by Dan Padavona
“So you haven’t switched your tires in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Why the hell would I? Move.”
As Leonard pushed the shopping cart around the sheriff, Thomas directed the pen light toward the rear tires while keeping his eye on the irate man. The rear tires matched the front tires. All-season radials. This wasn’t the car he was looking for.
Leonard popped the trunk and loaded the groceries. After he finished, he slammed the trunk and shoved the cart across the parking lot. It rolled through vacant spaces, clipped a hole in the pavement, and crashed onto its side.
“You should return the cart to the corral, Mr. Leonard.”
“Why don’t you do it? Earn your pay for once, simpleton.”
Thomas eyed the Passat as he screeched out of Barret’s parking lot. The tires on Ed Leonard’s sedan didn’t match the casts taken at the murder scene.
But Ed Leonard had no alibi for the attack on Leland Trivett.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
October 31st
7:30 p.m.
LeVar lifted the chicken and lettuce wrap from the bag and handed it across the car to Chelsey. Since they’d left the bus terminal parking lot, Chelsey had spoken little. They were tired, hungry, and stressed, and the night showed no sign of ending.
Unwrapping a hamburger, LeVar took a bite and chewed. They sat inside Chelsey’s Civic and watched the farmhouse from across the road, the cold growing as the sky cleared. The Civic sat hidden beyond a turnoff that once allowed access to tractors. The farm had long since gone defunct, and a meadow grew in its place, the grass and weeds tall enough to conceal the car as they waited in the dark. No lights shone inside the farmhouse. Maybe LeVar was wrong about Benson returning before he caught the bus to Detroit. He popped a handful of fries into his mouth and sipped a strawberry milkshake. Chelsey set her half-eaten meal on her lap and stared out the window, lost in thought.
LeVar realized Chelsey struggled with depression. But depression wasn’t the root cause behind her silence tonight. Something weighed on her mind.
“I have my first midterm next week,” he said, doing his best to ignite a conversation.
Chelsey set her elbow on the sill and leaned her cheek against her palm. A few seconds later, she swung her head toward him.
“Did you say something?”
“My midterm. No big deal. Just making small talk.”
She set the wrap aside and turned to face him.
“No, tell me what you said. Please. That was rude of me to zone out on you.”
LeVar placed the milkshake in the cup holder.
“Chelsey, do you like working with me?”
“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”
“You’ve hardly said a word since we left Raven and Darren at the bus station. I get it. You don’t trust me, and I deserve it. I ran with the Harmon Kings for too long and did things I’ll always regret. I’ve given you no reason to believe I’ve changed.” Her mouth hung open. “Anyhow, if you’d rather work with Raven, I’m cool cruising around with Darren. It’s just that I’d rather learn from you, because you’re the head cheese and all.”
“You think I don’t trust you?”
LeVar leaned against the headrest.
“That’s why you’re ignoring me, right?”
Chelsey rubbed her face. It wasn’t until her hands fell away that he realized she was laughing.
“I’m hopeless. I keep blowing relationships, even with people I just met.” She touched his shoulder. “LeVar, I trust you with my life. You lack experience, and you can’t become a private investigator until you turn twenty-five. But you’re ready. I value your opinion, your instincts. Hell, the reason we’re freezing to death in the middle of a field is because you believe Mark Benson will sneak into the farmhouse again.”
“Then why the cold shoulder?”
Chelsey stared at her hands.
“I never forgave myself for the way I treated you last spring.”
“Hey, you apologized. It’s over.”
“Not for me, it isn’t. I suspected you murdered Erika Windrow. And if it wasn’t you, it had to be another member of the Harmon Kings. I should have known better.”
“Why? We’d never met, and my reputation preceded me.”
“But you’re Raven’s brother. That should have convinced me you weren’t a killer.”
LeVar glared at the moonlit house across the road, remembering a different time. The Harmon Kings became more violent after Rev took control. Many nights, LeVar struggled to fall asleep, afraid Rev would thrust the Kings into a war, and LeVar would need to kill someone. He’d come close. Another month under Rev, and LeVar was certain the gang leader would have instigated a city-wide war with the 315 Royals.
