The Boy in the Window: A Psychological Thriller

by Ditter Kellen

  Ambling over to sit next to him, Jess plucked up the first paper in the thick stack. It happened to be a picture of the drunk, blond man she’d had a confrontation with not long ago. “This is Dale Schroder. Why would you have a photo of him, was he a suspect?”

  “No, but he had no alibi for the night Terry went missing. He also refused to cooperate during the investigation.”

  Jess studied the picture closely, noticing a certain emptiness to Dale’s eyes. “He looks like your typical weirdo to me.”

  Steven nodded. “I agree, but being a weirdo doesn’t make you a killer. Besides, he’d just lost his wife to cancer a couple months before Terry disappeared. That could have something to do with his lack of cooperation.”

  Jessica could relate. She’d completely lost interest in anything and everything when Jacob died.

  She laid the photo aside and picked up the next paper in the stack. “This is Eustice Martin’s criminal history.” She read through the charges, taking in everything from two DUI’s to his murder charge. There were also numerous domestic abuse allegations, but he’d never been arrested for any of them.

  “His wife never pressed charges,” Steven pointed out unnecessarily. “I tried talking to her on several different occasions, but she remained tight-lipped. Out of fear, I’m sure.”

  Jessica spent the next half-hour, going through the folder. “What about Terry’s parents? Did they have anyone in particular they suspected?”

  Steven blew out a breath and leaned back against the couch. “I tried dozens of times to interview them, but Melanie was inconsolable. The one time I did manage to sit down with her, she cried through the questioning.”

  “So she wasn’t much help,” Jessica murmured. “I can sympathize. It took me three years to be able to speak Jacob’s name without breaking down. I still get choked up if I allow myself to dwell on him.”

  “I’m sorry, Jess.”

  Uncomfortable with the attention now on her, Jess changed the subject. “What about Terry’s father?”

  “Jasper Dayton? What about him?”

  Jess shifted on her seat to face Steven. “Did he have any helpful information?”

  “Not really. He was pretty distraught as well. Although, he did demand the police look into Mr. Hawthorn. He claimed he’d caught the man looking into his windows with a pair of binoculars on more than one occasion.”

  Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “Benny Hawthorn…a peeping Tom?”

  “So, I was told. Although, I never found any evidence to validate the accusation. No police report had been filed.”

  Jess quickly stood. “I want to speak to the Daytons.”

  “Didn’t you already attempt that? As I recall, it didn’t go over too well.”

  Staring down into Steven’s calm expression, Jessica admitted, “You’re right, it didn’t go over well at all. But I have to try. Maybe one of them will remember something that will help me figure out who is doing this to me and why they want me gone.”

  Steven ran a hand down his face and then pushed to his feet. “Okay, but I’m going with you.”

  “No,” Jess blurted a little harsher than she’d intended. She took a deep breath, softening her gaze. “It’s just that…I think it will look as if I brought reinforcement. Melanie would probably go on the defensive. Let me try this on my own.”

  Steven watched Jess from his great height for several heartbeats before pulling a set of keys from his pants pocket. “Take my car. A cab would be far too expensive.”

  Jess accepted the keys. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Drive safely.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jessica pulled up next to the curb in front of Jasper and Melanie Dayton’s pale, stucco home. Her hands shook so badly, she could barely switch off the engine.

  A tall, handsome man with short, brown hair, exited the garage holding a bucket and what appeared to be a pile of rags.

  The man dropped the rags into the bucket, brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and then set the bucket next to a white truck that read, DAYTON’S CONSTRUCTION on the side.

  Jessica climbed from the car, hurried up the drive, and cleared her throat. “Mr. Dayton?”

  He nodded, slowly lowered his hand from above his eyes, and then sauntered over, stopping a few feet in front of Jessica. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Jessica Nobles.” Jess extended her hand in greeting. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced this way, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your son’s disappearance?”

