The Killing Moon

by Dan Padavona

  “The mother reported him missing ten minutes ago.” Thomas raised a questioning eyebrow, and Presley nodded. “I know. What parent reports her teenager missing almost twelve hours after he died? I crosschecked his photo and confirmed he is our John Doe.”

  “So the parents don’t know Derek died.”

  Presley shook her head.

  “I’m heading to their house next. You want to join me?”

  “Sure.”

  Thomas followed Presley’s cruiser into Barton Falls where ghosts and monsters decorated yards, and pumpkins glowered on porch steps. After Presley stopped in front of a two-story house with chipped, pale-blue paint, he climbed out of his vehicle and raised his collar against the chill. The autumn wind pushed him back a step before he steadied his footing.

  “This is the worst part about the job,” Presley said, lowering her head against the wind.

  Thomas nodded. During his decade with the LAPD, he’d notified too many parents of their children’s deaths. The world was a cold, unforgiving place with real life devils hiding in the shadows and stealing lives in dark alleyways.

  “I’ll break the news.”

  Presley did a double-take.

  “Wait, what? You don’t have to tell the parents. I can handle the responsibility.”

  “I know you can. But it’s my county. I’ll fall on the sword.” Her eyes assessed him, and he saw the doubt in her gaze. Some people with Aspergers struggled to express emotion and empathy. “You’re probably wondering if I can handle a situation like this with care.”

  Her fingers clutched at her jacket.

  “No, I’m certain you’re capable. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t. It’s all right, Detective Presley. You’re right to question my ability to empathize.”

  She stared at him as if he was some strange animal that had crawled out of the woods and plopped itself down on the Jordan family’s porch.

  “All right. How do you want to handle this?”

  “As respectfully as possible. I can’t leave without pushing them. Doesn’t make sense. They should have known Derek’s whereabouts last night. Something is wrong.”

  “Agreed.”

  Wind chimes rang on the porch. The mailbox hung from one screw and banged against the house whenever the wind gusted. Climbing the warped porch steps, Thomas surveyed the neighborhood while Presley rang the bell. Murderers killed their neighbors every day. FBI statistics proved over fifty percent of killers knew their victims, and twenty-five percent were family members. A man with a scraggly beard watched from across the road in a plaid jacket. After Presley rang the bell a second time, Thomas glanced over his shoulder. The man had disappeared.

  The door opened to a mousy woman with glasses and black hair tied in a bun.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Jordan? I’m Sheriff Thomas Shepherd, and this is Detective Presley with the Kane Grove Police Department. You spoke with Detective Presley on the phone.”

  “Tamara Jordan,” the woman said, glancing between Thomas and Presley with concern etched into her forehead. “My husband, Cole, is in the den. What’s this about? Did you find Derek?”

  “If we could come inside, please.”

  Tamara Jordan led them into a gloomy living room. Curtains blacked out the windows, and a green couch spilled stuffing.

  “My apologies about the mess,” she said, arranging the magazines scattered on the coffee table. She called over her shoulder. “Cole, could you come out here for a moment?”

  The wiry man who strode into the living room bore little resemblance to the dead teenager Thomas found along the railroad tracks. What remained of his sandy hair draped across the crown of his head in greasy strands. His white dress shirt hung out from his pants, the tip of his tie tucked inside the shirt. Black slacks rode high on his ankles. Cole Jordan moved his glare between Thomas and Presley.

  “Who’s this, Tamara?”

  “These are police officers, Cole.”

  “What do they want?”

  Thomas motioned for Tamara and Cole to sit on the couch. Presley took a lounge chair across from the couple and sat on the edge. Thomas remained standing.

  “When was the last time you saw Derek?” asked Thomas.

  Tamara glanced at Cole. The husband lifted his palms.

  “Two days ago at dinner,” Tamara said, glancing down at her hands.

  “Your son hasn’t come home in two days?” Thomas asked.