“I was lucky. I got out of Harmon before things spun out of control. Had it not been for Shep, I never would have made it.”
“Look at me, LeVar.” He turned his head. “You’re here tonight because you made choices to better your life. You even earned your GED and enrolled in college. What you’re accomplishing is nothing short of amazing. I’m proud to know you.”
LeVar’s throat constricted. He didn’t take praise well. Wasn’t used to it. Growing up, he’d never heard it from his mother, though his gang earnings kept a roof over their heads.
He stuffed the hamburger inside the bag.
“Then stop apologizing for the past and be my friend. Or at least be my boss. Yell at me when I do wrong. Anything is better than walking on egg shells forever.”
“You want me to yell at you?”
“Sure, if I deserve it.”
“I was wrong. You’re not at all like your sister.”
LeVar snorted.
“Yeah, Raven isn’t the best at taking criticism. When we were kids—”
She set a hand on his arm to quiet him. His eyes followed hers across the road.
“What’s that glint behind the trees?”
LeVar leaned forward and squinted. Inside the thicket where they’d hidden during the afternoon, moonlight reflected off a metallic bulk. They hadn’t noticed the reflection until the moon migrated over the hills and shone upon the thicket. He lifted the binoculars and focused on the trees. Yes, something was back there. A vehicle. His flesh tingled with anticipation.
“Is that the stolen Forester?” she asked.
LeVar studied the concealed vehicle, then swept the binoculars across the meadow, over the yard, and to the dark house.
“It’s the Forester. Should we call Lambert and Aguilar?”
Chelsey pressed a finger to her lips. Before he could react, a shadow stepped out of the trees and moved toward the house.
Mark Benson had come home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
October 31st
7:40 p.m.
“Any update on Leland Trivett?”
Thomas waited for Presley to respond over the radio. Two spaces ahead of his vehicle, a Kane Grove PD cruiser idled curbside. The officer, a female recruit fresh out of the academy, confirmed Theo Pierpoint hadn’t left the brick-face ranch across the street.
Thomas peered at the teacher’s house. Steam curled from a chimney atop the ranch, and two lights shone from the center of the house. During the ten minutes he’d sat outside Pierpoint’s home, Thomas hadn’t spotted movement inside. No shadows crossing the drawn curtains, no doors opening after trick-or-treaters rang the bell.
Thomas bit his thumbnail. Finally, Presley’s voice boomed through the radio.
“Trivett is still in surgery.”
“What did you find at the house?”
“The attacker escaped through the window, but I only found one set of tracks in the grass, leading away from the house.”
Thomas rubbed behind his neck.
“One set of tracks. How did he break inside?”
“No signs of forced entry. Sheriff, we think the killer hid inside the bedroom closet and waited for Leland. His mother had brought him home a half-hour befo
re.”
“The killer was already inside the house.”
“That’s the way it appears. The crime scene techs discovered a muddy shoe print inside the closet. They’re dusting for fingerprints now.”
“Keep me up to date.”
Thomas opened the door and stepped onto the blacktop. He swung his head up and down the block. The trick-or-treaters had thinned over the last ten minutes. A boy in a Spiderman costume crossed the street and hurried down the sidewalk.
Officer Kimmons met him beside her cruiser.
“How long have you been here, Officer?”
“Since seven-fifteen,” Kimmons said. “Around seven o’clock, I responded to a complaint three blocks east of here. Kids smashing pumpkins, general Halloween mischief. Dispatch told me to monitor the ranch.”
“And nobody has come or gone since you arrived?”
“Nobody. And he isn’t answering his door.”
Thomas chewed his lip and studied the ranch. The killer attacked Leland Trivett around six-thirty. Pierpoint had time to drive across town before Officer Kimmons arrived.
“Let’s hope he answers the door for us.”
