The Killing Moon Dan Padavona (world of reading .TXT) 📖

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,” Cole said. “Sooner or later, he’d tire of