  “He has, but he comes and goes. I’m usually in bed before he returns from his friends’ houses. And Cole works double shifts all month.” Tamara scratched the back of her head and chewed a nail. “But I spoke to him. Derek sent me a message last night and said he wasn’t coming home. He wanted to spend the night at Leland Trivett’s house.”

  “Leland Trivett,” Thomas repeated, scribbling the name on a notepad.

  “But then the school called this morning looking for Derek. They said he hadn’t shown up for any of his classes, and that’s not like Derek. He studies hard and gets high grades.”

  “Did you check with the Trivett family?”

  “I phoned the mother after the school called. She said Derek never came to the house last night. That’s why I reported Derek missing.”

  “What can you tell me about Leland Trivett?”

  Tamara turned her head to Cole and lifted a shoulder. The husband leaned forward.

  “He’s a no good druggie. Derek visits Leland so they can smoke dope together.”

  “That’s not true,” Tamara said, shaking her head.

  “Isn’t it? You haven’t noticed Derek’s bloodshot eyes, his lazy attitude?”

  “He stays up late and doesn’t get enough sleep.”

  “Burying your head in the sand, as usual.”

  Thomas stepped in, sensing the conversation was about to fly off the rails.

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Jordan?”

  “I work evenings at Kane Grove Hospital. This time of year, I pick up shifts at the Halloween costume store outside Barton Falls. The seasonal one that is only open for two months.”

  Tamara brought a knuckle to her lips.

  “What does this have to do with Derek? Did something…”

  Her words trailed off as she looked to Cole for support. He sat in stoic silence with his palms resting on his knees. Thomas inhaled. There was no gentle way to tell a parent her child was dead.

  “We found Derek’s body beside the railroad tracks at two o’clock this morning.”

  A choked sob flew from Tamara’s chest. Her hand sought Cole’s. The husband stared at the curtained window.

  “Is he hurt? What do you mean you found him beside the tracks?”

  “Mrs. Jordan, Derek is dead.”

  She burst into tears and threw her head against Cole’s shoulder. Her hands clutched the man’s dress shirt and squeezed, as though she wanted to rip the fabric away.

  “You’re lying!” she screamed. “Derek isn’t dead. He wrote me last night.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jordan. We identified Derek from his driver’s license photograph.”

  “No, you’re wrong. It can’t be him. This is some kind of crazy mistake.” She raised reddened, pleading eyes to her husband. “We can sue them. Right, Cole? Sue them for scaring us into believing something happened to Derek.”

  Cole didn’t reply. Nor did he lift a comforting hand to console his wife.

  Presley shared a glance with Thomas and bit her lip.

  “Please, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan,” Thomas said, softening his voice.

  After a long moment, Tamara’s hitches stopped. Thomas handed her a tissue. She sat back on the couch and wiped her eyes.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Did Derek have any enemies?”

  Tamara screwed up her face.

  “Derek gets along with everyone. He’s very popular at school.”

  Cole’s laugh didn’t reach his eyes.

  “He was a loser,” Col
e said. “Sooner or later, he’d tire of weed and turn to something harder. Wouldn’t shock me if he stuck a needle in his arm.”

  “Why are you saying this? He’s our son.” The husband shook his head and looked away. Thomas made a mental note—Cole was the only parent who referred to Derek in the past tense. Tamara’s focus swung to Thomas. “Are you saying someone hurt my boy?”

  “He was stabbed, ma’am.”

  Tamara’s mouth fell open. She covered it as the blood drained from her face.

  “Stabbed?”

  “Drugs,” Cole muttered from the side of his mouth. “Just like I said.”

  “Why do you say that, Mr. Jordan?” Presley asked.

  “Why else was he down at the train tracks after midnight? Bet he met some dealer.”

  Tamara buried her face in her hands. After the woman composed herself, Thomas handed her a pen and a sheet of paper.

  “Mrs. Jordan, please write the names of your son’s friends.”

  After she finished, Tamara Jordan handed the sheet to Thomas. He scanned through the names, all boys, and remembered thinking Derek was a good looking kid.

