The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1)

by A. J. Flynn

  “I think it’s only fair to point out that an accusation such as the one you just made, about a person with my standing in the community, is not to be taken lightly.”

  “Neither is murder.”

  McPherson couldn’t help but admire the man’s confidence, but the dislike she felt towards him was growing by the minute.

  “I don’t have to sit here and listen to your ravings,” Hardwood said belligerently, “I demand that you place me under arrest or let me go.”

  “You’re already under arrest, Hardwood, for the murder of Charlie Turner. Now all I would like to know is why you killed him.”

  “So you’re saying just because I bought some tires, then saved the old ones, I must have committed murder? Why, that’s simply absurd!” The man’s thumb and forefinger began pinching at his cheek more rapidly.

  “You’re a very conceited man, Hardwood. It never even occurred to you to give the police department the assumption of having average intelligence. For your information, we have some very smart officers on the force. The tires alone mean nothing, but tires that perfectly match the tracks found near the murder scene do. Those tires we discovered in your garage match the same ones that were parked half a block away from the body. We’ve obtained casts of your shoes as well, and I suspect they’re the ones you’re wearing as we speak. Take them off, and I’ll send them downstairs for a comparison.”

  Hardwood kept his supercilious sneer. “I believe that’s what’s commonly known as circumstantial evidence. A good lawyer can tear a testimony like that to pieces. Especially when I’m able to prove that I wasn’t even there at the time.”

  “Where?”

  “I already told you. I started going to a concert, but it was canceled, so I took a walk around town, then went to the library to do some research.”

  “Do you go to the library a lot?”

  “Yes. I conduct a great deal of outside study, and I attend two courses at the University night school.”

  “They must know you quite well at the library.”

  Hardwood stiffened, and his manner grew to be almost conciliatory. “Of course they know me, but you know how they are at libraries. It’s easy to get caught up in what you’re doing, and pretty soon you aren’t paying any attention to what’s going on around you.”

  “What about downtown—did you see anybody you knew?”

  The man’s arrogance returned. “I can’t remember, but even if I didn’t that still wouldn’t be enough to prove I killed Charlie or was anywhere near him when it happened.”

  McPherson felt like a cat who had just cornered a mouse.

  “Mrs. Johnson says you were,” she said softly.

  Hardwood leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair, then settled back, the starch bleeding out of him. Neither of them spoke. Hardwood sat staring at the floor, and McPherson watched him with an expression of complete contempt.

  Hardwood was the first one to break the silence.

  “So that dumb bitch told you.”

  “I doubt Mrs. Johnson would approve of that kind of talk. She’s under the impression that you’re a fine upstanding man, far above us mere mortals.”

  Hardwood didn’t bother answering. He seemed relaxed, and wasn’t even kneading his cheek any more.

  “Fine, I did it, but I can promise you it wasn’t murder. It was a simple accident. I didn’t bother saying anything about it, because I didn’t think you would ever suspect me.” His voice was low and firm. “It all happened so quickly, and it was nothing like anything I’d ever pictured happening, even in my most terrible nightmares.”

  “From all I’ve gathered, Charlie was a quiet soul that didn’t make enough of an impression on anybody for them to hate him. So why did you do it?”

  She offered Hardwood a cigarette and took one for herself as she spoke. Hardwood waited until she had lit up before answering.

  “I didn’t hate the boy. In truth, he didn’t have enough personality for me to hate him. His big dream was to be a songwriter.” He sneered. “Him, a songwriter. He couldn’t even carry a tune.”

  The sneer grated on McPherson’s nerves. The sight of Charlie on the morgue slab flashed in her mind.

  “What does that have to do with killing him?” she asked in a hard voice. “When I was young, I wanted to be an artist. I could barely draw my breath, but nobody thought to kill me for it.”

  “That’s not the reason I killed him,” Hardwood whined. “It was just that he was such a damn snoop.”

  “Was that what he was doing the night you murdered him—snooping on you?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “So I’ve been told,” McPherson agreed dryly. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  “It’s just that every once in a while things get to be too much, at home I mean. My daughter is always sick, and my wife is constantly complaining because I don’t make enough money for her to live as she’d like to. Sometimes I just have to get out.

  “We had a big newspaper drive at school a few months ago, and that’s when I first met Colleen Johnson. She was helping the children in her neighborhood transport their papers to the school. I helped them unload the car and she mentioned that she had a lot more papers to bring, so I offered to help out.

  “After we’d delivered them, and brought the children home, she invited me inside for coffee. Her husband was away. He’s seldom home during the evenings. She told me it had something to do with selling cars.

  “Soon we were meeting up whenever we could. I started going to her house, as there was less chance of us being seen. After all, I had to guard my reputation.

  “I always parked beneath that tree, but I didn’t know it was beside a path the kids used. It would have been fine if it had been anyone but Charlie who noticed the car. I doubt any of the others would have recognized it, but he did.”

  “Why would Charlie recognize it?” McPherson asked.

  “One day he waited after school to see me. I had just finished up with a teacher’s meeting, and it was late when I found him sitting alone in my room. He had just finished writing a song he wanted me to hear. As I already said, he was a nut about music, but he didn’t have any talent.

  “I played his song for him. It was far worse than all of his prior efforts, but he was so sincere in his presentation and had waited so long to have me hear it, that I felt sorry for him. The school bus had long since left, so I offered to drive him home.

  “He took detailed notice of my car, even going so far as to mention the fender my wife had dented.

  “That was why he decided to sneak out. He must have noticed the car there before when he was walking along the path, because he seemed to know just about what time I might be there. He even knew where I’d been.”

  “Why that night especially?”

  “It was that damn contest.”

  “So the letter was for you?”

