agreed.
“The coroner's officials will here shortly and they'll take your mother away,” the policeman said. “That's standard procedure.
You'll need to tell us the name of a funeral home where they can take her after their work is done.” He started pulling Graham
toward the front door. “Let's go inside”
Graham's feet kept moving, but his legs seemed like pillars of wood inching forward, plodding toward the front door. The distance
felt like miles and miles.
“Please go on in,” the policeman said, pushing the front door open.
Cops were everywhere. Police kept walking back and forth, in and out of the room. In one corner Mary was sitting in an overstuffed
chair, holding George in her lap. Jeff was huddled up in a ball at her feet.
“Oh my children!” Jackie gasped and rushed across the room. “My babies!” Jackie knelt beside them, hugging, clutching, weeping.
Graham sank down on his knees beside Jackie and pulled all of them toward him. They cried with a passion beyond anything that
any of them had ever known before. All sense of time had disappeared.
“She's gone,” Mary finally said. “Grammy's gone.”
“I know,” Graham said. “I know I can't believe it.”
“A man shot her,” Mary said. “For no reason except to rob us. He killed Grandmother.”
Graham reached out for George. “You were there?”
George didn't look up or answer. He kept shivering and holding his arms together.
“You were with your grandmother?” Graham asked again.
George squinted his eyes together with fierce intensity as if he were trying to squeeze the memory out of his mind or erase
what he couldn't stop seeing. He only nodded his head slightly.
“George… George… can you talk?” Graham said.
George didn't answer. Tears ran down his cheeks again and he appeared to be frozen to Mary's side.
“Son, we're going to get through this,” Graham said. “We can make it together.”
“Mr. Peck,” a plainclothes detective said from behind them. “May I speak to you for a moment.”
Graham pushed himself up from his family and turned. “Yes sir.”
“Let's walk back here to the kitchen.” The detective gestured for Graham to follow him into large kitchen area. “My name is
Smith. Mac Smith, and I'm a homicide detective.”
Graham stumbled and sank into one of the chairs around the deacon's table. “Yes sir,” he barely mumbled.
“Your older son was in the garage when the shooting occurred,” the detective said. “We haven't been able to get him to say
anything, but we know he saw the shooter. Your boy doesn't seem to be able to talk right now.”
“I understand,” Graham said.
“We need him to help us identify the killer.”
Graham nodded.
“I want to give you my card. I need you to call me the moment you think the boy is ready to identify pictures. Our computerized
system will allow us to move through thousands of pictures quickly, but we need his help.”
“Of course.”
“Kids today see so much killing on television and at the movies that many of them seem to absorb violence better than your
boy has done, but…”
“We don't watch violence on television,” Graham interrupted him. “George is in no way prepared for what happened today. I'm
sure he's going to have a difficult time. You see…” Graham bit his lip and stopped talking for a moment.
“I understand,” the detective said. “Well, he's severely traumatized right now.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “It may take
a while before…well…before he's ready to talk with us.”
“Probably,” Graham said.
The detective stopped and looked out the window. “The ambulance is here now. They will remove your mother and then we'll probably
be on our way. We checked the grounds thoroughly before you arrived. We don't have much left to do.”
A policeman walked up. “Detective, we're sure the man went over the back fence and ran down the other side of the street.
We've got a couple of
“The coroner's officials will here shortly and they'll take your mother away,” the policeman said. “That's standard procedure.
You'll need to tell us the name of a funeral home where they can take her after their work is done.” He started pulling Graham
toward the front door. “Let's go inside”
Graham's feet kept moving, but his legs seemed like pillars of wood inching forward, plodding toward the front door. The distance
felt like miles and miles.
“Please go on in,” the policeman said, pushing the front door open.
Cops were everywhere. Police kept walking back and forth, in and out of the room. In one corner Mary was sitting in an overstuffed
chair, holding George in her lap. Jeff was huddled up in a ball at her feet.
“Oh my children!” Jackie gasped and rushed across the room. “My babies!” Jackie knelt beside them, hugging, clutching, weeping.
Graham sank down on his knees beside Jackie and pulled all of them toward him. They cried with a passion beyond anything that
any of them had ever known before. All sense of time had disappeared.
“She's gone,” Mary finally said. “Grammy's gone.”
“I know,” Graham said. “I know I can't believe it.”
“A man shot her,” Mary said. “For no reason except to rob us. He killed Grandmother.”
Graham reached out for George. “You were there?”
George didn't look up or answer. He kept shivering and holding his arms together.
“You were with your grandmother?” Graham asked again.
George squinted his eyes together with fierce intensity as if he were trying to squeeze the memory out of his mind or erase
what he couldn't stop seeing. He only nodded his head slightly.
“George… George… can you talk?” Graham said.
George didn't answer. Tears ran down his cheeks again and he appeared to be frozen to Mary's side.
“Son, we're going to get through this,” Graham said. “We can make it together.”
“Mr. Peck,” a plainclothes detective said from behind them. “May I speak to you for a moment.”
Graham pushed himself up from his family and turned. “Yes sir.”
“Let's walk back here to the kitchen.” The detective gestured for Graham to follow him into large kitchen area. “My name is
Smith. Mac Smith, and I'm a homicide detective.”
Graham stumbled and sank into one of the chairs around the deacon's table. “Yes sir,” he barely mumbled.
“Your older son was in the garage when the shooting occurred,” the detective said. “We haven't been able to get him to say
anything, but we know he saw the shooter. Your boy doesn't seem to be able to talk right now.”
“I understand,” Graham said.
“We need him to help us identify the killer.”
Graham nodded.
“I want to give you my card. I need you to call me the moment you think the boy is ready to identify pictures. Our computerized
system will allow us to move through thousands of pictures quickly, but we need his help.”
“Of course.”
“Kids today see so much killing on television and at the movies that many of them seem to absorb violence better than your
boy has done, but…”
“We don't watch violence on television,” Graham interrupted him. “George is in no way prepared for what happened today. I'm
sure he's going to have a difficult time. You see…” Graham bit his lip and stopped talking for a moment.
“I understand,” the detective said. “Well, he's severely traumatized right now.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “It may take
a while before…well…before he's ready to talk with us.”
“Probably,” Graham said.
The detective stopped and looked out the window. “The ambulance is here now. They will remove your mother and then we'll probably
be on our way. We checked the grounds thoroughly before you arrived. We don't have much left to do.”
A policeman walked up. “Detective, we're sure the man went over the back fence and ran down the other side of the street.
We've got a couple of
Similar Books
