The Killing Moon
Page 16
Dean sneered at Thomas and Stanton from across the table. Presley tossed a folder on the table and sat.
“You having a good day?” Presley asked.
Dean ran his gaze along the door and windows, as though assessing his chances for escaping.
“Every day is a good day, Detective.”
“Well, I’m happy you’re enjoying yours. Do you know why Officer Stanton picked you up?”
The gang leader lifted the corner of his lip.
“The pig read me my rights. Doesn’t mean the charges will stick.”
Presley’s eyes jumped to Stanton, worried the officer might reach across the table and slap the sarcasm out of Dean’s mouth.
“Someone attacked a teenage boy in Barton Falls this afternoon. Hurt him bad enough to send him to the hospital. We’re trying to understand why three grown men from Harmon would attack a kid.”
Dean shrugged.
“Know nothing about that.”
“Are you sure? What’s that cut on your forehead?”
The gangster touched his fingers to his head.
“Must have bumped it somehow.”
“Really? Because the boy in the hospital claims your forehead broke his nose.”
“He’s lying,” Dean said, scratching the side of his nose.
“We have a witness who claims two thugs, and a man who matches your description, exited a sedan outside the city park and attacked our teenager.”
Thomas glanced at Presley. A witness came forward? She hadn’t disclosed this news to Thomas.
“I get that a lot. Plenty of people look like me.”
“You live at twenty-four Erie Street in Harmon, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Ever run into trouble with the police?”
Dean smirked.
“You already know I did prison time.”
“What for?”
“It’s in your notes.”
“Humor me.”
“I got into a fight. The other guy lost. If you ask me, it was self-defense.”
“I see. So why are you in Barton Falls on Halloween?”
“Sightseeing.”
“Not much sightseeing in these parts,” Presley said, shifting forward in her chair.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Hmm. You like trains, Mr. Dean?”
“They’re okay, but I prefer to fly.”
Thomas caught the drug reference. Presley scowled.
“The Barton Falls train yards haven’t been active in three decades. What’s your interest there?”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Do you sell drugs beside the tracks?”
“Never sold drugs. You got a witness who claims I do?”
Presley opened the folder. The detective slid two pictures in front of Dean, both of Derek Jordan stabbed and lying dead in the train yards.
Dean flinched and said, “I didn’t do this. Why are you showing me some dead kid?”
“At approximately three-ten this afternoon, you and two men attacked a teenager outside the park. You placed a knife against the boy’s throat and threatened you’d kill him like you did Derek Jordan, the boy in this picture.”
The gangster blanched.
“The kid is lying. I didn’t kill Derek Jordan.”
“We have an eyewitness account of a sedan matching your vehicle’s description cruising past the train yards moments before Derek Jordan died.”
“Bullshit. I was in Harmon last night.”
Thomas didn’t like Presley’s technique. She went for the jugular too quickly, instead of easing Dean into the conversation and tripping him up. Still, the detective’s line of questioning confirmed for Thomas that Dean hadn’t killed Derek Jordan. The pictures horrified the gangster, and Dean didn’t display classic signs he was lying.
The questions continued for another ten minutes until a frustrated Presley signaled Officer Stanton to take Dean away. They’d arrested the gang leader for assault, and he’d do time regardless of the murder charge.
Thomas leaned toward Presley after the door closed.
“You have a witness placing Dean in the park during the attack?”
Presley chewed the corner of her lip.
“Not exactly.”
“So you bluffed.”
“And he didn’t bite.” Presley exhaled and massaged her temples. “I don’t think I can make a murder charge stick.”
“Because he didn’t do it.”
“Why are you convinced he’s innocent?”
Thomas skimmed through Presley’s case notes.
“You have his car, right?”
“We do.”
“Did you check his tires?”
Presley snapped her fingers and pointed at Thomas, thanking him for the reminder. He followed her to the parking lot.
But when they examined Dean’s vehicle, Presley’s shoulders dropped. Dean drove on four all-season radials, and the treads didn’t match the casts taken at the murder scene.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
October 31st
6:15 p.m.
Clouds thickened and made dusk seem like midnight. In the parking lot outside the Kane Grove bus terminal, Raven and Darren took one space in the Rogue. Chelsey and LeVar took the next space in the Civic. They kept the windows down so they could talk. Their heaters worked overtime to fight back the chill.
Inside the terminal, bright lights shone from the ticket booth. A mustached clerk with wispy brown hair, glasses, and a skinny frame appeared bored as he sat behind the counter. A woman sprawled across two open seats in the waiting area with her head resting on a man’s thigh.
“You ready?” Chelsey asked through the window.
“Let me handle this,” Raven answered, taking a composing breath.
“I don’t mind.”
“I’ve got this. Hand me the photo of Benson.”
LeVar removed Benson’s photograph from a folder and gave it to Chelsey, who handed the picture to Raven through the open windows. The wind caught the photograph and almost ripped it out of their hands before Raven secured it.
