Evergreen (a suspenseful murder mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

interrupted by Mary before the killer struck,” he added quickly, eager to wash over the badly timed joke. “I really don’t know. I don’t think they were sexually assaulted though, hard to tell with Aileen and Matty, but Mary was fully clothed. So unless the killer was interrupted after he’d had his way--” Patrick shook his head, stopped himself. It was hard to remember that he was talking to the father of one of the murdered children. The others had been distraught, impossible to console, Aidan now was just like the Aidan at the other crime scenes: a cold, speechless spectator.
     
    He left him to do, offered to let him sleep at his house for the night and then wandered off when he didn’t get a reply. He wouldn’t be doing much sleeping tonight; he doubted anyone in Evergreen would. The killer was still at large, Murphy had been murdered for nothing, but before they could wash the blood from their own hands, they had to avoid being the next victim.
     
    Through the border of trees that kept Evergreen snug in the summer and provided an almost wicker-like wrap in the colder months, when the leaves turned brown and joined the earth, the whole community -- including the sullen Aidan McCleary and the Brady twins’ grandmother -- walked in a procession. The graveyard was theirs; as much a part of their community as the un-owned ground on which they chose to park their homes. The government owned the ground, but no one ever tried to claim it; they would have a hard time trying to pry it from the Evergreen travellers if they ever did.
     
    A light drizzle of rain had spat at them as they prepared the bodies, washing them down and doing the best they could without the benefit of a mortician or even a coffin. That rain had turned into a heavy downpour by the time the community was alerted and the bodies were ready to be buried. It was traditional to wait for the funeral, to have a time of mourning first, but they couldn’t risk keeping the bodies above ground, the smell and the risk would be too great.
     
    Soaked and sodden, with a slow and sombre shift, like a sedate conga line, they wove their way to the graveyard. A dozen of them hastily dug three graves, sharing out six shovels between them to work at a tireless pace as the mutilated bodies awaited their burial above. They dug as far as they could go, no more than three or four feet, and then lowered each of the bodies in. Patrick said a few words. Many tears were shed, many screams of anguish unleashed, and then the crowd slowly departed, back into the rain, sticking close together in case the killer should choose them next; safety in numbers, even though one of those numbers was the killer.
     
    Patrick watched them go, standing over the freshly dug graves. Aidan also remained, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He seemed to be whispering a soft prayer into his chest as the rain soaked his thinning grey hair.
     
    Patrick watched him. He finished by making the sign of the cross, nodding respectfully at the grave of his son and then left.
     
    Patrick had shed a tear, but the father of the murdered child hadn’t. He shook his head as he wondered why. Alone, the rain streaming down his cheeks like simulated tears, he skulked over to a grave on the edge of the graveyard, one of the biggest ones there. He took a knee, picked some weeds from the muddy ground, wiped some dirt from the gravestone.
     
    “Hey dad,” he said softly, offering the gravestone a meek smile.
     
    He cried for days after his father’s death, he still cried when he thought about it. His father was a tough man, a true warrior. He had planned to give up the bare-knuckle boxing but he wanted one more fight, one big pay day. They spent months training him for it, he was getting old, losing touch with his once muscular body, but by the end of the training he was as fit as he’d ever been. On the day of the fight, he’d lost touch. He hadn’t been able to connect with any of his punches,