Fifth Son by Barbara Fradkin Page A

Sophia.

Seven
    S andy Fitzpatrick was a man whose every emotion showed on his face, an unfortunate trait for someone engaged in sales but a windfall for Green. Even before Sandy skidded his pickup to a complete stop in the gravel outside the Boisvert house, his bewilderment and alarm were etched on his ruddy face.
    Green had phoned him en route to ask him to meet him at the farm and had himself arrived only five minutes earlier. Isabelle had been showing him where she’d found the tin, and they were both knee-deep in the tangle of brush and dying raspberry canes when Sandy arrived. He vaulted down from his truck, dressed in a hunting vest, big rubber boots and thick work gloves. As he clumped over towards them, he replaced his alarm with his familiar hearty grin.
    â€œIs there a problem, Isabelle? I hope you’re not doing all this work yourself!”
    Before she could answer, Green extended his hand amiably. “Sandy, thank you for coming. You used to visit here as a child, so your recollections might be very useful to our investigation. Do you recall what if anything was located here?”
    Sandy’s brows shot up. “Here in this brush? Why?”
    â€œMrs. Boisvert found some remnants of burned planking which suggests it may have been a firepit.”
    â€œIt was a shed. Built as a carriage house originally, but it burned down years ago.”
    â€œWhat was the shed used for?”
    Sandy shrugged. “Nothing much. Balers and plows and that, back when the farm was more productive. But for years before it burned down, it was pretty much...” He looked at Isabelle sympathetically. “I know it’s an eyesore. If you like, I can get a construction buddy of mine—”
    â€œWhat was it used for twenty years ago?” Sandy coloured as if embarrassed. “Well, when we were kids, we all used to play in it, pretend it was a fort or a secret hide-out. It was mostly filled with hay, and there was a beautiful antique horse carriage. The leather was all cracked, but with the right care... Anyway, we used to bring old blankets inside and have sleep-overs.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œLawrence and me. Lawrence loved that shed, and when he got sicker, he hung out there more and more, although the other boys liked it too. To get away from their parents.”
    â€œWhen did it burn down?”
    Sandy scratched his nose with his massive glove. “So long ago I can’t remember.”
    â€œBefore or after Lawrence was sent away?”
    Sandy stared off towards the river as if the answer could be found in the ribbon of gold and red along the edge. He looked uncomfortable at being forced to dredge up old times. “About the same time,” he said finally. “I’m not sure exactly, because I’d stopped coming here.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWell...my mother was the protective type, and she got it in her head that Lawrence was dangerous.” With that admission came some anger. “But now that I’m thinking about it, that shed burned down right about the time Lawrence was taken away, because I remember seeing the smoke. It was early May, and the leaves were just budding on the trees, so you could see a lot easier across the fields. The shed was old, and the hay inside was dry as a bone, so the place went up like a bonfire.”
    Green pondered the implications. He sensed that something bad had happened that spring of 1984, something that had so upset the family that they had committed their child to a mental hospital and severed all contact with him. Something that had so frightened Lawrence that he panicked at the mere mention of returning home.
    Had the shed burned down accidentally, or had Lawrence set it on fire? “Did Lawrence or any of the other boys play with fire in there?”
    â€œNot Lawrence. But Tom smoked in there. Their mother was very strict, and she wouldn’t have any smoking or drinking in the house—”
    â€œI