Ever So Silent
Page 1
Ever So Silent
An Emma Thorne Mystery
Christopher Little
Honeysuckle Publishing, Norfolk, Connecticut
Copyright © 2019 by Christopher Little
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
First published in 2019 by Honeysuckle Publishing
PO Box 485
Norfolk, Connecticut 06058
www.honeysucklepublishing.com
www.christopherlittle.com
Book design and jacket photographs © Christopher Little
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Ever So Silent/Christopher Little -- 1st edition
ISBN-13: 978-1-7339738-1-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-7339738-0-9 (paperback)
For Betsy Kittredge
There are crimes of passion and crimes of logic.
The boundary between them is not clearly defined.
—Albert Camus,
The Rebel (L’Homme révolté), 1951
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1 A Cop's Nose
2 The Goddaughter
3 “To the land of gloom and utter darkness”
4 Silver Alert
5 On the Veranda
6 No Shock Advised
7 Double Jeopardy
8 A Bear Hug
9 An Untimely
10 A Sharpie
11 A Moist Palm
12 Fiskars
13 Measure Twice, Cut Once
14 “Do you think he’s still alive?”
15 Discouraging Words
16 Colonel’s Secret Recipe
17 Crater Face
18 A See-Through
19 Gone Fishin’
20 Victor Blaine
21 Leak
22 Geriatric Chubster
23 Suzy Szarkowski
24 “Where are you, Chief Thorne?”
25 Sherwood Forest
26 Christina’s World
27 Nineteen Words
28 A Pleasant Tone of Voice
29 Another Sharpie
30 Another List of Maybes
31 The Bombshell
32 A Woman in Uniform
33 “Why didn’t you tell me?”
34 Ka-ching!
35 A Continental Seven
36 Walmart Shopper
37 Re-Alphabetizing
38 Sleepover
39 Ever so Silent
40 Between the Sheets
41 Knockout
42 Dilated and Sluggish
43 The Pleasures of Morphine
44 Home Remedies
45 No-Show
46 An Inattentive Guard
47 Nine Criteria
48 Yahoos
49 Revolver
50 Follow my Instructions
51 Aspiration
52 Impasse
53 A Button
54 The Investigation Takes a Turn
55 Coup de Grâce
56 “Wicked Little Girl”
57 Presumed Guilty
58 On the Lam
59 Night for Day
60 Heart of Darkness
61 Happy Fourth of July
62 Questions and A Few Answers
63 Caroline and Skip
64 Georgia’s AmEx Bill
65 A Sharp Crack
66 “I’ll get it, Dad!”
67 “Welcome Home”
68 Crazy Bitch
69 Too Pervy
70 “Is Joe our guy?”
71 Not Particularly Proudly
72 “How may I help you?”
73 No and No
Acknowledgements
Stay in Touch
Note from an Indie Author
1
A Cop’s Nose
Emma had witnessed Will’s condition deteriorate week by week. She didn’t need to be a psychotherapist to recognize his swelling hell. Will was Emma Thorne’s husband. She worried so much about him that it was affecting her work. She shook her head, trying, for the moment at least, to minimize her obsessing.
She started by scanning the traffic around her cruiser.
As she turned onto Hampshire’s River Street, Officer Emma Thorne drew behind a Cadillac Escalade SUV. Over the next few minutes, the driver of the Escalade kept checking his rear-view mirror, which wasn’t in itself out of the ordinary. A lot of guys get antsy with a cop on their tail. Emma observed him slow to five miles below the speed limit on Main Street, which was only thirty to begin with. Next, he put on his blinker and slid into the right lane.
Emma parroted him. Something about the dude smelled. The unemancipated would call it feminine intuition. She liked to think of it as street smarts.
Based on nothing more than her cop’s nose, she radioed his marker tag to her dispatcher. “6 to Dispatch. Run Massachusetts tag X3B 2LR for wants or hits.”
From the dispatcher, an immediate reply: “Standby, 6.”
The Escalade’s driver continued to check his mirror while she awaited a response.
Emma, who had five years in, enjoyed patrol work. Some of her colleagues complained about the very routineness of patrol, but Emma got a kick out of owning her territory and busting bad actors.
The radio crackled. “Be advised, X3B 2LR comes back to a 2018 Cadillac Escalade, color black, reported stolen this a.m. in New Marlborough, Massachusetts. Do you request backup?”
“Roger that.”
Emma ignited her light bar and flicked her siren to Wail.
The Escalade immediately jogged into the passing lane and shot forward. Perfect, she thought, a good high-speed pursuit. The adrenaline kick sent shock waves through her body. Very little about police work intimidated her. She had inherited her bravado from her father, who happened to be Hampshire’s chief of police.
She floored her cruiser. There was traffic on Main Street, and the black Escalade weaved wildly. Emma chased him.
He reached his first intersection. Naturally, the light was red. He blew his horn and kept blowing it until he was safely through the crossroads. Emma paused, checking both ways before re-accelerating. She had a little ground to catch up, which she managed to do.
