A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(42)

“Only the light switch.”

“What did you do next?”

“I checked all the other rooms and then called you guys. While I was waiting I called the hospital. No one under his name had been admitted.”

“No John Does in the hospital either, and I checked all the emergency clinics,” added Samuel.

“Is anything missing?” asked Truman.

Ryan wiped under his nose with the back of his hand. “The only things worth stealing are the TVs and game systems. Everything is still here.”

“No guns? Cash?”

“Guns are in a safe. I noticed it was locked, but I didn’t look inside.”

“Let’s check.”

He and Samuel trailed Ryan to the other bedroom, where a large gun safe took up most of the closet. Samuel gave him a pair of gloves to do the combination lock. Ryan spun the dial and seconds later opened the heavy door. Truman spotted three rifles and six lockboxes that he assumed held handguns. Ryan checked each box as Truman watched over his shoulder. Every weapon was present.

Back in the living room, the men took up their previous places. “What’s your brother do? Has he had any angry encounters recently?”

“He works at the lumberyard.”

“Walker’s Lumberyard?”

“Yeah, he’s been there about five years. He hasn’t mentioned any arguments recently.”

“Where do you work at?”

“I’m a plumber for Dawson’s Plumbing. I usually work an eleven-to-eight shift.”

“Do you know of anyone who had it in for your brother? What about bar fights?”

“Clint didn’t have any enemies. He was easygoing. If there were bar fights—well, except for the one you broke up—I haven’t heard of anything recent.”

In his time as a cop, Truman had always heard that the victim had no enemies. Everybody always loved the missing person.

Later the truth would come out.

“I’m going to take a look outside around the house,” Truman stated. Ryan simply nodded, his gaze back on his feet.

Truman signaled for Samuel to stay inside and keep an eye on Ryan. Outdoors he stood on the porch for a long moment. The gravel road had streetlights, but the closest one was in front of the house to the left. Trees and bushes blocked any views of the Moody home from the right and left neighbors. But the home across the street stared directly at the Moody house. Lights were on inside and out, and the curtains moved as he watched. Truman hoped the brothers had a nosy neighbor.

He did a quick circuit around the home and the garage behind it, sweeping the ground with his flashlight. He peered through the side door window into the small garage and learned why the brothers parked out front. The garage was packed with junk. Still wearing his gloves, Truman tried the handle and discovered it was unlocked. He stepped inside, smelling mildew and motor oil but nothing worse. There were mattresses, old dressers, tons of stacked boxes, dusty ten-speed bikes, and a motorcycle. He checked every place he thought a body could be hidden. The evidence team would be more thorough. He backed out and shut the door, resuming his lap around the house.

Out front he shone his flashlight in the old Ford Explorer, which he assumed belonged to Ryan.

Did the attacker take Clint’s truck? If not, where is the attacker’s vehicle?

Either the attacker had arrived on foot, or he wasn’t alone.

Could Clint have driven away?

Truman seriously doubted it, judging from the blood in the room.

The Deschutes County evidence team arrived, and Truman gave some brief instructions before turning them over to Samuel. He knew giving the case to a Deschutes County detective was an option. Not yet. At the moment it was simply a missing persons case.

He strode across the gravel street to see who was still up.



“I don’t sleep much anymore,” Sally Kantor told Truman.

She’d insisted on serving him a cup of instant coffee and set out a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Truman took one cookie to be polite. After the first bite, he knew he’d have to exercise self-control not to eat the rest of the cookies. They sat in her living room, which had a large window that faced the Moody house. Her old TV was on a table next to the window, and Sally sat in a recliner that faced the TV and window. Next to her was an end table loaded with novels, crossword puzzle books, and knitting supplies. A bed pillow and comforter were squeezed in the recliner with her. It was her spot.

She was a petite woman with a small hump at the top of her spine, and she wore a pink quilted satin robe that zipped up the front. Her pink embroidered slippers reminded him of ones his grandmother had worn. She’d proudly told him she was eighty-four years young, and she moved with an energy that surprised him. Her curly gray hair was short and neat, and her smile compassionate. She’d opened the door before he knocked, stating that she’d watched him walk across the street. Curiosity and excitement had danced in her dark-blue eyes as she welcomed him into her home.

“I usually knit late in the evenings. It doesn’t take much thought, and the rhythm helps my brain slow down. When I’m tired I turn off the light, pull up my blanket, and sleep right here.” She clapped her hands twice and the light went out. She immediately clapped again to bring it back on. She wore a wide grin when Truman was able to see her again. “I know my Clapper is corny, but it’s one of my favorite things,” she admitted.