Children in the Morning by Anne Emery Page A

about Beau’s innocence. It was much the same story with Professor Anna Goldberg on the other side of Beau’s house, and the Van Bommels directly across the street.
    But Harold Gorman had something to say. And unfortunately, it was not what I wanted to hear. Mr. Gorman was in his eighties. He met me at the door in a thin brown housecoat and slippers. He had taken a turn of some kind and could not give me much time. He said he had seen Beau on the night in question, and he had told this to the police when they canvassed the neighbourhood. He just told them what he saw, as any good citizen would do. But that did not mean he thought, even for a moment, that Beau Delaney was guilty of murder or anything else. Anybody who thought Beau would kill Peggy obviously didn’t know either of them.
    “Peggy probably got startled by something. A trespasser. And lost her balance and fell down the stairs.”
    What was this? “Why do you say ‘trespasser,’ Mr. Gorman?”
    “It’s all in the statement I gave to the police, Mr. Collins.”
    “Was there somebody on the Delaney property that night?”
    “On their property and other people’s property and then — poof!
    — gone.”
    “Did you hear anything that might have given you an indication what the trespasser was up to?”
    But my hopes were dashed. “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”
    “What time was this, Mr. Gorman?”
    “I’m not sure, but I don’t think Lloyd was on yet, giving the news.
    I have the tv in my bedroom now, ever since Vera died. I fall asleep watching the news. But that night I got up to watch the snow. I have to go lie down now. You get the police statement; it’s all in there.”
    “Very well, Mr. Gorman. Thanks for your help. Were you awake when the ambulance arrived?”
    “Oh yeah. I was still awake then. Or maybe I woke up again. The police came. They must have been in there quite a while. They were still there when I got back into bed.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Gorman. Bye for now.”
    I had to get a copy of that statement. What was this about a 33

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    trespasser? Did we have another suspect? Should we alter our defence accordingly? First thing I did when I returned to the office was call the Crown prosecutor, Gail Kirk, and arrange to get copies of all the witness statements she had.
    I got them later that day. I set aside for the time being the pathologist’s report and other material about the cause of death, and focused on the neighbourhood witnesses. But the police didn’t get any more than I did from the neighbours, with the exception of Harold Gorman. His statement, like the rest of them, was in a question-and-answer format. The investigating officer was Sergeant Chuck Morash. He performed the usual formalities, giving the date and time of the interview, the witness’s name, and so on, and then got to the point:
    “Mr. Gorman, as you know, we’re investigating the death of Mrs.
    Delaney.”
    “She was probably startled and fell down.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Prowler. She may have heard him, and been frightened. Jumped, or turned suddenly, and wham, down the stairs.”
    “Did you see a prowler around the Delaney residence that night?”
    “Some little punk lurking around people’s property. I saw him myself.”
    “Did you know who he was, recognize him?”
    “How would I recognize him? They all wear those hooded sweatshirts now, you can’t see their faces.”
    “What was he doing?”
    “Hanging around.”
    “Where?”
    “The place across the street from us, and Delaney’s. Then he ran down the street and around the corner.”
    “Did you get the impression that the Delaney property was his main area of interest?”
    “Hard to tell. But I watched him, because I didn’t know what he might do. What gives them the right to be skulking around? There ought to be a law against it.”
    “There is, Mr. Gorman. Next time it happens, call us.”
    “By the time you