The Ghost and the Mystery Writer (26 page)

T
he neighbor
who had initially called the police stood on her front porch, looking across the street at the commotion. Four police cars were now parked on the other side of the road, and a few minutes earlier the ambulance had driven away. She watched as her longtime neighbor Pete Rogers was led handcuffed into the backseat of a squad car.

Wearing an oversized terrycloth robe over her nightgown, her arms crossed over her chest, she wondered what he had done. With a shake of her head, she turned back to her door and went inside.
I'll find out tomorrow
, she told herself. It was after 3:00 a.m.; she needed to get back to bed.

Danielle would discover later that Walt had woken Lily after first visiting her in a dream hop, enabling him to tell her what was going on. The moment she woke up, she threw on her robe and called Ian. Within minutes, Ian's car was parked behind Danielle's, and just minutes after that, a police car arrived.

Joe, who had been instructed by the chief to bring Chris back to his house, was horrified when he discovered Melony had actually been locked in Pete's trunk. If Danielle hadn't thought to park in his driveway and block Pete's escape, he hated to think what might have happened to Melony.

He still didn't understand how Chris knew Pete had Melony, and he also wondered why Pete hadn't driven off immediately. Rogers had had the opportunity to get away between the time when Chris was taken into custody and Danielle showed up.

What Joe didn't know, Jolene had intervened. While the newly departed Jolene hadn't learned to harness her energy, her persistence and will had enabled her to awkwardly interfere with Pete's starter in the same way she had managed to turn Chris's kitchen lights on. Had Danielle not shown up when she did, it was entirely possible Rogers would have gotten the engine to eventually turn over, which would have enabled him to take off with Melony, kill her, and dispose of her body. There was only so much a spirit was capable of doing.

At Marlow House, Edward MacDonald Junior had fallen asleep on the bed in the downstairs bedroom while his younger brother, six-year-old Evan, found the old house far too fascinating to sleep in. Less than an hour earlier, he and his brother had been rousted out of their beds by their father. He needed to go somewhere in a hurry, but he couldn't leave them alone and it was too late to call their regular sitter. Since the chief couldn't take his sons to Pete's house—the man could be armed—he had called Lily, who already knew what was going on and had just sent Ian to Pete's house as backup for Danielle.

After tucking the boys in the bed, Lily had gone out on the front porch to see if she could see what was going on up the street. Hillary had thus far slept through the impending drama, blissfully snoring away in her room on the second floor.

Curious, Evan tiptoed to the door and eased it open. Before stepping into the hall, he looked back at his older brother. Eddy continued to sleep. Slipping into the hallway, Evan closed the door behind him and began his exploration.

W
alt stood
at the attic window and watched. A few minutes earlier the ambulance had driven away, its siren on. He assumed Melony was inside and still alive, or they wouldn't use the siren—
or would they?
He watched as another squad car arrived, driving up the street toward the Rogers house. While the moon lit up the street, it was difficult to see who had been riding in the various police cars that had driven by.

“Who are you?” came a small boy's voice from the doorway.

Walt turned to the intruder. Arching his brows, Walt smiled and said, “You must be the chief's son Evan. I've heard about you.”

Evan smiled and walked into the attic, looking around. The overhead light was off, but a lamp—sitting next to the sofa bed—was on, dimly lighting the room. “How do you know who I am?”

“Because you can see me.” Walt noticed a flush of confusion flicker over the child's face. He suspected the boy took after MacDonald's late wife. He couldn't see much of a resemblance between the chief and his son, other than the smile—which had just disappeared.
Yes, the smile, what I saw of it, is his father's.

Evan was more delicate than husky, with enormous brown eyes fringed with thick dark lashes. It looked as if he'd had a recent haircut, yet not short enough to discourage the turn of his light brown curls. Walt found something endearing about the child.

“What do you mean?” Evan frowned.

Kneeling down so that he could look into the boy's eyes, Walt said, “I understand you can sometimes see people that others can't.”

Evan's already large eyes widened. “That's a secret,” he whispered. “My father says I'm not supposed to talk about it.”

Walt nodded. “Yes, your father is right. People often don't understand. And it's best to discuss these things with your father first.”

“How do you know about it?” Evan asked.

“Because I'm one of those people others typically can't see.”

