Leona Karr - Silent Witness

The stable door was ajar and as she stepped inside, the interior was dark and smelly. Shadowy horse stalls stretched the length of the building on both sides. As she stood there searching for any flicker of movement, a hushed, dusty silence greeted her.

She knew calling out Scotty’s name was a wasted effort. If the deaf boy wasn’t looking in her direction, he wouldn’t even know she was there. Once more, if he was deliberately hiding from her, he wouldn’t give himself away. The open stable door and small windows at both ends of the stable were the only source of a feeble light.

As she walked past the stalls, she could see inside each one because the half doors were hanging open.

All the stalls were empty.

She saw a door ajar on one side of the stable that looked as if it might open into a tack room. Maybe that’s where Scotty was hiding. She pushed the door fully open and stepped inside.

A high narrow window gave shadowy light to the small room and she could see bridles and harnesses hanging from ceiling hooks. Saddles of various kinds were mounted on wooden racks and a long table was loaded with ropes, saddle blankets and various tool kits. It was obvious to Marian from the stacks of boxes and clutter that the room was being used for storage now that there were no horses stabled there.

As she looked around, her gaze settled on some feed sacks piled in one corner. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her when they registered the slight movement as a small head ducked down behind one of the sacks.

Scotty! Instant relief sped through her. She’d found him! Everything was under control. She’d lay down firm rules and consequences and keep a tighter rein on him. Since she’d gone out on a limb to include Scotty in the program, no one needed to know about this little escapade.

When she pulled away one of the sacks, she exposed his cowering body and was stunned by the look of terror that flashed in his eyes. She realized the boy was trembling with fright. Her anger quickly dissipated.

“It’s all right, Scotty,” she mouthed as she bent close enough for him to read her lips. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

He shook his head in denial. His eyes were wide and filled with fear.

“I’m not going to punish you.” She guessed that he was probably expecting the kind of discipline heaped on him by an abusive father and drug-addicted mother. No wonder his first reaction was to hide from any authority figure. “We’ll talk. Now let’s go back to the house.”

“No.”

He drew back and she wasn’t prepared for this kind of rebellion. “What do you mean, no? You’ll do as I say.”

His fearful eyes darted to the door of the tack room. “Have to hide.”

Hide? What was he talking about? He’d been hiding from her and she’d found him.

“Why do you have to hide, Scotty?” She mouthed the question with deliberate slowness.

“They might find me!”

As she searched his fearful expression, she realized he hadn’t been hiding from her. Maybe he hadn’t even seen her coming toward the stable. “Who might find you, Scotty?”

“The one who did it.” He grabbed her hand and held on to it as if some unseen hands were trying to pull him away from her.

As the terrified eleven-year-old boy clung to her, she knew with sickening certainty he wasn’t making something up. No child could pretend the kind of fear she saw in his eyes.

“The one who did what, Scotty?”

He swallowed hard. “Killed the man.”

“What man, Scotty? Tell me where you were.”

“The small house…by the creek,” he mumbled.

She knew there was a log cabin on the estate about a mile downstream. A kind of guesthouse. As far as she knew, the place wasn’t being used this summer.

“You were inside the little house?”

“But I didn’t take nothing,” he said with a rush.

“Tell me exactly what you did do, Scotty. Everything.”

He kept his hand in hers as he told her about breaking a window, trashing the kitchen and going to hunt for some loot in the rest of the house.

“Then I saw the dead man and ran.” He fixed terrified eyes on her face. “I ran before they caught me.”

“Who, Scotty? Who was there?”

He shook his head.

“Are you sure there was someone?”

He raised tear-filled eyes to hers. “I felt them coming around the house. The boards moved. We have to hide.”

“No, Scotty,” she said with a sickening plunge of her stomach. “We have to call the police.”

The Rock Creek Police Department was a stone building just off Main Street. Detective Ryan Darnell was sitting at a scarred desk in his small office when the switchboard relayed a call to him. At first, Ryan didn’t understand exactly what kind of crime the woman was reporting.

“My name is Marian Richards. I’m the director of an outreach program for hearing-impaired children. We are in residence at the Wentworth estate for the summer. I have a situation here that I need you to look into as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He had heard something about old lady Wentworth letting some nonprofit foundation use the property. Apparently she’d hired a female executive to run it. Ryan pictured the caller as a middle-aged, uptight spinster used to ordering people around.

“What kind of situation would that be?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. He wasn’t about to drive five miles up a canyon road because some authoritative director didn’t want to take care of some piddling matter.

“I think there may have been a crime committed on the property.”

“You don’t know for sure?” Ryan’s tone was slightly mocking.

“No, I don’t. That’s why I’m calling you,” she replied impatiently. “I need someone to investigate.”

“What kind of crime are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure…maybe murder.”

Ryan’s chair came forward with a thump. “Murder!”

AS RYAN DROVE to the Wentworth estate up the mountain road winding through Prospect Canyon, he had the feeling he was wasting his time. The three-story stone mansion and extensive property had been vacant for over a year and he was curious who had persuaded Alva Wentworth, a wealthy widow, to let a charitable foundation use it for the summer. He’d heard that a Denver lawyer, Arthur Kennedy, who was overseeing the project, had been paying regular visits to Alva in a Rock Creek nursing home. Apparently there weren’t any legal problems turning the estate into a retreat for children with hearing problems, but Ryan was willing to bet the isolated rugged property would create plenty of headaches for those in charge of the program. He just hoped this wouldn’t include a series of SOS calls to the Rock Creek Police Department.

A simple sign, Private Property, identified a fork in the road and Ryan took the one that wound through thick stands of ponderosa pine and aspens. In about a quarter of a mile, an open gate to the estate came into view.

Even though Ryan had been there on some occasions during his growing-up years in Rock Creek, he still found the stone mansion set against the backdrop of rising mountain slopes very impressive.

As he drove the police car to the front entrance, he saw a woman and a scowling boy sitting on the steps. Obviously waiting for him, they stood up as he got out of the police car.

Ryan’s mental picture of Marian Richards underwent an immediate revision. She was young and pretty enough to attract his attention under any circumstances. Reddish-blond hair fell softly around her face and a soft green summer dress revealed a feminine figure that could have graced any fashion magazine.

“Thank you for coming, Detective,” she said as she walked down the front steps to meet him. “I’m Marian Richards.”