Who's sorry now?

Why would anyone murder him?”
    Walker had felt obligated to tell her the truth. If she saw her son’s body, she’d know it wasn’t a natural death. ”That’s what we don’t know. When was the last time you heard from him?”
    ”Oh, dear.Several weeks. But I’ve had so much cleaning up to do in this place I hadn’t got around to giving him my new address yet.”
    ”Do you have a cemetery plot for him?”
    ”Yes, I bought two. One for myself and one for him.”
    ”Is your husband there already?”
    ”There was no husband. He bolted when he learned I was pregnant. That’s why Edwin has my maiden name.”
    ”We’ll see to sending his body for burial when the pathologist is done. I’m really sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”
    ”No. Don’t be sorry. I needed to know this. Otherwise I’d have never known what became of my son.”
     

CHAPTER NINE
     
    MRS. MCBRIDE seemed to be hanging on to her emotions by a fine thread. She’d removed the kerchief from her head and made an effort to fluff her hair up a bit. Her face had gone pale. It was all Walker could do to keep himself from hugging the old woman to show his sympathy.
    But when she’d pulled herself together and insisted that they have coffee and cookies, he agreed.
    He was glad that there would be somewhere for McBride to be buried. But he wasn’t any closer to knowing who had killed him and why. Before he left Sharon McBride’s house, he asked about Edwin’s friends when he was a youngster. In his own experience, bunches of boys were always led by either a good-natured boy or by a bully. Edwin was obviously the former. But there was almost always a ”hanger-on” who was a younger brother or just somebody who attached himself to the group without invitation.
    Girls, he was told, were different. The prettiest was always the leader. And she always had a ”best friend” who was homely, to show up how pretty the leader was. He’d always wondered if the homely girl had a crush on her mentor, or disliked her but didn’t want to lose her place in the group.
    He’d asked Sharon McBride if she still knew the boys Edwin went around with.
    ”Oh yes. Most of them are still in the old neighborhood.”
    ”Could you give me their names and last-known addresses?”
    ”I can. Most of them still drop in and visit me from time to time, to talk about the old days, and they send me Christmas cards.”
    This shift in the conversation seemed to bring the color back to her face. ”I have their addresses.” She rose and opened a drawer in a buffet table. But as she fingered the pages, her hands shook. She handed the book to Howard. She gave him the names to look up, and he wrote them down.
    ”Was there a ‘hanger-on’ as there always seems to be?”
    ”Of course. His name was Mario Scalia. I don’t hear from him.”
    ”Do you think he’s still in the old neighborhood?”
    ”I have no idea. The other boys might know, though.”
    The last thing Walker had to tell Sharon McBride was that the coffin should be closed because Edwin didn’t look good and she wouldn’t want to see him that way.
    She thanked him for telling her.
    He thanked her for the addresses and said, ”If you need me I’m on the telephone exchange in Voorburg.”
    She hadn’t cried until then. ”Oh, my poor baby,” she sobbed. Howard put his arm around her shoulders and said, ”Everybody in Voorburg liked your son. We’ll miss him. Let me know when the funeral is taking place and I’ll be there.”
    He’d have to interview all of Edwin’s old friends. But it could wait for a day or two. Sharon McBride said she wanted to tell his friends that Edwin had died, before Chief Walker did.
    When he returned to Voorburg, he also heard from the pathologist in Newburg that Dr. Polhemus was wrong—as usual. It wasn’t piano wire, it was a long section of wire that jewelers used to saw through rings that had to be cut off fingers when knuckles had swollen too much to remove them. Howard’s first thought, which he was ashamed of, was that Ralph Summer was about to marry the daughter of a jeweler. That wasn’t fair to Ralph, probably just coincidence.
    Lily, meanwhile, knowing nothing about the death of McBride yet, was thinking about archaeology. Unearthing that skeleton, while tedious, was very interesting. Knowing about rickets and living in a cave were revelations she’d have never guessed. The beading and beeswaxed moccasins were also fascinating.
    She knew she was