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

He flicked on the front porch light and started outside in order to keep an eye on the intruder. As he stepped through the door, his foot struck something soft. Without thinking, he stopped and picked it up.

It was a package wrapped in old paper, addressed to Jade in cramped handwriting. With shaking hands he tore it open and found a rough knitted doll’s sweater inside.

It was like he’d just taken a low blow. He knew immediately who the man was, and it took almost more courage than he could muster to near the splayed, unconscious figure of Mr. Rogers.

Mr. Rogers still seemed to be breathing, but that was all Karl could be certain of. He hurried back to the house and began calling for an ambulance, but his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly dial the number. Finally in a burst of desperation, he got hold of the operator and gave him the address. Then he rushed into their bedroom and grabbed a blanket. He was laying it over the injured man’s body when a patrol car stopped at the curb.

The officers were strangers to Karl. The first one out knelt by Mr. Rogers and took his pulse. Once he was satisfied that the man was still alive, he tucked the blanket close around the body, so that all one could see was the man’s head and one of his hands. The sight of Mr. Roger’s hand sickened Karl. It looked like it was pathetically reaching for help that wasn’t there.

The second officer had paused to talk over the car radio. When his call was finished, he walked towards Karl.

“I called for an ambulance,” he said, then turned to his partner. “How’s he look?”

“Not good. It looks like he sustained a massive head injury, and his leg is twisted. It must be broken. It couldn’t be twisted like that and not be broken.”

He nodded and spoke to Karl again. “The report indicated that he was a stalker. Do you know who he is?”

Karl swallowed hard. His throat felt like sandpaper. “Yes,” he managed to whisper, “I know him.”

The officer gave Karl some time to collect himself while he wrote in his note pad. “Fitts, is that right?”

Karl nodded.

The officer was still writing when a dark coupe came to a stop, and Lieutenant McPherson stepped out. She had just arrived at headquarters when Karl’s call had come in, and she’d decided to take her own car rather than wait for a driver.

“You all right, Fitts?” she asked as she hurried up the walkway.

“Yes, but I made a terrible mistake.” Karl’s voice trembled uncontrollably.

McPherson looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean? You took down a stalker, didn’t you?”

“I thought he was a stalker, but it was Mr. Rogers. He dropped by the house with a present for my daughter. That’s what he was doing, fastening it to the doorknob. God knows how badly I’ve hurt him. He cracked his head on the bricks, when he fell back.”

“You fellows call for an ambulance?” McPherson asked the other officer.

“I checked. Fitts had the operator call for one. It should be here by now.”

“You don’t think the fall could have killed him?” Karl asked anxiously.

McPherson didn’t answer. Instead, she walked over to the injured man. “How is he?”

The other officer was still kneeling beside him. He looked up as McPherson spoke. “He’s alive, but that’s about all I can say. The pulse is thin—shock, most likely. He has a severe wound at the base of his skull from hitting those bricks, and his leg is snapped. Best not to move him.”

“No,” McPherson agreed, “leave him where he is, but keep an eye on him. There’s an ambulance on the way and hopefully he stays unconscious until they’re able to get him loaded. Trying to move that leg is going to hurt like hell.”

McPherson took another glance at the helpless figure crumpled up on the ground, then turned her attention back to Karl.

“Just what in the hell did you think you were doing? Do you jump every person who shows up at your doorstep?” she asked angrily.

Karl’s face was pale. “I don’t know. I guess I was coming home from the depot after seeing my family off, and I’d been thinking a lot about how things have changed around here since the Turner boy’s murder. It was a hell of a thing to have happen, but I guess I thought I’d caught a murderer. Instead, I injured a sick old man. Christ, I feel terrible.”

McPherson watched with pity as the anguished man beat himself up. She had thought that Fitts, at least, was able to keep his head, but she had been wrong.

“Everyone around here’s been acting like sheep. The women act like every man they see wants to rape them, and the men are so scared they might be suspected, they start knocking each other out like fools. Nobody’s willing to believe that the boy was just strangled. No frills. He just flat out died from lack of air, but that explanation doesn’t seem to suit any of you. Instead, he must have been the victim of a pedophile and have been mutilated, to make all of you happy.” Emma’s tone was bitter.

Even though she hadn’t named names, Karl knew that Marla’s was among the first on her list, and he felt the urge to speak.

“My God, lady,” he exploded, “you said so yourself it had to have been someone the boy knew, and kids that young don’t know many people who are strong enough to strangle them. But say it is one of us. That means someone we know is running around the neighborhood, ready to strike again. You can’t blame us for being scared. Murder isn’t old stuff to us like it is to you.”

“The loss of human life is never old stuff to me, no matter how many times I’ve encountered it,” McPherson assured him.

Karl’s face flushed scarlet, but he