The Truth of All Things Read Online Free PDF Page A

iron prong. “Got it in pretty good, didn’t he?”
    “Especially when you consider that the dirt is hard packed and he had to get it through her neck. If my suspicions are true, we’re dealing with a man possessed of remarkable strength.”
    “And yet a little fellow by his stride and shoe size.” Lean had hardly slept in almost twenty-four hours, but the thought that this experiment might help draw the picture of the man they were looking for, as well as the prospect of being shown up by some murderous little runt, suddenlyinvigorated the deputy. He doffed his woolen coat and tossed it aside, spit into his palms, and practiced his grip on the long wooden handle.
    “Come now, Lean.”
    “A moment. Need to stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, and all that.” He swung his arms side to side, readying for a full-bodied effort. Lean jerked the pitchfork up with both arms so that the prongs loomed for a second before his eyes, then he drove it straight down with every bit of strength he could muster. A groan escaped him as the iron tips bit into the hard dirt.
    Grey knelt down to mark the same prong. “A valiant effort. But you’re an inch and a half shy of our man’s mark.”
    “Damn. I gave it my all.” Lean examined the disparity in the chalk marks and let out a low whistle. “What sort of fiend are we dealing with?”
    “Don’t be too critical. Your effort was fueled by curiosity and a touch of pride. Our man’s was motivated by something deeper and wholly more violent.” Grey set the pitchfork aside, then motioned for Lean to lead the way. “Now the side entrance.”
    “Broken glass underfoot,” Lean noted as they exited the machine shop by its side door. The top half held tall three-over-three glass panes. The right one in the bottom row had been shattered.
    Grey examined the panes from both sides before following Lean into the alleyway between the long machine shop and the shorter erecting shop that ran parallel. It was dark there; the electric light post set a few feet away was out. Grey held his lamp high, examining the scene around the side door.
    “This is where they entered.” Lean began to step forward.
    “A moment, please.” Grey edged sideways along the machine shop’s outer wall, then moved in a half circle around the door, eyes fixed on the ground. When he completed his path, he turned his attention toward the unlit streetlight.
    “Watchman said it went out tonight. A bird struck it,” Lean said.
    Grey made a curt noise in response. Lean thought it was a laugh, though there had been an element of anger in the sound. He watchedGrey move several yards past the lamppost and kneel. His lantern revealed a dead pigeon.
    “Interesting.” Grey squatted, set the lamp down, and examined the dead bird from several angles. “Meant to look like it had flown into and busted the light.”
    “You suspect foul play?” Lean allowed himself a smile. “Perhaps the bird was a witness.”
    “An accomplice, actually. An unwilling one, but an accomplice nevertheless. See here, the neck was twisted. And it was originally placed closer to the streetlamp and side door.” Grey motioned to the ground nearby, where Lean could see several scuff marks in the dirt. “The watchman walks with a limp?”
    “Yes. You think he’s involved?”
    Grey answered only with a noncommittal tilt of his head before he stood, lamp in hand, and started walking down the alley toward the front of the Portland Company and the watchman’s shack. He paused briefly at a corner of the erecting shop where another, perpendicular alley ran away from the machine shop. Grey continued on, often bending down with the lamp inches from the ground, peering at some seemingly invisible object for long moments. Then he would spring up and stride forward or backtrack several steps and repeat the process. After several minutes he returned to the corner of the erecting shop’s building.
    “Here. The killer stood here. The watchman’s door