by Scott Mackay
I hadn’t been expecting this view of the matter at all. I gave her the benefit of the doubt for the time being. I decided to let her be the playwright, and played my part according to the script she was trying to write.
‘How did you try to stop it?’
For if this were a lie, she had a lot of careful fabricating to do, and the slightest false detail would betray her.
She got up from her painting and walked with distracted steps to the first French door, where winter light filtered through in muted tones of silver. ‘I won’t deny that we all talked about killing my stepfather.’ A lone deer appeared through the hedge at the back and we both watched it for a few seconds until it moved off. ‘As I say, he was cruel to us. In October he struck Daisy with the back of his hand.’ I remembered Stanley’s report on this, and how it had put Daisy tentatively on my suspect list. ‘In early November he had some ruffians beat Billy down by the railway bridge. As for me, I was constantly afraid of him. Especially lately, when I could tell he was looking at me not as a girl anymore but as a woman. And so, yes, we talked about it. But there was never any firm plan. At least not until my stepfather discovered the promissory note, got Billy to surrender it at gunpoint, and threatened to send him to jail for the forgery.’
‘So you’re sticking to your story about the promissory note?’
‘It happens to be true, doctor.’ She turned slowly. ‘It’s not my fault you chose not to believe me.’ She went back to looking out at the grounds. ‘Billy wanted to save the Fray smithy.’ She grew reflective. ‘We all pass that scruffy building on North Railway and we think, who could ever live there, in those three little rooms above the forge? But he was born in the smithy. So was his father. So was his grandfather. It was his home. If you understood Billy’s efforts to save not only the smithy but also his father, you might take a more lenient view.’
‘A more lenient view of what?’
She got choked up. ‘Of Billy. Of the nature of his guilt. And of why he did the things he did.’
‘And what did he do?’
Tears formed in her eyes. ‘He won’t tell you the truth, so I suppose I must, if only to save him from execution.’
‘You’re telling me he’s the killer? I’ve already told you the scene is a little more complicated than that.’
She grew momentarily indignant. ‘I know what I saw, doctor.’ She paused for several seconds, then went to the chaise longue and sank upon it, her fingers now fiddling with the cloth of her skirt, her eyes distracted. ‘Oh, please, Dr Deacon. Please spare him. Don’t send him to the electric chair. I love him so much.’
‘Let’s start at the beginning, my dear.’
She struggled to control herself. ‘There are so many beginnings, doctor. So many things that went wrong. Starting with the way I fell in love with Billy at the Shooters Club when he was teaching me how to shoot.’
‘So you love him?’
‘Of course I love him.’
‘Daisy says otherwise.’
She showed sudden anger. ‘Daisy’s jealous.’
‘She says the only reason you enticed Billy was so that he would protect you from your stepfather.’
‘I won’t deny that Billy protected me. But that still doesn’t mean I don’t love him.’
‘In fact, she says you burned her with a cigar.’
She was genuinely astonished. ‘Why on earth would I do that?’
‘As punishment.’
‘Punishment for what?’
‘For telling you that you didn’t love Billy the way you should.’
She thought about this. ‘I remember her telling me that I didn’t love Billy, but I never burned her with a cigar for it. That’s preposterous. What is she playing at? She can be quite devious when she wants to be.’
I took a moment to ponder Daisy. Perhaps the injury was self-inflicted? A stage prop to make her own story more convincing? But why would she need to make her own story more convincing?
‘I take it your stepfather didn’t approve of Billy.’
‘Of course not,’ said Marigold. ‘They hated each other. And what really escalated the enmity between them was the promissory note episode. Especially when my stepfather took the note at gunpoint from Billy. Did my Uncle Herschel tell you my stepfather fired at Billy, right here in the house?’
I paused. ‘No.’
‘Billy barely escaped with his life. He bolted off to the woods out back. My stepfather fired after him. I ran down from my room to see what all the noise was. My stepfather was shouting after him. He was saying the next time he saw Billy in the street, he would shoot him down like a dog.’
