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Authors: Rayven T. Hill
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glanced at Annie. “I’m not sure how receptive Mrs. Thorburn will be to a visit from us. Her son is accused of murder and she might be on the defensive.”
“We’ll have to tread lightly,” Annie said thoughtfully, buckling her seat belt.
Jake pulled out the map, consulted it, then handed it to Annie. “They’re right on the edge of town,” he said. “The only thing further north is the steel mill, and then on the other side of the tracks, it’s all government property. Forest, swamp, and some vacant land.”
A few minutes later, Jake pulled onto Mill Street, a narrow two-lane road of crumbling asphalt. A sidewalk ran along the right side, mature trees overhanging the roadway.
“There it is,” Annie said, pointing ahead and to her right. “Number 112.”
Jake slowed and squinted at the numbers displayed beside the front door. He glanced to his left. A car sat directly across the road from the house, a lone figure visible in the driver seat. Jake pulled to the shoulder and turned off the engine.
Annie gazed at the parked vehicle. “I think he’s watching for Adam,” she said, climbing from the car. “I’ll be right back.”
She crossed the road, went around the car, and tapped on the window. She leaned down and talked to the driver. Jake got out of the Firebird when Annie returned.
“It’s Officer Spiegle,” she said. “Another officer’s in the house in case Adam returns. There’re cops all over the city looking for him.”
“They have a better chance of finding him than we do,” Jake said.
“We’ll do our best,” Annie said, stepping onto the sidewalk, Jake following. They went up the gravel driveway to the side of the house.
Annie opened a tattered screen door and tapped on the inner door. They waited.
The door scraped open and a woman appeared, giving an impatient sigh. “Yes?”
“Virginia Thorburn?” Annie asked with a pleasant smile.
“Yes.”
Annie introduced them and said, “We’re concerned about Adam, and we’d like to help him if we can.”
Jake wasn’t sure how true that was, but he would go along with Annie’s story.
“How can you help him?” the woman asked with a frown, dropping one hand to her hip.
“Perhaps we could come in and talk?” Annie said.
Mrs. Thorburn hesitated, then sighed again and moved back, waving them in. “You might as well join the circus. Everybody else is.”
Annie and Jake stepped through the doorway into the stale-smelling kitchen, the screen door slapping closed behind them. The woman sat at the table and crossed her legs, tugging her short, tight skirt into place. She puffed at a lit cigarette, then took a sip of coffee from a stained mug, eyeing them over the top.
“Might as well sit down,” she said.
The Lincolns pulled back chairs and sat facing the woman.
She took a long drag of her lipstick-stained cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling. “I don’t know how you can help Adam, but I’m willing to listen.”
“Mrs. Thorburn,” Annie began, then hesitated. “We know Adam is accused of killing a woman, and the police are claiming they have evidence against him.”
The woman cocked her head. “Who’d you say hired you?”
Annie answered slowly, “We’ve been retained by the husband of the victim—”
Jake interrupted, glancing at Annie. “But we’re only interested in the truth. Nothing more.” He leaned in and looked intently at Mrs. Thorburn. “If Adam is innocent, then we want to prove it.”
Annie nodded. “We were hoping you could help us, and in turn, help your son.”
“Help how? I don’t know if he did it or not, and neither does he.”
Jake frowned. “How can he not know?”
She butted her smoke out and took the last sip of her coffee. “Because Adam is schizophrenic. He doesn’t always remember what he does.”
Jake glanced at Annie. He didn’t know much about schizophrenia and he wasn’t sure Annie did either.
“He has blackout periods sometimes,” Mrs. Thorburn said,
“We’ll have to tread lightly,” Annie said thoughtfully, buckling her seat belt.
Jake pulled out the map, consulted it, then handed it to Annie. “They’re right on the edge of town,” he said. “The only thing further north is the steel mill, and then on the other side of the tracks, it’s all government property. Forest, swamp, and some vacant land.”
A few minutes later, Jake pulled onto Mill Street, a narrow two-lane road of crumbling asphalt. A sidewalk ran along the right side, mature trees overhanging the roadway.
“There it is,” Annie said, pointing ahead and to her right. “Number 112.”
Jake slowed and squinted at the numbers displayed beside the front door. He glanced to his left. A car sat directly across the road from the house, a lone figure visible in the driver seat. Jake pulled to the shoulder and turned off the engine.
Annie gazed at the parked vehicle. “I think he’s watching for Adam,” she said, climbing from the car. “I’ll be right back.”
She crossed the road, went around the car, and tapped on the window. She leaned down and talked to the driver. Jake got out of the Firebird when Annie returned.
“It’s Officer Spiegle,” she said. “Another officer’s in the house in case Adam returns. There’re cops all over the city looking for him.”
“They have a better chance of finding him than we do,” Jake said.
“We’ll do our best,” Annie said, stepping onto the sidewalk, Jake following. They went up the gravel driveway to the side of the house.
Annie opened a tattered screen door and tapped on the inner door. They waited.
The door scraped open and a woman appeared, giving an impatient sigh. “Yes?”
“Virginia Thorburn?” Annie asked with a pleasant smile.
“Yes.”
Annie introduced them and said, “We’re concerned about Adam, and we’d like to help him if we can.”
Jake wasn’t sure how true that was, but he would go along with Annie’s story.
“How can you help him?” the woman asked with a frown, dropping one hand to her hip.
“Perhaps we could come in and talk?” Annie said.
Mrs. Thorburn hesitated, then sighed again and moved back, waving them in. “You might as well join the circus. Everybody else is.”
Annie and Jake stepped through the doorway into the stale-smelling kitchen, the screen door slapping closed behind them. The woman sat at the table and crossed her legs, tugging her short, tight skirt into place. She puffed at a lit cigarette, then took a sip of coffee from a stained mug, eyeing them over the top.
“Might as well sit down,” she said.
The Lincolns pulled back chairs and sat facing the woman.
She took a long drag of her lipstick-stained cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling. “I don’t know how you can help Adam, but I’m willing to listen.”
“Mrs. Thorburn,” Annie began, then hesitated. “We know Adam is accused of killing a woman, and the police are claiming they have evidence against him.”
The woman cocked her head. “Who’d you say hired you?”
Annie answered slowly, “We’ve been retained by the husband of the victim—”
Jake interrupted, glancing at Annie. “But we’re only interested in the truth. Nothing more.” He leaned in and looked intently at Mrs. Thorburn. “If Adam is innocent, then we want to prove it.”
Annie nodded. “We were hoping you could help us, and in turn, help your son.”
“Help how? I don’t know if he did it or not, and neither does he.”
Jake frowned. “How can he not know?”
She butted her smoke out and took the last sip of her coffee. “Because Adam is schizophrenic. He doesn’t always remember what he does.”
Jake glanced at Annie. He didn’t know much about schizophrenia and he wasn’t sure Annie did either.
“He has blackout periods sometimes,” Mrs. Thorburn said,
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