by Dan Padavona
Derek’s wallet.
She’d forgotten the wallet until now. Assuming her boyfriend was playing a prank on her, Valerie had stuffed the wallet inside her knapsack. If the sheriff returned and discovered the wallet, he’d blame Valerie for killing Derek. Claim she murdered him and stole his money. Her gaze jerked to the knapsack. The bag lay zipped on the bed with the incriminating evidence beneath her books.
What to do?
She wanted to come clean, call the sheriff’s department, and explain what happened. Maybe a CSI team could lift the killer’s fingerprints off the wallet. But she’d watched too many movies in which the victim took the blame. Circumstantial evidence landed innocent people atop the suspect list.
She pawed inside her pocket for her phone and messaged Leland. He’d know what to do. She waited for a reply that never came. Begging the boy to answer, she called his phone and listened to it ring. Leland always answered. The boy practically tied himself to his phone and social media accounts. Something was wrong.
Valerie slipped the phone into her pocket and listened. Her father’s footfalls thundered across the floor and shook the walls as he paced from the kitchen to the living room. Valerie unlocked the door and edged it open, placing her face between the door and jamb.
“Ed? You didn’t hurt that boy, did you?”
Valerie’s hands turned clammy. Suddenly, she felt sick to her stomach. Sensing her anxiety, Loomis sprang from her lap and scurried inside the closet again.
“Of course I didn’t hurt him. Why would you ask something that stupid?”
There was a quiver in her father’s voice that made Valerie question his honesty. No. Her father could be a bastard, but he wouldn’t murder her boyfriend.
“Then call the sheriff and allow him to look at the car. We need to clear our names.”
The slap sent a shock through Valerie. Silence followed downstairs. Then her mother cried.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Valerie whispered through the opening. “If you ever hurt her again…”
Her words trailed off when Ed crossed the floor. Worried her father would climb the stairs and catch Valerie eavesdropping, she shoved the door shut and twisted the lock.
“You’re so stupid, Charisse. I’m protecting my daughter. That’s why I ordered the sheriff to leave.”
Charisse sniffled.
“How the hell are you protecting Valerie?”
“What if she stole the car after we fell asleep? We both drank at dinner. With your godforsaken noise maker on all night, neither of us would have heard the engine.”
“What are you saying, Ed? You believe Valerie stole our car, drove to the tracks, and murdered her boyfriend? That’s crazy.”
“Don’t call me crazy.”
Valerie trembled. Why would her father accuse Valerie of killing Derek? To protect himself?
“Valerie wouldn’t hurt her friends.”
“You see the things she’s into. Serial killers, horror movies. What do you think she does on that computer all night? She’s hiding in a dark place, Charisse. We should have cut her off from horror movies years ago. Another mistake I made by listening to you.”
“But they’re just movies.”
“Yeah? Someone butchered that kid. Stabbed him seven times in the chest and left him bleeding beside the tracks.” Valerie’s father seemed to know everything about the murder. Had the sheriff revealed the details? Or had Ed Leonard held a bloody blade while he watched Derek die? This was madness. Her own father had implicated Valerie in Derek’s murder.
“We have to protect Valerie, Charisse. God help us if she took the car out at midnight. The last thing we need is the sheriff and that bitch detective pawing around the car and finding evidence that links Valerie to the scene.”
“But she didn’t kill anyone, Ed.”
“It won’t matter. With the police, all they want is to place blame and close their cases. They’ll railroad Valerie and vilify her. And that’s why we can’t let them near our car. What if that crooked sheriff plants evidence?”
Ed Leonard made it seem as if he was looking out for Valerie’s best interest. But Valerie didn’t trust him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
October 31st
4:50 p.m.
Thomas Shepherd led Detective Presley around the idling ambulance and through the automatic doors. The sick and injured filled every seat inside Kane Grove Memorial Hospital’s emergency room. A man clutched his stomach and doubled over as a concerned spouse stroked his back. A woman with a bloody towel wrapped around her hand screamed at the nurse and demanded someone attend to her injury.