She knew that in about two miles she would reach the town line. Steering with her left hand, she spoke into the mic, “Permission to continue pursuit past the town line?” The law said that she would have to break off pursuit when she reached the state highway unless she received a go-ahead from the Connecticut State Police.
“6, we are in contact with C.S.P. They are deploying stop sticks at the intersection of State Route 88 and Tower Hill Road. You have authority to maintain pursuit.”
“Roger.”
The Escalade was doing about eighty now with Emma’s cruiser close on its tail.
There was one more stop light at the west end of town. Again, the light was red. The Escalade increased speed rather than slowing, the driver blasting his horn.
In an explosion of glass and steel, the black Escalade T-boned a U.S. Postal Service delivery truck. The truck rolled over, skidding across the intersection on its side. An oncoming car slammed into it before it struck a parked car on the far side of Main Street and stopped. Meanwhile, the Escalade sailed end-over-end landing on its roof with a screech of metal on asphalt. Smoke came from the engine of the Escalade. Another car swerved to avoid it.
Emma fishtailed to
a stop beside the Escalade. She grabbed the mic and tried to modulate her voice, because she was pretty pumped. “Two-car MVA. Main and Winthrop Streets. SUV vs. utility truck. Request fire, ambulance. Hot. Probable injuries.”
“Roger, 6. Dispatching ambulance, fire, and additional backup.”
She threw open her door and jumped out.
Incredibly, the driver of the Escalade crawled through the broken driver’s side window. He slowly rose to his feet. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. She recognized him. Hampshire was a small town. She had recently arrested Joe Henderson for driving under the influence. His obvious injury was a gash to his forehead. Blood seeped down his face. His left eye was closed. He didn’t appear to have a weapon.
Emma faced him, about ten feet away.
“Place your hands on your head, sir. Get down on your knees,” she shouted.
The driver walked slowly toward her, challenging her with his eyes.
Emma felt for her service weapon, a Glock, then changed her mind. She unholstered her Taser and aimed it at his abdomen. “Stop where you are, goddammit, or I’ll Tase your ass.” No more Sir.
The driver kept coming, his hands clearly visible at his sides. Still no apparent weapon. She heard sirens approaching. The guy kept coming. About five feet now. “If you do not stop, I will be forced to Tase you.”
“Fuck you,” he said, the first words out of his mouth. “I’m just trying to save Sophie from your fucked-up family.”
Emma had no idea what he was talking about. He sounded crazy. There was no Sophie in her family.
It hardly mattered, because he was now within striking distance. “Final warning,” she said. He kept coming. She pulled the Taser’s trigger.
There was a crack and the snapping sound of the Taser’s two barbed electrodes pumping 50,000 volts into his body. Except nothing happened. No convulsions, no incapacitation, no nothing. He kept moving closer. The barbs clung to his shirt, yet … nothing. Maybe the Taser was defective.
She re-holstered the Taser and drew her Glock, yelling for him to stop.
He didn’t.
She shifted her aim toward his thigh. He was within striking distance. He was unarmed. Cop or no, Emma wasn’t the type of person who could shoot an unarmed man. Had he been brandishing a gun, yes, but not like this.
The guy launched into a flying tackle. His outstretched arms flew toward her gun hand. His hands locked around her wrist, and they both went down to the pavement. Wrestling for her life, she fought to keep his hands away from her weapon. He managed to roll her onto her back. His right hand was now on the barrel of her weapon. Slowly he was loosening it from her grasp.
They rolled further. When she felt he was in the right position, Emma resorted to the defensive technique to which all women are entitled. She kneed him in the balls.
A nearby siren died. Officer Caroline Stoner joined her. Joe was now writhing on the ground beside Emma. Together they rolled him onto his stomach and Stoner jammed her knee into his back. “Jesus, he’s wearing body armor,” she said.
“Check him for weapons,” Emma shouted.
After Caroline Stoner handcuffed him, she patted him down. “Clean! He’s got an empty holster.”
His weapon must have fallen out when he flipped the stolen Escalade.
Emma said to Caroline, “Thanks, partner. Score one for the girls.”
She decided to wait until he stopped moaning before reading him his rights. When he had partially recovered, she Mirandized him and placed him under arrest.
Joe mumbled, “You will pay dearly for this.”
“Whatever you say, pal,” she said.
2
The Goddaughter
She looked over at the Escalade. Black smoke escaped from underneath the hood. The upside-down vehicle, its undercarriage fully exposed, looked to her like a great beast felled, its tires pointing upward in submission.
Her police training kicked back into gear. At an MVA, always account for potential passengers, even ones who might have been ejected. Was there a Sophie in the vehicle?
She looked through the broken driver’s side window. There was no one in the passenger seat. She tried to look through the rear window, pressing her hands against the glass to shield the light. She couldn’t see through the tinted glass. In a pouch on her Sam Browne belt was a tool specifically designed to break auto glass—a spring-loaded punch. She used it to good effect. The safety glass spider-webbed and dissolved into thousands of tiny pieces that cascaded onto the top of the Escalade.
