Read Online A Judgment of Whispers by Sallie Bissell - Free Book Online

head bashed in.”
    Grace closed her eyes. Always, it was Teresa Ewing; it would forever be Teresa Ewing. She’d made a big mistake in staying here. She should have followed Mike to Colorado. So what if he didn’t want to be married to her anymore? She could have gotten a new start, in a new place. Painted the Rockies instead of the Appalachians.
    She looked at her son. He was sitting in the passenger seat with his head down, clicking the tapes together. He was scared but trying to control himself. And it had been such a good day.
    She turned back Whaley. For once, she was going to stand up to him. “Do you have a court order for this?”
    â€œNo.” He straightened a little, as if she’d surprised him. “Right now you would be cooperating with an ongoing investigation.”
    â€œWhat would it be if I refused to let him give you any more DNA?”
    â€œThen it would look as if you had something to hide.”
    â€œWe don’t have anything to hide, officer. You have badgered my son for most of his life and have gotten no more evidence against him than the day that little girl disappeared.”
    â€œSo you’re refusing to comply?”
    Grace took a deep breath and nodded. “Until you come with a court order, Zack Collier will not be giving any DNA.”
    Whaley looked at her, his eyes flat with hatred. “You need to rethink this. If I have to come back with a warrant, it’ll mean handcuffs, a cage in a squad car, the whole nine yards.”
    She turned and walked back to her car. “I’ll take that chance, officer. Sorry you wasted a trip over here.”

Seven
    â€œWhat do you call this muscle?” Victor Galloway asked as he cradled Mary Crow’s foot in his lap.
    â€œThat’s my toe, Victor. It’s not a muscle.” Mary was sitting in bed, foregoing the Sunday New York Times for a thick report from Emily on George Turpin’s tenure in office. Emily had done her homework—Turpin was twice as likely to go soft on domestic abuse cases, and twice as likely to double down on females charged with crimes. The statistics were so clear Mary was amazed that some judicial oversight committee hadn’t already pointed this out to Turpin.
    â€œSure it’s a muscle,” Victor went on. “You have to move your toe with something. It’s not just there, hanging on to your foot.”
    â€œI don’t know what muscle it is,” Mary said absently. She looked up from the Turpin report and stared at Victor’s bare back. The word Rosaria was tattooed on his left shoulder blade, a youthful declaration of love he now claimed to regret. Suddenly she remembered that he’d ducked out of the League breakfast yesterday, and had crawled into bed long after she’d gone to sleep. “Where did you disappear to yesterday?”
    â€œYou working any criminal cases now?” He was always careful to make sure she wasn’t playing defense in the great battle for justice.
    â€œNothing more criminal than the Hargood Burton estate. Properties in three different states, heirs who remind me of the suspects in Clue.”
    Victor laughed. “Professor Plum and Colonel Mustard?”
    â€œAll arguing with Mrs. Peacock.” Mary flopped back on her pillow. “I wish I had a capital case. It would be more fun than the squabbling Burtons.”
    â€œDo you remember the Teresa Ewing murder? Back in 1989?”
    She thought back. 1989. Fourth grade, Cherokee Elementary. Miss Batson was her teacher. Jonathan Walkingstick sat across from her. He wore jeans and black Chuck T’s. Even then it was hard to keep her eyes off him. “Everybody remembers that one,” she said, willing Jonathan Walkingstick’s image back into the ancient-history file in her brain. “Little girl vanishes while delivering food to a neighbor, then turns up dead under the Undli Adaya .”
    â€œWell, your officer Saunooke stopped