* * *
“Murder!” Don Reid exclaimed. Green had summoned the family into the Reid living room and had plunged headlong into his theory, hoping to catch their first reactions. The son-in-law leaped to his feet, effectively placing himself between Green and the two women. This blocked Green’s view of the widow, but he was able to see the expression of panic which flitted across the daughter’s face before she brought it back under control.
“The idea hasn’t occurred to you?” Green continued blandly.
“Why should it?” Don blustered. “The old man had one foot in the grave! Even the coroner says so.”
“But someone might have helped him.”
“Why! What could anyone have to gain?”
“Precisely my question, Mr. Reid.”
A shocked silence descended on the family as Don Reid eyed Green, speechless. After a minute, he snorted in derision. “That’s ridiculous. Eugene was a recluse, he never saw anyone. He had no friends any more, and he wasn’t involved in any activities where he could have made enemies. Right, Ruth?”
Ruth Walker was staring at Green in dismay, and he felt a twinge of pity. He didn’t like putting her through this.
“What makes you think he was murdered?”
“I have to investigate all angles, Mrs. Walker.”
His evasion deepened her confusion. “Then you’re not saying he was or wasn’t?”
“I can’t.”
His bluntness brought colour to her cheeks, and when she saw he was still awaiting an answer, she cast about in bewilderment. “I really can’t think what anyone had to gain. Eugene saw no one but the family. He’s been retired fifteen years, and even before that he kept to himself.”
“Who knew you were going to the hospital that day?”
“No one, except Margaret and Don, of course. But no one would have known he was in the car. Unless…unless it was a stranger—I mean, a robbery, or…”
“It’s possible, but for the sake of my paperwork, I’d like to explore some background. First of all, what did your husband do before he retired?”
“We owned a hardware shop in Renfrew. It was a small family business, and it gave us a comfortable living, but nothing more. We sold it when Eugene got too…” She hesitated. “Too tired to handle it. We made enough money from the sale to buy a house in the country. He wasn’t especially fond of crowds.”
“Did he speak any foreign languages, or know someone who did?”
“Well, he was—” Don began, but Ruth held up her hand. Sharply, Green thought.
But her voice was sweet. “Why on earth do you ask that, Inspector?”
“Because he was overheard speaking to someone in the car before he died.”
Ruth grew very still. “Someone foreign?”
“Possibly.”
“I have no idea—” she faltered. “No one knew he was in town.”
“Ruth,” Don burst in, “you don’t know the half of what Eugene does. There are lots of Poles and Germans out in the Renfrew area where you live.”
“But they’re all third or fourth generation Canadians.”
“Some of the old-timers still speak their language. And what about that guy who—”
“There must be some mistake.” Ruth rose, brisk with purpose. “Goodness, look at the time! Howard and Rachel’s plane will be in soon.”
Green glanced at Don, who shrugged his apology. Don knows something, Green thought, but now is not the time to pursue it. “Who are Howard and Rachel?” he asked instead.
Ruth sat down with visible relief. “My son and his wife. They live in Montreal—Howard’s just finished his residency at the Montreal Neurological Institute—but he’s been in Toronto at a conference, and Margaret only managed to reach them today.”
Green looked at the daughter, who had been staring out the window as if in a trance. She jerked her head around at the mention of her name, and Green saw her flinch. Something is definitely off-kilter in this family, he thought.
“Just to help me get the whole picture,” he said affably, “I’d like some background on the family. Howard’s married—any children?”
Ruth answered for the lot of them. Howard and Rachel had no children yet, but Don and Margaret had been married twenty years and had two sons. Don was in business, although she was vague on the details.
Don was sitting in the corner, jiggling his legs restlessly. “I work for a management consulting firm,” he interjected brusquely. “Although I don’t see what relevance it has.”
“Probably none,” Green said cheerfully. “Just getting the whole picture. Margaret, do you work outside the home?”
Margaret’s eyes were fixed on her husband, and for a moment she merely nodded before finding her voice. “Part time. I’m a nurse at the Civic—casual relief. I’m trying to upgrade myself.”
“Try psychiatry. It’s a nice, cushy job.”
He had meant it as a joke; his four years with Sharon had taught him how mistaken that stereotype was. Psychiatric nursing was intense, emotionally draining work. But Margaret was clearly not up to jokes.
“I wouldn’t have the patience,” she replied. “Or the emotional stamina.”
Green studied her for moment. She was pale, and a shredded Kleenex was wrapped around her quivering fingers. He wondered whether it was simply grief, or something more. She seemed frightened, and Green sensed she was withholding something too. But with her husband and mother standing guard, it would be futile to press her. He jotted the thought down for future use and turned back to the widow.
“Did Mr. Walker have a will?”
He threw the question out quickly, hoping to catch someone off guard, but Ruth did not miss a beat. A woman used to surprises, he wondered? Or used to covering up?
“Yes, he did. It’s back at the country house. Once Howard arrives, we’ll drive out to get it. Not that there’s much in it. We have no real money. Just the house and ten thousand in investment certificates which I’d managed to put aside for…well, for our old age, in case we needed care.”
A clatter from the corner of the room startled them. Don had placed his drink on the table. The guy’s tight as a drum, Green thought, and jotted that thought down too for future use before retrieving his line of questioning.
“What about the sale of the hardware store? Didn’t that bring in some money?”
Ruth coloured slightly. “No, there were some debts. Those were hard economic times everywhere, and…”
Don roused himself from the corner. “And Eugene drank everything away, Ruth. Why don’t you simply say so!”
“Don, please. Under the circumstances…” Ruth tried to silence him again, but this time he shook his head.
“If the cop thinks it might be murder, then he should know what kind of a guy Eugene was. He was a drunk. You know it, I know it, and Howard knows it. Hell, even this cop knows it. He’s probably seen the autopsy report! The reason you’re stuck with no money now is because the bastard drank it all away.”
Margaret leaned forward and reached for the tea pot. “Inspector, some more tea?”
He looked at her in surprise. “No, thanks.”
Ruth had not taken her eyes off Don. “You children don’t know what he’s