Free The Blackbird Papers by Ian Smith

of shit that will blow the case before we even have a chance to get our hands around it.”
    Lieutenant Wiley nodded. He was accustomed to giving orders rather than taking them, but in this matter it was hard to disagree.
    “No one enters that lab unless I say so,” Wiley barked at Carlton. “No students, janitors, or police officers, not even President Mortimer himself.”
    “Ten-four,” Carlton responded. This time, he did give a little salute.
    Sterling looked down at Wiley. “If we come back, we're going to need one of Wilson's research assistants to take us through the lab. I just have a feeling that something in there isn't what it's supposed to be. Who knows what that janitor was cleaning.”

9
    A lone wooden stake leaning out of the ground marked the entrance to the Bledsoe property. The number 2 had been so inconspicuously hand painted that were one not looking for the address, it would completely escape detection. The modest entrance—a couple of tall trees interspersed with wild shrubbery—belied the expansiveness of the tract of land that Wilson called home. The Bledsoe house was one of only three on Deer Run Lane, and like the others, it hid in the dense woods, invisible from the small dirt road that joined the properties.
    The beginning of the narrow gravel driveway was only large enough for one car, but after a couple of hundred yards, the trees and their bowing branches cleared into the open and the driveway circled in front of the massive house.
    Sterling's reaction to his first glimpse of the imposing structure was shock. Wilson had described the house as comfortable; in fact, it was enormous. Like their father, Wilson lived a frugal and relatively simple life despite his hefty salary and lucrative awards. Sterling now realized that Wilson had saved all his money—and evidently a certain amount of flamboyance, too—and piled it into this colossal edifice. He had allowed the builders to clear only five acres surrounding the house, leaving the remaining acreage in its natural state. He was proud of it.
My own wildlife preserve. Full of enough animals for me to study for the rest of my life without setting a foot off my own property.
    Sterling passed three cruisers in the driveway, one each from the Norwich and Hanover police departments and an unmarked car with tinted windows and several antennae planted on the hood. State trooper. He settled the Mustang close to the front of the house.
    The massive oak front door was unlocked. The first thing that hit Sterling was the smell of hot tea, fresh and minty. Sterling hated tea and everything about it. He hated to see people drink it, pursing their lips as if whistling, then gently pressing them against the rim of the cup. He couldn't smell or see or think about tea without a painful memory resurfacing. It was his ninth birthday and his parents had promised he could have a party at the house and invite all his friends over for cake and ice cream and games. He had never had a real party before, but this was going to be his first and he had planned every detail down to the table seating. He could barely fall asleep the night before, thinking about how much fun they'd all have and the gifts his friends would bring.
    Then Wilson called and plans changed. Instantly. Wilson said he'd be coming home that afternoon but would only be passing through, as he planned on visiting friends in Philadelphia. He was in graduate school in Chicago and had just begun his midyear break.
    Sterling's party was postponed and instead of a house full of balloons and rambunctious boys, hordes of his parents' friends from work and church descended on their small house. There were plenty of gifts that night, but they were all for Wilson. Books, sweaters, fancy pens and pencils—everyone came to pay homage to the golden boy. Sterling spent most of the night in his room crying, but the one time he left it to go to the bathroom, he took a quick glance down the stairs. That's when he saw