Silent Justice Read Free Page A

take a look at the car.
    Even before he reached the vehicle, he could see the mangled passenger-side door. It had more than likely been rammed by the same vehicle that had run over the poor woman over there. He went to the side door and stopped. The window was broken out and glass lay all over the ground and inside the car.
    He’d better not get too close or touch anything. The cops wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone messing up the crime scene. He knew that much.
    He hoped he hadn’t trampled on any of the blood around the body. He checked the bottoms of his shoes. Nope. It seemed to be all right.
    He strode back to the mess on the ground, stared at the body a moment longer, and then figured it was probably time to call the cops.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
     
     
    Tuesday, 8:43 a.m.
     
    ADAM THORBURN sat on the edge of his bed, dropped his head back, and yawned. Another sleepless night was past. He hated not being able to sleep and wished he could pop a pill and pass out for the night.
    But his mother had been firm about that. He was on enough medication as it was, and a sleeping pill, along with his antipsychotic medications, could cause a bad reaction.
    He hated the term antipsychotic . It made it sound like he was psychotic, but he wasn’t. He was schizophrenic—a huge difference. But he hated being schizophrenic too. At only twenty-three years old, he would have to put up with it for a good long time. The doctor said he’d have it for the rest of his life.
    Adam yawned again, brushed back his bristling dark hair with one hand, and stood. He was supposed to be at work by nine but would never make it. He was tired of pushing supermarket carts around, anyway. Not that he was lazy. Far from it. He just didn’t see any future in it, and frankly, didn’t see much of a future for himself at all.
    He hated walking to work, too. It only took twenty minutes or so, but it was an annoyance. He’d had a driver’s license and an old beat-up Ford when he was younger, but they’d taken his license away years ago. They said it wasn’t safe for him to drive.
    But his mother insisted he work at whatever job he could land, and he complied—most of the time. She said they needed the money. Her skimpy paycheck barely paid for the basic necessities, and his medication was a drain on the family budget.
    Not that it was much of a family. Just him and his mother. His father had been dead for almost a year now. He’d usually gotten along pretty well with his father, but when the old man had been drunk, his father had had some awful arguments with his mother. Seemed like they were at each other’s throats a lot of the time.
    Adam pulled on his jeans, yesterday’s socks, and a faded t-shirt. His shirts barely fit anymore. The paunch he’d developed made sure of that. He wasn’t really fat, but he’d put on an extra twenty pounds or so lately, and it was showing in his face as well.
    He didn’t care all that much about how he looked anymore. Mostly, he hung around all day, worked at the supermarket for a while, and wasted the rest of the time. He had no friends. He hoped to find a girlfriend someday, but that was almost laughable. What girl would want to hang around with a schizo? Maybe another schizo. Adam laughed aloud. What a great combination that would be. They could have little schizo babies. What fun.
    The thing that irked him most about other people was they thought he was mentally challenged—retarded, they called him. But he had an above-average IQ, wasn’t all that bad looking despite the extra weight, and could usually carry on an intelligent conversation. If he was antisocial, it was because they made him that way. It affected his schoolwork to such a degree, he’d dropped out to get away from the bullies and the so-called normal people who shunned him.
    To make things worse, he’d been having more and more blackouts lately. There were periods of time when he had no idea what went on or where he had been.