Silent Son by Gallatin Warfield Read Free Book Online Page B

choice.
    “Ms. Frame, I was wondering if you could send someone from your place over to see about the clothes…” Purvis asked. “I just…
     it wouldn’t…”
    “I think I understand, Mr. Bowers,” the lady replied. “You’d rather not go over to the store. With the shooting and all, I
     do understand.”
    The line went silent.
    “Mr. Bowers?”
    “Yes, Ms. Frame…”
    “That right? You’d rather we pick something out for them?”
    “I’d appreciate it,” Purvis said. He sounded relieved.
    “We can do that. What about the key? How are we going to get in?”
    “The police will help. If you call the station, they can let you in.”
    “All right. Don’t you worry about this now, Mr. Bowers. Don’t you worry at all. We’ll take care of everything. Addie and Henry
     are going to look just beautiful—”
    “Thank you, Ms. Frame,” Purvis interrupted. “Bye.”
    He hung up the phone and rubbed his cheek. Then he picked up the receiver again and dialed.
    “Kent King’s office,” a voice answered.
    “This is Purvis Bowers. May I speak to him?”
    “Moment please.”
    “Yeah?” King sounded rushed. “What’s up, Purvis?”
    “I need to shelter some money,” Bowers said. “Can you help me out? It has to be legal.”
    King sighed. “How much?”
    “A lot of zeros.”
    “How sheltered do you want it?”
    “Out of sight.”
    King laughed. “Make an appointment. We’ll talk about it.”
    Brownie stood on the porch at Bowers Corner, and looked down Mountain Road. There was a short curve, then a straightaway,
     then another curve that snaked into the woods. That was north. In the other direction, it was more or less the same thing:
     excellent sight distance for at least two hundred yards before the road disappeared. That provided plenty of advance warning
     for a criminal. Brownie put his hands on his hips. The fucker must have gone in blind with no lookout on the porch, and no
     wheel man in the lot. He had no warning that Granville was on his way.
    Brownie pushed open the front door and looked in. The rockers around the stove were still, the room dark. The shelves were
     still stocked with food. Nothing had been disturbed. It was in, do the job, and then out. But why no eyes out front? The planning
     had been meticulous, up to a point. There were no fingerprints, no shell casings, no intact bullet fragments, no hairs or
     fibers. And there was no apparent motive.
    Twelve paces marked the distance from the door to the spot where the bodies were found. It would take about ten seconds at
     an adult’s leisurely walk, seven or eight at a child’s run. Ellen Fahrnam had reported hearing a shot almost immediately after
     Granville had entered. She’d panicked, and hesitated before going in. Add another five or six seconds. Then, with her entry,
     perhaps cautious, perhaps hurried, add seven seconds more. Twenty seconds. It all went down in less than twenty seconds: Addie’s
     and Henry’s executions, Granville’s injury, the escape. The last part was well planned. The lookout part may have been sloppy,
     but the retreat was worked to perfection.
    Brownie skirted the chalk lines on the floor and walked to the rear exit. It was three paces to the door. That would take
     one and a half seconds at a run. He opened the door and looked out. There was a narrow passageway between the petting zoo
     cages and the base of a steep hill behind the store, then twenty yards to the end of the yard, a rocky ten-foot drop, and
     finally, the wilderness: thirty acres of trees stretching down a long inclined slope to a meadow on the other side. It had
     been scouted and then searched by two squads of patrol officers, and later followed up by the dog team. But, not surprisingly,
     they hadn’t found a thing. A forty-minute head start was all the bastard needed. And now he could be anywhere.
    Brownie walked around the building to his lab van. There was something very strange here. The perpetrator seemed to be a