“Not personally, but I knew of her. The pretty sister, correct?”

“She was pretty before today.”

“Where was she attacked?”

“In her home.”

Again he gave Thatcher a pointed glance. “Someone looking for a room to let?”

Thatcher moved in closer, wanting badly to knock this pompous hypocrite on his ass.

But Bill motioned for him to stay as he was, and for the sheriff’s sake, Thatcher let the insult pass.

Bill said, “A vagrant is a possibility, of course. But initial indications are that she knew her assailant and let him inside the house. Her infant was asleep in the front room, so it was someone she trusted.”

The mayor drew a frown and absently toyed with his watch chain.

“What is it, Bernie?”

He stopped fiddling with the chain, but his frown remained. “Something I wish I didn’t know.”

“About Miss Blanchard?”

“Yes, but I was told in the strictest confidence.”

“If it’s pertinent to the crime, then—”

“I’m not saying that,” Croft said in a rush. “Not at all. It probably has no relevance whatsoever.”

“Tell me and let me decide.”

He sighed with seeming reluctance. “On the day following Mila Driscoll’s disappearance, I spoke to Gabe by telephone. Mrs. Driscoll’s relatives hadn’t arrived yet, so while your deputy was using the bathroom, Gabe called me on the sly and confessed that he’d had a liaison with that Blanchard girl.”

“Why would he have confessed that to you?”

“Because I had been his staunch proponent there in your office. I had promised to continue standing by him until his wife was found or her fate determined. Therefore, he felt I deserved to know that he harbored what he called ‘a shameful secret.’

“I was thinking in terms of unsettled gambling debts, or blackmail, or fleecing hypochondriacs. Something like that. I never would have dreamed that Gabe Driscoll’s dirty secret was a sexual fling. He’s such a cold fish. I can’t imagine him humping anybody, can you?”

Thatcher could tell that Bill was offended by Croft’s terminology, but he pounced on the primary matter. “After that rousing sermon you just delivered about your civic responsibility, you tell me this? Why didn’t you come to me with it before now? You didn’t think an affair with another woman was pertinent to the sudden disappearance of the man’s wife?”

“Calm down. It wasn’t an affair. It was one afternoon of sexual congress that occurred the day after he and the Blanchard woman met.”

“Only that one time?”

“That’s what he told me. Tearfully. With contrition. Soon after this breach of his marriage vows, Mrs. Driscoll conceived. Gabe regarded her pregnancy as a sign of forgiveness from on high.

“Even though Mrs. Driscoll was blissfully unaware of his transgression, he atoned by lavishing attention on her. Pampered her with foot rubs. Picnics in her favorite spot near Pointer’s Gap. Flowers and other romantic folderol. He never strayed again. I made him swear it on the Bible.”

Mrs. Kemp had told Thatcher and Bill a completely different story, but it wasn’t his place to cite that.

Bill said, “Although it’s late in coming, thank you for this information, Bernie.”

“I doubt it’s relevant to what happened to the girl. If the rumor mill is credible, encounters such as the one she had with Gabe were not a rarity, but commonplace.”

“Nevertheless, she suffered a brutal attack. I ask again for your discretion.”

“Of course, Bill, of course. Good night.” Croft tapped his thigh. The dog trotted up and rejoined his master, tongue lolling, tail wagging, ready to be off. As Croft came even with Thatcher, he said, “Deputy Hutton, don’t think for a moment that badge on your chest makes me in any way nervous.”

“I don’t. But I don’t wear it all the time. That’s when you should be nervous.”

* * *

Thatcher watched Hennessy hold open the backseat door of the town car for Croft and the bird dog. “Your mayor is the one who’s got a shadow.”

Bill looked over at the town car, then motioned Thatcher toward his own vehicle.

“I don’t mind walking.”

“I’ve got to go to the office anyway and finish the paperwork I started with Doc Perkins. But do you mind if I make a quick stop at home so I can give Daisy the stomach medication?”

“Not at all.”

Once they were on their way, Bill said, “As bodyguards go, Bernie couldn’t have hired a better one. Jimmy Hennessy—I doubt that’s his real name—was in the IRA. Fought in the uprising in ’17. Got a price put on his head for killing two British army officers. Outran his pursuers and made it to New York.

“Due to the large Irish population there, word got around, traitors talked, the city got too hot for him, he fled to Chicago. Same story there. Eventually he wound up here. All this is hearsay, you understand, probably embellished, but I believe the basics.”

Bill made a corner, then said, “Only one afternoon of illicit romance? Do you believe that version?”

“No. Why would Mrs. Kemp exaggerate her sister’s promiscuity in the wrong direction?”

“Exactly.”

“And why did Driscoll do the opposite and swear on the Bible that he was with Norma Blanchard only once?”

“We’ll ask him that tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“I want to see what evidence the Kemp house yields. When we confront Gabe with this, I want to be as well-armed as possible.”

When they arrived at the Amoses’ house, Thatcher said he would wait in the car. “Take your time. I’ve got a lot to mull over.”

Such as Laurel being a moonshiner, out of her league with big-time players like Landry and Croft, the Johnsons, and the unscrupulous couple at Lefty’s.

Jesus.

* * *

Bill found Daisy in bed, listless and complaining of stomach cramps. He asked if she’d eaten anything, but she hadn’t because she couldn’t keep anything down. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, Bill.” She reached for his hand and held it against her cheek. She was lying. He could smell whiskey on her breath, but he didn’t want to start a row. She wasn’t drunk, but she was obviously unwell.