“We’re assuming a lot,” Chelsey said. “Scout sent us bus schedules, but how do we know Benson is trying to get to Mexico? Or that he isn’t leaving from Harmon, Syracuse, or some other city?”
“He feels comfortable here,” Raven said, tilting her head at the abandoned Benson’s Barbells gymnasium at the end of the block. “And with the police closing in on him, he needs to escape the country.”
With a nod, Raven raised her window and killed the engine. Chelsey drove out of the lot and circled the block. The plan was for Chelsey and LeVar to park across the road when they returned, so the clerk didn’t suspect their scam. Darren stepped out of the Rogue beside Raven.
“We’re breaking at least two laws,” he grumbled, tucking his shoulders and lowering his head against the cold. “You know that, right?”
Raven winked.
“Don’t worry. They won’t take away your ranger’s position.”
Welcome heat blasted their faces when Raven opened the glass door. To their left, a wooden rack held travel brochures. A pay phone that didn’t appear as if anyone had used it in decades hung on the wall.
The clerk glanced up and set his paperback aside. Darren held Raven’s eyes until she nodded she was ready. Plexiglass divided the clerk from guests. There was no hole to talk through, only a speaker cut into the glass. When Raven and Darren approached, the clerk swiveled his chair and clicked his microphone on.
“May I help you?”
“Yes,” Raven said, glancing worriedly around the waiting area. She laid out the photograph of Benson. “My husband’s uncle may have purchased a bus ticket to Texas for tomorrow morning. Is there any way you can look up his ticket information and tell us when he’s leaving?”
The clerk shook his head.
“I can’t disclose customer information. We protect the privacy of our passengers.”
“This is a medical emergency, sir. You see, my husband’s uncle overdosed on muscle relaxant this afternoon and escaped the house. The poor man has motor neuron disease, and the muscle relaxants cause confusion and memory loss.”
“I’m sorry, but even if he was here, it’s against company policy to give out customer information. You should contact the police.”
“Even if he just stopped in to check the schedule, but didn’t purchase a ticket, we need to know which terminals he visited.”
“My apologies. I couldn’t tell you without risking my job.”
Shutting them down, the clerk turned from the window and fiddled with his computer. Raven refused to give up. She tapped her knuckles against the glass. The clerk issued an audible sigh.
“Sir, if you please, Uncle Mark’s wife is beside herself. When our uncle gets confused, he thinks he lives in San Antonio. That’s where he grew up. Last year, when Uncle Mark experienced an episode, he bought a bus ticket to Texas and left town. The medicine wore off before he reached Detroit, and he had a panic attack on the bus. It was such a mess. The driver pulled off the interstate, the ambulance and police responded, and every passenger on that trip missed their connections by the time the police sorted things out. Even then, the police didn’t know who to call, because Uncle Mark used a fake ID.”
“Wow. How did your uncle get hold of a fake ID?”
Raven pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Uncle Mark worked with some unsavory people twenty years ago, including a man with mob affiliations.”
“That’s so scary.”
Raven leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’d be helping you almost as much as you’re helping us. I don’t want anyone to miss their connection because of our uncle.”
The clerk’s face was a mask of uncertainty. Below the glass, his hands wrung together. The fish was ready to take the bait.
“Look, we checked with my uncle’s mother. She’s ninety-one and isn’t equipped to care for Uncle Mark when he arrives. She claims Uncle Mark phoned her this morning, confused, and said he was lost and couldn’t find his way home. Can you imagine how scared she is, hearing this from her only son?”
As Darren set a caring hand on Raven’s back and implored the clerk with pitiful eyes, the clerk wavered. He glanced from the waiting area to the security camera fixed to the ceiling. Raven moved in for the kill.
“Even if you just confirmed he bought a ticket. You don’t even have to tell us where he’s going or his scheduled departing time. We’ll stay in the waiting area until Uncle Mark arrives. It’s important we determine if he’s leaving from Kane Grove or some other terminal.” Raven raised her palms. “You understand the predicament we’re in, yes?”
The clerk moved closer to the glass and adjusted the microphone.
“Yes, your uncle was here. He left a couple hours ago.”
Raven and Darren exhaled in unison.
“Thank God. At least we’re sure he’ll return.”
“I’m risking a lot here, but I’ll tell you he purchased a ticket to San Antonio.” Brushing the hair off his brow, the clerk typed at his terminal and scanned the trip information. “He registered under Phil Damone. The first stop is Detroit, and your uncle’s bus leaves at five-fifty tomorrow morning. You’ll be here to help him, won’t you?”
“Of course. We don’t want any trouble for your company.”
“Thank you.”
Raven glanced at Darren, who drew her into a hug. She sobbed into his shoulder as he stroked her hair.
“We need to find him before he hurts himself,” Darren said.
Sniffling, Raven dried her eyes and turned back to the window.
“You said Uncle Mark left a couple hours ago.”
“Around four, yes.”
“Was he on foot? I’d hate to imagine him wandering the streets all night. Especially in this cold. My God, he might freeze to death.”
The clerk ensured no one eavesdropped on their conversation. He raised a comforting hand.
