Death in the Secret Garden Read Free Page B

a slanted roof and the wooden sides.
    Looking directly up toward the floor of the tree house revealed that it was primarily built from scavenged lumber of assorted sizes and types.
    â€˜I would think living up there would be OK in the spring and summer,’ Lyon said. ‘But in winter the wind would swirl around the trunk and seep up through the wood flooring and freeze him out.’
    â€˜He’s got carpet remnants covering the floor and a potbellied wood stove that makes him snug as a bug. You’ve never been inside, have you?’ Rocco said.
    â€˜No. How does he perform his private functions?’ Lyon asked.
    â€˜A bucket. He brings it down every morning and dumps it in a lime pit over in that corner.’ He pointed toward the newly turned earth of a slit trench. ‘I make sure he sets it up properly. Periodically I make him fill in the trench and dig a new one. Put in a sprinkling of lime and it’s decent field sanitation.’
    â€˜Let’s get it over with. I hate lying to the man,’ Lyon said.
    â€˜In the long run it’s the most painless way to bring him in for questioning.’ Rocco stepped to the base of the tree and cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Spook!’ he called. ‘Corporal Williams! This is Captain Herbert. You up there, soldier?’
    â€˜I hear you, Captain,’ was the muffled reply. A trapdoor above the makeshift ladder opened. A face peered down at them. ‘What’s up, Cap?’ a quavery voice asked.
    â€˜You got an Article Fifteen, Spook,’ Rocco said.
    â€˜Hey, man. I done nothing.’
    â€˜You got punishment, Corporal. Doc here says you didn’t take your malaria tablet today. You know that’s an Article Fifteen under the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I won’t lean on you hard, maybe a little extra guard duty.’
    â€˜I hate their damn taste, Cap.’
    â€˜Corporal, get your ass down here. And I mean now!’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ The trapdoor slowly opened to reveal a tall cadaverous man of indeterminate age whose long locks of hair fell over his shoulders. He wore holed sneakers and faded army fatigues. He cautiously climbed down the makeshift ladder leading from the tree house. When he reached the base of the tree he straightened into a caricature of attention and attempted to give Rocco a smart salute.
    â€˜I just forgot to take the pill, Doc,’ Spook said to Lyon.
    â€˜You have to come to headquarters with me, Corporal,’ Rocco said.
    â€˜Yes, sir. Whatever the captain says.’ Spook turned to hand Lyon a wadded First Cavalry Division patch with its distinctive dark horse head silhouette set against a vivid yellow background. ‘You need to sew this on your uniform, Doc. Pill pusher or not, we’re all First Cav here.’
    The Murphysville Department of Police Services consisted of twelve sworn officers and three communications operators, who also doubled as department clerks. Their new location was a block down from the town green, across from the volunteer fire department. The building was occasionally mistaken for a reform temple due to its stained-glass window whose abstract design vaguely resembled a burning bush.
    Except for the fact that it was twice as large, Rocco Herbert’s new office was similar to the one he occupied when they shared space with the town library. Although the construction budget allowed for new furnishings, Rocco insisted on retaining his old. The room contained the same massive wooden desk and worn leather couch. The ancient Mr. Coffee machine still squatted on the marred credenza.
    Lyon sat on a wooden side chair next to Rocco’s desk. Spook slowly lowered himself on to the leather couch. He used both hands to clasp his knees.
    â€˜I know you got a little taste there, Captain,’ Spook said.
    â€˜You know we can’t drink on duty, Corporal,’ Rocco replied.
    â€˜Come on, man. Just a little goddamn taste.