“Sweet Jesus!” Emma said aloud. Trapped inside was an upside down, seat-belted female.
Behind her Emma heard someone shout, “Get away, Thorne, the engine’s on fire.”
Emma shouted, “Stoner, help me! I’ve got a vic in the back.”
Without regard for the girl’s potential injuries, they rescue-dragged the body outside and away from the vehicle, the fire. The fire moved from the engine compartment to the body of the Escalade.
It was a teen-aged girl. She was dazed and bloodied.
Emma said, “Where do you hurt, sweetie?”
The girl sobbed and shook.
“What’s your name?” Emma tried again.
“Sophie King. I want my mother.”
“We’ll get to that, but first I need to know where you hurt.”
“I’m okay,” she sobbed. “Just get my Mom. I really need her.”
The EMTs arrived and pulled Emma away from Sophie. “We’ll take it from here.”
“Okay,” Emma said, “but I will need to speak with her in the ambulance.”
Emma watched the EMTs do a rapid trauma check and pronounce her okay. They dressed her wounds, mostly cuts and scrapes. When they loaded her into the ambulance, Emma got in beside her. Sophie was a healthy looking, pink-cheeked teenager. Her blue jeans were ripped in all the right places. She wore a ridiculously revealing tank top like all girls her age seem to do. Her straight black hair reached halfway down her back. Her affect mixed worldly wisdom with teen-aged naïveté.
“What’s your mom’s phone number?” Emma asked. “I’ll call her and have her meet us at the hospital.”
She got Karen King on the line, told her about the accident, and assured her that Sophie was going to be fine.
Emma held her hand. “Sophie, I need to know what happened here. Can you tell me what he did to you?”
Still weeping, she said, “Joe’s my boyfriend. At least he was.” She managed a sheepish smile. “He hates my family, and they hate him. He didn’t really do anything to me. We were just going over to his studio.”
“What were you going to do there?”
“Um, hang out, I guess.” Emma read into her expression that she expected to do a little more than just hang out. “Joe’s into photography. He wanted to take some photos of me … and for me to meet some of his friends. He has a photo studio down in Lincoln.”
Like a firehouse receiving a dispatch, alarm bells clanged.
She remembered that she had Joe’s wallet in her pocket. Stoner had taken it before she’d placed him in the back of her cruiser. Inside, Emma found a valid Connecticut driver’s license for a Joe Henderson, born 3/24/1984. She did the math: Joe was thirty-six. He also carried a valid Connecticut State Police carry permit.
“How old are you?” asked Emma.
“I’m fifteen.”
Emma lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t you think that Joe’s a little old for you?”
She grimaced, “That’s what my mom says.”
“Why were you in the backseat?” Emma asked.
“I have no idea. Joe’s kind of weird that way.”
“Do you have any idea why Joe took off when I tried to pull him over?”
Sophie said, “He recognized you. He said you’d arrested him for driving DUI. He said he was only a little buzzed. He also said he was going to show you who’s boss. He’s not the kind of dude who likes to be beaten by a woman. He was laughing the whole time, and I got
scared.”
Emma said, “You must’ve been very frightened. Do you know why Joe was wearing body armor?”
“What’s that?”
“Not important,” Emma said, thinking it was very important.
“Wait a second,” Sophie said, surprise in her voice, “I just figured out who you are. You’re married to Will Foster, Georgia’s brother. Georgia Foster is my godmother.”
So that was what Joe meant by her “fucked-up family.”
Emma couldn’t quite parse the Sophie-Joe relationship.
“What attracted you to an older guy like Joe?”
“He’s really good looking, and he’s got awesome clothes,” Sophie said, sounding very teen-aged. “Plus, he’s really smart and really rich. He owns a Corvette. Um, I guess that sounds kinda shallow, huh?”
“If he owns a Corvette, why did he steal the Escalade.”
“No clue.”
Shaking her head, Emma concluded, “Well, I guess you’ve been through a lot.”
Through the rear doors of the ambulance, Emma and Sophie watched Hampshire firefighters foam the Escalade.
Suddenly, they heard explosions within the vehicle. From experience, Emma knew that car fires could produce explosive sounds, as when tires explode and when water hits burning magnesium wheel rims, but she was pretty sure that this was ammunition. An EMT closed the back doors of the ambulance. A moment later, Emma heard the fire chief say over the radio, “Command to Units, be advised we have ammo in the vehicle, use caution.” The firefighters immediately widened the circle around the Escalade and raised their hose nozzles, lobbing water into the fire.
Everyone else backed away, too, and watched the vehicle burn to a charred skeleton.
3
“To the land of gloom and utter darkness”
The weeks following Emma’s discovery of Sophie King in the backseat of Joe Henderson’s stolen Escalade should have been a happy time for her.
Except there was her husband Will.
The press and the townsfolk showered her with accolades. The Hampshire Chronicle lauded her “stunning rescue” of Sophie under the headline “Heroine of Hampshire.” WFSB, the CBS affiliate in Hartford, sent a crew to interview her. There was a story in the Hartford Courant.