Help the Poor Struggler Read Online Free PDF Page B

year and went to New York. His speech was littered with the old-fashioned, hard-boiled speech of a Bogart movie: dames, broads — that sort of thing.
    â€œHow do you know all this stuff about Rose Mulvanney?”
    â€œThrough extremely delicate questions put to the inhabitants of Clerihew Marsh,” said Macalvie. “Like, did Rose screw around —”
    â€œI’m sure that’s the way you put it.” Jury took a drink of cider and could believe in the sizzling throat of the devil.
    â€œBe careful, Freddie makes it herself. My questions to the villagers were more disgustingly discreet. But what turned up when I collared the milkman and the old broad that runs the post office stores was that Rose Mulvanney, a couple of days before she died, started taking more milk and buying more bread. This even though her kid Mary was away on a school trip. The extra groceries went on for maybe five days. Now, she sure as hell wasn’t doing that for Sammy Waterhouse. He lived right there in Clerihew Marsh.”
    â€œYou’re saying someone else was living with her?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Jury tried not to smile. Macalvie was nothing if not certain of Macalvie. “I agree it’s a possibility.”
    â€œGood. I can go on living.” He popped another Fisherman’s Friend into his mouth.
    â€œSo, assuming the Devon-Cornwall police picked on Waterhouse — why? Months went by before they arrested him, you said.”
    â€œIt’s expensive to mount a murder investigation; you know that. They wanted to get him a hell of a lot earlier, except I kept tossing spanners in the works, like trying to convince the effing Devon police that Sam Waterhouse couldn’t have moved in with Rose.”
    â€œAren’t you making a lot out of extra bread and milk?”
    â€œNo. Rose wasn’t buying bread for the church bazaar.”
    â€œThere must have been evidence against Waterhouse. What was it?”
    â€œThat he was always mooning around Rose. He was nineteen, for God’s sakes.” Macalvie shoved the ashtray to theend of the table. “And the dame next door said she’d heard them having a king-sized row a few nights before Rose died. She saw Sam coming out of the house in a right blaze.”
    â€œAnd Waterhouse — what did he say?”
    â€œHe didn’t deny it. He was furious Rose had been ‘leading him on’ and he really thought she cared. Told him she had another boyfriend, stuff like that.”
    â€œWhat did forensics turn up?”
    â€œTheir hands. They just shrugged. Of course there were prints. All over. Sam had admitted to being in the house. But on the knife? No. He’d have wiped that clean, said my learned superior. So I said to him, Then why didn’t he wipe everything else clean he’d touched? And after the elimination prints — the two daughters and a couple of friends in Clerihew — there were still two sets left over. Could have been anybody, and certainly could have been the guy who did the job, if he’d been living there for a few days.”
    â€œThe girls? The daughters? Where were they?”
    â€œThe fifteen-year-old was off on a school trip. The little one must have been in the house, except for the odd night or two she was sent to play with a little chum from her school.”
    â€œBut that means she must have seen the man at some point — assuming you’re right.”
    Macalvie’s look sliced up Jury as good as any knife. Could there be any doubt about a Macalvie theory? “That’s true. All she had to do was say, ‘No, it wasn’t Sammy.’ And believe me, she would have if she could; she was crazy about Sam. Both girls were. He was very nice to them. So she could have said it wasn’t him and maybe identify who it was. Only Teresa never spoke another word.” Macalvie turned to stare into the inglenook fireplace, as if he too might never speak