Who's sorry now?

me up in the police car? I’ve never ridden in one.” She said this in what was nearly a girly giggle.
    She directed them to a place a bit out of town first. The house was small and empty. Even on a nice day in May, it smelled musty. There was no stove or icebox. No furniture at all. The only things that remained were dishes, glasses, silverware, and pots and pans.
    ”The police department is responsible for housing a deputy. But I can’t afford to furnish this. And it’s quite a way from town,” Chief Walker said.
    ”I see,” she said. ”Let’s go back to town. I have a second-floor set of rooms your deputy might like.”
    This was much better. It was the second floor of the greengrocer’s shop. Mr. and Mrs. Bradley had lived there for years, and they’d finally decided when their daughter and son-in-law wanted to stay there with them that they’d have to move out and find a house. There wasn’t room for more than one guest, and then there was the baby to account for. The Bradleys were going slightly mad with all three of them living on cots in the living room and keeping him and his wife awake half the night. The baby was colicky and cried all night. So they moved to a small house close to town, and helped their daughter and family find another even smaller house.
    There was a large bedroom, a kitchen with a stove, icebox, and a nice big table. Also, lots of empty cabinets. But there were no plates, glasses, silverware, or cooking utensils.
    Apparently, Mrs. Smithson’s late husband had owned the building, Walker assumed, since she appeared to be authorized to rent it.
    Mr. Bradley said, ”When we moved, I carted out my wife’s three sets of dishes, the glasses and silverware, all the clothing, and the pots and pans. I wasn’t about to strain myself hauling out the bed, or that big kitchen table and the sofa. We also left the bedding.”
    ”That empty house we looked at first had pots and pans, glasses, dishes, and silverware. Remember?” Mrs. Smithson said. ”Apparently the former tenants thought it was all too heavy to go in their car when they started out for California. You might have to get some good scrubbers and soap to clean them up, but you’re welcome to them, Deputy Parker. If you drop me at home, I’ll give you the key. You can return it when you’ve collected what you need.”
    On the way back to Voorburg after collecting the dishes, glasses, pots and pans, and silverware, Ron Parker asked his boss if the landlady at the boardinghouse was going to be angry if he left without even staying overnight.
    ”Of course she will. But I’ve already paid for the first week,” Walker said. ”So it’s not that she didn’t make a little money. Remind me to ask the phone exchange to disable that phone line and activate the one in your apartment.”
    Walker dropped Parker off to reclaim his suitcase and family pictures and waited in the police car. They delivered everything to the apartment, and Walker went to Mrs. Smithson’s home to return the key. ”Here, take this to your deputy when you can,” she said, handing him a book titled The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by Fannie Merritt Farmer.
    ”Don’t you want it anymore?”
    ”No. My mother gave me this old copy, and later a friend gave me a newer copy with a lot more recipes. This one is simpler and will be less complicated to understand for someone who’s never cooked. He lives right above the greengrocer, after all. It’s not too hard to find food there. He even carries bread, sugar, flour, and coffee and tea. He’ll have to go to the butcher down the block for meat though. And if there’s anything else he desperately needs, he can find it in Newburg.”
    Walker went to visit Parker that evening. ”Do you have a suit?” he asked.
    ”An old brown one. It’s in fair condition. Why do you ask?”
    ”We need to go to Edwin McBride’s funeral. For his mother’s sake, and ours, we need to see who turns up, try to eavesdrop on them. See if some clue I haven’t found yet drops into our laps.”
    ”How was he murdered?” Parker asked.
    ”Strangled. With a wire that had fine projections that dug into his throat.”
    Parker frowned. ”That’s nasty. But not as nasty as that other case we worked on.”
    ”Not quite,” Walker said. That case was more horrible than any Howard had ever known about. A boy had been pushed into a disgusting lake in early winter and didn’t float to the top until the spring thaw. Howard had