Baptism in Blood(48)
“Ginny’s husband. Tiffany’s father. That’s the usual thing, isn’t it? When a mother is supposed to have killed her children. People usually say it was the husband’s idea.”
“Actually,” Gregor said carefully, “people usually say it was the boyfriend’s idea. In the two most famous cases of this kind that I know of, there was a boyfriend in the background, a man they wanted to marry who didn’t want to support another man’s children. Does Ginny Marsh have a boyfriend?”
“Not that I know of. And this is Bellerton, North Carolina, Mr. Demarkian. If she had a boyfriend, I’d know.”
Gregor took another long sip of his coffee. This was not strictly true. In spite of the legendary nosiness of small towns, they were often utterly unaware of the most outrageous things. It might be impossible to find privacy in a place like Bellerton, but it would be easier than Bellerton realized for one of its citizens to keep a secret.
“You say you were up at the camp,” Gregor said slowly. “Let me ask you this, then. Did you see anything that might indicate that Ginny Marsh was not lying? Was there some kind of Satanic ritual going on? Was Ginny in your sight all along?”
“Ginny wasn’t in my sight all along. But it doesn’t matter, Mr. Demarkian. I don’t think you’ve understood me. I said that I didn’t think Ginny killed her baby. And I don’t.”
“I know you don’t.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t think Ginny was lying,” Maggie Kelleher went on. “I do think she’s lying, Mr. Demarkian. I think she’s lying through her teeth. About the Satanic rituals. About the way the baby died. About everything.”
“But why?” Gregor asked. “If you’re trying to tell me she’s covering up for her husband—”
“I told you, her husband wasn’t there.”
“—or for anybody. Miss Kelleher—”
“Ms.”
“Ms. Kelleher, collusion in murder is almost as bad as murder. In the eyes of the law, there’s not a great deal of difference. In some states, you can get the death penalty for it.”
“I don’t think Ginny’s colluding in murder,” Maggie Kelleher said in exasperation. “I don’t think she’s covering up for anybody, not in the way you mean. You don’t understand my point.”
“No,” Gregor said. “I don’t. But I’m trying. What is your point?”
Maggie Kelleher came to some sort of decision. She hopped off her stool and picked up her cup of coffee. She hadn’t drunk much of it while she was sitting next to Gregor, but it had cooled off a little. It was no longer steaming.
“Never mind,” she said. “I don’t know what point I’m trying to make either. I should never have started this conversation. And I’ve got to go.”
“But—” Gregor said.
At that moment, Betsey Henner came out of the back room with Gregor’s breakfast. It was on a big, thick, oval white porcelain plate, the kind that Gregor thought must have been invented just to supply diners everywhere. Betsey put the plate down in front of Gregor and stepped back.
“There you go,” she said.
“Jesus Christ,” Maggie Kelleher said. “What are you trying to do, give yourself a heart attack?”
Five
1
IN GREGOR DEMARKIAN’S EXPERIENCE, there were two kinds of small-town police departments: the kind that was all uniforms and noise, and the kind that knew what it was doing. The Bellerton Police Department seemed to be the latter kind. It was only quarter after seven when he got over there, after eating his breakfast and wandering down Main Street for a second time. By then there were children on the sidewalks and young women hurrying onto porches to put mail in their mailboxes. A couple of Main Street stores hung out their American flags. The police department was in the basement of Town Hall. Standing on the Town Hall lawn, Gregor could look into the window well and see the department, or what there was of it, in operation. A big man in a uniform shirt and khaki pants was working at a desk. He wasn’t wearing a hat of any kind, and if he was wearing a gun, Gregor couldn’t see it. A smaller man, also in a uniform shirt and khaki pants, was typing on an ancient machine at a long counter. Gregor couldn’t see a gun on him, either, but he was wearing a holster. There were neither prisoners nor anyone else in the small room. There weren’t even any reporters. In fact, Gregor thought, he had managed to get lucky, waking up early the way he had. There were no reporters anywhere in Bellerton, as far as Gregor could see.