An Evil Shadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

busy before they do their thieving.”
    “Did you get a good look at her?”
    “Sure did. She must have been around nine or ten; had
the face of an angel. A real cute kid.”
    “Do you think you would recognize her again if you saw
her?”
    “Don’t know ‘bout that. Don’t know as though I would
need to.”
    “What do you mean?”
    The manager rolled his eyes. ‘That’s what I’ve been
trying to tell you. I have it on a security tape and was intending to phone the
station. Come through to the back and I’ll show you.”
    The office was a mess. Catalogues, fishing magazines
and invoices were piled high on his desk. The floor was covered in cardboard
boxes with lengths of fishing rods protruding from them like porcupine quills.
The manager lifted a game-fishing reel off a seat and told Val to sit down
while he sorted through the tapes.
    He surprised Val by finding the correct one on his
first attempt. He inserted it into the player and switched on. The viewing
screen was mounted against the wall above a filing chest. He wound the tape on
until he found the relevant section.
    It was just as he had described. The store was busy as
Marie Duval came in and headed straight over to the camping axes. She lifted
one and made no attempt to conceal it as she hurried out the door. The faces of
several customers turned towards the door, presumably in reaction to the
manager’s shouted command for her to come back. Val had to take his word on
that because the tape had no audio track.
    The quality of the black and white picture was
excellent. There was no doubt that the young thief had indeed been Marie Duval.
    “Is the date on the tape correct?”
    “Yeah, I always set it myself.”
    Marie Duval had stolen the axe three days before the
murder. Val scribbled the shop manager a receiptfor the tape and drove to homicide headquarters. After Lieutenant
Larson had watched the tape a couple of times, he gave him authorization to
prepare an arrest warrant for Marie Duval. Murder one.

 
 
 
    Dave Wells was the lawyer the Child Protection
department had called in to act on Duval’s behalf. He was a lightly built man
in his early thirties and came across as a well-intentioned and responsible
member of his profession. Behind the lenses of wire-framed glasses, his eyes
sparkled with intelligence and good humor. He would have great need of both in
his chosen career, since much of his work involved arguing child custody cases.
Cases where there were few winners. Val had caught up with him outside Duval’s
room at the General and, taking him to one side, had explained what he was
there to do.
    “I’ve been expecting it,” Wells said, his voice full
of regret.
    “Has she spoken yet?”
    “Not a word. She communicates with a pencil and a pad.
Her spelling and grammar are below average for a nine-year-old, though her mind
seems quick enough.”
    “Have you questioned her?”
    “Not about her mother’s death specifically. I have
explained to her that I am here to represent her. She is happy for me to do so.
I want to be there when you Miranda her.”
    “I have no problem with that. What does the
psychologist have to say?”
    “Nothing much so far. She’s diagnosed temporary
muteness brought on by the incident — classic post-traumatic stress syndrome.
There’s been no bed-wetting, rage or breathing problems. Speech could return in
a day, a month, a year. Being grilled by you is not going to help.”
    “It can’t be put off any longer,” Val said, walking
over to the door and reaching for the handle.
    Duval was dressed in a hospital robe and was curled up
in an armchair watching an episode of The Simpsons. She hadn’t heard the door
opening or the footsteps as they entered the room.
    Wells cleared his throat. “Marie.”
    The kid turned to face them. Her eyes flicked from the
lawyer to Val, then widened in alarm. She opened her mouth and screamed.

 
 
 
    Captain Larson had one credo in life: a smart cop
never