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

six month vacation, when the door opened and Aiden entered with Hardwood. McPherson didn’t even bother getting up, just told him to come in and sit down.

Hardwood carried himself with his usual confidence, and his face showed that he was feeling imposed upon. McPherson had to marvel at the man’s audacity. He was an evidenced murderer and he was in a police station, but instead of being frightened, he looked irritated.

“I quite realize,” Hardwood whined in a carping voice, “that it’s my duty as a citizen to help you as much as I can, but I have to admit you’ve chosen the most inconvenient time.”

“Sit down, Hardwood. Wait outside, will you, Aiden? I’ll call you in when I need you.”

Aiden looked disappointed. He wanted to take part in the kill, but he left as he was told.

“I was informed you wanted me to take a look at some pictures,” Hardwood said, completely calm. “I don’t see any reason for it, but since you insist, I’d prefer to get on with it.”

McPherson gazed at him with resigned dislike. “We found the tires, Hardwood. Are you wearing the shoes?”

The man grew pale, but he maintained his composure. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“The tires we found in the rafters of your garage. The ones you hid away after you bought new ones at Cliff’s Garage, out on Helter.” McPherson read out the details from the paper in front of her.

“Are you saying you’ve been prowling around my home?” Hardwood asked sarcastically, his hand performing a bizarre kneading motion against his cheek that McPherson had first noticed at the school.

“Prowling isn’t the right word. We obtained a search warrant, so it was all good and legal. Why did you kill Charlie?”

McPherson asked the question like she was asking for a cup of coffee.

Hardwood gave a short laugh. “Are you honestly saying that you think I killed the boy?”

“I know you killed him. The only thing I want to know now is why,” she answered back evenly.

“You can’t be serious.” He was nearly laughing in McPherson’s face. “Why would I want to kill him?”

“That was my question, Hardwood. Why?”

Hardwood looked at her stern face, and even he could see that McPherson had meant what she said.

“You really think I did it?”

He seemed to be having a difficult time accepting the fact that someone thought him capable of murder.

“I know you did. What I want to know is why.”

Hardwood sneered, and recrossed his legs. The bluntness of the accusation had jarred him, but his sense of self-confidence was beginning to return.

“I realize that I won’t be able to stop you from accusing me, but I can insist that you prove it.”

He stopped talking, clearly proud of his challenge, then carried on.

“I think it’s only fair to point out that an accusation such as the one you just made, about a person with my standing in the community, is not to be taken lightly.”

“Neither is murder.”

McPherson couldn’t help but admire the man’s confidence, but the dislike she felt towards him was growing by the minute.

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to your ravings,” Hardwood said belligerently, “I demand that you place me under arrest or let me go.”

“You’re already under arrest, Hardwood, for the murder of Charlie Turner. Now all I would like to know is why you killed him.”

“So you’re saying just because I bought some tires, then saved the old ones, I must have committed murder? Why, that’s simply absurd!” The man’s thumb and forefinger began pinching at his cheek more rapidly.

“You’re a very conceited man, Hardwood. It never even occurred to you to give the police department the assumption of having average intelligence. For your information, we have some very smart officers on the force. The tires alone mean nothing, but tires that perfectly match the tracks found near the murder scene do. Those tires we discovered in your garage match the same ones that were parked half a block away from the body. We’ve obtained casts of your shoes as well, and I suspect they’re the ones you’re wearing as we speak. Take them off, and I’ll send them downstairs for a comparison.”

Hardwood kept his supercilious sneer. “I believe that’s what’s commonly known as circumstantial evidence. A good lawyer can tear a testimony like that to pieces. Especially when I’m able to prove that I wasn’t even there at the time.”

“Where?”

“I already told you. I started going to a concert, but it was canceled, so I took a walk around town, then went to the library to do some research.”

“Do you go to the library a lot?”

“Yes. I conduct a great deal of outside study, and I attend two courses at the University night school.”

“They must know you quite well at the library.”

Hardwood stiffened, and his manner grew to be almost conciliatory. “Of course they know me, but you know how they are at libraries. It’s easy to get caught up in what you’re doing, and pretty soon you aren’t paying any attention to what’s going on around you.”

“What about downtown—did you see anybody you knew?”

The man’s arrogance returned. “I can’t remember, but even if I didn’t that still wouldn’t be enough to prove I killed Charlie or was anywhere near him when it happened.”

McPherson felt like a cat who had just cornered a mouse.

“Mrs. Johnson says you were,” she said softly.

Hardwood leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair, then settled back, the starch bleeding out of him. Neither of them spoke. Hardwood sat staring at the floor, and McPherson watched him with an expression of complete contempt.

Hardwood was the first one to break the silence.

“So that dumb bitch told you.”

“I doubt Mrs. Johnson would approve of that kind of talk. She’s under the impression that you’re a fine upstanding man, far above us mere mortals.”

Hardwood didn’t bother answering. He seemed relaxed, and wasn’t even kneading his cheek any more.

“Fine, I did it, but I can promise you it wasn’t murder. It was a simple accident. I didn’t