Thomas led Kimmons across the road and up the driveway. A concrete walkway angled from the driveway to the front stoop. Hanging from a string, artificial autumn leaves girded the entryway. Childlike cardboard ghosts and witches poked out from the bushes. Someone had smashed the teacher’s pumpkin on the walkway.
Thomas pressed the doorbell. Chimes rang through the home. The wind made it impossible to hear someone approaching the door. After nobody responded, Thomas opened the storm door and pounded on the wooden door.
“Theo Pierpoint? This is the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. If I may have a moment of your time.”
Several seconds passed.
As Thomas reached for the doorbell again, the door creaked open. The man in the entryway was a dichotomy—the high cheekbones and fair complexion of youth, the drawn, haggard eyes of a senior on his deathbed. He swayed in the doorway, hair ruffled from recent sleep.
“Theo Pierpoint?”
“Yes.”
“You teach literature at Barton Falls High School?”
“I do.”
The teacher’s reply was little more than a croak.
“I’m Sheriff Shepherd, and this is Officer Kimmons with the Kane Grove Police Department. We understand you phoned Valerie Leonard this evening.”
Pierpoint rubbed one eye with his thumb.
“I…I don’t recall.”
“Have you been drinking, sir?”
“No, I never drink. It’s just that…”
His gaze moved past their heads and focused on the sky.
“Are you all right, Mr. Pierpoint? Perhaps I should call someone to sit with you.”
“That’s unnecessary.” Pierpoint staggered onto the stoop and closed the door behind him. Not only had the teacher not invited them inside, he’d blocked the entryway and closed the door. Was he hiding something inside? If the cold bothered Pierpoint, he didn’t react. “It’s been a hellish twenty-four hours, if you must know.”
While Thomas handled the questioning, Kimmons fixed her troubled eyes on Pierpoint, as though the teacher might grow fangs and sink his teeth into their necks.
“You don’t recall phoning your student, Valerie Leonard?”
Pierpoint blinked and looked down at his socked feet.
“I believe I called her, yes.”
“Is it commonplace for teachers to call students on their private cells?”
“Nothing about today is commonplace. I wish I’d never awoken.”
“Why did you call Valerie Leonard?”
Pierpoint’s face twisted with pain. He pressed a fist to his lips and whimpered.
“Because Derek was Valerie’s best friend. Though Ms. Leonard never impressed me as a student, she was the only person who would tell me the truth.”
“The truth?”
“I didn’t hear of Derek’s passing until Principal Dane made his announcement this afternoon. There was no time to react, to ask questions, to process the tragedy. We were left to wander home and come to grips with his death.”
“I take it Derek Jordan was one of your favorite students.”
“Not one of my favorite students, Sheriff. My very favorite. Entitled students who excel in the classroom come a dime a dozen. I respect the young adults who overcome adversity, and few faced more hardships than Derek Jordan.”
Pierpoint rubbed tears off his face. He wobbled on his feet, eyes glassy and unfocused. Thomas worried the next wind gust would topple the teacher.
“Still, you understand our concern. It seems unusual for a teacher to phone his student without first asking her parents for permission.”
“I’m a terrible person,” Pierpoint muttered. “Of that, I’m guilty. I failed as a husband, just as I failed to keep Derek safe.”
“Mr. Pierpoint, do you sleepwalk?”
The man’s mouth fell open. No words emerged.
“Sir?”
“I do.”
“When did you begin sleepwalking?”
The teacher scratched his head. He’d bitten his nails down to jagged claws.
“After my wife left me, I suspect.”
“And that was when?”
Pierpoint swiveled to face Thomas.
“Three months ago.”
Thomas peered at the neighboring houses. Lights shone from porches, and shadows passed by windows. He needed a neighbor to verify Pierpoint’s whereabouts.
“Were you home all evening, or did you leave the house tonight?”
“I napped on the couch before I phoned Ms. Leonard.”
“So you’ve been here all evening?”
