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

I quit psychology as soon as it became fashionable. Got tired of watching people pamper nasty dispositions, then try to blame it on the way their mother folded their diapers when they were babies. Now I just deal in concrete criminal mistakes, and this one has the market cornered. Either he’s a complete fool or he doesn’t read detective novels.”

“What do you have for us?”

“The tests still aren’t complete. I’ll send you a typed-up report once I’m finished.”

McPherson knew there wasn’t any use in trying to obtain any more information. She only spoke when he was ready, and tried to keep quiet when he wasn’t.

“All right, Doc. I’ll be seeing you.”

“Get those tires and that shoe and I’ll help you hang him.”

McPherson smiled. “I’ll try.” And with a wave, she made her way back up the stairs.

Garrett and Fichte had arrived back while she had been talking to Dr. Hemlock.

“We don’t have anything on those tires yet,” Fichte said as she approached him, “but with the spin the morning papers gave them, the murderer is bound to try to get rid of them.”

“Yeah, and by the time we finally find them, we’ll have gotten a phobia for tires,” Garrett said. “Then we’ll have to go through life saying, ‘How do you do, may I inspect your tires?’”

“You asked for work when you showed up,” McPherson remarked as he joined them.

She thoroughly detested the handsome Detective Garrett. For McPherson’s money he was no more than a conceited jackass, and she did everything in her power to avoid him whenever possible.

“What gripes me is we’re not even sure they belonged to the murderer,” Garrett continued, willfully ignoring McPherson’s statement. “They could have belonged to some couple necking nearby, and if that’s the case, they won’t be apt to come and tell us about it.”

“What did Doc say about the footprints?” Fichte said.

“Medium-height, slender-footed, with a tendency to wear his heel down toward the inside.”

“Does he wear a fedora?” Garrett asked with a sneer. He had little appreciation for scientific practice. The clumsy old-fashioned methods and procedures suited him just fine.

McPherson surveyed him with ill-concealed disgust. “Garrett, why don’t you hop on over to Hollywood and take up the stage. I can’t help but think police work is a waste of your talents.”

Garrett laughed heartily. Baiting his superior was one of his favorite pastimes.

“Lieutenant, I gotta say it sounds to me like something crawled up your crack and died.”

“To hell with that. What are you paying Fichte to act as your straight man?” she snapped, regretting her words the moment they came out. She knew Garrett liked nothing more than getting a rise out of her, and she hated giving him the satisfaction.

Garrett sighed in mock despair. “It’s the cross I have to bear, I guess. Lack of appreciation from my superiors.”

“Mr. Garrett,” McPherson said sarcastically, “your superiors are interested in solving a murder. Do you have any ideas?”

Fichte glanced up from the reports he’d been scanning. He was an inordinately tall man and thin to the point of being skeletal. His long sharply-defined face was saved from being absolutely hideous by the kindly expression in his rich hazel eyes.

“Hell, Lieutenant,” Fichte said, in his low voice, “we haven’t even found the reason why anyone would want him dead. You need a place to start and all we have is a couple prints and the fact that the boy sneaked out his window for the first time in his life.”

“Who ever said it was the first time? He could have been making a regular habit of it,” McPherson said.

“Not this kid,” Fichte answered. “From all we’ve heard, he was a paradigm example of ‘Mommy’s boy.’”

“Yeah well, that’s just it. No matter what his parents and the neighbors tell us, he must have had something going on they didn’t know about, even if it was just something he picked up off the wall of the little boy’s room at school, but judging from what they’ve told us, he sounds too good to be true. My God, the fact that his parents neglected him for his young brother; he didn’t have any friends, so far as we can tell. All we need to learn is that his father beat him and we would practically have our own little boy Cinderella,” Garrett said bitterly.

McPherson thought for a moment. “Perhaps we’ll have better luck with his teachers. Sometimes they end up knowing more about a student than their family ever could.”

“I still think it was his first time sneaking out,” Fichte insisted. “Otherwise his behavior is too out of character.”

“Come on! The boy was still a human being in spite of his saintly reputation,” Garrett exploded. “He must have had some kind of interests, unless he was a moron.”

“Everyone already said he was passionate about music,” McPherson said, as she dug her last cigarette out of the crumpled pack.

“Well, I’ve never heard of anyone being hip-hopped to death, but judging by the looks of some of those weird-o rapper kids around town, I could see one of them strangling him just for kicks.”

“Psh—“ McPherson said. “That wasn’t even Charlie’s kind of music. He was more into classical. Besides, a kid who lived the way he did wouldn’t have much chance to meet that type of person.”

“I wish we knew why the hell he left,” Fichte reflected morosely. “That sure would help. But I still think he must have seen something somebody didn’t want seen. The only question in my mind is, what?”

“All that seems possible,” McPherson agreed. “If I ever saw a spur-of-the-moment crime, it’s this one.”

“Which means one of the squeaky clean citizens around there has something to hide,” Garrett said, poking his pencil at a cigarette burn on his desk.

“When I talked to Valentine last night, he seemed frightened, but I can’t see why. His alibi checks out.”

“Maybe he has a picture of the body on his computer.”

McPherson scoffed with irritation, and rose to her feet. “I’m going to speak with the captain. Once I