‘So your stepfather threatened Billy?’
She nodded. ‘That’s what I mean when I say the whole episode escalated the enmity between them. Then around the same time, Ephraim had Dr Thorensen in to examine me, and that just made matters worse between him and Billy. My stepfather was growing suspicious, you see. He’s a shrewd old man. He notices more than you think.’
‘He thought you were pregnant?’
‘He’s familiar with the condition.’ With some bitterness, she added, ‘Who knows how many bastards he’s sired. More than just Clarence Swinford, I’m sure. Before I knew it, he had Talbert Two-Arrows here. Mr Two-Arrows initiated the procedure you so heroically rescued me from.’
‘Daisy said you were the one to initiate contact with Mr Two-Arrows, and that you went out to the reserve.’
She grew troubled. ‘I don’t know why she would say such a thing. My stepfather was behind it all. And I never went out to the reserve. Mr Two-Arrows came here.’
‘How do you know for certain that Billy murdered your stepfather?’
With increasing emotional strain, she said, ‘Because I know what I saw. I went down the Grand to try and stop it.’
I clarified. ‘You witnessed it?’
She nodded. ‘It started with the telephone call.’ As she put it all together in her mind, she nodded a second time. ‘I was in my bath. I usually like to take an hour for my bath. All the servants had retired to the third floor except Flora. She was attending me. So it was Miss Pond who took the telephone call.’
‘And after she had taken it, she came and told you?’
‘She did.’
‘And what did she say?’
Her eyes glimmered with sudden tears. ‘That Billy was in a most frantic state, and that he was in the alley outside the Grand Hotel preparing to kill my stepfather. Daisy was so frightened I thought she was going to faint. So I ordered her home and said I would look after it.’
‘So Daisy went home?’
‘Yes. If she came along, she would have gotten in the way. She’s prone to fainting, you see.’
‘I see.’
Marigold reached for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. ‘So I got on my bicycle and rode as fast as I could for the Cherry Hill Road drawbridge. To my great consternation, the drawbridge was up for an evening barge. I had to turn right at Cattaraugus Avenue and ride the three blocks to the Tonawanda Road span bridge. I pedaled madly over the river, but then I heard a shot, and it startled me so much I lost control of my bicycle and fell.’ She motioned at the clout tack I held in my hand. ‘Right in front of Flannigan’s, as a matter of fact, and I guess that’s where I got that tack. I looked up the hill. As the Corn Mercantile is set back from the road, I had a clear view of the garbage cans next to the Grand Hotel. And there was Billy beside them with his rifle. My stepfather was standing in front of the hotel. I suppose Billy had missed with his first shot. He was quite drunk. I called to my stepfather, but I was too late. Billy shot a second time and my stepfather went down, as dead as that clout tack you’re holding in your hand.’
I studied her.
I saw she believed her story; there wasn’t a shred of dissimulation in her manner.
And it seemed a cogent enough synopsis that jibed with at least some of the more established facts surrounding the events of that night. What it didn’t take into accoun
t was the wound angle. She saw her stepfather standing there. He wasn’t on his knees. He wasn’t crawling at some preposterous angle toward Billy. Billy had fired at Purcell straight on from the alley, according to Marigold’s story, and as such, her story contradicted the scientific evidence.
Yet she knew what she saw.
The question now arose, how was she misinterpreting what she saw to contradict the scientific evidence?
THIRTY-FOUR
I pondered the matter as I went out to the Swinford farm the next day. Given the wound angle, I was now convinced that though Billy had been there, he hadn’t fired the fatal round. I was now beginning to wonder if he had fired any round at all. I tied Pythagoras to the hitching post next to the farmhouse, went to the kitchen door, and knocked. Seeing Billy from the front of Flannigan’s after falling off her bike, Marigold, in her discombobulated condition, may have misconstrued him as the shooter. But had the shot really come from the hotel roof? From the drugstore window? And Billy just there with an unfired rifle looking like the shooter? I put these questions from my mind as I prepared for what I hoped would be my final interview with the Swinfords.
