The Body In The Bog (21 page)

Faith's brandy glass was empty and it was late. It had been a long day—Bridey Murphy, Gus, the library. She was tired—but not too tired.

 

When you sign up for something, April seems a long way off in September, which is why Faith found herself at the end of a line of preschoolers, all chanting, “I know a little pussy, who lives down in the lane” in unison. When they got to “He'll never be a pussy, he'll always be a cat, ' cause he's a pussy willow, now what do you think of that!” for the fourth time, she thought she might have a new description of hell. An eternity of Miss Lora's annual Pussy Willow Walks.

They were on their way into the bog. Faith had on the fisherman's boots she'd purchased in Maine and the ground squelched beneath them. They'd had more rain during the night, but today was bright and fair.

“It never rains on Pussy Willow Walk days,” Lora told the helper mothers. She didn't like to call them chaperones—“sounds too much like your Dad insisting on going on your dates,” she'd told Faith once. Any relative of Lora's would be getting more than he or she bargained for on the young woman's dates these days, Faith thought. And how did she manage to look so full of energy and good cheer after weekends of carousing?

The helper mothers—helper fathers appeared only occasionally—were spread out through the line.
Faith, at the front, was supposed to keep watch for low branches and thorny bushes. She trudged along and tried to ignore the performers behind her. They were gearing up to start the poem again—Ben's high little voice chanting as enthusiastically as the rest.

The densely growing trees, covered with thick ropes of interwoven vines, had kept the ground beneath from getting as wet as the ground immediately around the bog. Lora had made sure there were pussy willows to find, she'd reassured the mothers. They were on the other side of the woods, on a path that led to a small pond. Faith continued to reconnoiter. She was getting a bit ahead of the pack, but she told herself it was for their own good. She snapped a few branches out of the way to convince herself.

Emerging from the woods into the open, she noticed that there seemed to be a fallen log in the path. They'd have to help the children over it. She went closer.

It wasn't a log.

It was Joey Madsen. Face up, his eyes wide with surprise. There was a knife in his chest. He'd been stabbed and he was dead.

Faith screamed. She couldn't help it, even knowing the children were close behind her. She ran back toward the group, which had become instantly silent. The children's faces were frightened. One little boy was getting ready to cry.

She spoke quickly. “I saw…I saw a poor dead animal and it startled me. I'm sorry if I startled you, too, children.”

There were a few solemn nods. Ben immediately spoke up. “What kind of animal? A big animal? A fox? A deer? What is it, Mom? Can we see?”

Faith cut him off, “No, sweetheart, I think it would be better to go back now and wait until the path is clear. We need to leave him in peace.”

Lora was looking at Faith in some confusion. “You're sure we should turn around?”

“I'm sure,” Faith said firmly.

The other mothers began to get the children back in line and one of them started singing “Inch by Inch.” Soon the kids joined in. Thank God for presence of
mind, Faith thought, and motioned for Lora to step aside.

“What's going on?” the teacher asked in a low voice.

“There's been an accident.” Faith could not bear to tell Lora that her brother-in-law was dead, and in any case, she couldn't let her know until the police had been there. “A very bad accident. Please call Chief MacIsaac and tell him to get here right away. Tell him to call the state police and ask Detective Dunne to meet him here.”

“The state police! Faith, you've got to tell me! It's a person, isn't it! What's happened?”

“I can't say any more and I can't let anyone go any closer until the police arrive.
Please
, you have to take care of the children.” Faith hoped this would distract Lora. It did. The class was almost out of sight and Lora sprinted after them.

Faith called after her, “Wait! Go upstairs to Tom's office and tell him to come as soon as possible!”

“Okay,” Lora said, running to keep up with her charges.

They were gone and Faith was alone in the bog with the body. She would have welcomed the sound of any nursery rhyme, no matter how many times it was repeated.

Joey. Joey was dead. She felt dizzy and sat down on a rock. For a moment, she thought she might be sick. She dropped her head to her knees. Pine needles carpeted the ground in a thick brown mat. They smelled faintly of balsam, of Christmas trees. An ant crawled
from underneath. She sat up. Joey. Joey Madsen had been murdered. She couldn't stop thinking of his sightless eyes staring up at the spring sky. Face up. Not face down.

Joey had known his killer. No one had crept up stealthily behind him. He'd come down the path, maybe his hand out in greeting. Someone Joey knew. Someone he trusted. Why were they meeting here, out of sight? Why not at the company's office or at Joey's house?

She stood up, wishing Tom would hurry. She walked back toward the body, careful to retrace her steps. Away from the dense canopy the trees made, the ground was soft. She could see the imprint of her boots, coming and going. There were other footprints, too. A ditch ran alongside the path, filled with the runoff from the pond. The water was still and covered by thick green slime.

