Martin Harris carried a big rectangular gray plastic bin full of dirty dishes from out front, placed it in a deep stainless-steel sink, and turned on the water. Reid waved at Alma, the cook. They knew each other from his many lunches at the detectives’ table over the years. He raised his eyebrows in a question, pointed at Harris, and she nodded her okay.Thanks,he mouthed.
“Mr. Harris,” Reid said.
Harris glanced over his shoulder, his eyes as bloodshot as ever.
“I’m working,” he said.
“I see that,” Reid said. “I only want a few minutes of your time. Your boss doesn’t mind. Let’s step outside.”
Harris looked over at Alma, who was busy at the stove. He led Reid out the back door into an alley. It ran the length of the block behind the church. People were milling around outside the parish house, lining up. He realized they were waiting to go into the soup kitchen.
“That’s where you eat sometimes, right?” Reid asked.
“Yes, it is,” Harris said.
“It’s strange to me, Martin, that when I asked you about Beth Lathrop, you didn’t mention you ate there. Because she worked there.”
“Yeah, she and her friend. Two nice ladies from a fancy town,” Harris said. “Serving food to people like us. Who’d a thunk?”
“So you did know Beth.”
“Not really,” Harris said. “Yes, I’d see her at meals sometimes, and she was really nice. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t do anything, and I knew you’d think something bad.”
Reid didn’t say anything, held his emotions inside. But he thought of Beth feeding Martin Harris, being kind to him, having no idea of the kind of crimes he had committed, making herself vulnerable to what he could do to her.
“We never got together outside here or anything,” Harris said, sounding nervous. “I barely even talked to her, just thanked her for the food. I hang out more with her friend.”
“Jed Hilliard?” Reid asked.
“Who, that artist guy?” Harris asked. “I know him from here, but we’re not friends or anything.”
“Then who is it you hang out with?”
“You know, the other lady from Black Hall. She’s really nice. She buys us drinks once in a while, and she’ll join us.” He laughed. “She’s a hoot.” Then a serious look crossed his face. “But she is really broken up.”
“About what?”
“Beth, of course. They were so close. You could tell, just seeing them here. When she talks about what happened ...” Harris closed his eyes tight, as if it was too awful for him to contemplate.
“What does she talk about?” Reid asked, feeling sweat run down his back.
“The death. What was done to Beth. The bruises. Those bone chips, pearls in the blood. The lace around her neck, the way it dug in ...”
These were the things Harris had said before that had caused Reid to suspect he had been at the crime scene, or that Pete had told him about it. Harris was practically salivating now, and Reid saw him in the grips of a fantasy, made more thrilling by the fact the ingredients had come from someone so close to Beth.
“Did she tell you how she knew those details?” Reid asked.
“No, and I didn’t even ask. She’s tight with the family. I figured Beth’s sister told her, or you did, or someone involved with the investigation. I was just happy to listen.”
I bet you were,Reid thought.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Harris,” Reid said, filled with urgency, knowing what he had to do. He left him standing there in the alley and ran back into the Black Whale to tell his brother he had somewhere to be.
54
These feelings of pure connection were unfamiliar to Kate. When it was time to meet the others, she found herself not wanting to leave the house without Clementine. Online literature regarding the rescue of wild animals encouraged the rescuer to place the animal in a warm, quiet, dark place where it wouldn’t be disturbed. Kate had found the perfect corner of her loft and done that. But when she knelt on the floor and saw Clementine lying on her side, watching her with those wide velvet-brown eyes, she fought the urge to take her along.
“You’re coming with me,” she said after a minute, not even feeling foolish for speaking out loud to a rabbit.