A few moments later, Clarence answered. ‘Dr Deacon,’ he said, with some misgiving. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Clarence, are your parents home?’
‘They’re sittin’ by the fire, sir.’
‘Would you mind if I came in?’
‘Course, doctor. You’re more than welcome.’
Considering his father had threatened to set his dogs on me last time, I wasn’t sure if I was indeed more than welcome, but entered the farmhouse just the same.
In the parlor, Mrs Swinford stared at the flames in the grate. Her arm was in a sling. She didn’t turn when I entered, nor did she say hello, but remained oblivious. Albert Swinford, on the other hand, got up – the way a soldier gets up at the sound of distant gunfire.
We stared at each other.
‘You look a mite frozen, doc,’ he said, but didn’t offer a place by the fire or anything hot to drink.
I pulled out the glassine envelope containing the lace curtain with the gunshot hole through it. Having been exposed to the iodide of potassium solution, it was as yellow as ever, revealing the presence of lead.
With no pleasantries or hospitality offered, I got right to my point.
I tapped the envelope. ‘This piece of curtain was snipped from the window in Mr and Mrs Wileys’ bedroom. You can see a hole through it. The hole is roughly the diameter of a bullet. And – Clarence, you might be interested in this – you see the way it’s yellow like that?’
Carefully, and as if suspecting a trap, he said, ‘Yes?’
‘I wanted to confirm that the hole was indeed a bullet hole so I had to prove the presence of lead. To do this, I caused a chemical reaction using an iodide of potassium solution. When it comes into contact with lead, it turns yellow. So this is indeed a bullet hole. The brighter the yellow the more recent the lead adhesion. I’ve pretty well timed the hole to the night of Mr Purcell’s murder. And Clarence, I know you and your ma were in that bedroom on the night of his murder. Which begs the question, did either of you kill Mr Purcell?’
This got the expected reaction, especially from Mr Swinford. His tone became belligerent. ‘What gives you the right to barge in here and accuse my wife and son of murdering that old villain?’
I lifted the yellowed fabric higher. ‘This does, Mr Swinford. I’ve learned the way Mr Purcell compromised your wife. I’ve heard that he threatened to take away Clarence’s college trust fund. Mr Purcell approached Mrs Swinford at the Corn Mercantile Building on the night of his murder and made inappropriate overtures toward her. Melissa, you hurried over to the Wileys’ afterward, didn’t you? Clarence, you followed fifteen minutes later. Shots were heard. And Mr Purcell was found dead in the street. Now I have a bullet hole through this lace sheer.’
Clarence turned to his father, a questioning look in his eyes. Albert was staring at me. I thought he would continue to be the family voice in this matter, but it was Mrs Swinford who spoke next.
‘Much as that monster deserves to be shot dead in the street,’ she said, in a fragile haunted tone, ‘I’m afraid I can’t claim credit. But whoever did shoot him should be honoured as a hero. He or she has done Fairfield a great service. Perhaps because he is now gone, I won’t try to kill myself a third time.’
‘Melissa, hold your tongue.’
‘Albert, it’s all right. Dr Deacon’s a good man.’
I leaned forward. ‘A third time? You mean you’ve already made two attempts? I know about the one on the night you came to my surgery. When was the other?’
She turned to me and an awful grin came to her face, as if death’s handmaiden had taken corporeal substance in the person of Melissa Swinford. ‘My other attempt was on the night that wretched beast met his end, almost to the second, as if fate had ordained it.’ She turned to her son. ‘Isn’t that right, Clarence? You were rushing up the stairs when you heard me shoot.’
Clarence’s lips tightened. He looked distressed beyond all measure. ‘Ma, please.’
Mrs Swinford nodded. ‘Tell the doctor what you know, Clarence. He’s twisted the truth right around in his head, and he’s going to arrest us for that beast’s murder if we don’t straighten him out.’
Clarence turned to his father.