  “Did your son have a girlfriend?”

  Cole tutted and turned his head away as Tamara wrung her hands.

  “He spends a lot of time with Valerie Leonard.”

  “Valerie Leonard,” Thomas repeated, jotting the name down.

  “I don’t think they’re going together. But Derek talks about her all the time.”

  Thomas and Presley spent another fifteen minutes asking Derek Jordan’s parents about his relations. Cole remained aloof and despondent, while Tamara claimed nobody would hurt her son. On their way out of the house, Thomas stopped beside his cruiser as Presley dug her hands inside her pockets.

  “The husband didn’t seem upset,” Presley said, casting a glance at the house.

  “Find out what you can about Cole Jordan.”

  “What about Leland Trivett and the drug references? Cole is right about one thing. The Barton Falls railroad tracks are no place to be after dark. Not unless you’re dealing or buying. Maybe a drug deal gone bad?”

  Thomas bit his lip. The drug angle seemed too easy. But Tamara Jordan’s assertion that nobody wanted to hurt her son didn’t hold water.

  It was time to look into Derek’s friends. Somebody hated Derek enough to stab him seven times.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  October 31st

  11:35 a.m.

  LeVar was running late.

  As he followed the lake road back to the house, his lips moved, reciting the notes he’d memorized during class. His professor was a stout woman with a firm jaw and a no-nonsense attitude. She’d spent thirty years on the force between the Rochester and Syracuse Police Departments, and she demanded perfection. If LeVar wanted to ace her class, he’d need to study more and spend less time investigating cases with Darren, Scout, and Raven.

  He sprinted past the sheriff’s A-Frame and unlocked the guest house. With only fifteen minutes to complete his tasks, he rushed inside, changed into his work clothes, and ran the water until the sink filled with dish bubbles. Scout clicked away on the computer, intent on tracking Violet Lyon, while he washed and rinsed the breakfast dishes. Then he whipped the refrigerator open and built a salami sandwich in record time.

  He gathered his knapsack and jogged toward his black Chrysler Limited before he realized he’d forgotten the keys inside the guest house. Thank goodness Scout was inside. As he raised his fist to bang on the door, she opened the door and dangled the keys in front of him.

  “Forget something?”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Scout.”

  “Vamoose. You’ll be late for work. I’ll have the case solved by the time you return.”

  LeVar winked and raced up the yard, passing the sheriff’s A-Frame. His phone rang. He would have let the caller go to voice-mail had he not read Thomas’s name on the screen.

  “Shep Dawg. You’re lucky you caught me. I’m leaving for work right now.”

  “Hey, LeVar. I’d hate to do this to you, but I’m stuck on the road for the rest of today and won’t be home until…well, whenever. I need someone to take Jack outside and make sure he’s fed this afternoon.”

  LeVar set the bag beside his car and moaned. He looked back at the house. Jack pawed at the window, tongue hanging out as he vied for LeVar’s attention.

  “I gotta be at the office by noon.”

  “I’m sorry, LeVar. Please, I don’t want Jack stuck inside all afternoon. He hasn’t gone out since two in the morning, and you know what that means.” LeVar sure did. Jack would turn the A-Frame into his personal latrine if LeVar didn’t intervene. “I owe you one.”

  “Naw, I got you, bro.”

  “And LeVar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Might be a good idea to look after your sister today. I’m worried about Mark Benson.”

  Thomas didn’t need to ask. He’d always have Raven’s back. The problem was he’d stretched himself thin between school, the private investigation job, and watching the sheriff’s house. He no longer had time for Ruth Sims and the Broken Yolk. But he couldn’t quit now, not with business booming. Ruth offered him a job when nobody else would. He’d break her heart if he turned his back on the cafe.

  Ignoring the time, LeVar unlocked the house. Jack bounded through the door and ran circles around the front yard, barking. The dog wanted to play.

  “No time for fetch, Jack. Do your thing before Chelsey has my hide.”

  Jack raced around the house to the backyard and did his business. LeVar was about to let him inside when a different idea occurred to him.

