The Killing Moon, Dan Padavona [novels to improve english TXT] 📗

the indentations. “Two of the prints are clear enough to cast. Our killer leapt from the driver’s side and pursued the victim on foot.”

“Which tells us the killer acted alone,” Aguilar added.

“Right. If he had an accomplice, the partner could have caught the victim sooner by jumping out on the passenger side.” Griffith led them along the road to a muddy streak amid the weeds, marked by glowing paint. “The victim lost his footing in the weeds and scrambled up. That explains the muddy jeans and the dirt on his palms. But the killer hadn’t caught him yet.”

The tech aimed the light along the meadow. Two pairs of shoe prints arrowed toward the kill site. Another splash of paint highlighted where the fatal struggle had taken place.

“Our killer caught the teenager here and stabbed him seven times in the chest. No wallet or identification on the boy, but we sent the phone Stanton found back to the lab. Once we unlock the phone, we’ll determine who he is.”

Officer Stanton had found an iPhone in the tall weeds off the road. The screen cracked when it fell, and the case was caked with mud. Thomas hoped the phone still functioned.

After the walk through, Griffith returned to his team and helped them take the tent down. A Kane Grove PD cruiser pulled off the curb and headed out of town.

“This doesn’t feel like a robbery,” Thomas said.

“Could be a drug deal gone wrong,” said Presley. “Nothing good happens after dark in Barton Falls, especially outside the old train yards.”

“How bad is the drug problem in town?”

“It gets a little worse every year. There’s no hope in Barton Falls, and people turn to narcotics to escape reality.”

“Who supplies the town?”

“We have a few smalltime pushers in Barton Falls. But the largest players are the 315 Royals in Harmon.”

Thomas lifted his gaze. Jeremy Hyde had been a member of the Royals.

“The Royals come out this far?”

“We suspect they do. With the Harmon Kings out of the running, the Royals are feeling their oats. They’ll take over the county if we don’t rein them in.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

October 31st

7:00 a.m.

Scout stayed inside her room and feigned coughing until her mother’s car pulled out of the driveway. Then she wheeled herself down the hall and into the kitchen, where she toasted a bagel and lathered it with strawberry jam. She hadn’t played hooky in years, and her head swam with anticipation. After listening to Violet Lyon’s murder, Scout had barely slept a wink. By the end of the day, she’d figure out the girl’s identity and learn if Violet was dead, or if the podcaster had swindled her listeners.

She opened the closet and reached for her winter jacket. Halloween was too soon for this much cold. A tug dislodged the coat from the hanger. After Scout shrugged into the jacket, she slipped through the deck door and pushed herself across the frosty yard, following the concrete path Thomas paved last spring. Before he carved the path, she always got stuck in the soggy ground.

The cold took her breath away. LeVar’s house seemed a million miles in the distance. When she finally reached the door, she knocked once and waited, her teeth chattering as the frigid morning froze her nose hairs. Before she knocked again, the door opened. LeVar leaned in the entryway, wiping the sleep out of his eyes, his dreadlocks spilling off his shoulders. She held back a snicker when she noticed his Batman pajama bottoms.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“I told Mom I had a sore throat.”

“So now I’m aiding and abetting. Great.” He motioned her inside with a sweep of his arm. “Come on in before we freeze to death.”

The guest house was too small for a full kitchen. LeVar kept milk and cold cuts in a small refrigerator beside the sink. They passed the kitchen nook and entered the front room. An expansive window offered an unencumbered view of Wolf Lake. Nobody was on the water this morning. Fog drifted off the lake and blanketed the shoreline, concealing the path to the state park and Darren Holt’s cabin. LeVar fell into a chair. A half-eaten bowl of Cheerios rested on a card table. He spooned his breakfast into his mouth before it turned soggy.

“Why are you ditching school?”

“Didn’t you get my message about Violet’s show?”

He tapped his phone.

“I got it. What’s all the excitement about?”

Scout retold her story. LeVar leaned back and laughed at the ceiling.

“You got played.”

“It sounded real.”

“Violet Lyon is a drama queen, aight? She probably planned that show for months. Ain’t nobody dead, Scout. Call your Mom and tell her you feel better. I’ll drive you to school.”

“Not until I’m sure Violet is okay.”

“She duped you. Tonight, she’ll announce it was all a joke.”

“Perhaps, but consider the alternative.”

“What alternative?”

“That a girl died last night and nobody knows.”

As she pushed the wheelchair around the table, LeVar glanced up.

“Now what are you up to? Don’t tell me you’re starting another investigation. My brain don’t function before nine.”

“Then I’ll handle the investigation on my own. Anyhow, it’s my computer.”

Scout had donated her desktop computer so their amateur investigation team could research cases. The guest house had become their unofficial headquarters.

“When Violet appears on her show tonight, don’t act like I didn’t warn you.”

While Scout opened a browser and called up Violet Lyon’s website, LeVar shifted his chair and peeked over her shoulder.

“I thought you said you weren’t interested.”

“Never said that. Only said Violet Lyon pulled a fast one on you.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Hey, haven’t you searched for this girl before?”

“Yeah.”

“And how did that go?”

“Not as well as it will this time.”

He gave an unconvinced shrug.

“If you say so. Some people don’t want to be found.” He rose from the chair and carried the bowl back to the sink. He returned with two apples and set one beside her on the desk. “You need something healthy to eat.”

“How do you know I didn’t eat a healthy