.

“It means that we need to talk to her. A man was found dead on her property.”

“She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Herbie, you barely know her.”

“I know her well enough! I know that she wouldn’t... that she’s too gentle, she’s too...”

Jake walked toward me. “Herbie, you can know someone your whole life and they can still surprise you.”

I turned away and watched as the police van backed out of the driveway and the other officers got into their cars to leave. A distraught woman was out there now; she’d just pulled up in a tan Saturn. She was arguing in the rain with one of the men. Dan Church’s girlfriend?

“Truth is, we never do know people, not really. Even those closest to us, those we love...”

“Go to hell,” I told him. The officer and the woman were heading up to the house. I turned around and walked off toward the darkened front room.

“It was a good job. Dan was making good money, for a handyman, that is. He liked it here and he liked her, Miss Sophie he called her. I think she was a little sweet on him, too, which was kind of weird, you know, her being so much older than him. But anyhow, after he didn’t show up, well, we’d had a fight, so I didn’t... But all the other times when we had a fight, he came home in a week or so. I figured he was staying with a friend, but when I finally called...”

I sat in the dark just outside the kitchen in a chair still covered by a sheet and listened. They were questioning her here. I wasn’t surprised; Jake often did things in an unorthodox way. Sometimes, he said, people need to be questioned where they feel comfortable and safe; other times they need to be brought to the station. All depends on the circumstances and the situation.