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

was saved from answering by a groan from Mr. Rogers. They both rushed to his side.

“Where’s that damn ambulance?” Karl demanded. “I made the call twenty minutes ago.”

“It’ll be here. I can hear the siren getting closer,” one of the officers said.

“I just hope the poor guy doesn’t come out of it before they get him loaded. The way his leg is twisted, the pain from moving might do him in for good,” McPherson said.

Karl watched the street and let out a sigh of relief when flashing lights appeared around the corner.

When the ambulance stopped, two white-suited men hopped out, swung open the big door at the back of the vehicle and took out the stretcher. They tried to be gentle, but quick and efficient at the same time. In a matter of minutes they had Mr. Rogers loaded up and were on their way.

“Did you let his wife know?” McPherson asked Karl once they were gone.

“God, no. I didn’t even think of it.” Karl hesitated, then added, “Can you do it? I can’t just go over there and tell her I beat up her husband.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll tell her,” McPherson agreed in a hard voice, “but if the old man doesn’t pull through, you’ll have more to answer to than just her.”

Karl was shocked. It was the first time it had occurred to him that he may be held responsible for his actions.

“Crap, do you think he’ll want me jailed?”

The lieutenant sighed. “Mr. Rogers stopped at your front door during his nightly walk, which you knew he took. There wasn’t any answer when he knocked, so he was trying to tie a present for your daughter to the door when you beat him. Even if he happens to survive the skull injury, a broken leg, with his age and condition, will probably mean he’ll be bedridden for the rest of his life, and you’re asking me if he’ll want you jailed? He’ll probably want you dead.”

“But he was trespassing on my property,” Karl complained weakly.

“To resurrect an old saying: ‘Tell it to the judge,’” McPherson said sarcastically. “I’m going to get Mrs. Rogers and drive her down to the hospital. Stay where I can find you.”

She pulled her car across the street and parked it in front of the Rogers home. She didn’t blame Fitts for not wanting to talk with Mrs. Rogers. It wasn’t going to be pleasant.

All the houses still had their lights on, and the scream of the ambulance and police car had drawn people to their windows. She couldn’t help but look at them with distaste. They hadn’t even bothered to come out of their houses, just stood at their windows, watching, like rabbits peeking out of their holes. There hadn’t been even a single offer to help. They were all scared stiff, and willing to go to any length to stay out of whatever had happened.

She could make out Mrs. Rogers’s figure through the front window. The woman was sitting alone in a straight-backed chair, calmly brushing her long hair. Two sirens wailing outside her door didn’t seem to be important enough to distract her from her beauty routine. She could see the look of annoyance on the woman’s face as she rang. She flicked her hair back and came to open the door.

“I’m Lieutenant Emma McPherson, I stopped by the other day—“

“I remember,” she interrupted, “I already said I don’t know anything about the boy.”

“I’m not here about that, ma’am. It’s about your husband—“

Again she refused to let her finish. “My husband,” she sneered. “You must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel, to suspect he would have the nerve to kill anyone, especially one of those children. He spends half his day making toys for them. Why in fact, just tonight he went clear out of his way to deliver a doll’s coat to that Fitts girl. And in his condition, mind you. I sometimes have to wonder if he’s lost whatever good sense he once had.”

“This isn’t regarding that,” McPherson said, trying to keep her anger from showing. “I’m trying to tell you that he’s been injured. I can drive you to the hospital if you want. He’s already been taken away in an ambulance.”

The woman’s face fell as she stared past her.

“Did you understand what I just said? Your husband’s been hurt.”

“Did the murderer get him?”

McPherson shivered at the hopeful tone of her voice.

“No. He was injured during a fall at the Fitts’s. They took him to the hospital. If you care to go and find out how he is, I can give you a ride.”

The disgust in her voice must have registered, because all of a sudden she was acting cordial. “How kind of you. Come inside and take a seat while I get ready.”

She walked in and took a seat in the straight-backed chair the woman had been occupying earlier, and prepared for a long wait. But she needn’t have worried, because minutes later she had returned, hair smoothly braided, and wearing a neat, black dress.

“I’m ready now, Lieutenant. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“You’re welcome. The car is out front.”

They both grabbed their coats and walked out to the car together. McPherson helped her inside, then got in herself and started off.

Mrs. Rogers sat rigidly upright and didn’t make a single comment during the trip. Not even a single question as to what had happened to her husband.

When they finally reached the hospital, McPherson hurried around to open the door for her. The woman stepped out onto the sidewalk and said, “There won’t be any need for you to wait. I’ll manage just fine on my own, but thank you for driving me.” And with that, made her way lightly up the steps, which seemed out of keeping for a woman of her size.

McPherson grinned to herself and got back in the car. “She’s a cold fish. A real cold fish,” she told herself.

She was glad this day was almost over. She had had enough.