In the Bleak Midwinter

Clare had offered her office to the Shatthams, figuring it would be a comfortable spot for their daughter to talk with the police chief, but they were insistent that Clare be there for Alyson’s statement, so the five of them wound up clustered at one end of the massive oak table in the vestry meeting room. Clare wasn’t sure what role the Shatthams wanted her to play. Counsel? Witness? Maybe they hoped she would put the fear of God into Alyson, who, after her first emotional outburst, had reassumed her pose of pseudo-sophistication and contempt. Clare was out to sea when it came to adolescents, which she’d freely admit if anyone bothered to ask. The only teens she had known in recent years had been in the army, and she didn’t think telling Alyson to keep her weapon grounded and her hands inside the bird would be useful in this situation.

The girl sat in a chair facing away from one of the windows, her hair a blond nimbus, her face shadowed. Her parents had dithered for a few moments before taking up seats on either side of her. Russ sized up his choices and sat down directly opposite Alyson, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Clare. She took it, wishing she had brought her glass of sherry along, wondering how Russ could let the seconds roll on by without demanding Alyson tell them everything she knew.

He flipped open the folder again, arranged the photos against the creamy manila, and slid it across the table to Alyson. The teen’s eyes flickered to the pictures and then returned to the chief. Russ reached inside his shirt pocket, removed a pair of sunglasses, and swapped his glasses for the shades. They were mirrored. Clare rested a finger against her lips to keep from making a crack about Cool Hand Luke.

“Katie McWhorter,” he said. “What can you tell me about her, Alyson?”

“She was just a girl who went to school with me, that’s all. She graduated last year.”

“Did she stay in town after she graduated? Or did she move away?”

The girl shifted slightly in her seat. “She went off to college. Somewhere. I’m not sure. It’s not like we were friends or anything.”

“No?”

“No. She was like, living somewhere around Depot Street? My parents sure don’t want me going there. And she didn’t exactly hang out at Smoky Joe’s drinking cappuccino.”

“Who did she hang with, Alyson? Before she went to college.”

“Nobody much. She was a brainiac, really smart, so she knew a lot of the geeks. I know she had a job at the Infirmary.” She paused, frowning. “She had a boyfriend.”

Clare wanted to yell, “Yes! Now we’re getting somewhere!” Russ didn’t twitch. “A boyfriend?” he asked, with no particular emphasis.

“Yeah. Ethan Stoner. They were like, a weird combination, what with her being a brain and him being a head.” The unintentional pun made Alyson smile at her own wit. “I think they knew each other from way back, like in grade school or something. He was held back a year someplace, otherwise he would have graduated last year with Katie. They were a pretty hot and heavy item.”

“Had you seen her since she went away to school?”

“Had I seen her? What do you mean?” Clare wished there was more light on Alyson’s face. She couldn’t tell if her voice was strained because it was finally sinking in that an acquaintance, someone her own age, was dead, or if she knew more than she was letting on. Or if she was just hostile to Russ’s authority.

“Did you see her back in Millers Kill at any time?”

“No. But like I said, we weren’t friends. So if she came back to visit Ethan, I wouldn’t have known about it.”

“Or her parents.”

“Huh?”

“She might have come back to visit her parents.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Alyson looked at her own parents at this. “Can I go now? I really don’t know anything else.”

“Can you think of any reason, anything at all, why someone might have wanted Katie dead?”

“God, no. I think it must be one of those random violence things, don’t you? Some stranger coming into town and raping and murdering the first girl he can lure into his car?” She shuddered visibly and dramatically.

Her mother whimpered. “Chief Van Alstyne, do we need to be worried about the safety of our daughter?”

“My God, what if it’s one of those serial killers, like the one over in Rochester a few years back?” Mr. Shattham put his arm around his daughter’s thin shoulders.

“Dad-dy . . .” she said, her voice rising in a whine.

“I can’t rule out a stranger killing in this case,” Russ said, “but I doubt that’s what we have here. And Katie was never raped.” He folded his fingers together and leaned his chin on his hands. “She had recently had a baby, though.”

Alyson’s mouth dropped open. Dust motes rose through the air on thermals caused by the sunlight puddling on the floor and the table. “What?” she finally choked out. “She was pregnant?” It was the first genuine emotion Clare had seen from the girl since she laid eyes on the photos of Katie’s body.

“She had been pregnant. The doctor who autopsied her says she gave birth within the last two weeks.”

“Pregnant. Holy shit.”

“Alyson!”