Evan took a step back, his eyes never leaving Walt.

“Please don't be frightened, Evan. I'm a friend of your father's, and I hope you and I can be friends. But I understand if you want to discuss this with your father first.”

Evan shook his head. “No. My father told me he can't see the people I can.”

“True.” Walt stood up and walked to the sofa, giving Evan more space. He sat down. “But my friend Danielle can see me, and she's told your father about me. We sometimes communicate through Danielle.”

“You're Walt,” Evan said in awe.

“So your dad's told you about me?”

Evan's smile returned. He ran to the sofa and climbed up, sitting next to Walt. “When my dad brought us over here tonight, he took me aside and told me I might meet someone name Walt when I was here, but not to be afraid. He told me I could trust you, but not to say anything to anyone about seeing you—and if anyone was in the room, to pretend you weren't there.”

“He did, did he?” Walt beamed. Leaning back in the sofa, Walt said, “So tell me about yourself, Evan.”

“
T
he typewriter
we found in Pete's garage is the same one that typed that letter,” MacDonald told Joe as the two sat alone in his office. “Which doesn't surprise me because Pete admitted to sending that letter and claims he witnessed Steve killing Jolene.”

“And his reason for attacking Melony? Hit her over the head, shoved her in his trunk, how does he explain that?” Joe asked.

MacDonald shook his head. “He doesn't. Refuses to say another word until his attorney gets here.” He glanced at his watch and stood up. “I need to get over to Marlow House to pick up the boys.”

“Get some sleep, Chief. I'm going home myself. I'll fill Brian in on what's been going on before I head out.”

“
I
t's all a horrible mistake
,” Pete's attorney told Brian Henderson later that morning. “Mr. Rogers was trying to protect Melony Jacobs.”

Absently tapping the end of his pen against the desktop, Brian narrowed his eyes. “How, by hitting her over the head and shoving her in his trunk?”

“He was bringing her to the police station for her own safety.”

“I don't quite understand; can you elaborate?” Brian set the pen down.

“He knew Steve Klein killed Mrs. Carmichael. He didn't initially come forward because he was understandably afraid for his own life. But he wanted to do the right thing, so he sent Police Chief MacDonald that anonymous letter. Which, I understand, has been verified that it did indeed originate from Mr. Rogers's typewriter.”

“That still doesn't explain what he did to Ms. Jacobs.”

“He found her looking through his back porch late at night. He assumed she was foolishly playing detective and snooping around anyone's house who had a connection with her mother. He tried to convince her it was dangerous to play detective, but she wouldn't listen. He admits he acted rashly. All he wanted to do was stop her from going to Klein's house and possibly getting herself killed. He was going to bring her down here.”

“So he hit her over the head?”

“I told you he admits to acting rashly, and he is willing to face the consequences, but he wants you to know he only had Ms. Jacobs's best interest at heart. He's very fond of her.”

“As you know, Ms. Jacobs is still in the hospital—fortunately, doing well. But I did speak to her this morning, and she didn't say anything about your client warning her away from Steve Klein. According to her, one minute she's bending over to pick something up, and the next thing she remembers is waking up in the trunk of a car.”

The attorney smiled. “It's a medical fact that people who suffer severe head trauma often never remember what occurred before being struck. I'm not surprised she has no memory of her conversation with my client.”

“We have another little problem here.” Brian leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Sergeant Morelli showed up at your client's house, and when Chris Johnson accused Mr. Rogers of having Melony Jacobs locked in his trunk, he denied the fact. If he was so anxious to turn her over to the police, why didn't he do it then?”

The attorney stood up, still smiling, “No, Officer Henderson. Your little problem is a lack of motive. My client had no reason to killed Jolene Carmichael or to harm her daughter. They were old friends. In fact, Ms. Jacobs stopped by his house to see him. What happened when Sergeant Morelli showed up at his house was that my client simply panicked. He knew it looked bad and felt it would simply be better if he brought her to the station himself so there would be no doubt as to his true motive. We agree, he used poor judgement, but he had no sinister intent.”

I
t was
past noon when Marie Nichols marched into the Frederickport Police Station and demanded to see Police Chief MacDonald. When she was told he was too busy to see her, she refused to take no for an answer.