The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) A.J. Flynn (ebook reader play store TXT) 📖

him come back. Why don’t you try thinking about me for a change?”

Hayley’s face was tense and had lost all of its color. Harry’s display of callous selfishness was a shock that struck to the heart of her soul.

How little one person knew about another, even though they’d been living together for years. She had always known Harry wasn’t an especially courageous or strong person, but it hurt her to see that the kindness and sympathy she had believed to be in his character disappear whenever he felt himself to be in danger.

Harry stopped to flick some ashes towards the ashtray.

“Maybe I should get out of town until all this blows over. There’s a chance they may catch the guy who did it, before they begin to suspect me. The cop said it seemed like someone the kid knew, and from what we know, there won’t be too many that fill the bill.”

Hayley sat staring at the gold inlay on the candy dish, carefully scanning over every curl. Anything was better than watching Harry pace back and forth. Then he stopped in front of her.

“Can’t you do anything but sit and stare? My life’s going to be destroyed, my business will be flushed down the toilet, and all you can do is sit there and stare at the bowl, for Christ sake.”

She stood slowly. “I’ll make us a little something to eat.”

“Eat!” he shouted. “Is there anything you can’t fix with food?”

She continued toward the kitchen. “Don’t yell at me. I’m not deaf.”

Harry watched until the door closed behind her, then kicked the ottoman violently, threw himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. What made the little bastard sneak out? He asked himself this question over and over. Why couldn’t he have just gone to bed and stayed there?

Hayley made them sandwiches and cracked open some cans of beer. It was unlikely that either of them were going to be able to eat, but it gave her something to do.

As she stood over the sink, she could see the house next door and the window where Charlie had climbed out. She’d never liked him all that much, not that she disliked him much either. There just weren’t all that many things she could remember about him. He had been a thin child, and he had worn glasses with tortoiseshell frames. He had been far too self-effacing to make anything close to a lasting impression, so although she was able to picture his form, his face nevertheless remained a persistent void.

She shook her head, lifted the tray and eased her way towards the living room. Harry was still sitting with his head in his hands.

He looked up and watched as she set the tray down on the coffee table. “I won’t be able to eat. It feels like there’s a softball in my throat.”

“Well, you should try anyway.”

They sat in silence together, each pretending to eat, but really just picking at their food. Finally, they both gave up the pretense and just sat back with their beer.

After some time, Hayley asked, “Why don’t you call up Lieutenant McPherson and tell her about your record? If you’re certain they’re going to find out for themselves anyway, it might look better if you told them.”

Harry smiled bitterly. “You don’t know cops. Once a bad guy, always a bad guy.”

“Even so, it may look better if you told them. After all, cops are human beings, too. And besides, you’ve already paid your debt to society.”

As she made her suggestion, she shuffled to the window and looked out.

“There’s a police car at the Turners again. You’d think they might leave them alone, at least for tonight.”

“Yeah well, that’s cops for you,” Harry snorted. “Stinking pigs…”

“Oh, Harry,” her voice was sharp as she spoke, “you talk like a cheap hoodlum. You robbed a store and got caught. What did you expect?”

“That’s my loyal little wife, everybody,” he said sarcastically to no one. “You never could stand the fact that you were the wife of an ex-con, could you? It doesn’t matter to you that I nearly lost my mind staring at those walls all those months. All you ever seem to think about is yourself.”

“Don’t say that,” she said with a sob. “We needed money, and you did what you thought you had to do.” Her throat was thick as she struggled to stop from crying. Harry hated women who cried.

“Yeah,” he said dejectedly, “…what I thought I had to do. I might as well have sent the cops an invitation. I didn’t even have enough sense to leave my gloves on, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I went and left my hat behind at the store.”

“You served your time, Harry. Try to forget it. A robbery is a long stretch to a murder. Let’s try to get some sleep.”

He smiled weakly. “You go ahead. I’d prefer to stay up for a while and think.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder and pressed down gently. “Please don’t run away. It wouldn’t do us any good.”

He patted her hand. “No. I just want to have some time to myself to think. Why don’t you take one of those sleeping pills? You said there was supposed to be a special sale down at the store tomorrow, and it wouldn’t be good for you to be tired on your feet.”

“Okay, but don’t stay up too late. You have to go to work tomorrow too, you know.”

She kissed him softly on the cheek and left the room, hopeful that he might conquer the fear that had taken hold of him.

V

Sergeant McGill was on the night shift, and as usual he wasn’t happy. He was a widower of ten years and had only two interests left in his life—his job and food.

Maybe Mrs. McGill had been a poor cook, or maybe he was just one of the last remaining middle-aged men that liked restaurants, but every one of his days had