The Silent Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

engine. "He candidly
admitted his guilt."
        "What
did he want with you, then—"
        "Help
with the most minor of investigations. I mean, it's odd that he went through
all the dramatics of the letters, because this is something that shouldn't take
much time—"
        "Oh,
no. You agreed to do it, didn't you—"
        "Why
do you say that—"
        "Because
you're trying to explain it in that rational, matter-of-fact tone you always
use to justify something stupid."
        I
smiled and didn't answer.
        "Speak,"
she said. "Tell me I'm wrong."
        More
silence.
        "Lincoln!"
        I
explained it to her then, told her about Harrison's story as quickly as
possible and went on to describe the house. I knew the house would pacify her.
Amy's natural curiosity well exceeds my own.
        "How
much do you think the place is worth—" she asked when I was done, her
voice softer.
        "I'm
not good with real estate, but I'd have to say a few million with all that
property involved. The house is incredible, but it's also been ignored for a
long time. It would take someone willing to invest in rehabilitation."
        "I
want to see it," she said.
        "Bring
some waders, that creek provides the best way in."
        "Your
psychopath didn't mention that— He didn't even know there was a gate—"
        "My client did not, no."
        "Hey,
you work for a murderer, you better get used to the criticism and name-calling.
Anyway, maybe that means the gate is new."
        "Probably."
        "I
wonder who put it up."
        "So
do I. I'm going to change clothes and drive back down there and check with the
auditor, see who has been paying the taxes."
        "You're
going back today—"
        "Uh-huh."
        "Lot
of driving for one day."
        It
was, and with any other case I might have delayed the return trip. This was
different, somehow. There was something about the place that had gotten under
my skin after just one visit, and I wanted to know who was responsible for it,
who'd kept it away from a sheriff's sale but still didn't bother to actually
take care of the home.
        "I'm
not busy," I said. "Faster I get this worked out, the faster I can
terminate my relationship with Harrison."
        
        
        'Two
hours later, wearing fresh pants and shoes, I stood in the recorder's office
and stared at a warranty deed confirming that, yes, Alexandra and Joshua
Cantrell owned the home. There was no mortgage. They'd paid five hundred
thousand for the property alone seventeen years earlier. It was a
forty-eight-acre parcel.
        So
Harrison's information was accurate and up-to-date and the Cantrells still
owned the home. Now came the second step, the auditor's office, where I'll find
a new address for the couple.
        Well,
it was supposed to go that way. When I took the parcel number over lo the
auditor's office and requested the records, though, I learned that the tuxes
had been paid each year—in full and on time—by one Anthony Child, attorney at
law, Hinckley, Ohio. Okay, maybe I was going to need a third step lo finish
this one off.
        Child's
office was on the second floor of a brick building on the square in Hinckley,
which is a town known nationally for Buzzard Day, a bizarre ritual in which
people gather each April to welcome a returning flock of turkey vultures. In
some places, this return would be cause for alarm, or at least mild revulsion.
In Ohio, it's a celebration. Hey, we have long, tedious winters, all right— You
take your excitement where you can get it.
        Attorney
Child was in, and willing to see me. The entire firm seemed to consist of an
angry-looking secretary in an outer room and Child alone in the office behind
that. The door to the tiny attached bathroom stood open, showing a toilet with
the seat up. First class. For a good thirty seconds after I'd been shown into
his office he kept his back to me, staring at