Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

understand. Here’s my card if you need to get hold of me for any reason.”
    “Thank you,” said Malloy. He glanced at the card and then slipped it into his shirt pocket.
    Clive Wilson returned to his car and Malloy watched as he spoke with his wife, obviously explaining to her what had just happened, before driving off.
    “ That was interesting, ” Malloy thought. Then, out loud he said to himself, “Was he interviewing me or was I interviewing him?” He turned back and looked up at the closed store and again, under his breath, said, “Mr. Whitson, you and I are definitely going to have that long chat.”
    * * *
    Lieutenant Mark Malloy didn’t leave Whitson’s Antiques immediately. He sat in his car with the engine running and the heat turned up. He took Clive Wilson’s card out of his pocket and stared at it, going over what Clive had told him. His story only added to Malloy’s curiosity about Alfred Whitson. He jotted down this new information in his notebook and then, as was his habit, thumbed through his notes again.
    “ Who are you, Alfred Whitson? And more important, where are you? ” he thought to himself. As he reread his notes, Charlie Rhodes’ name jumped out at him. He had said that he had known Alfred “forever,” and he had called him Al. Tomorrow he’d talk with Charlie Rhodes again.

CHAPTER 73
    HE COULD HEAR THE BELL ringing in the house. Charlie had been out riding when Malloy had called first thing in the morning, so Malloy arranged with Charlie’s wife to come over about 10:30. Now a short, thin woman opened the door. Before he could even say hello, she said, “Lieutenant Malloy.”
    “Yes.”
    “Come in. Charlie’s just getting dressed. His ride took a little longer than I had expected.”
    “Thank you.”
    She showed him to the living room. Like most in New England, it appeared little used. There was a fireplace that was spotless, and there was no sign of any firewood, save for three logs carefully placed on andirons. He wondered if it had ever been used. On the mantle were many photographs, mostly family, save one. That one caught his attention.
    He picked up the frame and looked closely at it. The black-and-white image had obviously been taken many years ago, maybe in the forties or fifties. In it three boys stood in front of a set of wide steps of a building that looked like it might be a church. That was only a guess because they filled almost the entire frame and there was little else that would allow for closer identification. All three had the manufactured smiles of boys who didn’t want to have their picture taken. Two of the boys looked absolutely identical except for what they were wearing. The third seemed familiar, and he guessed that he might be Charlie.
    “Officer Malloy, how nice to see you.” A voice from behind startled him. It was Charlie.
    He turned, still holding the photograph. “Charlie. Hello, I didn’t hear you come in.” They shook hands.
    “That’s us when we were twelve, just before the accident.” Malloy looked down at the picture and Charlie continued. “That picture was taken in the Spring, probably Easter. We―myself, Alfred, and Thomas―were inseparable. We hung around together all the time. Alfred and Thomas were identical twins as you can see by that picture.”
    “Twins?”
    “Yeah, until the accident. They were so identical that even their mother had a hard time telling them apart. They’d play pranks all the time, one pretending to be the other. It was always a great laugh. I was their best friend and even I couldn’t tell them apart most of the time.”
    “Really. Which one is which?” Malloy asked, first looking at the photo again and then holding it out to Charlie.
    Charlie took it and without glancing said, “Thomas is in the middle.” Lieutenant Malloy thought he caught a bit of sadness in Charlie’s voice. Then he watched as Charlie reverently replaced the picture on the mantle.
    “Accident?”
    “Yes,” said Charlie regaining his composure. “That summer, Alfred and Thomas were down by the river playing. There was this rope swing in a big tree and we played there all the time, especially if it was hot. Well, anyway, this one day, we were going to meet there. I hadn’t finished my chores so they went ahead. Before I got there, Alfred came running back. Thomas had swung out and let go of the rope too late. He didn’t spin in the air enough. He hit the water on his back and his head hit a rock that was