  “Hey, boy. How would you like to spend the afternoon with Scout?” Jack grinned and strutted toward the Mourning’s house. Damn, the dog was smart. “The guest house, Jack.”

  Scout was already at the door to welcome Jack inside.

  “I might not make it back to feed Jack later. Would you mind?” LeVar slapped his forehead. “Shoot. How will you get his food? The bag weighs thirty pounds.”

  “Our mothers are hanging out together after lunch. I’ll have someone grab the Jack’s food and water bowl.”

  “Good thinking.”

  His mother was spending the day with Naomi? That was news to LeVar.

  “Now go, before Chelsey plays the role of the Halloween Man on your sorry behind.”

  The drive into the village was a race against time. He hit every traffic snag, every mind numbing delay, Murphy’s Law in full effect as he rushed to reach work before noon. He pulled into the parking lot with a minute to spare. Leaving his car beside Chelsey’s green Honda Civic, he threw the door open and ran down the hall, the popcorn scents tickling his nose.

  “There you are,” Chelsey said, looking up from her computer. “You heard about Mark Benson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s our focus today. I’m setting aside all active cases until we catch Benson.”

  “What’s our first move?”

  Chelsey waved LeVar over to her monitor. She’d warmed to LeVar over the last month after initial skepticism. He wondered if they’d ever be friends, or if his past with the Harmon Kings would cause Chelsey to judge him forever. She swiveled the monitor so he could look over her shoulder. A Google Earth map of rolling hills and countryside displayed on the screen. A farmhouse sat at the center. That must be where Benson and Damian Ramos held Raven over the summer.

  “Raven should be back in Wolf Lake by now. She checked Benson’s Barbells.”

  “By herself?”

  Chelsey rolled her eyes.

  “That’s your sister. Our working theory is Benson concealed emergency funds inside the gym or at the farmhouse. We’ll stake out the property and snag him if he returns.” As LeVar shifted closer to the screen, Chelsey zoomed in on a grove of trees a hundred yards from the driveway. “My Civic isn’t built for off-road driving, but the ground should be solid enough to support the car if we take this turnoff.” She tapped
her finger against the shoulder. “There’s no ditch between the road and the grove. We’ll hide the vehicle inside the trees and investigate the property on foot. Then we’ll watch the house from the car and hope our theory verifies.”

  “And if Benson shows up?”

  “We’ll call the sheriff’s department. But we can’t let him escape. If Benson tries to flee before the authorities arrive, we’ll take him down.” She met his eyes. “You up for that?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  She watched him for a moment before nodding.

  “Here we go, LeVar. Today, you enter the big leagues. Don’t let me down.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  October 31st

  11:45 a.m.

  Valerie’s face stung from where the kick ball smacked against her cheek.

  She hadn’t paid attention during gym class, too distracted by Derek not showing up for school or answering her messages. With her mind elsewhere, she’d missed the other girls screaming for her to catch the ball a second before it whacked against her head.

  The locker room emptied. Feeling like a fool, she peeled off her gym shorts and T-shirt, and stuffed the dirty clothes into a Duffel bag. As she stepped into her school clothes, she checked her phone. Still nothing from Derek. Where was he? She concocted reasons he hadn’t written. His phone was dead. He played hooky and spent the day in Syracuse, shopping at the mall. The latter didn’t sound like Derek. He wasn’t the shopping type.

  “If you’re healthy and ignoring my messages, I’ll slap you silly,” she muttered to herself, putting the phone away.

  She closed the locker. The bang echoed off the walls and rang through the showers. Everyone had left for lunch two minutes ago while she took her time, still embarrassed over the kick ball incident. Few horrors in life compared to gym class humiliation.

  From the hallway, the gymnasium doors banged shut as Ms. Steele locked up on her way to lunch. Valerie threw the knapsack over her shoulder, grabbed her gym bag, and stood up from the bench. A locker slammed shut in the next row. She hesitated, thinking she’d been alone.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”