There was very little blood. Just a stain on the surface of Joey's sweatshirt, around the handle of the knife. A large crow flew overhead, cawing loudly. She needed to stay nearby. She needed to keep the birds or other predators from desecrating the corpse. From pecking at those open eyes.

An animal, she'd told the children, to protect them from the horror of the truth. What if she hadn't been first in line? She shuddered. An animal. But Joey was not an animal. He was a proud new father, a husband, a son, a human being. She thought of Bonnie and little Joey.

Tom found her in tears a short distance from the body. She threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, Tom, it's Joey Madsen. He's dead. There's a knife in his chest. I had gone ahead. The children didn't see. Oh, what will his poor wife do!” She sobbed. Tom held her close and stroked her hair. She lifted her tear-streaked face to his. “Who can be doing all these terrible things? First Margaret, then Nelson, now Joey! Who will be next? I'm scared!”

“Me, too,” Tom said.

They held each other in silence for a few minutes; then Tom asked, “Are you okay? I want to go a little closer.”

Faith nodded.

“Tell me how far you went.”

“See that bush by his foot? Up to there.”

Tom walked carefully in his wife's tracks and knelt by the bush. Staying where she was, Faith said her own prayer for Joey—and for the rest of the town.

Tom came back and they stood holding hands, waiting for the police.

Charley arrived first, crashing out of the woods, followed by two patrolmen. “What's going on?”

Faith pointed to the body. “It's Joey Madsen and he's dead.”

“What the hell!” Charley started to go over to the dead man, then stopped. “Who else besides you two has been here?”

“Nobody, except Joey and whoever did it, so far as I know.”

Charley considered the lifeless form a few feet away. “Face up,” he commented out loud. “Didn't
think he had anything to be afraid of, even way out here. Now what was he up to?”

The shock was wearing off and Faith had started to think along the same lines. Did his death have anything to do with his outburst at the POW! meeting last night? Tom had quoted Joey's threat: “I'm going to get you, even if it takes the rest of my life.” Did whoever cut the hoses on the excavator get him first? “Joey is ready to kill somebody.” Where did that come from? Lora, speaking of Joey's outrage. Was it a question of kill or be killed for the murderer? But Joey wouldn't have come to this isolated spot to confront an enemy—unless he was armed himself. And Faith wouldn't know that until the police told her—
if
they would tell her.

Charley was asking her what time she'd found the body and what she was doing here in the first place. As she began to relate the morning's events, Detective Lieutenant John Dunne arrived with his partner, Detective Ted Sullivan, and the rest of the CPAC unit from the state police. The medical examiner was on the way from the Framingham barracks, Dunne told Charley before turning to Faith. Both Sully and Dunne did not seem surprised to see her there; Charley must have told them, of course. On the other hand, neither looked pleased at her presence. John strode over closer to the body and Faith now knew exactly what a quaking bog was. He returned, conferred with Sully, who already had his camera out, then walked over to the Fairchilds.

“Taking a nature walk?” he asked Faith.

“No, I was one of the helper mothers, the chaperones, for the Pussy Willow Walk Lora Deane's class was taking.”

Dunne wrote it down in his notebook. Cases where Faith was involved always introduced concepts and words he had to ask his wife about. Snuglis, now Pussy Willow Walks.

“Have you touched the body, moved anything near it?”

“No to both. I could tell immediately he was dead.” The eyes. The eyes would haunt her waking and sleeping hours for a long time to come.

“Be sure to get shots of the footprints, and we'll make the casts right away,” he called out to Detective Sullivan. The rest of his men were combing the area for evidence—anything. The knife handle was being dusted for prints.

“You two going to be home today?”

“We are now,” Tom said, and John nodded. He knew what they must be feeling—shock, fear—and this was all before the delayed reaction.

“Did you know him well?”

“Not well, but we knew him,” Tom answered.

And even more about him, Faith finished silently. She wanted to go home.

After a few more questions, Dunne told them they could leave.

“I'm sorry,” he said to Faith. She knew what he was trying to say and was grateful.

“Thank you.”

The Fairchilds went back up the slight slope into the woods, retracing their own steps—and the path the murderer had taken. There was only one way in and one way out. Joey had come that way, too—and Miss Lora's class. It had been a busy morning in the bog.

“You get Amy and I'll get Ben?” Faith suggested.

“No,” Tom said. “I want to stay with you. We'll get them together.”

They walked quickly away from Beecher's Bog. Joey had died on the first warm, sunny day of the year, beneath a cloudless blue sky. The air was filled with birdsongs. Margaret would have known what they were. She'd been alive ten days ago. Joey had been that morning. Their deaths were linked. Faith was sure of it and she knew she had to try to find out before there was another.

