Habit by T. J. Brearton Read Free Book Online Page A

pointed to his face. “The kinds of blotches that can come from a pinching off of the carotid artery. Typically from strangulation.”
    “I know what it is.” Delaney nodded at Kevin. “Is he going to be alright?”
    “He vomited in the grass not long ago. He could need some medical attention. Some mental attention, too. My plan is . . . well.”
    “What?”
    Brendan squinted in the sun at the senior investigator. Then he remembered his sunglasses and put them back on. “I was thinking I could get him out of here. Take him back to Remsen myself. To the motel, maybe to the hospital. Talk to him on the way. Get his statement.”
    “That’s a good idea.”
    Compliments were rare with Delaney. It took Brendan aback for a moment. Then he added, “I’ll have the . . . what was her name? Olivia Jane. She can meet us there.”
    Delaney spat out a sunflower seed shell. They were at the outlet of the driveway, getting a word in private, away from the house. The whole scene was before them. The dogs were now out back, sniffing around the barn. CSI was working the entire house. The sun had climbed high into gauzy sky.
    “I think we want to make sure CSI combs through the shed. There’s a dead animal back there, and some interesting refuse.”
    Delaney raised his eyebrows. “Raccoon?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “That’s what Folwell was after. Some animal. Shooting at it with his Browning. I’ll make sure they go through the trash. Something caught your eye?”
    “There’s a fireplace inside, yeah? Something may have been burned and then thrown out.”
    “I want to meet back with you in one hour.”
    “Okay,” said Brendan, and he started to dial Olivia Jane.

CHAPTER SIX / THURSDAY, 11:08 AM
    He was able to convince Kevin Heilshorn to ride into Remsen with him and get a sandwich. In the car, he lit a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?” Kevin shook his head. Brendan pressed the buttons to roll down both front windows, and then started turning around in the driveway.
    “Can I get one?”
    “Sure. Take as many as you want. I’m trying to quit.”
    They turned onto Route 12, headed west. Brendan got the Camry up to speed, and the wind beat in through the opened windows, the antenna shivered on the hood. There was quicksilver baking on the road, and the Camry sluiced through it.
    “Hot,” Brendan said. “You know, it’s late in the summer, too.”
    “That doesn’t matter. It’s all getting hotter.”
    Brendan glanced over. “Global Warming?”
    Kevin shrugged. His eyes were ringed red from crying, glassy and small as if shrink-wrapped. He was a good-looking kid, with a strong jaw and straight nose. Brendan’s own nose was bent to one side, something he had always been a little bit self-conscious about. That and the smattering of Irish freckles he had around his cheeks and temples. He was grateful he wasn’t a redhead. With the rest of his complexion and red hair he would have been Howdy Doody. But Brendan had inherited some of the darker looks of his Italian mother, too. His hair was black. Along with his green eyes, hatchet nose and light complexion, he often thought of his appearance as uncomely, like a ghost’s.
    Kevin cleared his throat. “I’m not a proponent of anything. It could be CO2 emissions; it could be the Chandler Wobble. Who knows.”
    “The Chandler Wobble?”
    “Haven’t you ever heard of the wobble of the earth?”
    “I wasn’t a Geology major.”
    “It’s like this. Let’s say you were to stick a pencil in an orange. Then you put the tip of that pencil on a piece of paper. You spin the orange. A perfect spin, and the pencil just makes a dot on the paper. Now imagine that the orange is wobbling , and . . .”
    “It makes an ellipse on the paper. What causes the wobble?”
    “That’s just it. Maybe global warming causes the wobble. Or maybe the wobble causes global warming. It’s the chicken or the egg.”
    The comment made Brendan think of the shed. Particularly of the chicken