Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best ereader for academics .txt) 📕

in the ground. They was cordoned off all right, but you could still trip and have a nasty fall. And if you fell in the wet concrete, you was in real trouble. So I was going as fast as I could, shouting to him not to do nothing stupid, that that was wet concrete there, and at the same time trying to make sense to Sam on the radio.”

“Where was Sam?”

“He was in the hut, keeping warm. He never saw nothing.”

“OK.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Let me just make sure I have this straight. This young man was standing in the northwest corner of the site, on a pile of rubble, overlooking a pit that was filled with liquid concrete. Sam was in the hut, so he could see nothing, and you were trying your best to run to the boy, shout to him to be careful, talk on the radio and shine your flashlight both on the boy and on the ground to make sure you didn’t fall. You deserve a medal just for that, Joe. Where, exactly, were you when you were doing all this?”

He had started laughing. “It was a thing to behold, I can tell you. Where was I? As luck would have it, I was at the farthest point. Like you say, he was in the northwest corner, so I must have been in the southeast.”

I sat back. “OK, Joe, I have a clear picture in my mind now. What happened next?”

“Next thing, he just went and jumped in. Craziest thing I ever saw in my life. I can understand a man shooting his brains out. I can understand a man jumping in front of a train, or hanging hisself. Them’s all quick deaths. Jumping off a building, get it over and done with. It’s quick. But jumping into wet cement? There ain’ no way anybody ever is gonna get you out of that. It’s gonna get in your nose and mouth, and your eyes. That is gonna be one bad death. Like being in hell. And slow.” He paused. His face was uncomprehending. His eyes were distressed. “I know the Mob used to do that a lot, but even them, you know? They’d kill you first.”

We were quiet for a moment. Dehan was watching me curiously. I said, “Can you describe the boy to me, Joe?”

He blinked, pulling himself back from his nightmare. “Sure, he was kind of average height, maybe five ten, slim, dark hair. He was wearing dark pants and a dark sweater. That was about all I could see. He looked young, maybe late twenties or early thirties.”

“Can you remember if he said anything in the moment he jumped?”

“Uh…” He stared at the wall. “It was kind’a crazy. He was screaming a lot, making a lot of noise. I was running, trying not to fall…” He shook his head. “No, he sort of went silent. Then there was this horrible splash and he was sinking into the cement.”

“Then you scrambled up the rubble?”

“No. Sam arrived. I was pretty upset. He called the cops. They came about fifteen minutes later. There was no way to save the boy, though he must have took a whole minute or two to die. I was crazy, you know? Trying to find a stick or something to help pull him out. Cops started processing the scene and it was them found his jacket. Seems nuts, don’t it? But the detective told me lots of suicides do that, before they jump, or before they drown themselves, take off their shoes and their jacket. Crazy.”

“But he didn’t take off his shoes.”

“No, not his shoes, just his jacket.” He studied my face for a bit. “Who was he?”

Dehan said, “Cyril Browne. A very unhappy young man.” She hesitated, sighed and said, “Joe, I know it’s easy after all this time to trick yourself into remembering things that you either want to believe or think you ought to believe. So I want you to think very carefully, OK? It seems likely that Cyril either killed a woman in New York, or was framed for her murder. His dying words could be really important. Can you remember with any degree of certainty what he was shouting?”

He seemed to sag in his chair. “Oh, Lord…” He was quiet for a long time, staring at that spot on his desk. “Life had no meaning anymore. I know he kept saying that. He was coming home. I remember he said that a couple of times. She was gone…” He hesitated. “I don’t want to go inventing things, but he might have said he was going home to her. But I really don’t want to say no more because that might be bullshit.”

I looked at Dehan. She was thinking, frowning at the desk. The desk was getting frowned at a lot that afternoon. I said, “You have any more questions, Detective Dehan?”

She looked at me for a moment, her eyes flicking around my face. Then she shook her head. “No. No, I think that’s everything.”

I stood, leaned over and shook his hand. “Thanks, Joe. We’ll see ourselves out.”

We made our way down in the elevator, into the dark, echoing parking garage. I pressed the key and our car bleeped. Dehan was looking down at the floor with an odd expression on her face.

“You think he’s down there?”

I went and opened the driver’s door, looked back at her where she was watching me. “If he is, I guess that constitutes concrete evidence that he’s a hardened criminal.”

She frowned. “That’s not funny, Stone.”

“I know. Get in the car, will you? I’m starving.”

She walked toward me. “It’s kind of funny, but your timing is awful.”

She got in and we drove out into the bright, freezing afternoon. As we emerged from the garage, my phone pinged. It was