  “Hell yes. I’d forgotten to return his music to him, and he was determined to have it to work on the next day. He said he wanted enough time to use whatever I’d offered him in the way of suggestions, then recopy it so that it would be nice and neat to mail.”

  “Why didn’t you just give it back to him, or let him know you’d get it for him first thing in the morning, then get out of there?”

  Hardwood watched the smoke curl, then said, “I hadn’t brought it with me, and it didn’t occur to me to tell him I’d give it to him in the morning. I suppose it was the raw surprise of finding him inside the car, as well as what he said.”

  “He was already in the car?”

  “Yes. I never lock it. I was already sitting inside before I noticed him, and he said he hoped that I didn’t mind him being there, and that he would rather not bother me while I was visiting Mrs. Johnson, so he just decided to sit and wait. He knew I wouldn’t be too late. That’s when it all started, I guess. I could see my career and reputation going up in smoke because of that snoopy little shit. And I knew he’d eventually get around to spre
ading the story, if he hadn’t already done it. Christ, it wasn’t enough for him that I’d put up with him almost every damn day at school, he had to go and track me down in the middle of the night.”

  “Yeah, I can see why you thought he was a pest, but why did you kill him?”

  “When he said that part about my not being late, I knew right away he’d been spying on me. The look on my face must have terrified him because he kept repeating over and over again that he was sorry and tried to get out of the car. But I grabbed him, and he started crying about how he was going to tell his daddy about me. I gripped tighter. Then I could feel him sucking in a deep breath to scream.

  “That was when I lost control. All I could think of is how he would be spreading stories about me, and I’m sure you understand that a teacher can’t deal with that kind of gossip. The tighter I gripped him the more he struggled. I tried talking to him, but he kept on fighting and trying to scream. I put one hand over his mouth and I guess the other was around his neck. When he finally got quiet, I pulled my hands away and saw that he was dead. It was as easy as that.”

  McPherson studied the man’s face as he told the story. She wondered if the shock of what he’d done had numbed his sensibilities, or if he just didn’t care that he’d killed a child in cold blood.

  “What you’re saying, Hardwood, is that Charlie caught you fooling around with another man’s wife, so you killed him to keep it quiet. Is that the way you want it presented?”

  The murderer glanced up in surprise.

  “Well, that’s one hell of a way to put it,” he said sharply.

  “What did you do once you realized he was dead?”

  “I carried his body out into the woods and set him under a cluster of bushes. Then I covered him with some small brambles.”

  “Like a heap of refuse?”

  “That’s one hell of a way to put it,” the murderer repeated.

  “And how would you prefer it to be put down?”

  “For God’s sake, McPherson, if my wife had ever found out what I was up to, she would have taken my daughter and left the house within an hour. And if the school authorities had found out, I’d never be allowed to teach again. Teaching is my life’s work.”

  “I think you’re going to learn there are a lot of people who don’t consider your wife’s feelings, or your teaching, to be worth the life of a child.”

  “Don’t preach to me,” Hardwood snapped. “I suppose if I’d spent all my time reading detective novels and knew how to dispose of the evidence, you’d think I was quite a fine fellow. Well, let me tell you something. I’m sorry I killed that boy, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. The world would be a better place if we could weed out creatures like him before they were able to grow and reproduce.”

  McPherson couldn’t believe her ears. She had met plenty of selfish men in her lifetime, but Hardwood was something else entirely.

  “I’ll go along with your notion that the world would be a better place if some people were destroyed at birth, but I’ve never met anybody I’d trust the decision to. Take your case for example. There’s a woman in the hospital, a widow of one day, who was the victim of a brutal assault. In that same hospital lies an elderly man, also a victim of assault, who stands little chance of ever walking again. There’s a young father and husband waiting at home to be arrested for that assault.

  “This evening your dear friend’s husband tried to blow his brains out, and once the papers let the public know about her part in your mess, she won’t have a shred of reputation left. And all this can be traced back to the fact that one selfish man thought he was more important than everyone else, so he decided to kill another human being. That man is you, Hardwood. And though you might be able to convince the courts that it was an accident, I know just as well as you do that you wanted him dead.”

  The murderer licked his lips and slumped lower in his chair.

  McPherson was beginning to think perhaps he was considering what he had done, when he asked, “You don’t suppose they’re going to consider my relationship with Mrs. Johnson as sordid? I’ll have you know that it wasn’t.”

  “They’ll think you slept together every day and twice on Sunday,” McPherson shouted. “Why else would you kill to keep it quiet?” Then she stomped to the door and motioned Aiden inside. “He’s ready for his statement.”

  Aiden walked over and took Hardwood’s arm and they started to leave, but McPherson’s voice halted them. “If you were common enough to read detective stories, Hardwood, you’d be pleading insanity right about now, but let me warn you, the state psychologists are tough to fool.”

  Hardwood didn’t answer, just walked out, followed quickly by Aiden.

  When the door closed, McPherson sank down into her chair and gave herself over to her fatigue.

  The price of a man’s good name had been too high. Everyone within earshot of the murder had paid a heavy price, but even that wasn’t enough. You can’t buy enough light to blot out the shadow of a killer.

  She massaged the stiff muscles on the back of her neck. All she wanted to do was get away and let the stink of all these people and their lies and schemes fade away. They reminded her of ants, picking up all they could carry then running off in every direction in a vain effort to escape the inevitable results of their own actions.

  She quietly stood up from her chair, grabbed her coat, and left the office. She was going to her own separate world. The world where everything was decent and honest, because Liam lived there. She smiled as she walked along and thought, I bet he’s found at least four more houses we can do without.

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading The Silent Boy.

  I hope you enjoyed the story!

  I'd love to hear what you thought about it, so please leave a review on the following page, and I'll be sure to see it!

  Much Love,

  A.J. Flynn