The Silence of Murder
The Silence of Murder
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Random House
Annotation: Sixteen-year-old Hope must defend her developmentally disabled brother (who has not spoken a word since he was seven) when he is accused of murdering a beloved high school baseball coach.
Genre: [Mystery fiction]
 
Reviews: 7
Catalog Number: #72554
Format: Perma-Bound Edition
Special Formats: Inventory Sale Inventory Sale
Publisher: Random House
Copyright Date: 2011
Edition Date: 2012 Release Date: 10/09/12
Pages: 327 pages
ISBN: Publisher: 0-375-87293-0 Perma-Bound: 0-605-72350-8
ISBN 13: Publisher: 978-0-375-87293-8 Perma-Bound: 978-0-605-72350-4
Dewey: Fic
LCCN: 2010035991
Dimensions: 21 cm.
Language: English
Reviews:
Horn Book

When her developmentally disabled brother Jeremy, who hasn't spoken in nine years, is accused of murdering the popular high school basketball coach, Hope is determined to clear his name. Hope's dedication to her brother is inspiring, but the novel suffers from uneven pacing and flat characterizations of Jeremy and the adults in the siblings' lives.

School Library Journal

Gr 8 Up-After her autistic brother is accused of murdering the town's beloved baseball coach, 16-year-old Hope Long determines to exonerate him. To prove Jeremy's innocence, she must overcome significant obstacles, including his inability to defend himself because of selective muteness, criminal evidence that is damning, and the townspeople's judgmental attitudes toward the 18-year-old's disability. With the assistance of her friend T. J. and the sheriff's son, Chase, she compiles a list of suspects and seeks clues that will clear Jeremy. In the course of their detective work, romance ensues between Hope and Chase, which helps lighten the novel's dark tone. Hope uncovers a shocking revelation about her mother, dramatically impacting Jeremy's case. Paced like a riveting television courtroom drama, with the ultimate conclusive twist, The Silence of Murder is gritty and intense, and it will appeal to readers who appreciate realistic depictions of criminal investigations. Mackall portrays autism with compassion and sensitivity; Hope's unerring devotion to her brother, and her ability to see beyond his disability, beautifully anchors this novel. Lalitha Nataraj, Escondido Public Library, CA

Kirkus Reviews

A teenager tries to clear her mute brother's name when he is accused of murdering the local high-school baseball coach.  Hope Long already had a laundry list of problems before her autistic brother Jeremy was arrested for murder: an abusive, alcoholic mother, a run-down house and no social life to speak of. But true to her name, Hope isn't letting any of that get in the way of playing amateur detective. Enlisting the help of school outsider T.J. and crush object Chase, who conveniently is also the son of the local sheriff, she looks for evidence that proves selectively mute Jeremy couldn't have killed the coach he admired and loved. In a tearjerking denouement, Hope reveals what she has learned, resulting in an ending that will surprise no one. While the premise of this overly earnest psychological thriller will intrigue some readers, it suffers from slow pacing and a secondary cast of one-dimensional characters. Hope doesn't even begin detecting until nearly 100 pages in, and her constant recollections of her brother's selfless past actions make him appear perfect rather than real. In addition, the mean parents, bumbling defense lawyer and preening prosecutor all play to type, their characters flat.  Pass up this one for one of Judy Blundell's or Kathryn Miller Haines' whip-smart girl-centered mysteries instead. (Mystery. 13 & up)  

ALA Booklist

"I have never even once thought there was something wrong' with my brother," says 17-year-old Hope Long, but few people share her view. Jeremy, 18, is selectively mute, autistic, and on trial for the murder of a beloved local coach. Wherever their irresponsible alcoholic mother has taken them, Hope has always been Jeremy's advocate, but now, in order to save Jeremy from execution, she must testify to his insanity. Convinced of her brother's innocence, Hope sets out to discover the real murderer. Her investigation leads to the loss of her only friend, a forbidden romance with the sheriff's son, family secrets, and a journey of self-discovery. Hope's first-person narrative pulls readers immediately into the story as she works her way through clues and false leads to the truth. The well-plotted mystery is intriguing, and Hope's determined efforts to solve it have an authentic feel. Secondary characters are a tad one-dimensional, but Hope's compelling voice and the very real sense of danger propel the pace to a solution that will have readers talking.

Word Count: 81,569
Reading Level: 3.9
Interest Level: 9-12
Accelerated Reader: reading level: 3.9 / points: 11.0 / quiz: 147254 / grade: Upper Grades
Reading Counts!: reading level:4.5 / points:20.0 / quiz:Q63159
Lexile: HL620L
1

The first time Jeremy heard God sing, we were in the old Ford, rocking back and forth with the wind. Snow pounded at the window to get inside, where it wasn’t much better than out there. I guess he was nine. I was seven, but I’ve always felt like the older sister, even though Jeremy was bigger.

I snuggled closer under his arm while we waited for Rita. She made us call her ‘Rita’ and not ‘Mom’ or ‘Mommy’ or ‘Mother,’ and that was fine with Jeremy and me. Pretty much anything that was fine with Jeremy was fine with me.

We’d been in the backseat long enough for frost to make a curtain on the car windshield and for Rita’s half-drunk paper cup of coffee to ice some in its holder up front.

