All the Dark Places(18)

“What time was that?” I ask, my pencil raised.

“Just before two a.m.”

Chase and I glance at one another. “What did you do?”

“Well, I went downstairs to see what the commotion was about. He was at the back door barking, so I turned on the porch light, but I didn’t see anything. I said, ‘Percy, you nuthatch, there’s nothing out there.’ I figured it was a tomcat maybe.” She sniffs, swipes her nose with the hankie again. “Was it the murderer, do you think?” she asks, her voice a near whisper.

“We don’t know. Would you mind walking us through the kitchen, showing us what happened?”

“No problem.” She waves her hand and shuffles to her feet.

We walk slowly behind her down a short dark hall, floorboards squeaking, the smell of Vicks in her wake. The dog sticks like glue to her side as if he’s part of the demonstration, which I guess he is.

The kitchen is as cluttered as the rest of the place, and the smells of a thousand meals linger in the air. The porcelain sink is faded to gray, and the yellow curtains over it are stiff and look like they’ve hung there for decades. The appliances are clean but aged, and the table is piled with neatly folded newspapers. I move the little curtains aside and see the tall, ivy-covered fence that separates Mrs. Murray’s property from the Bradleys’. The top of the garage roof is visible, nothing else.

Mrs. Murray walks to the back door, and we follow. Percy pushes his nose in the crack between the edge of the door and its frame. “This is how I found him,” she says. “But he was barking to beat the band. He wanted to get outside.”

“Does he have a loud bark?” Chase asks.

She smirks. “He could raise the dead. The people who used to live behind me complained a time or two. But the officer who came out was real nice. He told me not to worry about it. Said they should be glad Percy was around to monitor the neighborhood.”

“Did you open the door when you came downstairs?” I ask.

“The inside door, but not the storm door, so I didn’t let him out. I didn’t see anything amiss. He calmed down, and I went back up to bed.”

“So you turned on the porch light and looked out back a little before two a.m.?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t see or hear anything going on by the Bradleys’ garage?”

“Not a thing.” She places her hand over her heart. “Is that where it happened?”

I nod. “Would you open the inside door and turn on the light.”

“Well, it was dark then.”

“That’s okay. We just want to see.”

“All right.”

The backyard is a tangle of overgrown bushes and rusting patio furniture. I step outside on the little stoop. A cold wind blows against my face, scattering a hank of hair that’s fallen out of my bun. From here, you can’t see much more than the garage’s roof either. But distance-wise, the building is close, snugged up against the fence not far from Mrs. Murray’s back door. I turn and look up at the porch light. It’s pretty bright, and the perp probably would’ve noticed it as he searched the doctor’s office. And it stands to reason he would’ve heard the dog barking. I return to the kitchen, where Chase and Mrs. Murray are discussing dog training. Percy gives me a knowing stare. His dark eyes seem to say, “See, I tried to tell her somebody was up to no good over there Saturday night.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Murray,” I say, and hand her my card. “Please call if you think of anything else.”

She nods and places a gnarled hand on Percy’s head. “What a terrible shame. Jesus, what’s this world come to?”

*

Mr. and Mrs. Pearson are already sitting in the small interview room when Chase and I get back to the station. We sit opposite them in cold metal chairs. Mrs. Pearson is petite, smaller even than Mrs. Bradley, and I’m already crossing her off my mental list of suspects, but she looks nervous, uncomfortable.

Mr. Pearson is a different story. He slouches in his chair with a cocky look on his face like, I’m here, but I’m not happy about it, so let’s get it over with. He’s got short, sandy-blond hair and Paul Newman eyes. He’s a real pretty boy, and I bet Mrs. Pearson needs to keep her eye on him.

After the preliminaries are through, we get down to business.

“Mrs. Pearson, I’m told you and Mrs. Bradley are good friends, go back a long way.”

“Yes. Best friends. Growing up, we lived two streets apart, went to school together.”

“Graybridge locals then?”

“Yes. Her family moved here when she was little.”

“What about you, Mr. Pearson? Where’d you grow up?”

“Boston. Jay and I lived in the same neighborhood. He stayed local for college, but I went to college in New Hampshire, where I majored in biology. My mom and dad still live in the old neighborhood. Dad’s a salesman, and Mom’s a housewife. I’ve got two older brothers and an older sister. That help?”

Mrs. Pearson’s eyes go wide, and she gives her husband a sideways glance.

Like I thought, a real wise guy. “It might. You’re good friends with Dr. Bradley, Josh?” I ask, looking over my notes.

“Yeah.”

“Anything either of you remember as odd at the party?”