“That will be a chat that involves coffee and donuts, I imagine,” she said, with a smile.
Harry laughed. “From the first time Joe supplied me with information when I was on the force, our chats have always been like that. After the first few times, I looked forward to it as much as he did.” He could hear her laughing as he closed the door behind him.
Joe was sitting at his table, reading a newspaper, when Harry knocked on the door and walked in. He sniffed appreciatively. “Morning… sit down.” Joe folded the paper neatly and put it aside.
Harry laid a box on the table between them. “Coffee, donuts, and breakfast sandwiches.”
Joe whistled as he reached for one of the sandwiches and a coffee. “Must be big…”
“You might say that.” Harry took the other sandwich and coffee from the box as he sat down. “How much do you know about the Henderson Tragedy?”
Joe looked at him and nodded. “That’s big… long time ago… why now?”
“I can’t understand why a young man, despite losing everything, shot his kids, would do what he did. Did your grandfather ever talk about it”
“Told what his Ma said…” He took a big bite of his sandwich.
“Do you know where he came from?”
“Grandpa didn’t say… said family had bad blood.”
“That could mean anything,” Harry said. “Criminal behaviour, abusiveness… any number of things.”
Joe was shaking his head as he finished chewing and drank a mouthful of coffee. “Not right in his head….”
“Mentally disturbed,” Harry said. “What do you know about his wife?”
“Local girl… good family…”
“Anything else?” Harry prompted.
Joe shook his head and paused, with the last bite of his sandwich halfway up to his mouth. “Why the questions… what’s up?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’m keeping an eye on the place for possible signs of vandalism.”
“Police job…” Joe said.
“You’re right,” Harry said, “and if I find any evidence, I’ll hand it over to them.” He stood up. “The donuts are yours.”
“Come anytime…” Joe smiled and bit into a donut.
When Harry returned to the office, Bertie could hardly wait for him to remove his jacket and sit down. “Get your coffee and get settled,” she said. “You’re not going to believe what I found.”
Harry laughed. “Must be interesting to get you this excited.” He hung his jacket on the back of his chair, got his coffee and sat down.
“It’s all on your desk,” she said, “but, in a nutshell… Josiah Henderson came from a family with a long history of mental illness and instability. What I could find of his ancestry showed a history of asylums, paranoia, and suicides.” She paused to drink from the water bottle on her desk.
“That’s pretty much what Joe said, though you have more details.”
“No doubt,” Bertie said, laughing. “Joe doesn’t waste words on anything.”
