The Breathtaker Read Online Free PDF Page B

landscape. Some people came out of their nightmare childhoods to become priests or criminals; Charlie had become a cop. He held a criminology degree from the University of Oklahoma and had done his police training in Tulsa, where he’d walked a beat for several years before returning home. This town of 22,000 had its share of bad guys and a serious drug problem, mostly pot and amphetamines. He’d worked with informants, prostitutes and junkies. He’d taken on three thugs in a gun battle once—a classic check-your-shorts moment. He’d worked robberies, jackrollings, shootings and cuttings. You carried a big stick, depending on which neighborhood you were in. Charlie had even killed a man once—nothing he was proud of. Five years ago, an unemployed mill worker had taken his own children hostage. Trained in hostage negotiations at the University of Oklahoma, Charlie’d almost talked the distraught man into surrendering, when the perp suddenly turned the gun on his four-year-old daughter and Charlie was forced to shoot him dead. He’d gotten decorated for it, but he still had nightmares over it.
    Now he nodded at the National Guard standing post at the entrance to Shepherd Street. He’d stationed as many patrol officers as he could spare around the scene of the crime, stationed even more officers along Main Street and other areas of business in order to discourage civil disobedience. A handful of his men were out canvassing the Peppers’ neighborhood, going door-to-door in search of any eyewitnesses who might’ve seen or heard something suspicious that afternoon.
    The crime scene was a virtual dead zone, full of the glow of headlights and the sound of gas generators. Half a dozen detectives and officers in double gloves and protective Tyvek-type shoe covers were inside the house now, processing the scene and collecting trace evidence. Despite the heavy fog, a tireless news helicopter circled overhead, and Charlie hoped they’d run out of fuel soon and leave.
    Around midnight, the helicopter finally flew away. Reports were coming back that the town was by all accounts quiet now, most of its citizens holed up in their own homes, if they still had a home. The rain stopped around 3:00 A.M. , and the sky blew clear, the stars came out. Exhausted but resolved, Charlie and his men continued to gather physical evidence from the primary scene until around 5:00 A.M. , when Roger Duff, the medical examiner, came to take the bodies away. Charlie was about to accompany him over to the morgue when Duff told him, “Go home and hug your daughter, Charlie. These bodies’ll keep.”
    It was 5:30 A.M. by the time he turned down Red Bud Road. The rising sun hit him in the eyes and lit the fine hairs of his knuckles so that they glowed translucent. His throat was hoarse from nonstop talking. His clothes were streaked with mud, his fingernails black with grime. All he wanted to do was lie down and close his scratchy eyes, but he wouldn’t be getting any sleep for the next forty-eight hours, at least.
    As he parked in the driveway, Charlie was disheartened to discover that the flag had been wrenched from its place by the front door and twisted, pole and all, around the branch of a dogwood tree. The tornado had left its imprint everywhere like a colorless poison. Pink and white bits of insulation littered the front yard, along with a multitude of roofing shingles. Envelopes were scattered everywhere.
Nice to see the mail’s being delivered.
The clear blue sky made him feel blotted out. He looked at the peeling white frame house with its dark green shutters and sighed. At least nothing important had blown away. Some of the siding was damaged and tree limbs were scattered over the grass like abandoned croquet mallets, but the house itself remained intact. His daughter was safe and sound. The April air was bracing. As he crossed the yard, a swallow careened in front of him, snapping at invisible bugs.
    Charlie half expected to hear