  Jasper’s gaze became guarded. He accepted Jessica’s palm. “My wife told me about your recent visit. She won’t be happy about you showing up again.”

  “I know, and I’m really sorry, but I have nowhere else to turn. I need your help, Mr. Dayton.”

  Releasing his hold on her hand, Jasper glanced toward the house. “Help with what?”

  “Someone is trying to make it look like I’m guilty of crimes I didn’t commit, and I have a feeling it has something to do with me looking into your son’s disappearance. I believe someone in my neighborhood is behind it.”

  Jasper studied her for a moment longer. “We can talk inside.”

  Jessica hated like hell to follow him into that garage but follow him she did.

  “Mel?” Jasper called out as he stepped into an immaculately clean kitchen.

  Melanie Dayton rounded the corner holding a phone in one hand and an envelope in the other. Jess assumed she’d been paying bills.

  “What is she doing here?” Melanie paled, her stance becoming rigid.

  Jasper held up his hands in a defensive manner. “She says she needs our help. I invited her inside, Mel. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to hear her out.”

  Melanie’s shoulders remained stiff. She set the phone and envelope on the kitchen counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’ve come here with more insanity about seeing ghosts, I’ll call the police and have you locked up for harassment.”

  Jessica’s heart lurched. The last thing she wanted or needed was for the authorities to be called. She took a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t come about that. Please, just hear me out.”

  Though, Melanie relaxed somewhat, her expression remained tense. “Make it quick.”

  Jasper intervened. “Let’s all move to the den and have a seat.”

  Thankful for Jasper’s intervention, Jessica sent him a grateful look and preceded them into the front room. She took a seat on the same sofa she’d sat on during her last visit to the Dayton’s.

  Melanie perched on the edge of a high-backed chair, while Jasper took up residence behind her. He rested his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Would you care for something to drink?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Very well,” Jasper continued. “Why don’t you start by telling us what this is all about?”

  Taking a nervous breath, Jessica filled them in on everything that had happened since moving into the house on Meadowbrook Circle, ending with, “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to break into my home and leave such a message on my wall, let alone kill poor Sandy Weaver.”

  Melanie had paled even more during Jessica’s recanting of the last week. “The psychic died the day after you visited me?”

  “Yes,” Jess whispered, clasping her hands together in her lap.

  Clearing her throat, Melanie asked, “How can we be sure that you didn’t do it?”

  “You can’t. Actually, no one can. Other than the fact that I had no motive and barely knew the woman, I have nothing but my word that I’m innocent.”

  Jasper moved away from his wife and lowered his weight into a chair across from the sofa that Jessica sat on. “What is it that you want from us?”

  A tiny spark of hope soared inside Jess. Jasper believed her. She could see it in his eyes. “Your help in proving my innocence.”

  “I don’t see how we can be of any help,” Jasper respond
ed in a quiet tone.

  Jessica sent him a pleading look. “If there is anything at all you can remember about your son’s investigation that might shed some light on why this is happening to me, that would be a good start.”

  Jasper leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A faraway look entered his eyes. “I know they investigated Eustice Martin, his wife Gerri, the Hawthorns, Sandy Weaver and Dale Schroder. They also questioned the Peewee football coach at the school my son attended and the registered sex offender who lived two blocks from us at the time.”

  That was the first Jess had heard of the sex offender and the Peewee football coach. “Do you happen to remember their names?”

  Jasper rattled off the two men’s names and then pinned Jessica with a serious stare. “Melanie told me that you thought you saw Terry in the upstairs window of our old house.”

  Melanie jumped to her feet and faced her husband. “I asked you not to bring that up again. Clearly this woman is insane, yet you invite her into our home and entertain her preposterous ideas of being framed?”

  “I know what it sounds like,” Jessica interjected, drawing Melanie’s attention back to her. “But I swear to you, I’m telling the truth. If you don’t believe me, you can call Steven Ruckle. He’ll tell you I’m not making this up.”

