Sworn to Silence by Linda Castillo Read Free Book Online Page A

young crowd high on hormones and booze and God only knows what else. “What’s Connie’s last name?”
    “Spencer.”
    I pull a pad from my pocket and jot. “What time did Amanda leave here?”
    “Seven-thirty or so. She was always running late. Waited till the last minute to do everything.” She squeezes her eyes closed and chokes back a sob. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
    “Did Amanda have a boyfriend?”
    “No. She was such a good girl. So young and pretty. Smart, too. Smarter than me and her daddy put together.” She looks at me, her mouth trembling. “She was going back to college this fall.”
    I have no words to console her.
    “Do you mind if we take a look at her room?” I ask.
    She gives me a thousand-yard stare.
    “Could you show us her room, ma’am?” Glock asks quietly.
    Keening softly, she shuffles toward the hall. I follow close behind. We pass a tiny bathroom. I see pink towels with lace and a matching shower curtain. She stops at the next door, pushes it open. “This is her room. Her things.” Her body convulses with sobs. “Oh, my baby. My poor, sweet baby girl.”
    I step past her and try to assess what I see with the unbiased eye of a cop. Not easy to do when the grief in the room is so palpable you can’t breathe.
    The bed is a twin. Unmade. With lacy pink sheets and a matching comforter. Little-girl bedclothes, I think. Probably had them since she was a kid.
    A lamp, alarm clock and several framed photographs sit atop the single night table. I cross to it and pick up a photo of Amanda and a young man. “Who’s this?”
    Belinda blinks back tears. “Donny Beck.”
    “Boyfriend?”
    She nods. “Ex. He was crazy about Amanda.”
    “Was she serious about him?”
    “She liked him, but not as much as he liked her.”
    I exchange looks with Glock. Another photo depicts Amanda atop a sorrel horse, grinning as if she’d just won the Kentucky Derby.
    “She loves horses.” Belinda Horner looks as if she’s aged ten years in five minutes. Her eyes and cheeks are sunken, her makeup streaked down her face like that of a sad clown. “Harold and I bought her riding lessons for her high school graduation. We couldn’t really afford it. But she loved it so much.”
    I replace the photo. “Did she keep a diary, ma’am? Journal? Anything like that?”
    “Not that I know of.” She picks up a ratty-looking stuffed bear and smells it. Hugging the bear, she bursts into tears.
“I want her back.”
    I look around, hoping to spot something—anything—that will tell me more about Amanda Horner. Being as unobtrusive as possible, I look through the night table. Finding nothing, I move to the dresser and quickly rifle through T-shirts and jeans, socks and underwear.
    The sound of a car door slamming outside alerts me that Harold Horner has arrived home. Without speaking, Belinda rushes from the room. “Harold!
Harold!
”
    I look at Glock. “Jesus.”
    He shakes his head. “Yeah.”
    I enter the living room as the front door bursts open.
    “I got here as fast as I could.” Harold Horner is a large man. Wearing a red flannel shirt and denim jacket, he looks like a lumberjack. He is bald with the rough hands of a workingman. I notice his eyes are the same color as his daughter’s. He scans the faces in the room. “Where’s Amanda?”
    Showing him my badge, I identify myself. “I’m afraid we have some bad news about your daughter, sir.”
    “Aw, Jesus. Aw, God. What happened? What’s going on?”
    “She’s dead,” Belinda Horner blurts. “Our baby is dead. Oh Harold, dear God.” He goes to her and she collapses in his arms.
“Our sweet little girl is gone, and she’s never coming back.”
     
    I drop Glock at the station with instructions to head over to the Brass Rail. I’d rather do that myself; I’ve never been good at delegating. But I need to speak with Doc Coblentz. Revisiting the dead is one responsibility I won’t put on my officers.
    Earlier, Glock