Jeremy had grown so still that I thought he might be asleep, or half frozen, either one being better than the teeth-chattering bone-chilling I had going on.

Then came the sound.

It filled the car. A single note that made it feel like all of the notes put together in just the right way. I don’t remember wondering where that note came from because my whole head was full of it and the hope that it wouldn’t stop, not ever. And it went on so long I thought maybe I was getting my wish and that this was what people heard when they died, right before seeing that white tunnel light.

The note didn’t so much end as it went into another note and then more of them. And there were words in the notes, but they were swallowed up in the meaning of that music-song so that I couldn’t tell and didn’t care which was which.

Then I saw this song was coming from my brother, and I started bawling like a baby. And bawling wasn’t something you did in our house because Rita couldn’t abide crying and believed whacking you was the way to make it stop.

Jeremy sang what must have been a whole entire song, because when he closed his mouth, it seemed right that the song was over.

When I could get words out, I turned so I could see my brother. “Jeremy,” I whispered, “I never heard you sing before.”

He smiled like someone had warmed him toasty all the way through and given him hot chocolate with marshmallows to top it off. “I never sang before.”

“But that song? Where did you get it?”

“God,” he answered, as simply as if he’d said, “Walmart.”

I’d just heard that song, and even though it seemed to me that God made more sense than Walmart for an answer, I felt like I had to say otherwise. I was the “normal” sister, the one whose needs weren’t officially special.

“Jeremy, God can’t give you a song,” I told him.

Jeremy raised his eyebrows a little and swayed the way he does. “Hope,” he said, like he was older than Rita and I was just a little kid, “God didn’t give it to me. He sang it. I just copied.”

The door to the trailer flew open, and a man named Billy stepped out. Rita was breaking up with Billy, but I don’t think he knew that. We’d stopped by his trailer on our way out of town so Rita could pick up her stuff, and maybe get some money off her ex-boyfriend, who didn’t realize he was an ex. Billy stood there in plaid boxers, his belly hanging over the elastic like a rotten potato somebody’d tried to put a rubber band around. If I hadn’t been so cold, I might have tried to get Jeremy to laugh.

Rita squeezed up beside the potato man. She tried to slip past him and out the door. But he took hold of her bag and grabbed one more kiss. She laughed, like this was a big game. Then she stepped down out of the trailer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

I would have given everything I had, which I admit wasn’t so very much, just to hear Jeremy and God’s song again.

The tall heels of Rita’s red knee-high patent-leather boots crunched the snow as she stepped to the car, arms out to her sides, like a tightrope walker trying to stay on the wire. She jerked open the driver’s door, slid into place, and slammed the door hard enough to shake the car worse than the wind.

Without saying a word, she turned the key and pumped the pedal until the Ford caught. Then she stoked up the defrost and waited for the wipers to do their thing. I figured by the scowl on Rita’s face that Billy hadn’t forked over the “loan” she’d hoped for.

Jeremy leaned forward, his knobby fingers on the back of the seat. “Rita,” he said, “I didn’t know God could sing.”

She struck like a rattler, but without the warning. The slap echoed off Jeremy’s face, louder than the roar of the engine. “God don’t sing!” she screamed.

That was the last time Jeremy ever spoke out loud.

Sometimes I think if I could have moved quicker, put myself in between my brother’s soft cheek and Rita’s hard hand, the whole world might have spun out different.



2

“Your Honor, I object!”

The prosecutor stands up so fast his chair screeches on the courtroom floor. He has on a silvery suit with a blue tie. If he weren’t trying to kill my brother, I’d probably think he’s handsome in a dull, paper-doll-cutout kind of way. Brown hair that doesn’t move, even when he bangs the state’s table. Brown eyes that make me think of bullets. I’m guessing that he’s not even ten years older than Jeremy, the one sitting behind the defense table, the one on trial for murdering Coach Johnson with a baseball bat, the one this prosecutor would like to execute before he reaches the age of nineteen.

The prosecutor charges the witness box as if he’s coming to get me. His squinty bullet eyes make me scoot back in the chair. “The witness’s regrets about what she may or may not have done a decade ago are immaterial and irrelevant!” he shouts.

“Sit down, Mr. Keller,” the judge says, like she’s tired of saying it because she’s already said it a thousand times this week.

Maybe she has. This is my first day in her courtroom. Since I’m a witness in my brother’s trial, they wouldn’t let me attend until after I testified. So I can’t say the whole truth and nothing but the truth about what’s gone on in this courtroom without me.

“I’ll allow it,” the judge says. “Go ahead, Miss Long.”


From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpted from The Silence of Murder by Dandi Daley Mackall
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Winner of the Edgar Award

The story of a teen's struggle to prove her brother innocent of murder.

The Crime: The murder of John Johnson, beloved baseball coach. 

The Accused: 18-year-old Jeremy Long, who hasn't spoken a single word in 12 years.

Witness for the Defense: 16-year-old Hope Long, the only person who believes her brother is innocent.

Other Suspects: The police have none. But Hope's list is growing.

From author Dandi Daley Mackall comes a gripping murder mystery and a dark yet powerfully redemptive story of love, secrets, and silence.


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