Chapter Four
“Human?” Star repeated sceptically. The laptop whirled to life and Sam lost himself in it. “A human doesn’t have the strength to do that Sam, not without some kind of tool, which would have left marks…”
“Exactly, there was none Star. It was a ghost, a hugely pissed off one.” Sam ran over the mouse pad with his finger. “And I think I’ve found who it is.” He put the computer in her lap. “Ryan Small, drowned in silver Lake thirty six ago, he was only fifteen.”
Star closed the laptop and set it down on the bed, getting to her feet she paced the room while Sam watched with excitement lighting up his dark eyes. “It’s a tragedy sure, but there’s nothing that links him to Jay Leno or Gareth Lock.”
“Ryan Small was in the same year as them back at High school. They were bound to know each other, or at least pass in the hallways from time to time. It’s worth investigating.” Star studied him and tried to be diplomatic.
“Sam. I think you’re seeing what you want to. This is just all…too thin. We don’t know that a ghost was involved.” A hurt expression clouded her brother’s face, which was exactly what Star had wanted to avoid.
“Jay was ripped apart, his organs were displayed all over that alley, and it wasn’t an animal. You said yourself that there’s something fishy about Lock. This is the only lead we’ve got.”
“Not necessary. Jay was seeing someone called Veronica before he died. We should track her down and talk to her.” Sam grabbed his jacket.
“Fine. You do that. I’m going to talk to Ryan’s parents.” The door slammed shut behind him before she could even argue.
***
Sam gripped the steering wheel hard. He knew he was acting like a prat but he needed this to be their kind of thing. Work was the only thing that let him forget how utterly useless he was.
Ryan Small’s mother lived outside of town on a rundown farm; he had gotten the address from Patti, who had also been the one to put him onto Ryan. The woman who answered the door looked wrinkled and spent. Her grey hair was falling out of an untidy bun as she glared at him through suspicious eyes.
“Mrs Small? My name’s Bill Warner, I work for the Boston Globe. I was wondering if we could have a chat about your son Ryan.”
“Ryan’s dead.” She snapped. Sam flashed her he’s best smile.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” The distrust began to disappear from her face.
“You’re writing about him?” Sam nodded.
“Good. About time somebody did. Come in.” She walked away and Sam closed the door behind him. The house had seen better days, the paint was peeling, the floorboards were loose and the furniture was rotting.
Mrs Small guided him into a living room and sat down in a rocking chair next to a roaring log fire, Sam took a seat on the ripped couch. “It was no damned accident.” She said angrily. “They said he’d tripped, bumped his head and fell into the lake and drowned, but we knew the truth.” She picked up a photograph of a man standing in front of an old Dodge, his arm around the thin shoulders of a gangly boy.
“A truth my husband couldn’t live with, a truth that sent him to an early grave.” She whispered sadly holding the frame to her chest. “Ryan was murdered you see, everyone knows but they don’t care. They never cared about my beautiful boy…” tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Who murdered Ryan Mrs Small?” Sam prodded gently.
“Those bullies. Nasty vile little creatures they were. Always picking on him, stealing his lunch money, roughing him up. The poor devil used to cry himself to sleep every night.”
“Do you know who they were?” The woman set the photo frame back down onto the end table that was cluttered with tissues.
“Oh I’ll never forget the bastards who killed my son, Mr Warner.” Sam edged closer and waited with bated breath.
“Jonathan Leno and Gareth Lock.”