Read Online The_Amazing_Mr._Howard by Kenneth W. Harmon - Free Book Online
Authors: Kenneth W. Harmon
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“Detective Willard, I’ve already warned you not to try figuring out how he does it.”
The door to the office opened and Captain Tate stepped inside. He went straight to one of two chairs positioned in front of Willard’s desk and sat, arms folded over his chest. With his salt and pepper hair, thin mustache, and black eyeglasses, he looked more like a banker than a cop. His chiseled face a grim mask. Willard had more questions to ask Hollingsworth, but this wasn’t the time. “I’m going to have to let you go, Detective, but perhaps I can call again at a later time.”
“You can call, but you’ll never get the answers you’re looking for.”
“Thanks again.” He hung up.
Tate gestured toward the phone. “Was that about the Coldstone case?”
He straightened the paperwork on his desk. “No.”
Tate frowned. “You saw the psychic last night?”
“I took him some of the girl’s things.”
“And?”
“He made a few statements.”
“Such as?”
“Most of the information was useless. He named her family and David Rice. Mentioned something about Stephanie riding in David’s car on a trip into the mountains.”
Tate twirled one end of his mustache. “Interesting. Did he describe Rice’s car?”
“He called it a white car with red stripes.”
“And is it?”
Willard chewed the inside of his lip. “Yes.”
“You consider that information useless?”
“Anyone with an interest in the case could have learned what kind of car he drives.”
Tate stopped twirling his mustache. “You’re assuming Mr. Howard has a reason for doing this. It’s my understanding he’s assisted in prior investigations without seeking publicity.”
“I found an article about work he did in Maryland.”
“But you have no evidence he contacted whoever wrote the article.”
“That’s right,” Willard answered.
“And has he contacted anyone in the media here?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Tate’s tongue clicked on the roof of his mouth. “Then we should assume Mr. Howard’s only interest in this case is to assist us.”
Willard slumped in his chair.
“Did Mr. Howard tell you anything not available to the general public?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “He described a poster on the ceiling in Stephanie’s room.”
“So, you would say it’s possible Mr. Howard does, in fact, have psychic powers?”
“I couldn’t say at this time.”
“Because you don’t want to believe he does.” Tate stood. “The Coldstones have powerful friends. Powerful friends who can make life miserable for this department. You believe she’s dead, don’t you?”
“She’s not the kind of kid who’s going to run away.”
“Do you think Mr. Howard can help us find her?”
“He has helped other departments find bodies.”
“Are you scheduled to interview him again?”
Willard shook his head. “He asked to see more of Stephanie’s belongings. I hate to ask her parents, they’re pretty torn up about her. It feels like I’m giving them false hope.”
“Unfortunately, Detective, we’re in the business of giving false hope. Go see the Coldstones.” Tate left the room.
When the door closed behind him, Willard slammed a fist onto his desk.
Chapter 10
Mr. Howard parked and turned off the engine. Bottle of Romanee Conti in hand, he climbed out and strolled up the sidewalk. Killgood lived in a modest two-story house in an older neighborhood on the west side of town with mature shade trees and weed-choked lawns. The kind of place you’d expect to find a veteran cop. This wasn’t his first time visiting the Killgood’s, but each occasion felt like an adventure. Other than faculty events, he didn’t get out much.
He rang the bell three times before Reann answered the door in a pair of sunglasses. Tall and slender, she had a body you wanted to coil around and squeeze. If Michelangelo were alive, he would create a marble statute in her likeness and rub up against it. Shoulder-length black
The door to the office opened and Captain Tate stepped inside. He went straight to one of two chairs positioned in front of Willard’s desk and sat, arms folded over his chest. With his salt and pepper hair, thin mustache, and black eyeglasses, he looked more like a banker than a cop. His chiseled face a grim mask. Willard had more questions to ask Hollingsworth, but this wasn’t the time. “I’m going to have to let you go, Detective, but perhaps I can call again at a later time.”
“You can call, but you’ll never get the answers you’re looking for.”
“Thanks again.” He hung up.
Tate gestured toward the phone. “Was that about the Coldstone case?”
He straightened the paperwork on his desk. “No.”
Tate frowned. “You saw the psychic last night?”
“I took him some of the girl’s things.”
“And?”
“He made a few statements.”
“Such as?”
“Most of the information was useless. He named her family and David Rice. Mentioned something about Stephanie riding in David’s car on a trip into the mountains.”
Tate twirled one end of his mustache. “Interesting. Did he describe Rice’s car?”
“He called it a white car with red stripes.”
“And is it?”
Willard chewed the inside of his lip. “Yes.”
“You consider that information useless?”
“Anyone with an interest in the case could have learned what kind of car he drives.”
Tate stopped twirling his mustache. “You’re assuming Mr. Howard has a reason for doing this. It’s my understanding he’s assisted in prior investigations without seeking publicity.”
“I found an article about work he did in Maryland.”
“But you have no evidence he contacted whoever wrote the article.”
“That’s right,” Willard answered.
“And has he contacted anyone in the media here?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Tate’s tongue clicked on the roof of his mouth. “Then we should assume Mr. Howard’s only interest in this case is to assist us.”
Willard slumped in his chair.
“Did Mr. Howard tell you anything not available to the general public?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “He described a poster on the ceiling in Stephanie’s room.”
“So, you would say it’s possible Mr. Howard does, in fact, have psychic powers?”
“I couldn’t say at this time.”
“Because you don’t want to believe he does.” Tate stood. “The Coldstones have powerful friends. Powerful friends who can make life miserable for this department. You believe she’s dead, don’t you?”
“She’s not the kind of kid who’s going to run away.”
“Do you think Mr. Howard can help us find her?”
“He has helped other departments find bodies.”
“Are you scheduled to interview him again?”
Willard shook his head. “He asked to see more of Stephanie’s belongings. I hate to ask her parents, they’re pretty torn up about her. It feels like I’m giving them false hope.”
“Unfortunately, Detective, we’re in the business of giving false hope. Go see the Coldstones.” Tate left the room.
When the door closed behind him, Willard slammed a fist onto his desk.
Chapter 10
Mr. Howard parked and turned off the engine. Bottle of Romanee Conti in hand, he climbed out and strolled up the sidewalk. Killgood lived in a modest two-story house in an older neighborhood on the west side of town with mature shade trees and weed-choked lawns. The kind of place you’d expect to find a veteran cop. This wasn’t his first time visiting the Killgood’s, but each occasion felt like an adventure. Other than faculty events, he didn’t get out much.
He rang the bell three times before Reann answered the door in a pair of sunglasses. Tall and slender, she had a body you wanted to coil around and squeeze. If Michelangelo were alive, he would create a marble statute in her likeness and rub up against it. Shoulder-length black
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