Silent Witness Read Online Free PDF Page A

roses – those are my babies.’
    They turned. She faced them, leaning against the frame with both hands. Standing near the rose bed, Sam faced her, reddening in silent acknowledgment. Only Tony could hear him mumble, ‘Fuck you,’ under his breath.
    Satisfied, Dottie Robb closed the door. Tony wondered how long she had been watching. Or drinking.
    â€˜Do it again,’ Sam said. ‘A little less arc on the ball, okay? And don’t ruin her stupid roses.’
    With a mixture of solidarity and pride, Tony answered, ‘I’m at my best in the clutch.’ The next four passes were close to perfect.
    â€˜All right,’ Sam said abruptly. ‘We need a play. Someday in high school, some big game will be on the line and it’ll be up to me and you.’ Sam paused, eyes on Tony, smiling for the first time. ‘I’m going to be the greatest pass-catching end in the history of Lake City High School. You’ll need one.’
    Tony studied him to see if he was joking. Sam stopped smiling. ‘The other guys like you,’ he said bluntly. ‘They’ll play for you. But you’re going to need me.’
    Tony felt something poignant in Sam’s admission, and in his desire to cover it with braggadocio. ‘Run a sideline pattern,’ Tony said at length. ‘Like we’ve been doing. Only hip fake the guy covering you and cut back over the middle, deep.’
    Sam flipped the ball back to Tony.
    Tony paused, trying to visualize what he wanted. The day – the soft light of late afternoon, the deepening green of the grass and trees – faded around him. What was vivid was the moment he wanted to create.
    He sensed Sam waiting patiently, as if he understood. ‘Go,’ Tony said.
    Sam ran left toward the roses. Tony skittered back, light on his feet now, avoiding an imaginary tackler by running to his right.
    Abruptly, Sam broke for the middle of the yard. Tony stopped at once, lofting the ball over Sam’s head and to his right. Sam followed its flight, running as hard as he could as the ball slowly fell. With a last burst, Sam grasped the football in his fingertips.
    He glided to a stop and turned, holding the ball aloft. For a moment, it seemed to Tony that Sam was no longer there but hearing an imagined crowd, which called his name. His eyes were half shut.
    They opened abruptly. ‘Touchdown,’ Sam called out to Tony. ‘That’s the play.’
    Their moment had come.
    That Alison watched from the stands, or Tony’s parents, meant nothing to him; Jack Parham’s injury meant only the advantage of a time-out. As he ran to the sidelines, passing the cheerleaders, Tony was barely aware of Sue Cash’s wave of encouragement, her curly brown hair and bright smile, the faint smell of her perfume as the cheer she led sang out. We are the Lakers, the mighty, mighty Lakers  . . .
    On the sidelines, Coach Jackson was pacing and staring at the clock, plainly dying for a cigarette. At forty-five, he had already suffered a heart attack, and only smoking kept the pounds off his thick-chested body. His narrow snake eyes stared at Tony from a red, sclerotic face.
    â€˜What do you want to run?’ he demanded.
    Tony told him.
    Jackson’s eyes widened, the look he used to intimidate. ‘Sam’s been covered all night.’
    Tony shrugged. ‘So they won’t expect it.’
    Something like amusement crossed Jackson’s face, a bone-deep liking for the boy in front of him, his own pride in judging character. These were the moments, Tony realized, that Coach Jackson lived for.
    â€˜Just win the goddamned game,’ Jackson said.
    As Tony led the offense onto the field, a Riverwood player and a trainer were helping Jack Parham to the sidelines. Trotting next to Tony, Sam said, ‘That felt good – a fumble and a time-out.’
    There was a primal joy in Sam’s voice, adrenaline pumping. As the