The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) by A.J. Flynn (early reader books .txt) 📗

managed the final few steps. With great effort he looked at the twisted face of what so recently had been his son, then turned and walked a few feet back to McPherson.

He stood there for a minute, all the while seeming to grow more thin and stooped by the second. Then he said in a low whispered tone, “Yes. It’s Charlie.”

The wind sighing through the trees was the only reply as he started back towards the car, shuffling even heavier now as if he were weighed down by lead.

“You boys finish up. I’ll take Turner home and see you later.”

With that McPherson turned and followed the bereaved father back through the narrow path. When they reached the car, the officer-driver held the back door open and they both got in.

“We’ll take Mr. Turner home now, Taylor,” and as the driver stepped in and started up, Turner twisted to glance out the back window at the strange scene of swaying trees frosted here and there by unseen lights. Almost like a Christmas scene, except without the celebration.

“I’d like to say how sorry I am,” McPherson said softly in an effort to divert the man from the scene.

Turner returned to his front-facing posture. “Thanks. You know, I’ve never considered myself a vengeful man, but right now I feel like I could kill.” There was no clear sign of anger in his words, only a mild air of surprise.

“I think I might understand. I’ve seen a lot of things that make me want to kill, but if I acted on it that would put me right down there with the people I’m trying to catch. Once the shock wears off you’ll fall into mourning just as you would expect.”

“Maybe you’re right. Right now I don’t seem to feel much of anything.”

Taylor stopped the car in front of the Turner house, and they stepped out. “You better let me tell Carolyne. It might be easier if the news comes from me rather than some stranger.”

McPherson almost sighed with relief. Telling the next of kin was the part of her job she most readily avoided if possible.

“It’s up to you, Turner. I hope you understand that I’ll need to ask some questions. I know this feels like a hell of a time for it but the sooner we get going the sooner we’ll be able to find the person responsible.”

Turner nodded, and they walked in silence together to the white house with the cornflower blue shutters.

The house was nearly identical to the others on the block except for the color. They were all low ranch-style with wide picture windows facing the street. Picture windows, sure, McPherson thought in passing, but why would you want them facing the street?

Turner opened the front door and motioned for McPherson to step inside. There wasn’t a foyer, and the door opened directly into the living room.

Mrs. Turner and another woman sat on the couch. The mother was dressed in a worn and faded housecoat and her face was ravaged. Her light blue eyes seemed to have lost their color and were deeply circled. Even more than her husband, every minute held in waiting had left its mark on her face.

Dan stepped towards his wife and took her hands in his. “It was Charlie, dear, he won’t be coming home. Do you understand?”

Carolyn stared at her husband for a few moments, then said, “You found him though? He didn’t run away like they said?”

All three of them gazed at her with feelings of pity and discomfort.

“Yes, dear, you were right. He never ran away,” Turner answered gently. “This is Lieutenant Emma McPherson, and she has a few questions for you,” he continued as he took a seat beside his wife. Then, as though he’d just remembered his manners, said, “This is Mrs. Shepherd. She’s been helping out.”

The two exchanged nods, and McPherson returned her attention to Mrs. Turner.

“I know this is a bad time to have to answer questions, Mrs. Turner, but the quicker we can collect all the available information, the sooner we can track down the person responsible.”

She was careful to keep her voice low. The boy’s mother was calm…too calm, and she wanted to know all she could tell her before her composure broke.

“I’ll answer your questions, but note that I was right. He never ran away from me and his father. He loved us, and he never would have run away, like everyone thought.” Her matter-of-fact tone was chilling.

Mrs. Shepherd rested her hand on the bereaved woman’s arm. “You were right, dear. He never ran away.”

“When did you first notice he was gone?” McPherson asked. “I know you’ve already answered this question to other officers, but I’d like to hear it firsthand.”

Though it had been less than twenty-four hours since the boy’s disappearance, it was a great effort for the mother to remember.

“Well, Charlie went to bed at about eight thirty. He had just finished practicing his violin. He loves his violin so much, but he plays so poorly, even though he always practices… I guess he just isn’t meant to be a musician.”

“Yes, Mrs. Turner,” McPherson interrupted gently, “but when was the first time you noticed he was gone?”

“Why, it was just before getting ready for bed. I stepped in to see that the boys were tucked in. I always step in to see if the boys are tucked in. Just like clockwork, every night I step in to see if the boys are tucked in.” Her voice was like a small child’s reciting a lesson.

“Yes, but do you remember what time that was? Ten? Eleven?”

Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I suppose it must have been about eleven. Dan and I usually go to bed around eleven.”

“And you said the window was open, and he was gone, but his clothes were still there, correct?”

She smiled lightly, and the sight of that smile on her ravaged face made McPherson’s heart ache.

“Of course his clothes were still there. He is a very polite and well-behaved boy, and