Presley broke to the left and gestured for Thomas to follow. She stopped beside the welcome station.
“Detective Presley,” the gray-haired woman behind the desk said. “Haven’t seen you in months.”
“Good to see you, Rosa.” Presley made introductions. “We’re looking for Leland Trivett. His mother phoned the department and told us she brought Leland to the emergency room.”
The woman fixed her glasses on the end of her nose and typed at the keyboard. Rosa scribbled the location on a sticky note and handed it to Presley. On their way through the double doors, Presley flashed her badge at a security guard.
“What’s going on around here?” Presley asked, watching Thomas from the corner of her eye. “First, someone stabs Derek Jordan. Next, his best friend ends up in the emergency room. The attacks have to be related.”
Presley knocked on the wall and announced her presence. A second later, a woman tugged the curtain back.
“Mrs. Trivett? I’m Detective Presley.”
Presley introduced Thomas. After a nod, the sheriff’s eyes moved to the table. Leland rested on a cot, one leg bent at the knee, the other extended. His sneakers were off, and bandages snaked around his head and ribs. Blood crusted the boy’s broken nose.
“I want the maniac who did this caught and arrested,” Mrs. Trivett said. Her orange hair was mussed, and makeup ran from her eyes to her cheeks.
“Who attacked Leland?” Presley asked.
“That’s the problem. Leland won’t say. Perhaps you can talk sense into my son.”
Thomas pulled a chair beside Leland’s cot and sat. Leaning forward in a relaxed posture, his elbows propped on his knees, Thomas did his best to appear nonthreatening.
“How did this happen, Leland?”
The boy gave Thomas a defiant stare and said, “I fell climbing over the fence in the city park.”
“Oh. Did the fall leave a sneaker print on your windbreaker?” Leland’s eyes swung to the windbreaker which hung against the wall. The phantom of a sneaker print muddied the front. “Looks to me like someone jumped you after school. Is that what happened?”
Leland’s jaw shifted, but he didn’t reply.
“Just tell the sheriff the truth,” Mrs. Trivett said, pleading. She checked the time and tapped her foot. “Your father is on his way from work. If we can’t get the facts out of you, your father will.”
“Leland,” Presley said, kneeling beside the cot. “We need to catch the person who did this to you. Once he’s behind bars, he won’t be able to hurt you again.”
Leland gave Presley an unconvinced eye roll.
“Is the man who attacked you the same person who stabbed Derek Jordan?” asked Thomas.
Leland’s eye twitched.
“I fell. It was an accident. You can go now.”
Presley stood and placed her hands on her hips. She paced the floor with her head lowered, thinking of a way to get through to the teenager.
“Does this have anything to do with our discussion at the school?” Thomas shot Leland a pointed stare. “About the man you met at the train tracks.”
“What man?” the mother asked, touching her mouth. “Why would you go down to the train tracks? There’s nothing down there except…Leland, are you dealing drugs?”
The boy’s face filled with horror.
“What? No!”
“Your
son doesn’t deal drugs,” Thomas said. “Right, Leland?”
“Of course not.”
“Tell your mother what you do at the tracks. It would be best if it came from you.”
Cornered, Leland looked from Thomas to his mother.
“I don’t deal. I buy.”
“Oh, my God,” Mrs. Trivett said, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“It’s just marijuana, Mom. It’s not like I purchase coke and heroin.”
“This isn’t how we raised you, Leland. I knew something was wrong. You stay up all night playing video games. If your grades fall, you’ll lose your scholarship to Ithaca. Is that what you want?”
Leland lowered his head.
“No.”
“Did your…dealer attack you?” Mrs. Trivett’s face twisted on dealer.
Leland chewed his lip.
“Tell me who did this,” Thomas said. “I promise I won’t let him hurt you again.”
“Troy Dean,” Leland said from the corner of his mouth.
“The leader of the 315 Royals.”
