A Judgment of Whispers Read Online Free PDF Page B

little mini-farm out Azalea Road.”
    â€œHow’s your wife?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œStill playing golf?”
    â€œShooting in the low eighties.”
    â€œThat’s great.” Whaley frowned over at Cochran. “So how come you’re out here with these jokers?”
    â€œLike I told them—I wanted to see this neighborhood one last time. You know, before they bulldozed it into something new.”
    â€œYou may be too late,” said Whaley. “Most of the houses are already gone.”
    â€œThe Shaw and the Russell places are still here. And you can tell where the Ewing house was.”
    Whaley’s eyes narrowed, making him look even more porcine. “Still got a jones for Teresa, don’t you?”
    â€œDon’t you?”
    â€œNot me, brother.” Whaley laughed. “I know who did it.”
    â€œCollier?”
    Whaley shrugged. “He still can’t look at me without shitting his pants.”
    â€œSo why don’t you charge him?” Jack spoke sharply, feeling as if he’d rejoined an argument they’d debated twenty years ago.
    â€œYou know why as well as I do.”
    Jack nodded toward the tree. “Well, I think you just got some new evidence. Maybe you can make your case this time.”
    Whaley started to say something else, then stopped. “So are you just going to sit on that bulldozer? With that dog?”
    â€œI am until your boss says I can go. I think I’m being politely detained.”
    â€œWell,” said Whaley. “I’ll go see what I can do.” They shook hands. “Nice seeing you again, Jack. Give my best to Jan.”
    â€œWill do.”

    Jack sat back down on the bulldozer, patting the dog but still shamelessly eavesdropping. He was curious to see what Whaley would add to the investigation. So far not much, beyond watching the young patrolman put up a wider perimeter of crime scene tape while the one named Victor rummaged in his briefcase. It was only when the sheriff pulled Whaley aside that he knew they were talking about him. He imagined the conversation as the two conferred, casting sly, over-the-shoulder glances back at him.
    â€œThis guy for real?” the sheriff would ask.
    Whaley would nod. “He used to be our best detective, but this case pushed him over the edge.”
    â€œHow far over the edge?” Cochran would ask, meaning Is he loco? Do I need to worry about him?
    â€œNot crazy far.” Whaley would start out generous, then turn nasty. “But you never know about these old guys. You know—most of ’em are on a lot of meds.”
    â€œYou think he could have planted these underpants?”
    Whaley would damn him with a shrug. “Who knows? Like I said, you never know what’s going on inside an old head.”
    The one named Victor ended their private conversation. He pulled a camera from his briefcase and asked for the exact location of the underpants. For the next hour, the four of them worked like bees around a hive, Cochran directing them like a field marshal. He sent Saunooke to canvass the yard sale people, to ask if anyone had seen anyone around that tree. “Tell them we’re investigating some vandalism.” Whaley was to go back to the office and get a list of everyone who’d worked on this construction—from the architect to the crew bosses. “Get me the names of anybody who’s got more than a traffic citation.”
    Saunooke headed for the yard sale, then caught sight of him sitting on the bulldozer, the dog now flopped across his feet.
    â€œWhat about him?” he asked Cochran. “And the dog?”
    â€œThe what?” Cochran turned, irritated.
    â€œMr. Wilkins and the dog I’m supposed to take to the pound.”
    For a moment Jack thought Cochran might tell Saunooke to take them both to the pound, but instead Cochran relented.
    â€œDetective, you’re free to go. Whaley, you take the