Death in the Secret Garden Read Online Free Page B

timing or a maladjusted carburetor. This ability did not translate into verbal understanding. At times, when his auditory senses became overloaded, he suffered from a type of auditory dyslexia. It took a certain amount of time for him to assimilate conversationally imparted information and sort out the meaning of the words and phrases. He clearly heard what Jamie Martin had just said. The words did not directly register, but created immediate images of road kill—pictures of small animals flung to the side of the road by speeding vehicles that snuffed life from their furry bodies. He could not immediately transpose these images and those words into the acceptance of his daughter’s death.
    â€˜I didn’t hear what you said,’ Lister Anderson said to Jamie Martin, although he had heard every word quite clearly.
    â€˜Your daughter is dead, sir. She was found in the state forest by a bird watcher. We think she had been shot. The medical examiner has the body and they will probably want you for a formal identification.’
    â€˜And Eddy Rashish did this?’
    â€˜We don’t know for sure. I didn’t mean to say …’
    Lister Anderson knew there was no need to talk further. Words were unimportant. There were actions his hands could take. Here was a physical course of action. He broke away from the light grip that Jamie Martin had on his shoulder and marched through the door of Sarge’s bar out to his waiting pickup truck.
    â€˜I’ve never tossed a tree house before,’ Rocco said. They had just climbed the wooden rungs and entered through the trapdoor. Although the exterior construction was of different materials scavenged from a dozen sites, the interior was neatly papered with Sunday newspaper funnies. The taut blanket that covered an army cot was made with neat hospital corners. Two footlockers on each side of a card table provided storage and seating. A single electric line, run from some illegal connection, provided power for a single hanging bulb, a small television, and a hotplate. Three orange crates along the far wall provided space for food storage and a place for a few dishes and other utensils. The potbellied stove and discreet toilet bucket completed the furnishing. The room was spartan, neat, and well kept. It was the room of a cadet or professional soldier.
    Lyon ran his hand along the cot blanket. It was tight enough to bounce a coin. ‘This is a waste of time, Rocco. Spook didn’t kill the girl. Boots may have given him a break on the price of tuna fish, but no way would she go into the state forest alone with him.’
    â€˜Probably no girl in town would want to be alone with Spook, even if he is harmless. That’s not the way I see it happening. Spook just happened to be in the forest. Maybe he took a bottle out there, or thought he was on a search-and-destroy mission, I don’t know. He doesn’t just march to a different drummer, he carries a whole marching band in his head. Anyway, he sees Boots and her boyfriend making love. The guy leaves and Spook watches Boots parading around au naturel. He’s turned on. He goes into the clearing. He gives her a First Cav patch as a gift and then when he touches her she screams. He goes berserk. He kills her.’
    â€˜Where did the gun come from?’
    â€˜He’s had it a long time. We may find it here.’
    â€˜If Spook had a handgun he would have sold it long ago for whiskey money.’
    â€˜Maybe yes, maybe it’s here. The place has to be tossed. I’d be derelict if I didn’t.’ Rocco began a meticulous search of the small room.
    Lyon opened the first footlocker and lifted out an open shoebox stuffed with dozens of First Cav patches. ‘There’s over a hundred patches here. He must order them by the gross.’
    â€˜If we find a handgun there’s no way the poor bastard will ever get out of jail,’ Rocco said as he continued his search.
    Lyon