Daggett was positively ID’d as being in Boston on Friday night around six at night. Are you sure you want to stick to your story?”
“I don’t understand. I was with him at his place.”
I paused, took a sip of coffee to try to get the taste of menthol out of my mouth. “I want to make this very clear, Polly. Brad is in big trouble. He’s the prime suspect in two murders. If you’re lying about Brad being with you that means you are willfully obstructing justice, and you will do prison time. No doubt about it.”
She clamped a hand around her mouth. Her eyes looked shocked but also confused. “Did Brad kill someone?”
“Were you with him on Friday night?”
“I was. I was with him, but I don’t know. I can’t remember much. I think I might have passed out.” Her voice had turned high-pitched. Jack the cocker spaniel lifted his head in concern but stayed in his bed.
“Just tell me exactly what you remember. If you tell me the truth you’re not going to get into trouble, okay?”
“We were pretty drunk when we left the bar, doing shots and stuff like that. Back at his place, we kept drinking—”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t know exactly. Three maybe? I got to Cooley’s around one, and we were there a couple hours. I don’t know the exact—”
“That’s okay. Around three is good enough. So you were both drinking? What were you drinking?”
“Jaeger shots, mostly, then we started to fool around. We were pretty wrecked. Brad, he couldn’t get it up. I remember that much. He said something like, let’s sleep it off and try again, and then we went to sleep.”
“What time did you wake up?”
“It was late. I don’t know. Around ten or something. I remember because I looked at the clock and didn’t know if it was ten in the morning or ten at night.”
“And Brad was there in bed with you?”
“No, but he was there. Out in the living room watching TV. He drove me back to my car at Cooley’s, and I went home. I felt like shit.”
“Polly, thank you. That is all very helpful. And you haven’t heard from him or seen him since then?”
“God, no. Did he really do it? Did he kill them both?” Her hand was up around her face again, and her robe had gaped open. She had put her cigarette down on the ashtray without putting it out, and it smoldered away.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Did he ever talk with you about either of the Seversons?”
“No, never, but him and the man were friends. They used to drink at Cooley’s together. I met him once.”
“They drank together?”
“At least once. I remember, he introduced me. He was the guy building that big house out on the cliff, right? They kind of seemed like friends.”
“And Miranda Severson? The wife? Did you ever see her at Cooley’s?”
“No, never. I’d heard of her, but . . . Jesus Christ, I can’t believe all of this is happening.” She reached for her cigarette in the ashtray, saw that it was down to the filter, and crushed it out.
I left her my card, told her to call me right away if she remembered anything else, then got back into my car. It was close to noon. My original plan had been to swing by Cooley’s, talk to a bartender, see if I could corroborate Polly’s story, but now I didn’t feel the need. She was telling the truth. Brad had gotten her drunk, made sure she passed out at his house, then driven to Boston to kill Ted. I called James and told her what I’d found out, that Brad’s alibi was never going to hold up. She didn’t sound surprised. She was still at the state police headquarters in Portland, Maine. I told her I’d pick her up there in an hour or two. That gave me enough time to grab some lunch. I drove south, back past the Seversons’ house, still surrounded with official vehicles. I pulled into the driveway of the Kennewick Inn; I’d heard it was where Ted and Miranda stayed when they were in Maine. A wooden sign that advertised VACANCIES swung in the breeze off the ocean. I thought to myself that when the national press got hold of this story their vacancy issue was going to be solved.
There was a smaller hanging sign at the front of the inn’s main building that advertised THE LIVERY PUB. I