Silent Witness. Leona Karr

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      “The one who did it.” He grabbed her hand and held on to it as if some unseen hands were trying to pull him away from her.

      As the terrified eleven-year-old boy clung to her, she knew with sickening certainty he wasn’t making something up. No child could pretend the kind of fear she saw in his eyes.

      “The one who did what, Scotty?”

      He swallowed hard. “Killed the man.”

      “What man, Scotty? Tell me where you were.”

      “The small house…by the creek,” he mumbled.

      She knew there was a log cabin on the estate about a mile downstream. A kind of guesthouse. As far as she knew, the place wasn’t being used this summer.

      “You were inside the little house?”

      “But I didn’t take nothing,” he said with a rush.

      “Tell me exactly what you did do, Scotty. Everything.”

      He kept his hand in hers as he told her about breaking a window, trashing the kitchen and going to hunt for some loot in the rest of the house.

      “Then I saw the dead man and ran.” He fixed terrified eyes on her face. “I ran before they caught me.”

      “Who, Scotty? Who was there?”

      He shook his head.

      “Are you sure there was someone?”

      He raised tear-filled eyes to hers. “I felt them coming around the house. The boards moved. We have to hide.”

      “No, Scotty,” she said with a sickening plunge of her stomach. “We have to call the police.”

      Chapter Two

      The Rock Creek Police Department was a stone building just off Main Street. Detective Ryan Darnell was sitting at a scarred desk in his small office when the switchboard relayed a call to him. At first, Ryan didn’t understand exactly what kind of crime the woman was reporting.

      “My name is Marian Richards. I’m the director of an outreach program for hearing-impaired children. We are in residence at the Wentworth estate for the summer. I have a situation here that I need you to look into as soon as possible.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He had heard something about old lady Wentworth letting some nonprofit foundation use the property. Apparently she’d hired a female executive to run it. Ryan pictured the caller as a middle-aged, uptight spinster used to ordering people around.

      “What kind of situation would that be?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. He wasn’t about to drive five miles up a canyon road because some authoritative director didn’t want to take care of some piddling matter.

      “I think there may have been a crime committed on the property.”

      “You don’t know for sure?” Ryan’s tone was slightly mocking.

      “No, I don’t. That’s why I’m calling you,” she replied impatiently. “I need someone to investigate.”

      “What kind of crime are we talking about?”

      “I’m not sure…maybe murder.”

      Ryan’s chair came forward with a thump. “Murder!”

      

      AS RYAN DROVE to the Wentworth estate up the mountain road winding through Prospect Canyon, he had the feeling he was wasting his time. The three-story stone mansion and extensive property had been vacant for over a year and he was curious who had persuaded Alva Wentworth, a wealthy widow, to let a charitable foundation use it for the summer. He’d heard that a Denver lawyer, Arthur Kennedy, who was overseeing the project, had been paying regular visits to Alva in a Rock Creek nursing home. Apparently there weren’t any legal problems turning the estate into a retreat for children with hearing problems, but Ryan was willing to bet the isolated rugged property would create plenty of headaches for those in charge of the program. He just hoped this wouldn’t include a series of SOS calls to the Rock Creek Police Department.

      A simple sign, Private Property, identified a fork in the road and Ryan took the one that wound through thick stands of ponderosa pine and aspens. In about a quarter of a mile, an open gate to the estate came into view.

      Even though Ryan had been there on some occasions during his growing-up years in Rock Creek, he still found the stone mansion set against the backdrop of rising mountain slopes very impressive.

      As he drove the police car to the front entrance, he saw a woman and a scowling boy sitting on the steps. Obviously waiting for him, they stood up as he got out of the police car.

      Ryan’s mental picture of Marian Richards underwent an immediate revision. She was young and pretty enough to attract his attention under any circumstances. Reddish-blond hair fell softly around her face and a soft green summer dress revealed a feminine figure that could have graced any fashion magazine.

      “Thank you for coming, Detective,” she said as she walked down the front steps to meet him. “I’m Marian Richards.”

      Something in the way her glance swept over him gave the impression that she was expecting someone older and wearing a uniform instead of casual brown slacks and a summer knit pullover open at the neck. He only wore a jacket when it was necessary to hide a shoulder holster and gun, which he kept in the car’s compartment until needed. He knew his tanned face and arms betrayed the free moments he spent outdoors riding his sorrel mare.

      “Detective Ryan Darnell. Glad to be of service,” he responded in the same professional tone she had used. He could be as formal as any highbrow when it suited his purposes.

      “And this is Scotty Tanner,” she said, motioning the boy forward. “He reads lips and will be able to answer your questions if you look directly at him, speak slowly and evenly.”

      Since Ryan had grown up with an older cousin who had lost his hearing, her instructions were hardly necessary, but he nodded and did as she had instructed.

      “Hello, Scotty.”

      A belligerent glare was all he got in return, making it quite clear what the boy’s experience with the law must have been.

      He’s a tough one, all right, Ryan thought. He suspected the kid had created some kind of incident that had gotten out of hand and he was trying to cover it up with a bigger story. In any case, Ryan decided he wasn’t going to waste time trying to get the initial information from him.

      “Why don’t you tell me what this is about, Miss Richards.” He’d taken note that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and guessed she must be in her thirties to have the position of director.

      For a moment she worried her lower lip as if she wasn’t quite sure where to begin. Then she said in a firm voice, “Scotty was not where he was supposed to be. I went looking for him. No one in the house had seen him so I checked the grounds and garage. I was heading for the small barn, when I saw him dashing into the stable. I hurried after him and found him hiding in the tack room. He was clearly shaken СКАЧАТЬ