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Unformatted text preview: n, Sam." Chapter Thirty-Seven The single shot that killed Lenny Fargarson was fired from a 30.06 hunting rifle. The killer could have been as far as two hundred yards away from the front porch where Lenny died. Thick woods began just beyond the wide lawn around the house, and there was a good chance whoever pulled the trigger had climbed a tree and had a perfectly concealed view of poor Lenny. No one heard the shot. Lenny was sitting on the porch, in his wheelchair, reading one of the many books he borrowed each week from the Clanton library. His father was delivering mail. His mother was shopping at Bargain City. In all likelihood, Lenny felt no pain and died instantly. The bullet entered the right side of his head, just over the jaw, and created a massive exit wound above his left ear. When his mother found him, he'd been dead for some time. She somehow managed to control herself and refrain from touching his body or the scene. Blood was all over the porch, even dripping onto the Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html front steps. Wiley heard the report on his police scanner. He called me with the chilling announcement, "It has begun. Fargarson, the crippled boy, is dead." Wiley swung by the office, I jumped in his pickup, and we wereoff to the crime scene. Neither of us said a word, but we were thinking the same thing. Lenny was still on the porch. The shot had knocked him out of his wheelchair and he lay on his side, with his face toward the house. Sheriff McNatt asked us not to take photos, and we readily complied. The paper would not have used them anyway. Friends and relatives were flocking over, and they were directed by the deputies to a side door. McNatt used his men to shield the body on the front porch. I backed away and tried to take in that horrible scene—cops hovering over Lenny while those who loved him tried to get a glimpse of him as they hurried inside to console his parents. When the body was finally...
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- Spring '10