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

and sad. The only thing that prevented him from being classically handsome was an indefinite lack of character in his face. But regardless of his level of character, McPherson was forced to admit to herself that he was probably good with women.

“Hello?” It was more of a question than a greeting, and, considering the time of night, he had a point.

“Hello. Sorry to bother you so late, but I’m Lieutenant Emma McPherson of the police, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

It was hard to be sure, but for a brief moment it seemed as if an expression of fear had crossed Valentine’s face. The next moment it was gone.

“Yes, Lieutenant. How can I help you?”

“You’re Mr. Valentine?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’d like to ask you and your wife some questions in connection with the Turner boy’s murder.”

Harry Valentine stepped back and ran his palm down the navy lapel of his suit jacket. “Please step inside. We heard about it over the news while we were on our way home. I don’t think we know anything that will help you, but ask away.”

McPherson stepped inside. The room was decorated in ultra-modern furniture. The chairs looked like overturned baskets, and the tables and couch seemed to be perching precariously on spindly iron legs. Everything in the room was some shade of green, with the sole exception of a large red bowl, sitting atop a boomerang-shaped coffee table.

“Let me grab your coat and hat.” Valentine’s voice was low and hearty, like he was welcoming an old friend.

“Oh, no thanks. I won’t be long.”

As it appeared expected of her, McPherson lowered herself gently onto the edge of one of the basket chairs.

“First of all, I would like to know if you saw or heard anything last night that seemed out of the ordinary. Noises, strangers loitering, anything like that?”

Valentine had settled onto the couch and was now lounging. “Nothing I can think of.” For a moment he studied the tip of his shoe, then continued, “Hayley and I went out for dinner last night. We do that quite often. What with my wife working, cooking at home every night can grow to be too much of a good thing. We returned home at around eight thirty. Hayley fussed around with her hair and makeup, things like that. I sat down and watched some television, and we both went to bed at around eleven thirty. I can’t remember hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary.”

“When you got home, did you see anyone hanging around, or the Turner boy starting off anywhere?”

“No. They’re saying he climbed out of his bedroom window. He could have been doing that when we drove up and we still wouldn’t have seen him. The carport is on the other side of the house.”

The man’s voice seemed calm, but he kept his eyes glued to the toe of his shoe, and continuously stroked the fabric of his lapel.

“I see. Would it be possible for me to speak to Mrs. Valentine? Since she was in different rooms of the house from you, she might have noticed something that didn’t have any special meaning for her at the time, but might help us now.”

“Of course. She’s taking a shower, but I’ll let her know that you’re here.”

Valentine stood up and walked out of the room, and McPherson glanced around. All the furniture seemed brand new. There wasn’t a single item that could have been more than two years old. That was an oddity. Even in the homes of newly married couples there was usually something sitting around from the life they had had before marrying. The Valentines didn’t seem to have anything like that.

Harry returned a little while later. “She’ll be right out. She wants to help as much as I do. Do you have any idea why someone would want to do such a thing?”

“No, not yet,” McPherson said. “We can’t find any reason for him to go out. Did you know Charlie?”

“Yes, I guess you could say we were familiar. He was a quiet kid, never had very much to say. Not unfriendly, though, just a little shy. We spoke a few times while I was out working in the yard. I can’t seem to remember what we talked about now. He wasn’t very forceful. I mean some kids you look at them and think they’re cute as hell, while others you’d just as soon boot them across the street. He was far more the former than the latter.”

McPherson nodded. “I understand. His mother says he was very well behaved, and I guess your testimony confirms that. At least so far we haven’t found anything to make us think otherwise. That’s what makes it so difficult to find reason for him sneaking out. Of course, most kids are prone to the unexpected.”

Valentine stood up and walked nervously to the table lamp and picked up a box.

“Smoke?” They lit up, and Valentine sat down again.

“The Turners must be going through hell. First thinking the boy might have run away, or been kidnapped, then finding out he’d been murdered. If he was an adult, you would figure someone probably had a reason to hate him, but a small boy like that—” Valentine’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah,” McPherson agreed, and they both lapsed into silence, until Hayley Valentine entered the room.

Harry stood up and, taking her by the hand, led her to the couch beside him.

“This is Lieutenant Emma McPherson, dear. She would like to ask you some questions about last night.”

“Hello, Lieutenant. How are you?”’ the woman said softly.

She was tall and slender, and one of the rare few women Emma had seen who could pull off the tight legged pants she was wearing. Even fresh out of the shower, and on such short notice, she appeared to be perfectly groomed. She wasn’t beautiful, but her high cheekbones and light grey eyes, and the way her alabaster skin contrasted with her inky black hair, made her a woman everyone and their neighbor could