Silent Son Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Gallatin Warfield
than one occasion he’d picked up clues that the pathologists had missed. To complete the investigation
he had to observe the autopsy. But it always gave him the creeps.
Addie and Henry lay on parallel stainless-steel slabs, naked, their bodies gray with age and postmortem pallor. Their blood
had been drained, and their skins looked like candle drippings.
“Okay, okay, I’m comin’…” A voice emerged from the office, followed by a white-uniformed figure. “Grandma and grandpa, you’re
next…”
Dr. Gladys Johanssen was known for her nonstop witticisms. The pathologist was too abrasive for live patients, so she had
buried herself in the ME’s office for twenty years. Whenever she autopsied, it was one wisecrack after another until the job
was done. Penis size. Cause of death. Even stomach contents were grist for the joke mill. She always laughed in the reaper’s
face.
“Mornin’, doc,” Brownie said.
Gladys frowned when she saw his expression. “Know these two, huh?”
Brownie nodded. “Real, real good.”
“Okay, I get the picture.” She dropped her smile and picked up a scalpel.
Brownie moved into his observation position behind her. All in all, Gladys Johanssen was a pretty good technician. Quick,
efficient, and keen-eyed. And on the right day, amusing as hell.
The procedure moved swiftly through the internal organ phase. The Bowers each had a list of congenital ailments associated
with age, but none was life-threatening. In fact, their bodies had held up remarkably well. A lot of years left on the meter,
Brownie sadly noted.
Doc Johanssen moved to Henry’s wound, and Brownie edged closer. She turned his head to the side, and exposed a hole on the
back of the skull. “Contact shot.”
Brownie could see where the exhaust gases of the gun barrel had blown a star-shaped pattern of gunpowder into the skin around
the hole. “Large caliber,” he said.
“At least nine millimeter,” Gladys replied. “Maybe larger.” Then she went to Addie and checked the same area. Another star.
Same size hole.
“Identical,” Brownie said.
“Same gun. Same point of entry—”
“Same shooter,” Brownie cut in.
“That’s my conclusion. A precise calculated act…”
Brownie sensed a theme. “You sayin’ it was premeditated?”
Gladys gently put down Addie’s head and turned to face the officer. “Was it a robbery?”
Brownie bunched his brow. “Don’t know yet. No money gone from the register. Maybe a shotgun taken. Possibly some shells. Not
really sure…” He looked at Addie’s hand. She still had on her diamond ring.
“This wasn’t a robbery, Sergeant Brown.” That was two decades of autopsies talking. “It was an execution.”
Brownie had been thinking the same thing. It was a clean shot to the head each time. No last-minute act of desperation. Whoever
did it went to Bowers Corner to kill. The robbery, if any, was secondary.
“Check for fragments,” Brownie said, pointing to the wound. The crime scene boys had not found any intact bullets at the store.
Only minute fragments, as if the bullets had disintegrated on impact.
Gladys inserted her forceps and drew out a slender piece of lead, then held it under a mounted magnifier. “Incredible,” she
whispered.
The greenish glow of the overhead lights was picked up by the blood-stained metal. “Shredded,” Brownie said.
Gladys put that fragment on a dish and extracted another one. It was bent and twisted in the same way. “No way you’re gonna
get a ballistics ID on this,” she said solemnly.
“That must’a been the whole idea,” Brownie responded.
“Huh?”
“He customized the ammo, so it’d come apart when it was fired,” Brownie said. “I think you’re right. The son of a bitch went
there to kill…”
It was late in the afternoon, and Gardner was still at Granville’s bedside. He hadn’t slept for two days, and had barely moved
from a twenty-foot radius of the boy’s
he had to observe the autopsy. But it always gave him the creeps.
Addie and Henry lay on parallel stainless-steel slabs, naked, their bodies gray with age and postmortem pallor. Their blood
had been drained, and their skins looked like candle drippings.
“Okay, okay, I’m comin’…” A voice emerged from the office, followed by a white-uniformed figure. “Grandma and grandpa, you’re
next…”
Dr. Gladys Johanssen was known for her nonstop witticisms. The pathologist was too abrasive for live patients, so she had
buried herself in the ME’s office for twenty years. Whenever she autopsied, it was one wisecrack after another until the job
was done. Penis size. Cause of death. Even stomach contents were grist for the joke mill. She always laughed in the reaper’s
face.
“Mornin’, doc,” Brownie said.
Gladys frowned when she saw his expression. “Know these two, huh?”
Brownie nodded. “Real, real good.”
“Okay, I get the picture.” She dropped her smile and picked up a scalpel.
Brownie moved into his observation position behind her. All in all, Gladys Johanssen was a pretty good technician. Quick,
efficient, and keen-eyed. And on the right day, amusing as hell.
The procedure moved swiftly through the internal organ phase. The Bowers each had a list of congenital ailments associated
with age, but none was life-threatening. In fact, their bodies had held up remarkably well. A lot of years left on the meter,
Brownie sadly noted.
Doc Johanssen moved to Henry’s wound, and Brownie edged closer. She turned his head to the side, and exposed a hole on the
back of the skull. “Contact shot.”
Brownie could see where the exhaust gases of the gun barrel had blown a star-shaped pattern of gunpowder into the skin around
the hole. “Large caliber,” he said.
“At least nine millimeter,” Gladys replied. “Maybe larger.” Then she went to Addie and checked the same area. Another star.
Same size hole.
“Identical,” Brownie said.
“Same gun. Same point of entry—”
“Same shooter,” Brownie cut in.
“That’s my conclusion. A precise calculated act…”
Brownie sensed a theme. “You sayin’ it was premeditated?”
Gladys gently put down Addie’s head and turned to face the officer. “Was it a robbery?”
Brownie bunched his brow. “Don’t know yet. No money gone from the register. Maybe a shotgun taken. Possibly some shells. Not
really sure…” He looked at Addie’s hand. She still had on her diamond ring.
“This wasn’t a robbery, Sergeant Brown.” That was two decades of autopsies talking. “It was an execution.”
Brownie had been thinking the same thing. It was a clean shot to the head each time. No last-minute act of desperation. Whoever
did it went to Bowers Corner to kill. The robbery, if any, was secondary.
“Check for fragments,” Brownie said, pointing to the wound. The crime scene boys had not found any intact bullets at the store.
Only minute fragments, as if the bullets had disintegrated on impact.
Gladys inserted her forceps and drew out a slender piece of lead, then held it under a mounted magnifier. “Incredible,” she
whispered.
The greenish glow of the overhead lights was picked up by the blood-stained metal. “Shredded,” Brownie said.
Gladys put that fragment on a dish and extracted another one. It was bent and twisted in the same way. “No way you’re gonna
get a ballistics ID on this,” she said solemnly.
“That must’a been the whole idea,” Brownie responded.
“Huh?”
“He customized the ammo, so it’d come apart when it was fired,” Brownie said. “I think you’re right. The son of a bitch went
there to kill…”
It was late in the afternoon, and Gardner was still at Granville’s bedside. He hadn’t slept for two days, and had barely moved
from a twenty-foot radius of the boy’s