Читать книгу Murder in the Courthouse - Nancy Grace - Страница 10

PROLOGUE

There was no warning, no movement inside the darkened garage. The morning was just like every other. He locked the kitchen door, balancing a to-go coffee cup. Adjusting the thick lenses of his glasses, Alton peeked back through the door’s small panes. He absolutely had to check the coffee machine. Yes, the little red light was off. He’d unplugged it before leaving, as usual. But always better safe than sorry.

Glancing back into the kitchen was one of Alton’s rituals and extremely comforting as he headed to the courthouse and all its jarring noises, jostling bodies in and out of courtrooms, and generally untidy goings-on. He loved thinking his little kitchen was neat as a pin, smelling of coffee and sausage patties.

Turning around, the thwack to the back of Alton’s head and the slice right to his torso really didn’t register as pain . . . at first, anyway. But almost immediately, a searing shot of pain jolted Alton’s body like an electric current. Doubling over, he spotted deep red blood spurting out onto the concrete floor.

The rhythmic bursts of blood reminded him of water gushing out of the corner fire hydrant last summer when a neighbor crashed into it while texting. A fixed object! It caused a huge mess. Alton stayed up late into the night, discreetly watching clusters of neighbors, police, and fire department personnel through the curtains of his front window.

Crashing forward face-first, his forehead slammed into the back right-side tire of his Toyota Corolla. He caught a whiff of the tire’s black rubber.

It was “Magnetic Metal Gray,” a color that the ad proclaimed was “Stealthy and stunning. Drive Magnetic Metal Grey and get noticed!” Alton kept the car in absolute mint condition. But he was never noticed.

He loved taking the car to the Super Wash over on Abercorn. It made the car smell like a piña colada. “If you like piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain, if you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain . . .”

Sausage, coffee, the manufactured smell of piña colada all crashed together in his head now pressed against the cool cement.

Alton spotted his garage door hanging over him. Why was it up? He certainly had not left it gaping open overnight, begging intruders to come in and steal gardening tools.

The figure that just dragged him by his feet bent down, but Alton could only make out a silhouette. Holding a knife. A ripping sensation tearing across his middle, above his hips, was excruciating, cutting through the haze.

A deep dark pool of blood spread out beneath him like a crimson throw rug. Somehow, the thought made him feel warmer and cozier and that was good, because suddenly, Alton felt very cold.

Cold to the bone.

His thoughts were getting more jumbled . . . but right now, all he could think of was Mother. Diabetes took her away from him. But he still loved her dearly and missed her practically every minute of every day.

Alton judged all other women by her gold standard. She confided she loved him, Alton, the best . . . even more than she had his father. They snuggled together, the two of them, more nights than Alton could remember . . . huddling against the smell of booze and the crazy rantings of his dad. When his dad beat Alton one time too many, it was Mother who came between them, taking the blows herself.

But oddly, here she was, standing behind the barbecue grill in the corner.

There was that sound again. Alton looked up in time to see the garage door lowering. His left cheek flush against the cool concrete floor, he remembered the ad exactly . . . “When seconds count, count on the Titanium-10! The garage door opener that never disappoints!”

“Mom, help me . . .” Now, she was just a few feet away, wearing her favorite short-sleeved, yellow dress, belted at the waist. Why was she wringing her hands? What was wrong? Alton hated when Mother cried.

Mother was speaking soothingly to him and he wanted to get closer, to hear what she was saying.

Two strange feet appeared at Alton’s eye level and at that precise moment, one foot pulled back and delivered a massive kick to Alton’s face. Blood gushed from his head and nose into his eyes.

He could no longer see, but he could hear. He recognized the mechanical sound of the garage lowering. Within seconds, the heavy metal door was grinding into him, severing him exactly in half.

Alton tried to reach out to Mother. She was no longer wringing her hands feverishly together. She was smiling . . . holding her arms open and then . . . Alton felt nothing more.