Read Online Grave Situation by Alex MacLean - Free Book Online Page B

Allan’s
stomach was in knots. He found himself hoping no one would answer.
This was the toughest part of the job—telling families their loved
one had been murdered. No matter how rehearsed, how heartfelt,
Allan felt his words always sounded empty, meaningless.
    Slowly, the door opened. The old
woman who peered out at him looked to be in her late fifties. She
had graying hair, a round face and pale skin. The thick glasses she
wore magnified her blue eyes.
    “Missus Hawkins?” Allan asked,
reaching into his sport coat and taking out his leather badge
case.
    She angled her head, regarding him
cautiously. Allan sensed himself being appraised. For a brief
instant he imagined the woman thinking he might be a canvasser for
a fundraiser or a Mormon handing out pamphlets.
    “Yes.” Her voice was polite, but
wary.
    “I’m Lieutenant Allan Stanton from
the HRP Major Crimes Unit.” He held up his credentials. “Is your
husband home with you?”
    “Who is it, Barb?” came a rough
voice behind her. The door opened further to reveal an older man,
slight of build, with thinning white hair and intense gray eyes. He
came up behind his wife, resting a hand on her shoulder.
    He looked at the
shield and ID, then to Allan. “Police. ” His lips seemed to barely
move. “What’s this about?”
    Allan inhaled a deep breath. “May I
come inside?”
    “We can hear what you have to say
from here,” said the man.
    “Very well.” Allan put away the
badge case and folded his hands. “Your son is Bradley Hawkins,
correct?”
    In unison, they answered,
“Yes.”
    Allan’s mouth suddenly felt
dry.
    “There was a stabbing down on
Lower Water Street,” he said quietly. “Your son was
involved.”
    The father’s face twisted, as if
suddenly wounded. The mother put a hand to her mouth. Behind the
thick lenses, her eyes grew huge.
    “Is he all right?” She spoke
through her fingers. “Is he at the hospital?”
    “I’m sorry.” Allan hesitated,
staring at the tremor that had started in the woman’s hand. “Your
son didn’t survive his injuries.”
    Doubling over, the mother emitted
an anguished wail that made Allan flinch.
    “No,” she repeated in a shrilling
voice. “No, no.”
    The husband reached out for his
wife, embracing her.
    “No, Frank.” She wrenched herself
free. Face covered with her hands, she hurried out of the entryway
and disappeared into another room.
    “Barb …” Frank called after her. He
took a step forward, then stopped.
    Slowly, he turned to Allan. His
expression showed a range of emotions—shock, disbelief,
immeasurable sadness. Behind him came the heavy stomp of footsteps
on wooden stairs and then the slam of a door. The sound made him
wince.
    “Are you
completely sure it’s him?” he asked.
    “He’s been positively identified
by a co-worker with Twin City Protection.”
    Frank shut his eyes. “How’d it
hap…?” His sentence was lost in a hard swallow.
    Allan exhaled. “We don’t know for
certain. We think your son may have walked into the commission of
another crime. We have officers canvassing the waterfront for
witnesses.”
    In a tight voice, Frank asked.
“Where’s my son’s body?”
    “With the medical
examiner.”
    Frank’s eyes
opened now, wide and brimming. “The medical examiner? They’re going to
cut up my boy?”
    Allan swallowed. He realized the
devastation the post-mortem would leave behind of Brad Hawkins—a
dissected shell of what their son had once been.
    “I’m sorry,” Allan said softly.
“But it’s a legal requirement.”
    Awkwardly, Frank braced himself
against the doorjamb.
    “My God ,” he mumbled.
“My God. ”
    Silent, Allan watched
him.
    I hate this.
    He waited a respectful
moment.
    “Is there anyone I can call?” he
asked. “Another relative? A friend?”
    Looking dazed, Frank shook his
head.
    “I can have a grief counselor come
over if you wish. Help you through this.”
    “There’s no need for
that.”
    “I hate to add this, but