Read Online A Far Gone Night by John Carenen - Free Book Online Page A

Doltch said from across the room. “Dr. Jarlsson’s report said the girl died of drowning, not from gunshots. It was a suicide, not a murder. That’s good enough for me. O’Shea, you are just so full of it. Are you going to believe this guy, Sheriff?”
    “I believe he believes the girl had been shot in the head, murdered,” Payne said. “But let’s not get our panties in a wad before we know anything for sure. I’ll give Prentice a call and see if I can take a look at the body.”
    “Dr. Jarlsson took off right after I talked to him this morning,” I said.
    Payne looked pained. “There you go again, Thomas, jumping the tracks and going out on your own investigation. We’ve talked about that. I respect you, but you do burn my butt when you go charging off. Now, dammit, leave this to me. A simple phone call, or just stopping by here for free coffee and a chat about your suspicions would have been fine. First you moved the body when it wasn’t your place, and now you’re nosing around in law enforcement business when you aren’t authorized. So, please, go home, or stop by and see our friend Moon at The Grain. Drink some beer, take up macramé or something. I’ll check things out and get back to you. Got it?”
    “It makes me nervous, but I’ll submit to an authority greater than I.”
    I ignored Doltch as I left the office. He was fuming, but he’d get over it. One thing I’ll give him, though, that overrules his emotions, and that is he is loyal to his people. First at the Soderstrom Farm months ago when he resented my remarks about the dead Hugh Soderstrom , Doltch’s friend and former teammate, and now, with the county coroner, with whom he probably had a good relationship, too. I admire loyalty.
    So I left, fully intending to obey Payne’s directive. I drove back over the double-arched limestone bridge that had become so dear to me, and headed for the Hy-Vee to get wine for Thanksgiving, and to visit the small liquor store next door for that bottle of brandy Jan wanted.
    I took a long walk on Saturday, watched three college basketball games, and began reading Ken Follett’s latest 1,100-page novel. And mostly, I behaved myself, even though Harmon Payne had not called, e-mailed, or spoken to me about his promised conversation with Dr. Jarlsson . I stayed away from Rockbluff’s environs except for Sunday worship services at Christ the King Church. Carl Heisler preached a grace-filled sermon surrounded by praise songs that always bring tears to my eyes, if I let them. I spoke with Carl and Molly briefly after the service, turned down their invitation to Thanksgiving dinner and told them why.
    After Sunday worship, I swung by Subway and ordered a foot-long meatball sub and took it home, sharing the last bites with Gotcha. After a nap, I just whiled away the afternoon. Still nothing from Payne.
    I tried everything to get my mind off his lack of communication. Around 10:30 Sunday night I decided just riding around a bit in my truck was irresistible, so I put on a sweatshirt and my Navy pea coat, gave Gotcha a going-away treat, got in my truck, and drove into Rockbluff .
    My plan was to simply drive around town, enjoying the ambiance of a lovely little village on a quiet early-winter’s night, maybe drift by the coroner’s office in my meanderings. When I actually drove by the yellow-brick building, it looked to me like the front door was ajar. So I turned in and shone my headlights on the door and, sure enough, it was open just a crack.
    Well, if God didn’t want me to go investigate, why else would the door be beckoning me to have a little innocent look-see? One has to be spiritually discerning to interpret signs and wonders, and I am. Sometimes. Depending on the weather.
    I killed the lights and shut down the engine and got out of my truck. I crept up to the front door of Dr. Jarlsson’s office and pushed open the door with my fingertips, wishing I had brought Elsie the shotgun with me.
    The office