  “Steven Ruckle?” Melanie and Jasper simultaneously chorused.

  Jessica looked from one to the other before focusing on a now standing Jasper. “You know Steven?”

  “Unfortunately. The question is, how do you know him?”

  “He was the reporter that covered your son’s disappearance. I found him through an internet search.”

  A harsh laugh escaped Jasper. “Ruckle was more than some reporter who covered my son’s story. He was my wife’s lover.”

  All the blood drained from Jessica’s face. She couldn’t have heard him right.

  Shifting her stunned gaze to Melanie, Jessica swallowed around her disbelief. “Y-you…I…”

  Melanie smoothed her palms down the front of her skirt. “Steven and I…became close during my employment for The Daily Sun.”

  “Which, in my opinion,” Jasper ground out, “is the reason why he asked to be assigned to cover Terry’s disappearance. So that he could be closer to my wife.”

  Swinging around to face her husband, Melanie’s hands flew to her hips. “Steven may have been a lot of things, but an opportunist he wasn’t. He would have never used our personal tragedy to his advantage like that.”

  “Still defending him after all this time.” Jasper spun on his heel and headed toward the front door. “I need some air.”

  Once the door shut behind her husband, Melanie returned to her seat. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Steven Ruckle is still a sore subject around here. Even though our…friendship was more than sixteen years ago.”

  Jessica remained quiet, her mind still reeling with the knowledge that Melanie Dayton had been intimately involved with Steven. How could he have kept that piece of information from her? “I’m not here to judge you, Mrs. Dayton. I’m just hoping that you can help me figure out who would possibly want me gone bad enough to break in my home and to make it look as if I killed Sandy Weaver.”

  The sound of a vehicle revved to life and then slowly faded as it moved away from the house. Obviously, Jasper had taken off.

  Melanie tucked her pretty blonde hair behind her ears and glanced toward the door before returning her gaze to Jessica. “I have no idea who would do such a thing. But from what I remember of Sandy Weaver, she was a paranoid fruit cake who claimed to have seen my son buried in a shallow grave. With that being said, I’m sorry she died the way she did. No one deserves such a horrible death.”

  “Then you must think I’m crazy as well,” Jessica whispered, remembering the last conversation she’d had with Melanie.

  “Regardless of what I think, I know that you lost a child a few years ago…and for that, I am deeply sorry. If anyone understands the pain you’ve experienced, I do.”

  Jessica fought back the tears that threatened and decided not to reiterate her encounters with Terry’s ghost to Melanie—at least for the time being. Right then, she needed the Daytons’ help in clearing her name. “Tell me about your relationship with Eustice Martin.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Owen Nobles paced the confines of his living room, heartsick and more than a little pissed off. Not only had Jessica pulled away from him both emotionally and physically, but she’d obviously replaced him with another man.

  No, Jessica wouldn’t cheat on him, he thought, making another pass across the hard-wood floor. No matter how insane her current mental state happened to be.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing it was nearing midnight. Where had Jessica gone? Her car remained in the driveway and according to their bank records, she hadn’t used her debit card since leaving the hospital.

  The sudden sounds of sirens coming up the road jerked Owen out of his anxiety-induced thoughts. He moved to one of the windows at the front of his house and watched as several police cars whipped into Eustice Martin’s drive.

  “What the hell?”

  Four officers descended from the vehicles, weapons drawn.

  Owen could only watch in amazement as the officers ducked low and stealthily slinked forward.

  Two of the officers circled toward the back of the Martins’ home while the others made their way to the front of the house.

  The door abruptly opened to reveal a sobbing Mrs. Martin. She staggered outside, her voice barely audible from the distance. She lifted an arm and pointed behind her.

  One of the officers, took hold of her elbow and guided her to his patrol car as his partner cautiously entered the Martins’ home.

  Owen rushed to the door, curiosity forcing him outside. He tightened the belt of his robe, watching as the officers soon gathered in the Martins’ front yard, their weapons holstered.

