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'Bad how?' said Anji.

'We don't get that many mass murders in these parts.'

'Mass murders?' she echoed, startled.

'Hang on,' said Fitz. 'We're looking for one bloke who died of a staph infection.'

'Well, of course he wasn't mass-murdered, if I may coin such a phrase - no, not a phrase, a verb, surely a verb, though rather clumsy, still, a verb, being an action, and this action did not happen to him, obviously, as he was already dead and therefore, in the technical sense if not all senses, and I dare say in all senses as well, incapable of being murdered, either as part of a mass or in isolation. It was the rest of the family'

Fitz was afraid to ask another question. But Anji pressed bravely on.

'This was the Browne family?'

'James and Elizabeth Browne, that's right. And their children, which would have been James and Elizabeth and Pat and David, had they lived. And even without living, or, should I say, while they did live, or&' Mr Bleney paused to gather his thoughts and Fitz tugged at Anji's sleeve.

'How were they killed?' she asked.

'Torn to pieces, absolutely to pieces. At first the police thought a catamount had gotten in and killed them, but it was too complete, too deliberate, perhaps that's the better word - too focused, I think "focused" is perhaps most accurate - for an animal, that is. Very vicious and rather personal.

Sounds like a human being, doesn't it, not some poor innocent animal?*

'Who were they?' said Anji. 'Who would hate them so much?'

Mr Bleney's mouth tightened. 'They were not nice people. The boy, the one who

died of natural causes - what an absurd phrase, don't you think? - was pleasant enough, I understand. Bookish. He used to frequent this library, in fact, I understand. It was before my time here. He was an unfortunate creature, because the Brownes were the sort who took in foster children only for the state support fee, and their own children were all older than he was and an unpleasant lot, one of the boys was arrested for attempted rape, or perhaps it was assault, or perhaps he set fire to a horse, I know someone did that, I can't have made it up, but I can't be sure, so it must have been quite difficult for the poor little fellow.'

'Maybe we should check police records,' Fitz said, moving towards the door. 'Stop bothering you.'

'Oh, no bother, no bother. And no need, there's an account of the case here. One of our local residents wrote it up and published it as a pamphlet shortly after the event.' Mr Bleney rose slowly and moved incrementally towards the door. 'It'll be in our local-history section. Now just give me a minute.'

Fitz looked desperately at Anji, but she had plopped herself down in a cane-backed chair and was immersed in the library's most recent copy of Business Week. He sat down opposite her and whispered, 'This sounds all wrong.'

'Really? It sounds like par for the course to me. You didn't think we were going to be lucky enough to deal with something ordinary for a change?'

'But it can't make any difference to us. Delesormes Jnr was already dead.'

'Bit of a weird coincidence, though.'

'Well, there are such things as coincidences.'

'Not when he's around,' she muttered, returning to her magazine.

Fitz opened his mouth to disagree, then shut it because in fact he agreed with her. He got up and went in search of Mr Bleney, whom he found upstairs peering at a shelf of self-published books and pamphlets: 'It may have been bound with some others in a set, under a title like Famous Vermont Crimes'.

'Or Mass Murder Under the Maples'.

Mr Bleney eyed him sideways. 'Is that a joke?'

'Guess not.'

'No, I didn't think so.' Mr Bleney returned his attention to the shelf. Fitz looked with him. Most of the pamphlets had spines too narrow for lettering, so they had to remove each one and look at the cover.

'Dear me,' said Mr Bleney after some time had passed. 'It used to be here. I remember it.'