Hard Fall: A gripping, noir detective thriller (Thomas Blume series of Hard-Boiled Mysteries, Book 1) by P.T. Reade Page B

pretty good.
     
    Though there were still holes in my theory, I had put most of it together after seeing the notebooks. Bennett was not Atkinson’s nephew as he had told me. Atkinson had been raised by a foster family, so at some point he and his wife had wanted to give back to the process. They had adopted a troubled kid, probably one with a history of abuse and mental issues; William Hudson. He was their adopted son.
     
    At least for a few years. It wasn’t long before Billy left his foster home. Whether Billy had run away or had been kicked out due to his disturbing tendencies remained to be seen. However, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Atkinson had gotten rid of the troubled child, worried that custody of such a kid might taint his exemplary reputation.
     
    Either way, Atkinson must have been shocked to see his son again years later. Had Billy blackmailed him into covering the whole thing up, or did Atkinson just feel guilty for his absent offspring? In the end, I figured it didn’t matter.  Both were in cuffs, and the truth would soon be out.
     
    A flicker of light caught my eye, and as I turned, I felt a flash of pain in my side. Outside the window, the rain was still coming, but a tiny break in the clouds pierced the drab sky. In the distance, sunlight broke through for the first time in days. I looked out of the glass towards the woods where I had found the mounds.
     
    I thought of Sarah and Tommy, knowing that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to completely forget about their case. If anything, catching Bennett and finding Charlie Haines had only served to make me more confident in my skills as an investigator. I would find out who killed them, I resolved. I would find them and punish them.
     
     

TWELVE
     
    Revelations.
     
    Elizabeth had offered to pay me a handsome wage for the case, but I had declined. Another surprising appearance of the altruistic Thomas Blume. Was I going soft? Sure, I could use the money, but I’d figured she wasn’t a wealthy woman anymore and probably couldn’t afford it these days. Especially after paying for the second funeral of her dead son.
     
    I was an asshole, but not that much of an asshole.
     
    I paid my respects to Jack and the other kids from afar. Covered in bruises and stitches, I didn’t want to shock any of the already distraught parents at the cemetery. I’d stood on the other side of the churchyard, away from the crowd, silently hoping the kids found the peace in death that they’d had taken from them in life.
     
    I noticed Elizabeth’s thin smile at the funeral—a kind of resigned sadness—and understood completely. Elizabeth Ellington would never know the joy of her son again, but she might find some peace for the first time in a decade, and that was something. In a world of uncertainty and pain, perhaps that was all we could ask for at this point.
     
    I wondered if this would be my fate too. Digging into the death of my family was nothing but hurt and questions. Would I get the closure I needed, or would it end up poisoning me with suspicion and darkness like Amir warned?
     
    Maybe it would. That’s why I had decided to renew the ad Amir had posted in the paper for me. The Ellington case had helped me get back in the saddle; it had helped me stay focused, and my voicemail was already brimming with enquiries.
     
    Thomas Blume, Private Investigator.
     
    It was official, at least according to my new business cards. I had a job and I would continue helping people, taking work where I could and where I was needed.
     
    In the meantime, however, I would not forget the duty I had to my family. I would find their killer. And now I had somewhere to start; a huge lead had just presented itself at an unexpected time.
     
    As I’d been rummaging through those sacks in Bennett’s farm, a thought had hit me. I had held little Jack Ellington’s shirt in my hand and had seen the strange collection of notebooks and kids’