Crude Sunlight 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

tunnels?"
    Her mouth tightened and she looked away. He sighed. "All right. I have to leave tonight to go back to New York, but I need to talk to Eric. If he's the last person that saw Henry, I've got to find out what he knows. Can you tell me where he lives?"
    "Eric wouldn't have done anything to Henry," said Julia. "There's no way."
    "That's what I need to know," said Thomas. "I should probably just have the cops go over and talk to him, but maybe he'll be more willing to talk to me. What do you think--can you help me out?"
    She hesitated, her eyes moving from side to side as she frowned at nothing, and when she looked back at him he could tell she'd reached a decision. "All right. Come on. I'll take you myself."

Chapter 4
     
     
    Eric lived in a bad part of town. As Thomas drove he saw the quality of the neighborhood deteriorate. Empty lots grew more frequent, filled with hard, knotty little bushes and trash, the occasional abandoned car. Buildings became increasingly dilapidated, windows broken or covered with wooden boards. The road grew potholed, cracked and worn, and people moved about like angry ghosts, forgotten and vengeful.
    The earlier bout of communication within the cafeteria had dried up, and Julia sat still and silent in the passenger seat, elbow propped on the window sill, chin resting on the base of her palm as she gazed out at the streets and buildings. Occasionally Thomas would glance at her, trying to think of a way to break the silence, but inevitably he looked back at the road. It was as if she had come to regret a moment of weakness, and was now determined to present as indifferent and silent a front as she could.
    Finally, they reached the right street, a wide and desolate space that crept miserably between two rows of clapboard houses, a withered island of dead grass and stunted trees dividing the lanes. Julia frowned and straightened, looking at the building fronts for numbers. Thomas shifted in his seat, tightened his grip on the steering wheel and slowed the pace of the car.
    "There," said Julia, her raised hand nearly engulfed by the cuff of her black sweater to point at a building as they drove past it. She turned around to watch it recede behind them, and then sat back and looked at Thomas. "That white building. Number 72."
    Thomas nodded and made a U-turn at the next light. The streets were silent, seemingly deserted but for the occasional brown Cadillac or the like crossing an intersection in the distance. Thomas pulled the Mercedes up against the curb across from the house and killed the engine.
    It was a two story house, the front done in the New England style of overlapping slats, now bleached by the years to a brittle old bone gray. The window frames were split and cracked and the blinds behind them were drawn. It seemed abandoned, the ghost of a forgotten building on a desolate street.
    Julia got out of the car and closed the door. Thomas frowned and did the same, closing his door carefully as he breathed in the cold air. The sky was slate gray above, and though there seemed no promise of rain he shivered and pulled closed the collar of his coat. Julia struck out across the road without waiting and after a glance up and down the street, unsure for the safety of his Mercedes, Thomas followed suit, jogging forward to catch up with her.
    "What," he asked, "would Eric be living around here for?" Julia shot him a glance, shrugged, and walked up the steps to the miniature porch. Thomas remained at the base of the steps, hands in his pockets, feeling cold and bemused and slightly frustrated. He watched as Julia knocked once, twice, and then stepped back to wait. Nothing happened. Thomas began to feel watched, and scanned the windows for any sign of a face. Nothing.
    After a minute, Julia knocked again, and turned to Thomas. Her resolution had depended on momentum, and now that they were met with an impasse she seemed hesitant. Thomas studied her face, her nose and ears tinged pink by the chill,