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

McPherson knew perfectly well what it was, but went along with the gag anyway.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Crag. Everything seems to be in perfect order to me.”

“Oh, I remember now. Mrs. Grayson is sure to ask me about the murder. Have you figured out who did it?”

Mrs. Grayson was another one of the tenants. She spent most of her days caring for her big tomcat and playing solitaire. Not only was it doubtful she would ask about the murder, she probably didn’t even know it had occurred.

“No, Mrs. Crag. We still don’t know who did it.”

“But you must have some ideas,” the woman pleaded confidently.

“Nope. We have a few leads that will have to be checked, then maybe we’ll get some ideas.”

“Then you don’t think you’ll be making an arrest today?” She looked deeply disappointed.

“Hard to say. Sometimes it takes years to break a case like this.”

“Well, I guess you know what you’re doing. It’s just that my club gals are planning to meet back here this evening and they’re sure to expect me to know all about it.”

Whoever said everything is relative sure knew what they were talking about. Not very far from where they stood, people were in mourning over a tragedy. And here this woman was disappointed because she wouldn’t be able to announce the solution at a club meeting.

“We’re trying our best, Mrs. Crag. Now I better get back to work. I won’t be able to locate the murderer so long as I’m here, unless you’ve got him hidden somewhere.”

Mrs. Crag tittered. “What a thing to say, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll see you,” she said and went out.

It was a cool crisp morning. The sky was clear and the sun was shining, and as she drove along she was taken aback by how clean everything looked. It reminded her of a man she’d met a long time ago. He’d been one of the most beautiful men to have ever walked this earth. He was dressed well and had refined manners, but inside he’d been a tangled mass of rottenness.

For some reason, best understood by him, or the doctors who were called in to treat him, he had written a series of the most despicable letters she’d ever heard. When he was eventually confronted with proof of his guilt, he laughed, and asked if they could do as well.

He put forth a pleasant clean appearance, until you dug deeper, then just like the town—dirt.

She didn’t know what had crawled under her skin. She wasn’t the type of woman to let events in her job leak out into her personal life and bother her. A long time ago she’d made up her mind that people are part good and part bad, and she’d accepted it as the way of the world. Now she was beginning to reach the point where she found it hard to believe in the decency of anyone.

She parked her car inside the police garage. It was against policy, but it was easy to get away with it for a few months at a time. When work dried up, the powers that be got to work enforcing the rules, but when there were better things to do, they let the rules slide.

The mechanics were busy working on some of the cars, complaining about the care the officers gave them. Once they were finished, and the cars were back in service, the officers would have plenty to say about the mechanics and how unqualified they are.

McPherson stopped by the lab, but Dr. Hemlock wasn’t in yet, so she made her way upstairs.

Things were quiet. McGill sat at his desk, writing reports. McPherson set her hat on the hook and went over to him.

“How are things looking?”

The heavy man glanced up. His face was pale, and his eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. “About the only thing I know anything about is the condition of this garage business. If you ask me, it stinks. I have it from twenty authorities on the subject. They never sold any tires.”

McPherson sympathized with him. There were few things more dull or unrewarding than routine legwork in an investigation.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. There are a couple shoe repair shops I haven’t scoped out yet, but I’m planning to.”

“At least you’ll be able to talk to them inside. There is one thing, though. Eager Aiden, boy wunderkind, has been working on his own time. He’s set to clean up the whole world by Christmas I suppose, but he managed to come up with something.”

McPherson nodded. “He’ll calm down once he’s been at it a while longer. His promotion still feels new to him. What’s he found?”

“He was poking around, rechecking the neighbors that live around there. The woman living in that older house, across from the South Pines development, says she saw Robb Johnson return home around eight o’clock on the night of the murder.”

McPherson frowned. “He wasn’t anywhere near there at that time.”

“Hell, I know that. But Aiden says the woman was certain she saw him go in. He said he questioned her closely, and she was spying out of her window, because she was expecting company soon, and she swears she saw him enter the house.”

“How does she know for sure it was him?”

“That’s the same thing Aiden wondered, so he’s gone out to talk to Mrs. Johnson. It could be that the woman witnessed someone go in and just assumed it was Johnson.”

“Well, let’s wait and see. Somehow I can’t picture the Johnson woman having too many friends. She seems to think she’s too pure for that sort of thing.”

McGill laughed. “Yeah, well she may think she is, but unless she’s dead, she isn’t.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Here’s a drawn up list of the places I went. Didn’t get anything, so there’s no use in going back. I sent off some inquiries about Valentine, but I haven’t heard anything back. Talked to Captain Balzac, down at State Patrol Headquarters, and his men are keeping an eye on the garages