Read Online Hush by Anne Frasier - Free Book Online Page B

Max had gotten a tree. Max
had lifted him up so he could put tinsel on the top. When Ethan
remembered those times, he didn't hate Max. But that Max didn't
seem like the high- strung Max he knew today.
    A person could almost think Max didn't have
any feelings, but Ethan knew better. He'd never forget a night,
years ago, when Max had picked him up from the baby-sitter's. All
the way home, he didn't say a word. Ethan finally asked about the
smell—a rotten, sweet, awful odor that seemed to be coming from his
dad.
    Max didn't say anything for a long time, then
asked, "You can smell it too?"
    "Yeah," Ethan said.
    "Rotten cantaloupe," his dad finally told
him.
    And when they got home, Max took a long, long
shower. When he came out he was wearing a clean pair of jeans, his
wet hair smelling of lemons. In the middle of the night, something
woke Ethan up. At first he couldn't place the noise, and then, with
a sort of awkward embarrassment, he realized his dad was
crying.
    When he got older, he found out that lemon
shampoo was the best way to wash the smell of death from your
hair.
     

Chapter 8
    Abraham gripped the wooden podium, pulling
his thoughts into coherence while the always solid, always
dependable Detective Irving stood to his right. Also present at the
press conference were Cook County State Attorney Roger Jacobs, Cook
County Board President Jane O'Riley, and Deputy Chief of Area Five
Grace Simms.
    Abraham had spent the entire morning on the
phone. The mayor had called twice in three hours, with Abraham
assuring him that this latest homicide could not yet be linked in
any way to the homicides of sixteen years ago.
    He'd also had several conversations with
hospital administrators who were expecting panic to erupt in their
maternity wards.
    He could have let his assistant handle some
of the lighter calls, but that wasn't what Abraham was about.
Through his entire career, he'd made it a point to be accessible,
even from his position at the top. He wanted the public to know
that the murders were high on everyone's priority list, especially
the Superintendent's. By the time the conference rolled around,
Abraham had put away two pots of coffee and a roll of antacid
tablets, and he needed something stronger than aspirin for his
headache.
    Looking out into the auditorium, he was
relieved to see that the majority of the seats were vacant. So far
the mother-and-child homicide wasn't big news and wouldn't be
unless a connection was made to the Madonna Murderer.
    Many of the faces were familiar. Chris Humes,
from the Sun. Victoria Price-Rand, from the Trib.
    Abraham quickly gave them the facts.
    "What about the Madonna Murderer?"
    The question Abraham had hoped to avoid came
from a shiny-faced young man Abraham had never seen before.
    The good reporters, the ones who didn't screw
up a case by leaking information, were, in turn, respected by the
police. In exchange for their cooperation, they were sometimes
granted starring roles in the investigation process. They were
sometimes given exclusive information that could eventually lead to
a distinguished career in the newspaper business.
    Stalling, Abraham asked, "What's your
name?"
    The reporter fiddled with the plastic press
pass clipped to his shirt, as if Abraham could read the name from
thirty feet away. "Alex Martin, sir."
    Irritated, weary, Abraham plunged in. "At
this point, there's no evidence to draw any kind of connection
between this homicide and the homicides of sixteen years ago. Next
question." He directed his gaze away from the new reporter.
    "B-but, sir," Alex stammered, his hand
raised.
    Superintendent Sinclair ignored him, choosing
instead to call on one of the more established reporters.
    The incident made Alex so angry that he sat
in his chair biting his nails and obsessing over it while losing
track of his immediate surroundings. Ten minutes later, the room
came into focus as Detective Irving eased his way behind the
podium.
    Alex settled back to listen to