they might somehow twist things around and turn him into a suspect. He could never find Rena Baker if he landed himself behind bars.
Raoul couldn’t help but wonder if just on Oh, or if everywhere, innocent men were forced to take up paintbrushes in the night to protect their innocence. Surely somewhere, on Killig maybe, they were more civilized than this! As he painted by the light of the moon and the lamp on his head, Raoul thought again about Rena and Madison and, especially, about the police. Raoul knew he wouldn’t get to sleep unless he got some answers first, and there were only two places on Oh to find those: the bakery or the Belly. Tonight, though, the answers Raoul was looking for had “BAKER” written all over them.
As Raoul cleaned himself up to go to sniffing for clues at Trevor’s, and Chief Davenport finished up with Arnold and Joshua and their witless policing, Trevor found himself in a battle of wits with Bruce. He told Bruce what he had learned from Madison about the officers’ bogus investigation, based on which they had decided Rena Baker was the missing girl from the bike.
“Rena Baker? Who’s she?” Bruce looked up from the notepad where he was jotting down Trevor’s every word.
“She just happens to be from Glutton Hill, right near the bike accident. She also just happens to be missing, stupid girl. And she happens to be the girlfriend of Madison Fuller, who, as you know, owns a fishing boat, which is why the police have decided that he killed Rena and put an ad in
your
paper to find a new girl.”
“Fancy that!” Bruce exclaimed, genuinely delighted. He chuckled to himself, sure that no rainbow would grace his front page for a good long while.
“Don’t you see what this means?” Trevor tried to reason with him.
“It means I might sell a few papers is what it means.”
“What about Madison?”
“What about him?” Bruce asked.
“He’s the most honest man in Port-St. Luke,” Trevor argued. “I don’t believe for a minute that he killed Rena Baker or anyone else.”
“You’re probably right,” Bruce said, not sounding as though he cared either way.
“Will you say that in your story?”
“It wouldn’t be much in the way of journalism if I did, would it? Im-par-ti-al-i-ty,” he said. “That’s the key.” He wagged his pencil smartly at Trevor.
“You? Impartial?” Even as the words crossed his lips, Trevor knew he had crossed a line. Bruce was very defensive of his unique variety of news reporting.
“I don’t have to take this!” Bruce flipped closed his notepad and started to leave.
“Wait!” Trevor grabbed Bruce by the forearm. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just that this Madison business has me a little upset. The man is scared to death and the police seem hell-bent on making the charges stick.”
“So you insult me? How does that help matters?”
“Sorry for that. I was just implying that the
tone
of your story might sway public opinion. You know how highly respected you are on this island. If a hint that the police were off-base slipped into your story, it might go a long way in displacing some already misplaced guilt.” Trevor held his breath. Would Bruce fall for such obvious flattery?
“It is true that I’m very highly regarded,” Bruce replied. He would!
“I’m not saying I’m prepared to distort the facts,” he went on, “but I suppose it would be a shame to slander the character of a man like Madison.”
“Good man.” Trevor clapped Bruce on the back with a heavier hand than necessary. “There is one other thing you could do, you know.”
“I’ve just said I won’t distort the facts.”
“No, nothing like that. I mean the ad.”
“What ad?” Heavens, Bruce was slow to catch on sometimes!
“The lonely hearts ad. If you reveal who placed it, then that might clear Madison’s name.”
“I already told you all, I have no idea who placed it.”
Trevor was impatient, but treaded lightly. “Are you sure you
Raoul couldn’t help but wonder if just on Oh, or if everywhere, innocent men were forced to take up paintbrushes in the night to protect their innocence. Surely somewhere, on Killig maybe, they were more civilized than this! As he painted by the light of the moon and the lamp on his head, Raoul thought again about Rena and Madison and, especially, about the police. Raoul knew he wouldn’t get to sleep unless he got some answers first, and there were only two places on Oh to find those: the bakery or the Belly. Tonight, though, the answers Raoul was looking for had “BAKER” written all over them.
As Raoul cleaned himself up to go to sniffing for clues at Trevor’s, and Chief Davenport finished up with Arnold and Joshua and their witless policing, Trevor found himself in a battle of wits with Bruce. He told Bruce what he had learned from Madison about the officers’ bogus investigation, based on which they had decided Rena Baker was the missing girl from the bike.
“Rena Baker? Who’s she?” Bruce looked up from the notepad where he was jotting down Trevor’s every word.
“She just happens to be from Glutton Hill, right near the bike accident. She also just happens to be missing, stupid girl. And she happens to be the girlfriend of Madison Fuller, who, as you know, owns a fishing boat, which is why the police have decided that he killed Rena and put an ad in
your
paper to find a new girl.”
“Fancy that!” Bruce exclaimed, genuinely delighted. He chuckled to himself, sure that no rainbow would grace his front page for a good long while.
“Don’t you see what this means?” Trevor tried to reason with him.
“It means I might sell a few papers is what it means.”
“What about Madison?”
“What about him?” Bruce asked.
“He’s the most honest man in Port-St. Luke,” Trevor argued. “I don’t believe for a minute that he killed Rena Baker or anyone else.”
“You’re probably right,” Bruce said, not sounding as though he cared either way.
“Will you say that in your story?”
“It wouldn’t be much in the way of journalism if I did, would it? Im-par-ti-al-i-ty,” he said. “That’s the key.” He wagged his pencil smartly at Trevor.
“You? Impartial?” Even as the words crossed his lips, Trevor knew he had crossed a line. Bruce was very defensive of his unique variety of news reporting.
“I don’t have to take this!” Bruce flipped closed his notepad and started to leave.
“Wait!” Trevor grabbed Bruce by the forearm. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just that this Madison business has me a little upset. The man is scared to death and the police seem hell-bent on making the charges stick.”
“So you insult me? How does that help matters?”
“Sorry for that. I was just implying that the
tone
of your story might sway public opinion. You know how highly respected you are on this island. If a hint that the police were off-base slipped into your story, it might go a long way in displacing some already misplaced guilt.” Trevor held his breath. Would Bruce fall for such obvious flattery?
“It is true that I’m very highly regarded,” Bruce replied. He would!
“I’m not saying I’m prepared to distort the facts,” he went on, “but I suppose it would be a shame to slander the character of a man like Madison.”
“Good man.” Trevor clapped Bruce on the back with a heavier hand than necessary. “There is one other thing you could do, you know.”
“I’ve just said I won’t distort the facts.”
“No, nothing like that. I mean the ad.”
“What ad?” Heavens, Bruce was slow to catch on sometimes!
“The lonely hearts ad. If you reveal who placed it, then that might clear Madison’s name.”
“I already told you all, I have no idea who placed it.”
Trevor was impatient, but treaded lightly. “Are you sure you
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