“He told me, if I snitch to the police, he’ll kill me like he did Derek.”
Mrs. Trivett hugged her son and cried into his shoulder.
Thomas eyed Presley. She wrote Dean’s name on her notepad and picked up her phone.
Presley and Thomas questioned Leland until the nurse returned. The doctor needed to reset the boy’s nose.
As they crossed the parking lot, Thomas shook his head.
“Why would a Harmon gangster murder Derek Jordan?”
“To keep the kid from ratting him out to the police. Or maybe because he’s a sociopath. Does he need a motive?”
Kane Grove PD had already phoned the Harmon Police Department. As Thomas and Presley spoke, cruisers canvassed Harmon, searching for Dean.
“So why didn’t he kill Leland Trivett, if he’s afraid of teenagers snitching on him?”
Presley stopped beside her vehicle and released a frustrated breath. She folded her arms with the keys dangling from one finger.
“We finally get a break, and we’re already talking ourselves out of it. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? Troy Dean admitted to murdering Derek Jordan.”
“And we’ll bring him in for questioning.”
“But you don’t believe he did it.”
Thomas studied the horizon. The sun dropped toward the hills, painting the land in Halloween orange. The cold bit at his ears and urged him to climb inside his vehicle. A few degrees colder, and snowflakes would fall from the sky.
“What about Cole Holland?”
“Derek Jordan’s stepfather? The department ran a background check on Holland. He drives a red Bronco Sport, not a dark sedan, and the tire tracks from the old train yards didn’t come from a Bronco.”
“Anything else about Holland we should know?”
“He grew up in Barton Falls. Average student, didn’t attend college. No arrests, no red flags. He hated his stepson, but there’s no law against that.”
Thomas dug the keys from his pocket.
“I know someone with inside information on Troy Dean and the Royals.”
Presley brushed her hair back.
“I’m hungry and exhausted, Sheriff. Tell you what. Make your call while I grab dinner, then we’ll meet up afterward. It’s been a long day, and I want this case wrapped up before I hit the pillow tonight.”
After Presley drove off, Thomas dialed LeVar as he climbed behind the wheel.
“Shep Dawg. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Troy Dean confessed to murdering Derek Jordan.”
LeVar hesitated before answering.
“Dean confessed to you?”
“No. Dean and his thugs jumped a teenager in Barton Falls. During the beat down, Dean told the kid he killed Derek, and the boy would be next on the list if he went to the cops.”
A chuckle came over the phone.
“Straight out of the gangster playbook. Whatever beef Dean has with this kid, Dean’s just getting inside the kid’s head to intimidate him.”
“According to our victim, Dean knew details about the attack.”
“Which he probably read on the internet. The murder is all over the news.” LeVar thought for a moment. “You’re obligated to bring Dean in. But nothing adds up. Why kill Derek Jordan, admit to murder, and let the witness walk away? If Dean really killed Jordan, your victim wouldn’t be alive to talk about it.”
“That’s my thinking, as well.” Thomas turned out of the hospital lot and directed the vehicle toward Barton Falls. He wanted to cruise past the Jordan house again. The background check hadn’t revealed a smoking gun in Holland’s past. Yet he didn’t trust the stepfather. While he was in Barton Falls, he’d swing past the train tracks and park outside Valerie Leonard’s house. What was he missing? “LeVar, how’s your sister?”
“Our gang is back together.” LeVar snickered. “Sorry for saying gang. Not the best term to describe our group after today.”
“I’m just glad everyone’s safe. I spoke to Deputy Aguilar. You expect Benson will buy a bus ticket in Kane Grove?”
“We’ll catch him if he does.”
“Leave it to the sheriff’s department, LeVar.”
“I can’t do that, Shep. It’s personal now. Come at my sister, and you answer to me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
October 31st
5:05 p.m.
Valerie awoke with a start and touched her heart.
