An End to a Silence: A mystery novel (The Montana Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

Captain’s orders.”
    “Why, who
was this guy?”
    “Jus’ an ol ’ man.”

10
    The
medical examiner’s assistant was still there when Ward arrived. He buzzed Ward
in. The mortuary was locked down after five. Presumably to stop any of the
guests leaving.
    “You must
be Detective Ward,” Dave Turner said, standing at the end of the corridor, mop
in hand and wearing a blue plastic apron. “You’ve come to see our latest
arrival?”
    “If I
could.”
    “No problemo . This way, hombre. Weather like this I don’t know
why we bother refrigerating them. Would be cheaper to just open the windows. If
we had windows.” He led Ward down a corridor and through a door which opened
into the cold chamber. He walked, slumped shoulders, into the corner of the
room and released the brake on a gurney with his foot, spinning it around and
wheeling it over to one of the doors. He released a catch on the door handle,
threw back the handle and opened the door. He placed the gurney in front of the
drawer, locked the wheels, and slid out the tray which contained the old man’s
body. He unzipped the body bag and pulled down the sides so the old man’s head,
torso and arms were visible.
    The old
man’s skin seemed to be slipping off his body and his underlying rigid muscle
structure seemed tauter because of that. He was a scaled-down model of what
he’d been thirty years ago. In good shape for a dead old man. Ward reached for
the zipper and glanced over at Dave.
    “Go
ahead, my friend,” Dave said.
    Ward
pulled the zipper all the way down to reveal the cadaver’s feet and he examined
the tiny entry wound, as deadly as a bullet but more subtle, he thought. He
stepped back and pinched his chin, grabbing and stretching his beard as he
pulled his fingers away. He was quiet for long enough to prompt Dave to speak
again.
    “You still
in the room, amigo?”
    Ward
looked at Dave. “He look like a killer to you?”
    “No, he
don’t, hombre. He looks   killed to me.”
    Ward
smiled and his eyes narrowed. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
     

11
    “It’s
half past eight, detective. Penny has her homework,” said the man who had
answered the door halfway through Ward’s second knock.
    “I
promise this won’t take long, sir,” Ward said, chilling on the doorstep and
removing his hat in an effort to show respect. “I just need to ask her a few
questions. A man has died.”
    “Yes, you
said.”
    “And
Penny was one of the last people to see him alive.”
    A tall
young girl, all legs and arms, appeared in the hall, half out of a doorway.
“I’m okay, Dad. I heard about Mr. O’Donnell. Was he murdered?”
    “I just have
a few questions Penny,” Ward said, ignoring Penny’s question. “Then you can
finish your homework. Sir?”
    Penny’s
father stepped aside and let Ward into the house. As the heat hit him, his
tensed muscles relaxed.
    “The
music room.” She smiled at Ward. “This way.”
    Ward sat
down on the piano stool while Penny settled herself onto a large cushion
decorated in what looked to Ward like a Persian design. He’d seen lots of
similar patterns before. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her
knees.
    “Don’t
worry about my dad. He’s overprotective sometimes. Still thinks I’m twelve.”
    Ward
smiled. “He’s okay.” He took out his notepad and pen. “I guess I have a few
questions, but firstly I’d like you to tell me what happened the last time you
met with Mr. O’Donnell.”
    Penny
tossed her hair out of her eyes.
    “I go in
to read to him.”
    “Okay.”
    “It’s
community work. My dad encourages it. Wants me to be an upstanding citizen.”
    “You
enjoy it?”
    “I guess
so,” Penny said, her nose wrinkling a little. “Although it does smell of pee.”
    Ward
smiled. “What sorts of things do you read?”
    “Sometimes
a book. A magazine. Whatever.”
    “Can you
remember what you were reading on the day?”
    “Yes, I
can. It was the Westmoreland Echo