A Grave Conviction by R M Wild

A Grave Conviction by R M Wild

Author:R M Wild [Wild, R M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mod 29 Media
Published: 2020-03-02T16:00:00+00:00


Twenty minutes later, they stopped beside the white picket fence guarding the farmhouse on the hill. The rising sun had offered no relief from the cold, but it had set the frosted grass on fire, a great sparkling across the fields that made their faces hurt from squinting.

Ahead, the icicles, hanging from the nearby slaughterhouse caught a lethal glint. The livestock were quiet this morning, but a handful of black birds circled high in the sky, not dissimilar to the way gulls followed fishing boats in hopes of snatching discarded bait.

Slate yanked up his parking brake. “When we get up there, let me do the talking. I know you don’t like her, but we still need her cooperation. If you go blabbing about her brother being a Nazi or bragging about the way your uncle brought him down, she’ll clam up and not say anything. Can I trust you with that? Or do you need to stay in the car?”

“You didn’t bring me here to stay in the car.”

She called your bluff. “All I’m saying is, listen, keep your mouth shut, collect information, and save what you’re thinking until we get back to the car.”

“I think we’re in the same bullpen here, Slate.”

“What?”

“It’s an expression. Obviously.”

“I think you mean ballpark.”

“I don’t play ball.”

“You don’t ride bulls, either.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you, it’s an expression.”

Slate exhaled. Play nice. You’re both insanely tired. “Just...never mind.” He held out his hand. “Can I have my hat, please?”

“It’s not here.”

He groaned. You left it at home, you moron.

“Let’s get this over with,” Lacey said. “Uncle Jimmy’s waiting.” She got out and headed for the farmhouse.

Slate got out and jogged after her and caught up with her on the porch. She raised a fist to knock, but Slate raised his fist to knock first. Lacey glanced over and knocked harder. Slate gritted his teeth and returned the knock even louder.

The combined knocking popped the latch free and the door creaked open.

“Oops,” Lacey said.

“That’s not a good sign.”

Lots of people left their doors unlocked in Dark Haven, but who left them ajar? Especially in the winter?

Lacey went to step over the threshold, but Slate grabbed her arm. “Hey, stop it. You can’t go in there.”

“Something’s not right here.”

“I can see that. You still can’t go in.”

“But the house is ransacked,” she said.

Indeed, past the foyer, the couch cushions were torn up, a china cabinet was turned on its side, and broken dishes and books littered the floor.

“It looks like probable cause to me,” Lacey said.

“Hold up a second,” Slate said. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Helga Heimmler, are you home? This is Trooper Scott Slate. I see that your house has been damaged. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming inside. I’m worried about your safety.”

There was no response. Not even a creaking of the ceiling.

“There’s your answer,” Lacey said.

Slate stepped inside. “Be cautious please. Do not touch anything.”

Lacey picked up one of the broken dishes and inspected it.



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