The light at the window seemed wrong. Corrupt somehow. Distant sun peeked out from a thick blanket of gray, slicing past her blinds. It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t morning. She’d fallen asleep on her bed after the shouting ended downstairs. It all came back to her—the person dressed as the Halloween Man, Dad striking her mother, the sheriff insinuating Valerie or her father had killed Derek.
She ruffled her hair and crawled off the bed. Loomis darted from the closet and leaped into her lap as she sat at her desk. Too depressed to check the message boards, disgusted she’d created the Halloween Man legend and put her friends and family at risk, she stroked the kitten behind his neck. Light faded inside the bedroom. Lifting her phone, she confirmed Leland still hadn’t written back. Worry tugged at her. She should call Gardner. He’d know where to find Leland.
When the phone rang in Valerie’s hand, she jolted. The phone tumbled to the floor, cracking the screen in the corner.
“Shit,” she whispered as she retrieved the damaged phone.
Though Valerie didn’t recognize the number, she answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Is someone there? If this is a prank call, I’ll—”
“Ms. Leonard?”
The voice on the line sounded defeated, pained. The man sniffled.
“Who is this?”
“Is it true? Is Derek really dead?” Mr. Pierpoint. My God, how did he get her number? “You’ll tell me the truth, Ms. Leonard. The two of you were close. I remember.”
“Mr. Pierpoint, is that you?”
An excruciated moan came through the phone.
“Why would someone hurt our Derek? He was like a son to me.”
“I don’t…Mr. Pierpoint, are you all right? Maybe I should call someone to check on you.”
Pierpoint continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“There’s something wrong with me, Ms. Leonard. I drive my loved ones away. First my wife. Now Derek.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. And you didn’t drive Derek away. Someone murdered him.”
“But who would do such a thing? I’m worried, Ms. Leonard. Sometimes when I awaken, I find myself in another place inside the house. On the couch, or in the sunroom. And I never remember how I got there.”
“You sleepwalk, sir?”
“I fear I do much more than sleepwalk, Ms. Leonard.”
The line died.
Valerie stared at the phone until the reality of what Mr. Pierpoint had implied struck her. Sh
e dropped the phone to her desk and scooted away, as if a black widow had crawled across the screen.
Footsteps climbed the stairs. Her father was coming.
Valerie crept into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
* * *
Thomas lifted the binoculars to his eyes. A light turned on upstairs in the Leonard’s house, and shadows grew long across the sidewalk. Lit pumpkins flickered on porch steps as a few trick-or-treaters weathered the cold, moving door to door with winter jackets covering their costumes.
When the light flicked off, Thomas set the binoculars on the passenger seat. The minivan along the curb shielded his vehicle from prying eyes. If Ed Leonard glanced out the window, he wouldn’t see Thomas. Without a warrant, Thomas couldn’t determine if Leonard’s Volkswagen Passat had mismatched tires. Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he silently urged Ed Leonard to leave the house.
The radio interrupted his thoughts.
“Sheriff?”
Detective Presley’s voice.
“Sheriff Shepherd here.”
“We picked up Troy Dean and brought him to Kane Grove PD. If you want in on the interrogation, we’re beginning in fifteen minutes.”
Thomas chewed the inside of his cheek. His instincts told him someone in the Leonard house was in danger. Was Ed or Valerie Leonard capable of murder? Groaning, he fired the engine and shifted into drive, leaving the Leonard residence behind. He arrived at Kane Grove PD a minute before the interrogation began. Presley met him outside the interview room and handed him a copy of her notes and a bottled water.
“Officer Stanton responded to a call in Barton Falls. A resident spotted Dean entering a gas station on the edge of town. Stanton picked him up as Dean topped off his tank.”
“He’s in the interview room now?”
Presley nodded and gestured for Thomas to follow.
Troy Dean had a shaved head with a tattoo running from his cheek to his neck. An earring hung from one ear. Prison tattoos marred his forearms.
“Mr. Dean, this is Sheriff Shepherd. And you’ve already met Officer Stanton.”
