Dr. Simpson and the state ME talked in low voices in a corner. When Binder mentioned her title, the ME looked up, nodding a greeting to Chris and me. Gus sat slumped on the last stool at the counter. Jamie stood behind the counter, looking as exhausted as I felt.
“You’re here,” I said to Binder. “That must mean you suspect something.” The only cities in Maine big enough to employ homicide detectives were Bangor and Portland. Murders, child abuse, and other serious crimes were investigated by two state police Major Crimes Units, one for the southern part of state, one for the northern. If Binder and Flynn were in town, it meant they suspected this was more than an unattended death.
Binder gestured toward Dr. Simpson. “Your sharp-eyed local ME spotted an injection site between the ring and index fingers on the deceased’s left hand.” Binder looked at Jamie. “Any sign of drug use, prescription or otherwise, in the victim’s room at the B&B?”
“No, sir,” Jamie answered without hesitation. “But then, there wasn’t much of anything there.”
Dr. Simpson and the ME pulled on their coats and prepared to leave. Binder indicated one of the larger tables in the center of the room. “Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?” he said to the rest of us. “Why doesn’t everybody sit down.” We gathered around the table. I sat across from Binder and Flynn. Chris sat next to me, a comforting presence. Gus and Jamie were at the ends.
“Mr. Farnham,” Binder said as Flynn pulled out his pen and notebook, “You weren’t here last evening.”
“That’s right.”
“And your role in all this is that you found the body this morning.”
“Well, that, and the body’s in my damn refrigerator.”
Binder allowed a small smile. “Yes, and that. But what I’m getting at is, you weren’t here last night, which is what I want to talk to Ms. Snowden, Mr. Durand, and Officer Dawes about. So, if you’d like to go home, we’ll contact you later when we’re ready to take your statement.”
“The heck I will.”
Binder hesitated a moment, then seemed to accept Gus wasn’t leaving. “Okay.” He turned to face Chris and me. “I understand the deceased ate here in the restaurant last evening. What time did he arrive?”
“Around seven thirty,” I said.
Binder looked at Chris, who nodded his agreement. “I was cooking,” Chris explained. “Julia would be more aware than me. But that’s what I remember too.” We’d already been over this ground with Jamie.
“Who was in the restaurant when he got here?”
“Chris, me, Caroline and Henry Caswell, Deborah and Phillip Bennett.”
Flynn wrote the names down and read the spellings back to me. “That’s it?” he asked.
I felt a little defensive. “It was a Monday night and right after the Thanksgiving holiday.”
Flynn glanced at his notes. “So the Caswells and the Bennetts were here, and then the victim arrived. Tell us about that.”
“There’s not that much to tell. He came in by himself. I offered him a table. He said he wanted to sit at the bar.” Binder and Flynn looked at me expectantly, so I went on. “I turned on the football pregame show with the sound off for him, gave him a menu, and offered him a drink.”
“Please describe him,” Binder said.
“You saw him in the walk-in.”
“I’d like your impression from when he was alive.”
“He looked like he was in his middle to late forties.” I’m not great at judging ages. I was going by the wrinkles around his eyes, a certain heaviness to his body. “He had long, dark, wavy hair that fell to below his collar, and large features—big blue eyes, big nose, big mouth. Big eyelashes,” I added. “Thick, both top and bottom.” Unusually thick, which was why I’d noticed.
I paused, trying to sort out my first impressions from what I’d seen this morning. My memory of the empty eyes staring up at me blotted out everything else. I took a deep breath and looked at Binder.
“Did you notice any distinctive—”
“You mean the scar.”
Binder nodded, and I continued. “I didn’t see it at first. He had long hair, and the scar kind of crept up from his neck to his ear. It was pretty well hidden. If anything, I might have vaguely thought he’d had acne when he was younger.” I stopped, looking across at Chris. Binder and Flynn waited silently. “Later, I noticed his ear.”
“Tell me about that,” Binder coaxed.
“We just set up the bar. We only have the basics. He asked me for a lot of specialized labels, fancy ryes and such. Finally, I put every bottle I had on the bar, and he chose.”
“What did he go with?” Flynn asked.
“Wild Turkey.” I shrugged. “That’s as exotic as brands get at Gus’s Too. Anyway, all this required a fair amount of conversation. I was distracted because two more couples came in and needed to be seated, but I did notice his ear. It’s some kind of prosthesis, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Binder confirmed. “The ear is not his.”