Page 97 of M for Murder

He flicked over the next page and read the headline.

LOCAL PROFESSOR KILLED IN PRANK

He read the beginning of the story.

San Palimo Police were today questioning three local youths about the death of a San Palimo College Professor who was found hanged in his classroom. It is believed that Professor Myron White, who taught English at the college, was killed when a prank went wrong.

Max read the rest of the story. It went on to say that the police had not yet decided whether they would press charges and that White had left a wife and three young sons. No details were given of the children’s names. Quickly Max found the paper for November 22nd. He flicked through twice but was unable to find any further developments on the Myron White case.

The next story was on the 26th of the month and much longer than the previous article. He scanned through, looking for the names of the children.

A loud bang came from out in the library, throwing his concentration.

He jumped and looked up.

‘Hello? Who’s there?’

There was no answer.

Not wanting to leave the newspaper now he had found what he wanted, Max ripped the page out, folded it up and stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans. Then he reached for his revolver. The library had closed at ten when Boaz had left and Agnes Barnes had locked the door, leaving Max inside with a set of keys. Logically, he knew that any disturbance would have to be caused either by one of the library assistants coming back (unlikely), or Boaz banging on the front door, having decided to come across early to help (even less likely). Whatever or whoever had caused the noise, he wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

He waited a second before gently easing down the handle of the door to the back room, listening for further sounds. Then, satisfied there was no one waiting on the other side, he stepped through into the room with the books and pulled the door shut.

The room was dark and not wanting to turn on the light he stepped carefully around the books so as not to make any unnecessary noise. The next door separated him from the main library. Back against the wall and his revolver ready, Max eased down the handle and pushed the door open.

There was no one there.

He considered calling out again, before he scared the shit out of one of the library assistants with the loaded gun. But he couldn’t take the risk.

Just in case.

The room was filled with high bookshelves, offering any intruder a hundred places to hide, but they were as much an advantage as a disadvantage. Whilst an intruder could hide from him, Max could hide from an intruder.

His revolver raised and ready, he crept around the bookshelves, keeping his footsteps quiet and his breathing as shallow as possible. At the end of each shelf he stood with his back against the books and cautiously peered around the corner to make sure the coast was clear before crossing into the open.

He saw no one and he heard no one.

It’s probably all a false alarm. Jeez, old man! You’re running around an empty library, waving your gun in the air. You look like a damn fool.

Feeling it probably was a false alarm, Max relaxed slightly. He loosened his grip on the revolver.

Then he saw the broken glass on the floor.

He was over on the left-hand side of the library, standing between the wall and an end bookshelf containing children’s titles. Looking up at the window he could see that the pane of glass had been completely smashed. It was only a small window, but just big enough for an intruder to climb through.

So much for imagining things. He’d been right about hearing a noise after all.

He took a step closer, wondering why someone would want to break into a library. Maybe to steal a copy of Moby Dick or The Catcher in the Rye. He laughed quietly to himself, not seeing the approaching shadow on the wall in front of him.

The wooden club smashed down, crunching hard against the back of his head and knocking him to the floor. Max rolled over just in time to get a glimpse of his attacker’s face, before the club smashed down again, hard against the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

He was still unconscious five minutes later when the library, strong with the smell of gasoline, started to fill with smoke and flames began to tear through the newspapers in the small room out back, destroying the last remaining records of San Palimo’s history.

39

JUNIPER, OREGON. THURSDAY 8TH MAY 1997

B y the time Rebecca finally located Kylan Parker, she had just about managed to piece everything together. Richard Lamb had been a great help at filling in the gaps when he’d come in the day before; she only wished he had decided to come to them earlier. She had listened to everything he had to say, shocked that people could be so callous. Then she had called Hickok and made Lamb repeat his story.