Melancholy Baby

40

Three days after the funeral, Brian went with me to see Mrs. Markham in her silent Andover living room. Sarah wasn’t there.

“Is your daughter home, Mrs. Markham?” Brian asked.

“No.”

“We’ll need to talk with her as well,” Brian said.

“I don’t know where she is.”

“Could she be at school?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she okay?” I said.

“I hope not,” Mrs. Markham said. “She killed her father and you helped her.”

“Tell me about that,” Brian said.

“If the two of them hadn’t harassed the poor man to death about who was whose parent, he’d be alive today.”

“His death was connected to Sarah’s parentage?” Brian said.

“You think it’s a coincidence?”

“Who might have killed him?” Brian said.

“I can’t imagine,” Mrs. Markham said. “He was a fine man.”

“And Sarah’s father?” Brian said.

“Of course.”

“So how is his death connected?” Brian asked.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence. They’ll probably get me, too.”

“ ‘They’?” Brian said.

“Whoever killed my George.”

“Could you make a guess who that is?” Brian asked.

“How would I know. But if the little bitch hadn’t started asking all these questions, her father would be alive.”

“The little bitch being your daughter,” Brian said.

“And her friend here.”

Brian nodded. “Before his death,” Brian said, “Mr. Markham told people that he was going to get a DNA test to prove he was Sarah’s father.”

I was the people Markham told, as far as Brian knew. He was obviously trying to keep me out of it.

“That’s nonsense,” Mrs. Markham said.

“So he didn’t get DNA testing?”

“No, of course not.”

Brian nodded and wrote in his notebook.

“Why wouldn’t he,” Brian said, “or you?”

“If our word isn’t sufficient to our own daughter, then we will not further humiliate ourselves and submit to a dehumanizing pseudoscience test.”

Brian nodded and wrote.

“And you haven’t any other thoughts on who might have killed your husband.”

Mrs. Markham glared at me.

“I don’t know who pulled the trigger,” Mrs. Markham said. “But I know who killed him.”

“Do you have a family doctor?” Brian said.

“No. Neither George nor I have ever been sickly.”

“If you had to go to the hospital,” Brian said, “where would you go?”

“I don’t need a hospital,” Mrs. Markham said.

“Do you have medical insurance?” Brian said.

“Of course.”

“HMO?”

She nodded. “Merrimack Health,” she said.

Brian wrote for a little while. Then he put his notebook away and took out his card.

“Anything that you might think of,” he said, “or anything that happens that might tell us something, please, give me a call. Or, if you prefer, call the Andover police. They’ll know how to get me.”

Brian gave her his card. We stood.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said to Mrs. Markham.

She looked at me in poisonous silence for a moment. “I don’t wish to speak with you,” she said.

In the car, driving, Brian turned and smiled at me.

“Bitch,” he said.

“I see,” I said. “You believe her.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Brian said. “She knows you and the kid were responsible because you pushed the question of parentage. But she has no idea who killed him, nor how that connects with you and the kid. Did I miss anything?”

“Not unless I missed it, too,” I said. “Do you think she got to be fifty years old and has neither a family doctor nor a hospital to which she would go?”

“No.”

“You have the name of her HMO,” I said. “That was smart.”

“I do, and it was,” Brian said. “We can see if the Markhams submitted any claims for treatment.”

“The question is,” I said, “does she know something that she’s not sharing, or is she just trying to find an object for her anger.”

“She always been a fruitcake like that?” Brian said.

“When I first met her she was sweet, and subservient, and eager to please,” I said.

“People can be drunk with grief.”

“Except,” I said, “I didn’t see a lot of grief. I saw a lot of rage, but no grief.”

Brian nodded. “She didn’t seem too griefy to me,” he said. “How about the daughter.”

“I need to find her. If her mother treated her the way she treated me, right after her father’s death...”

Brian looked at the dashboard clock.

“You think she’s at school?” he said.

“Worth a try,” I said.

“Taft?” he said.

“Yes. You might want to use the siren.”

“You think she’s suicidal?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I’ll call the campus police,” Brian said. “See if they can locate her.”

Brian turned the siren on, and the blue light on the dashboard, and drove faster.