  The rest of the neighborhood began filing onto the street, obviously curious about the commotion taking place in their midst.

  Mrs. Hawthorn quickly ambled across the cul-de-sac, the curlers on her head, bouncing with every step she took. She stopped at the edge of Owen’s porch.

  “What’s going on over there?” She nodded toward the Martins’ house.

  “I don’t know, but Mrs. Martin is in the backseat of the police car. I haven’t seen Eustice, yet.”

  “Maybe she finally had enough,” Marge sniffed, crossing her arms over her ample chest, “and took a frying pan to his skull.”

  Owen lifted an eyebrow and glanced down at his nosy neighbor dressed in a dark-green robe.

  “Well,” she stated defensively, “that’s what I would do.”

  Marge suddenly glanced toward Owen’s open front door. “Is Jessica sleeping?”

  Owen reached back and pulled the door closed. “She’s not home.”

  “Really? Her car is in the drive.”

  Grinding his teeth, Owen merely nodded and kept his gaze on the officers standing around in the Martins’ front yard.

  A black van turned onto Meadowbrook Circle, carefully maneuvering past the crowds of onlookers before pulling up next to the patrol cars. Owen noticed the words CRIME SCENE INVESTGATION on the side of the van.

  “Oh, my God.” Marge’s hand flew to her throat. “That can only mean one thing.”

  Owen met the older woman’s gaze. “Apparently Eustice is dead.”

  Marge’s face turned sheet white. “Geraldine killed Eustice?”

  “Looks that way.” Owen glanced at Gerri’s silhouette, perched in the backseat of that patrol car. Though he couldn’t make out her features in the flashing red lights, he could tell that her shoulders slumped forward. In defeat or relief, he couldn’t be sure.

  Marge abruptly fled Owen’s porch; her dark green robe flying out behind her as she ran toward the street where her husband now stood.

  Owen could see her pointing toward the Martins’ place, her curlers bouncin
g around on her head with every word she uttered.

  Returning his attention to the crime scene, Owen watched two individuals climb from the CSI van, holding some sort of black boxes in their hands. They trailed up to the front door and then disappeared inside.

  The officers on scene abruptly dispersed in different directions. Some strode off down the street to question the onlookers, while one made his way toward Owen.

  “Good evening,” Owen greeted as the officer stepped up onto the porch. “What’s going on over there?”

  Pulling a small pad and pen from his shirt pocket, the officer sent Owen a curt nod. “Evening, Mister?”

  “Nobles. Owen Nobles.”

  The officer scratched down some words and then peered closely at Owen. “Did you happen to see or hear anything suspicious coming from next door this evening?”

  Owen shook his head. “No, but I haven’t been up long. What happened over there?”

  “We have a possible homicide. Are you sure you didn’t notice anything unusual?”

  So, Owen’s suspicions were true. Eustice was dead. “Like I told you, I’ve been asleep. I had just got up to get a drink when I heard the sirens.”

  The officer glanced at the vehicles in the drive. “Do you live here alone. Mr. Nobles?”

  “No. My wife Jessica lives here as well.”

  “Where is she? I’d like to ask her a few questions.”

  Owen stared at the cop without blinking. “I have no idea.”

  Lowering his notepad, the officer sent Owen a questioning look. “You don’t know where your wife is?”

  “I don’t. We’re going through a rough patch right now. She didn’t come home tonight.”

  The officer lifted the notepad once more. “Spell her name for me.”

  Owen did as he’d been asked. “I don’t see what my wife has to do with any of this. She wasn’t even home when it happened.”

  “I never said when the incident occurred, Mr. Nobles. I also didn’t indicate that your wife had anything to do with it. I’m simply making inquiries.”

  And on it went. Owen stood on his porch, answering the dozens of questions being thrown at him before the officer flipped his notepad closed and returned it to his shirt pocket.