Mr Swinford hesitated. He stared at his hands. At last he spoke. ‘It’s something you don’t want folks to know about.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Swinford, everything I hear today will be held in strictest confidence.’
‘Didn’t I tell you he was a good man?’ said Melissa.
After thinking it through, Swinford’s shoulders eased. ‘If it’ll convince you we’re innocent of the man’s murder.’ He turned to Clarence and gave him a nod. ‘Go ahead, son, tell him what you saw.’
Clarence turned to his mother, who had gone back to gazing at the fire. Then, with new earnestness, he addressed me. ‘I took it upon myself to protect my ma from Mr Purcell, doc. Whenever she was in town, I always came with her. If he tried anything, I got right up in between them, and put a stop to it, just like that, even though he’s my actual pa.’
I nodded. ‘Most commendable.’
He took a few seconds. ‘On the night he was killed, we were over at the Saturday evenin’ auction. Mr Purcell comes stumbling in at quarter to nine, drunk as can be, and starts harassing ma. She’s looking at pies, and pa’s bidding on a hog, so I go down from the bleachers and walk up to him, and say to him, ‘Mr Purcell, I’d like you to leave my ma alone.’’
‘You’re a good son,’ I said.
‘But he starts talking about my college fund.’
Clarence began to explain about the college fund and I cut him short. ‘I’m already aware of the provision that’s been made for you.’
Clarence nodded. ‘He says he’s going to cancel it if my ma don’t start playin’ ball. I tell my ma to go to the Wileys’, so this is what she does. She has this sad look on her face, like she’s blaming herself for the cancellation of my college fund. I didn’t like that look at all.’
‘No.’
‘So after fifteen minutes I tell pa I’m going over to check on her. I get there and my ma’s upstairs alone in the Wileys’ bedroom, and she’s managed to find Mr Wiley’s Winchester. She’s got her shoe off so she can operate the trigger with her toe.’ He motioned at her shoulder. ‘Just like the time we brought her to you. I go rushing up and she’s just about to pull the trigger. She’s so startled to see me, her hand gets jerky, and she just plain misses. I guess the bullet went through that lace sheer, and at the time we didn’t notice. She’d opened the window so she wouldn’t break the glass. A bullet that calibre would have gone right out the back of her head. Ma knows her firearms.’
The only sounds for some time were the crackling of the fire, the wind outside, and the log construction house settling. I turned to Mr Swinford. ‘Is this why you were so i
nsistent in telling me there was only one shot, and that it came from the back alley? You figured if you stuck to the one-shot story I wouldn’t investigate the second and find out your wife was trying to kill herself?’
He looked away. ‘Your wife attempting suicide isn’t something you want folks to know about. You know how this town is. No one would buy our produce anymore.’
‘And Clarence, you got there and saw the whole thing?’
He nodded. ‘I’m only glad I stopped her in time.’
This, then, seemed much likelier: not two attempts on Mr Purcell’s life at the same time, but two separate if tangentially linked dramas playing themselves out in different, yet nearby, arenas.
‘And so Mr Swinford, did you in fact hear only one shot? Or are you going to change your story now and tell me you heard two shots?’
‘I heard two shots, doc. One from out in the alley, like I said, and the other from the Wileys’ bedroom window.’
Out in the alley – that would mean Billy was my prime suspect after all. But with the echoes in that alley, the sound could have been hard to pinpoint, even for a Cuban Scout.
‘And the Wileys can confirm your wife’s suicide attempt?’
He nodded. ‘Like good friends, they kept it secret, but I can write a note telling them it’s okay now. They can talk to you, and the whole matter can be cleared up. As long as it don’t get spread around town and ruin things for us at the Farmer’s Market. We count on that money.’
Later in town, Cora Wiley said, ‘We were ever so thankful for Clarence’s arrival. If it hadn’t been for him, Melissa surely would have been dead by now. I’ve been after Gordon to get rid of that old rifle for years. This whole incident finally made him listen to reason.’