If Constable Neary had chewed this over in his mind-and he hadn't-he would have

laughed even more contemptuously, because in that hot, still August of 1984, there

was only one townsperson sporting an eyepatch, and it was simply impossible to

think of that person, of all persons, being the killer. Neary would have believed

his mother the killer before he would have believed that.

August