“I hope so, dear Sheriff.” Pierpoint lowered his gaze to his feet, as if searching for a clue that would tell him where he’d traveled. “I truly do.”
“Do you recall where you were between six and six-thirty this evening?”
“No.”
“What about between midnight and two this morning?”
“Asleep in bed, I pray.”
“But you’re unsure.”
“There are no guarantees in life.”
Thomas glanced at Kimmons as the teacher wavered. Holding out a hand to catch Pierpoint if he lost his balance, Thomas studied the man’s pallid face. Utter despair and hopelessness poured from those eyes. Windows to a broken soul.
“I’d like you to accompany me to the station, Mr. Pierpoint.”
A wry grin formed on the teacher’s face.
“Are you placing me under arrest?”
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I know my rights. Unless you place me under arrest, I’m under no obligation to go with you.”
“I understand. This is for your own good.”
Pierpoint nodded.
“Allow me to gather my shoes and jacket.”
The door closed. Thomas wondered if Pierpoint would throw the lock and ignore them. More than anything, he worried about the teacher’s state of mind and didn’t trust him alone in the house. The guilt flooding through Pierpoint made Thomas wonder if the teacher had killed Derek Jordan. But what was his motivation?
While Pierpoint donned a jacket, Thomas stepped off the stoop and followed the driveway to an attached garage. Three windows offered a view inside. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he squinted. A car slumbered in the gloomy interior. He flicked a flashlight over the vehicle, sighed, and returned to Kimmons.
“Anything of note?” she asked.
“Pierpoint drives a silver Toyota Camry, not a dark sedan. I can’t examine the tires without entering the garage.”
The door opened. The glassy-eyed teacher held his arm out for Thomas.
“Lead the way, Sheriff.”
CHAPTER FORTY
October 31st
7:40 p.m.
LeVar trailed Chelsey through the frosty meadow, the grass and weeds crunching beneath their s
neakers. There was a sharpness to the cold, a dangerous edge that would bleed them dry if they slipped up. Along the road, Chelsey paused and studied the farmhouse. The shadowed figure had rounded the property, no doubt intent on entering through the damaged back door. Chelsey tapped LeVar’s shoulder and scurried across the dirt and gravel road, bent low to prevent being seen. Her speed and agility surprised LeVar, as did the woman’s supernormal ability to move without making a sound.
Chelsey leaped the shoulder and crept through the meadow. Stopping beside the copse, she knelt behind a tree and tilted her head at the hidden vehicle.
“Gray Subaru Forester,” she said.
“Same plates as the security footage showed at the bus terminal.”
“I’ll call the deputies.”
While Chelsey placed the call, LeVar concentrated on the farmhouse. He worried they were walking into a trap and didn’t want Benson sneaking up on them. After notifying Raven and Darren, Chelsey pocketed the phone.
“Lambert and Aguilar are on the way. Darren and your sister will stay at the gym, in case Benson gets past us.”
“So what now? Do we sit and wait until the deputies arrive?”
Chelsey brushed a weed off her jacket.
“Benson might flee before they arrive. I say we check out the house, make sure he’s inside.”
“Lambert and Aguilar won’t be happy.”
“Are you suggesting we stand down?”
“Hell, no. That punk threatened my sister. I say we take Benson down before we lose him.”
Chelsey raised an eyebrow.
“I can trust you to keep your cool?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Then we go in quiet and careful. Follow my lead.”
Chelsey sprinted out of hiding. LeVar stayed on her heels, tension coursing through his blood. When they reached the yard, Chelsey placed a finger to her lips and moved along the outer walls toward the back of the house. She could have broken through the front door with the lock picks. But they already knew Benson had kicked through the back door during his previous visit.
Moonlight shone through the kitchen window. The busted door stood open a crack, the jamb warped and in need of replacement. Chelsey removed her gun and set herself in a shooter’s stance as LeVar climbed the three rickety steps to the back door. The second step groaned. In the silent night, it sounded like a lion’s roar. He glanced back at Chelsey. The warning in her eyes told him to step away.
