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

“We’ll find them. Aiden went out and asked him to come down. I sent out the message that we wanted him to look over some pictures. Garrett and Fichte are waiting on the search warrant, and they’ll go in as soon as he leaves.”

“You think a suspect like this would keep the tires around his home?” the captain asked dubiously.

“What else would he do with them? He wouldn’t dare leave them in a public place. I think it’s safe to say the papers took care of that. Besides, four tires are tough to get rid of.”

“Maybe you’re right. What about Mrs. Johnson?”

“She’ll be here soon. I sent a car out for her, so it shouldn’t take long.”

The captain looked dissatisfied as he said, “Well, it’s your case. Handle it as you see fit.”

“Thanks, Captain. I’m sure it will work itself out. He comes off as confident, but there are too many things he won’t be able to explain. What with the tires and shoes, and the fact that he doesn’t have a prayer of proving where he was that evening.”

The captain was nodding his understanding when there was a loud knock at the door, and Aiden burst in.

“The car you sent out for Mrs. Johnson just radioed in for backup. When they got there, Robb Johnson seemed to be losing his mind. He’s locked himself inside his bedroom, and now he’s threatening to shoot anyone who tries to come in.”

The captain leapt up and grabbed his coat. “Did they send for any assistance?”

“Yes, sir. There were two cars within the area. The boy received the call.”

McPherson hurried to the stairs, closely followed by Captain Ford. When they reached the garage they climbed into the front seats of a black police car. McPherson was the driver, and she turned on the lights and siren and started off with as much speed as she dared.

When they slid to a stop in front of Johnson’s home, they could see Mrs. Johnson sitting in the back seat of one of the patrol cars, and one of the officers standing on the parking strip. Both officers hopped out of the car and hurried to the on-duty officer.

“What the hell is he doing?” asked the captain.

“Nothing now, sir. Mr. Johnson just shot himself.”

After such a wild ride, news like this was like a splash of cold water.

“Is he dead?”

“No, sir. He tried to shoot himself in the head, but he must have aimed wrong. He’s severely wounded, but I don’t think he’ll die.”

“Any idea why he did it?” McPherson asked.

“Hard to say, ma’am. According to Mrs. Johnson, he lost his head as soon as he saw the police car. Ahem, no pun intended… Anyway, once he spotted us pulling up, he ran into his bedroom and locked the door. We hadn’t even started towards the house yet.”

“Where did he get the gun?”

“Mrs. Johnson told us he had it from the army. It wasn’t supposed to be loaded, but he must have picked up some bullets somewhere. One thing’s for sure, he didn’t make those holes in the door with a water pistol.”

“He shot at you?” the captain said with a burst of surprise.

“Yes, sir. I counted six shots that came through that door. Then there was the report and everything got quiet. We waited for a few minutes before breaking in. Found him lying there on the floor, bleeding out like a fountain.”

“Did you call for an ambulance.”

“Yes, sir.”

McPherson shook her head and said, “Well, you better call in and let them know things are under control, but use another car. I want to speak with Mrs. Johnson.”

The captain started towards the house, and McPherson walked over to the car where the pale-faced Colleen Johnson was sitting.

“I suppose you heard your husband shot himself?” It was a brutal delivery, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel very much sympathy for the woman.

Mrs. Johnson nodded. She appeared to be unnerved, but there were no signs of grief. No pain. No tears.

“Do you have any idea why he did it?”

“No. How could I?”

“Well, you were married. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason.”

Mrs. Johnson hesitated for a moment, like she was trying to find the proper words, then answered. “Robb and I weren’t particularly close.”

“Is that why you were flirting with Hardwood?”

Her face flushed crimson with rage. “What a disgusting thing to say! But I guess being a police officer you must not know any better.”

She didn’t approve of hitting citizens, but this woman, well she was an exception to the rule. In that moment, it would have been a pleasure.

“Well, being a police officer, I’ll tell you what I do know,” she snapped back harshly. “Hardwood was here the night before Charlie Turner’s death, and you kept quiet about it. He was spotted entering this house, and you lied about that. I’m not sure what the two of you did, but I know that when Hardwood left, he strangled Charlie, and you were willing to sit back and let him get away with it.”

“That’s not true!” Mrs. Johnson gasped. “Mr. Hardwood isn’t capable of killing anyone. He’s an upstanding good-hearted man. Not the sort you would know anything about.”

“I know a lot of things, Mrs. Johnson. Hardwood is a murderer. I come face to face with murderers all the time and believe me, I know one when I see one. Hardwood is the type of man who sneaks into another man’s house when he’s away, then plays around with his wife. That’s another kind I know. And as for you—you’re the kind who will let the body of a murdered boy lie in the morgue, then lie for the man that put him there. You’re also the kind who can talk yourself into saying it couldn’t have been him because he’s too good-hearted. According to you he’d have to be, just because you approve of him. All that I know.”

It was clear that Mrs. Johnson’s poise was beginning to crack beneath the