Murder in a mill town by P.B. RYAN Read Free Book Online Page B

office, it might have been midnight rather than the midst of a sunny afternoon. 
    “Silence gives them an opportunity to reflect and repent,” Whitcomb said. “Reflection, hard work, prayer, and instruction—those are the cornerstones of prisoner life here. They’re a grossly undisciplined breed when they come to us. Our objective is not so much punitive as restorative. By inculcating in these men a sense of order, we’re preparing them to reenter an orderly world.”
    Nell almost laughed out loud at the notion of the world being “orderly.” Schooling her expression, she said, “An ambitious goal.”
    “But one which we pride ourselves on attaining.” Mr. Whitcomb lifted Viola’s open letter from the desk in front of him, rubbing the thick vellum between his thumb and fingertips as if assessing its quality. “Mrs. Hewitt is trying to locate him, you say?”
    Nell nodded. “He disappeared Sunday, along with a young woman from this area named Bridie Sullivan. It’s really Miss Sullivan we’re trying to locate—her mother is beside herself—but we suspect that if we find Mr. Hines, we’ll find her.”
    “I see.”
    “Was he the type of man to...do harm to a female, do you think?” Nell asked.
    “There’s nothing in his history to suggest it,” Whitcomb said. “No arrests for, er, such crimes as such a character flaw would suggest.”
    “What did he do to get sent here?”
    “Stole a lady’s reticule from a coat peg in a tea shop. He was a sneak thief—strictly crimes of opportunity. He’d take whatever was lying about unattended, pick the occasional pocket, do a little confidence work...”
    “Confidence?”
    “Swindles, humbugs—small time, of course. It takes real brains to carry out a complicated bunco scheme. Never used a weapon, that I know of. He was sentenced to three years, but only served one. You’re familiar with the concept of parole, yes?”
    “Oh, yes.” Some thirty years ago, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts instituted a novel new form of clemency—still, to Nell’s knowledge, the only one of its kind in the nation. After serving one-third of his term, an inmate was eligible to be released into society, under supervision and with the threat of revocation should he revert to his former habits. Nell’s disapproval of the parole system stemmed from entirely selfish motives. God help society—but most of all, her—should Duncan ever reenter it! In theory, parole was only granted to the most harmless and well-behaved of prisoners. Nell prayed—literally, and at regular intervals—that the Massachusetts Board of Parole would be savvy enough to keep Duncan under lock and key for the full thirty years of his term.
    “Mr. Hines was released in May?” she asked.
    “That’s right. I don’t recall the date offhand, but it was early in the month, I believe. It’s no surprise to me that he found a lady friend so quickly. He wasn’t a bad looking fellow—if a bit on the scrawny side when he first came here. I put him to work in the stone shops, and that turned him into a man right quick. Nothing builds muscle like stone-cutting.”
    “I wondered what was going on in those buildings,” she said.
    “We take shelves of granite from a local quarry and split them into paving stones and building blocks. Fine work the men do, and for a competitive price. I’m proud to say we’ve got contracts from as far away as...” Whitcomb’s gaze strayed toward the open door behind her. “Ah, Father Beals.”
    Nell turned to find a man standing in the doorway. Were it not for his garb—a plain black coat and trousers, with one of those new Anglican clerical collars—she would never have guessed that this was the “Piscopal chaplan” mentioned in Duncan’s letter. He wasn’t nearly as old as she had envisioned, mid-thirties by her guess, with longish brown hair worn with a side part, so that a great swath of it fell over his forehead. He had striking eyes, dark and mournful, in