 

The Fairchild family was sitting around their large kitchen table, eating lunch. Amy was in her high chair, feeding herself after a fashion. She'd recently displayed an independent streak when it came to food, grabbing the spoon herself and taking great joy in picking up such things as linguine, one strand at a time, with her tiny fingers. While Faith was happy to note these beginnings that promised a lifelong interest in food, it made feeding Amy in a hurry difficult. Today there was no rush and the toddler was delicately picking out the peas from the chicken potpie with puff-pastry crust that filled her bowl.

Ben had finished his and asked for more.

“Did they move the animal?” he'd wanted to know earlier, as soon as he'd seen his mother.

“They will soon.”

“Then we can go for our walk tomorrow?”

It was going to be a while before Faith willingly entered the bog and she'd resorted to that useful catchall, “We'll see.”

Now, being together felt good. Faith had the feeling that she and Tom had gone through something akin to an earthquake or other disaster. Afterward, you just want to hold on to those closest to you. Comfort yourself. Feel blessed. She could tell Tom was experiencing the same emotions. His chair was so near Amy's that she was getting potpie on both their clothes.

Faith wasn't hungry and had been picking at her food. She was nervous, expecting the phone to ring, or a knock on the door.

The phone was first.

“Faith! My God! I just heard!” It was Pix. “We were finishing the mailing and Ellen Phyfe came bursting in, shouting that Joey Madsen had been murdered in the bog and that you'd found him.”

“How did she find out?” Aleford really was incredible.

“She was in the camera store, and you know they listen to the police band all the time.”

Faith did know. The group at Aleford Photo was an interesting crew, who gave new meaning to the term
moonlighting
. Bert, for example, was a licensed un
dertaker, had two paper routes, restored old cars, sold crucifixes and other religious articles by mail, had a houseful of foster children and his own kids—and worked in the store. By comparison, Richard was a sluggard, working only three jobs: at the store, as an auxiliary cop, and as a professional race-car photographer. If you wanted to know the latest in either photographic techniques or local larcenies, Aleford Photo was the store to frequent. They were pretty good for car advice, too.

“I have to take Danny to soccer; then I'll be right over,” Pix said. “And we didn't send out the mailing. It seemed terribly inappropriate, if that's the right word.”

Faith wasn't sure
inappropriate
was the right word, either.
Callous
,
unfeeling
,
dancing on Joey's grave
—all came to mind. She went back to the kitchen. Tom was cleaning up himself and Amy. Ben was in the backyard on the swings.

“It's all over town,” she told him.

“Don't tell me you're surprised.” He'd missed a spot and she took the wet cloth and wiped his cheek.

“It does change things, though. Pix said they didn't send out the mailing. Do you think the Deanes are likely to press forward with Alefordiana Estates? Remember, Gus wasn't too enthused about it.”

Gus hadn't been too enthused about the man his granddaughter had married, either. But that was a long way from murder. Although, two men with violent tempers…

“I have no idea,” Tom said. “Bonnie may be so up
set that she'll want to continue even if it doesn't make the best business sense—in memory of her husband and because there's no doubt he would have wanted it that way.”

Faith thought about Bonnie and found herself disagreeing with Tom. Bonnie might be upset, but if it didn't make sense financially, she wouldn't have any part of it. She wondered how Bonnie had viewed Joey's scheme. She had been conspicuously absent from all the presentations, but then, she'd just had a baby. This thought was qualified immediately. A woman who closes a deal as she's going into labor wouldn't shy away from important meetings after the birth—if she wanted to be there.

“I wonder what Millicent is planning to do? She's put so much time and energy into fighting Alefordiana Estates. It wouldn't be like her to abandon the cause, even if the cause is dead.” As she spoke, the last word stuck in her throat. Faith picked Amy up. She was beginning to droop. Sleep, the sweet escape. Faith wished she could crawl in with her daughter.

 

Pix's call was just the first, and eventually they had to take the phone off the hook. Faith prepared a brief statement that she gave to the Aleford Police Department, then referred all the newspapers and other media to them. Prudently, she'd called both her parents and Tom's when it became apparent that the news would spread. She downplayed her role: “Wrong place, wrong time.” Her mother, Jane, had sounded skeptical, “I did hope your last murder would be it,
dear”—making Faith feel somewhat like “the bad seed.”

Faith's sister, Hope, on her way to an important meeting, was more direct. “Can't you find anything else to do up there? I thought when you started the business again that would take care of things.”

“It's not a hobby,” Faith had protested. “I'm not deliberately finding bodies!”