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

her way down the quiet hallway, where the nurse on duty was sitting.

“I’m Lieutenant McPherson, police. Where can I find Dr. Blackwell?”

“He’s just coming out of that room,” she said, pointing to the right. “He’s the taller gentleman with the grey hair.”

The man was speaking with a nurse and a white-clad young man, whom McPherson took to be an intern. They were walking toward her, so she waited. Dr. Blackwell had apparently issued some instructions because, when he stopped talking, the nurse went back to the room and the young man left down the hall.

McPherson approached the grey-haired man with the tired face and said, “Dr. Blackwell?”

“Yes.” It was only one word, but it was laced with exhaustion.

“Lieutenant Emma McPherson, police.” She held up her identification again. “I’ve come about Mrs. Valentine. How is she?”

“Not good. Come step into my office. I need to sit.”

Dr. Blackwell must have been a permanent staff member, because he had a private office on the floor below. It wasn’t very large, but it contained a desk, a large filing cabinet and three chairs.

“Take a seat, McPherson. I’ll see if I can round up an orderly and get us some coffee.”

McPherson nodded and sat down. There was an ashtray sitting on his desk, so she assumed it was fine to smoke.

The doctor wasn’t gone long, and when he returned, he sat at the desk and offered Emma a questioning look.

“I thought you were in homicide. Mrs. Valentine was an assault.”

“Mrs. Valentine lives next door to my homicide. You mentioned her condition wasn’t good. Just how bad is it?”

“The physical injuries appear to be minor, but the shock is dangerous. I’m most worried about her emotional state.”

McPherson nodded, and was ready to ask another question, when there was a knock at the door. It was the orderly with their coffee.

“They were all out of cream, Doctor, but I brought along some sugar.”

“Thanks, Andersen. I think we can manage.”

Blackwell poured his coffee out into a thick cup and handed the other one to McPherson. “Help yourself to some sugar.”

“No, thanks. Never use it.”

They both sipped at the hot liquid, then the doctor asked, “What the hell is going on, Lieutenant?”

“What do you mean, Doctor?”

“I mean with these people in South Pines. I’ve got an office down there, so I’ve known most of them for a quite some time now. Nice, good people. Average, pleasant, well-behaved, and then all of a sudden stuff starts happening that would be shocking even on skid row. A child murder, an assault on a sick old man, and now this atrocity against Mrs. Valentine. You don’t associate behavior like that with people like the Fitts or the Rogers. Just what in the hell is going on?”

“Chain reaction. It usually follows a major crime. Speaking of Rogers, I was meaning to ask about him. How badly was he hurt?”

“Not as bad as they feared. I wasn’t assigned the case, but I asked about him. He received a severe concussion, not a fracture. His left leg was snapped, of course, but with the added complication of his spinal condition, I doubt he’ll ever walk again. He’ll live, though.”

“I suppose that’s something.”

“Whatever happened to Fitts?”

“He’ll have to answer to an assault charge. What comes of that will depend on how the judge decides to take it. He doesn’t have a record, and, in light of the circumstances, he might be able to get a suspended sentence.”

“He’ll have a record now, though?”

“Yeah,” McPherson agreed. “That much is for sure. How did you happen to find Mrs. Valentine?”

“Over the phone. Somehow she made the operator know she was in trouble and needed my help. When I took the call, all she was able to tell me was her name, and that it ‘hurt, bad.’ Her voice sounded distant, like it was coming from outer space, and so I hurried over. She wasn’t able to answer my knocking, but the door was left open, so I was able to get inside.”

“Did she tell you anything that might point to who was responsible?”

“No,” he said slowly, “nothing like that. In fact, it took her a while to even realize someone was there, and once she did, all she was able to say was, ‘Please, not today.’ I couldn’t make much sense of it. What difference would it make what day it happened?”

McPherson took a deep breath. She wanted to strike someone, but there was no one to strike.

“Her husband died today. Car accident. I guess she must have felt enough had already happened to her for that day.”

“Good God,” the doctor said, shocked. “That poor woman. No wonder she’s in such a state.” Then his expression morphed from compassion to disgust. “Do you think the perpetrator knew about her husband’s death and thought she might be defenseless?”

“I don’t know. You tell me these people have been your patients, and that they’re good people. But judging by the way they’ve been acting, they’re not very different from an everyday criminal. The only one without an ax to grind is Mrs. Shepherd, and I expect her to hop on the bandwagon any time now.”

“They’re all frightened,” Blackwell said reflectively. “The murder stripped them of their rose-tinted glasses, and now they don’t know how to cope living without the rules.”

“The bastard who got Mrs. Valentine didn’t give a damn about the rules, and as soon as I get my hands on him I’m not so sure I will either. Can I see her?”

“You can see her but I don’t think it will do any good. She’s heavily sedated and won’t be able to talk at least until tomorrow, if even then. Her physical injuries are painful, but not dangerous. I’m most afraid for her mental health. I can’t allow anything that might upset her.

“I still can’t understand the beating. I don’t think the motive was robbery. I took a look around while I was waiting for the ambulance and the house was undisturbed. Other than several blows to the head, she wasn’t