Free Hard Fall: A gripping, noir detective thriller (Thomas Blume series of Hard-Boiled Mysteries, Book 1) by P.T. Reade Page B

sunglasses and a pair of children’s shoes. I searched through the clothes, touching them like they might bite me.
     
    I came to a white tee shirt and was nearly slapped in the face with understanding.
     
    On the front of the shirt was the name of a band: The Who.
     
    The last shirt Jack Ellington had been seen wearing.
     
    That was enough for me. Hell, I wasn’t even going to bother with going into Bennett’s house. Someone else could play hero. I was going to head back to my car and call the cops on my cellphone right now. I turned and stepped through the door, the rain still coming down.
     
    That’s when I heard it.
     
    A cry cut through the pouring rain. Immediately I flattened myself against the corner of the shed. Peering around the side I eyed the farmhouse, wondering if I had imagined it.
     
    Again I heard the sound.
     
    There was no doubt in my mind now: it was coming from the house. And whoever was making it was young.
     
    The missing boy . It was him screaming, the boy who had recently disappeared. It had to be. As far from the house as I was, there was no way for me to tell what that scream meant. Was he hollering for help? Was he in pain? Was he dying? Was it all three?
     
    I turned away from the building and leaned my back up against the shed, sighing. So much for going back to the car and calling the cops. With my twisted ankle that could take 20 minutes, and time was one thing I didn’t have a lot of. There was no telling what condition the boy in the house was in, or how long he had before Bennett turned him into just another pile of mud and bone.
     
    All of a sudden I wanted a drink. No, I needed a drink. My mouth went dry and my tongue was crumpled sandpaper, threatening to choke me to death. I groped around in my jacket for my hip flask, but when I pulled it out it was empty. “Shit”.
     
    My mind began to spin, trying to think of any way to rationalize the overwhelming thirst that had just swept over me. Maybe, I pondered, I should go back to my car and call the cops just as I had intended. Then I could drive over to a pub and drink until the real police took care of everything.
     
    After all, I had no gun and no badge; how could anyone expect me to do anything by myself?
     
    I had almost convinced myself that this was the best plan, when the scream sounded a third time.
     
    If you can't do the smart thing, do the right thing.
    No, I realized with grim finality. This was my case. It would have to be me. Gun or no gun, badge or no badge, I had to save that kid.
     
    So I stood. I gritted my teeth against the pain in my ankle and pushed myself away from the shed. Trudging across the muddy ground, I headed for the house, trying to remain as hidden from view as possible. As I got closer and closer, I continued to pray that Bennett wasn’t even home. That I could just break a window, climb inside, find the boy and rescue him. No fuss, no muss.
     
    I stayed alert as I neared the side of the house, eyeing the windows to make sure nobody was watching me. Finally I made it to the building and pressed myself flat against the wall. Slowly creeping over to a first floor window I peered inside.
     
    Through the rain soaked glass I could just make out a dim parlor. The room was mostly bare and what furniture there was looked old and musty. Bare floorboards were stained with damp and wallpaper seemed to be peeling from the walls.
     
    The lights were off and the house looked uninhabited, silent as a crypt. Maybe Bennett really was gone.
     
    I crept further along to the next window, aiming for a better view. There were stacks of old newspapers, some trash bags and an old refrigerator, but no sign of the missing boy. Somewhere in the house I heard a floorboard creak as someone large moved around.
     
    I was beginning to despair when finally I saw him.
     
    The tiny figure was almost invisible in the dark corner. The kid couldn't have been more than nine or ten but he was filthy and ragged, clothes