“Don’t worry. He left the parking lot in a vehicle.”
Raven clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, no. Uncle Mark doesn’t own a car. He lost his license because of his condition.”
The clerk held up his forefinger. Moving at warp speed, the thin man turned the security monitor to face him and clicked on the archived footage. After scanning the recording, he stopped at eight minutes after four o’clock and pointed at the screen. Raven made a mental note of the time.
“That’s your uncle, right?”
“Oh, thank goodness. That’s him.”
As the clerk enlarged the frozen image, he tore a piece of paper from his notepad and jotted down the license plate.
“He’s driving a Subaru Forester,” the man said. “Sorry about the black-and-white footage. Can’t tell the color, but it appears gray or silver.
“How did Uncle Mark get his hands on a Subaru Forester?”
Darren slapped his forehead and said, “His neighbor, Robert Adamson, drives a Subaru Forester. Uncle Mark must have thought it was his.”
The clerk slid the license plate number beneath the window. Raven snatched it up and stuffed the note into her pocket.
“You’re a lifesaver, sir. Thank you so much for helping us find our uncle.”
The clerk’s eyes glistened.
“It was the least I could do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
October 31st
6:15 p.m.
Across the street from the bus terminal, Chelsey phoned Thomas as Raven and Darren drove off. The sheriff sounded flustered when he answered.
“Tough day?”
“The worst,” Thomas said. “Detective Presley’s team arrested Troy Dean for attacking Derek Jordan’s friend. They’re trying to pin the murder on Dean, but his tires don’t match the treads found at the scene.”
Beside Chelsey, LeVar stared into the night as dead leaves scuttled across the road.
“Well, I have good news for you.”
“Tell me.”
“Mark Benson has a bus ticket out of Kane Grove, leaving for Detroit at five-fifty tomorrow morning. He ditched the Mitsubishi and is driving a gray Subaru Forester. Oh, and he’s using the name, Phil Damone.”
“How did you come by this information?”
“I have my sources.”
“Best if you don’t tell me. Give me the license plate.” Chelsey read Thomas the license plate number. Thomas lifted his radio and relayed the information to Kane Grove PD and the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. “We’re adding Phil Damone’s name to the BOLO, and the state police are searching for the Forester. Useful information, Chelsey.”
“All credit to Raven.”
“What’s next?”
“Now we wait for Benson to show his face. Darren and Raven are watching Benson’s Barbells, and we’re en route to the farmhouse in case he returns.”
“Don’t engage Benson. Leave that to my deputies.”
“Last I heard, Lambert and Aguilar were patrolling the village near Ellie Fisher’s apartment. Working together, we should be able to cover his hiding spots.” Thomas didn’t reply. “Everything okay, Thomas?”
He groaned.
“I’m lost on this murder case. Troy Dean is our number one suspect, but Presley is the only person who believes he did it. And I broke the news to Derek Jordan’s girlfriend.”
“It must have torn her apart.”
“There’s something going on with the girl’s family. I got the impression the father abuses either the mother or the girl.”
Chelsey switched the phone to her other ear.
“Can you prove it?”
“No, it’s just a hunch. Ed Leonard is on my suspect list too. He didn’t approve of Valerie dating Derek, and he has a violent streak.”
Chelsey gave LeVar a confused glare and switched Thomas to speaker phone.
LeVar’s eyebrow quirked up.
“That’s right. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Shep, it’s LeVar. Remember Scout’s theory about Violet Lyon?”
“The girl someone murdered during her podcast. Scout is still investigating that case?”
“Scout tracked her down. Violet Lyon is Valerie Leonard’s podcast name.”
* * *
Leland Trivett stumbled in the entryway. His mother grabbed him before he lost his footing.
“Careful, Leland. The doctor said the painkillers will make you groggy.”
He would have acknowledged his mother with a nod, except moving his head made his vision spin. Leland accepted her arm as she walked him down the hallway to his bedroom. Inside, he plopped down on the used sofa he’d claimed from the side of the road last year. Though the old couch smelled of beer and dog, it was perfect for hosting game nights with Derek and Gardner.
Derek.
A tear pushed at the corner of his eye. He couldn’t believe his best friend was dead.
“No games tonight,” his mother said.
“Why not?”
“The doctor said to rest. Using the computer and phone will make your headache worse.”
He doubted the headache could worsen. It felt as though someone clamped his skull inside a vise and squeezed.
“Come on, Mom. There’s nothing to do, and it’s Halloween night.”
“So read a book. Or sleep.”
“Fun,” he muttered from the side of his mouth.
“Your father went back to work and won’t be home until midnight, and I’m turning in after the trick-or-treaters stop knocking. Take advantage of the quiet. Tomorrow is Saturday, so you can sleep as late as you want.”
He fluffed a throw pillow and stuffed it into the corner of the couch. Trying to get comfortable, he lay his head on the pillow and curled his legs on the cushions. The room gyrated as someone drove an invisible spike through his forehead. He touched his shattered nose and moaned.
“Can I get you anything?”