“Nope.”

“And you were home, you were in the house, the entire time?”

Jay stuttered a little. “That’s what I said.”

Darrell noticed the teenager’s hesitation. He interrupted from where he was standing by the windows. “You didn’t go out at all?”

“No, I was here.”

“Did you look outside on Sunday night?”

“I don’t remember. If I did, I didn’t see anything.”

“Your bedroom windows look out on the front yard,” Darrell went on, gesturing through the glass. “If somebody drove in here on Sunday, there would have been headlights.”

“I didn’t see any lights, and I didn’t hear anybody outside.”

“Were you in your bedroom all evening?”

“No. Not the whole time. I watched some TV. The den’s on the other side of the house. Maybe somebody came by while I was doing that. I don’t know.”

“What did you watch on TV?” Darrell asked.

More hesitation. “I don’t remember.”

Darrell frowned. I knew he didn’t believe what Jay was telling us. I leaned forward and put a hand lightly on the boy’s wrist.

“Jay, do you have any idea who killed your father?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea why someone would want to harm him?”

“I assume it’s because of the lawsuit.”

“Why do you assume that?”

“That’s why we’re here. What else could it be?”

“Did your father talk about getting threats? Did you hear threats directed at him in town or at school?”

Jay finally turned his head and looked at me. “I can’t remember a day when there haven’t been threats. Nobody wants us here. They’ve made that very clear. I’ve had shit smeared on my locker half a dozen times. People broke our windows and slashed our tires. You saw what happened with Erica.”

“Do you know who was involved in any of these incidents?”

“No.”

“Was your father worried about them?”

“He said it was the usual harassment that comes with big lawsuits.”

I let the silence between us linger while I studied Jay’s eyes. He was a smart kid, but with stormy waters underneath the calm. Maybe it was the usual teenage angst, but I got the feeling there was more to it than that.

“Erica says your relationship with your father was difficult,” I said quietly.

“You could say that. He didn’t like me. I didn’t like him.”

“Why is that?”

“Mostly, I think he hated the fact that I knew who he really was.”

“Oh, yes?” I asked. “Who was he?”

Jay turned away and stared at the ceiling again. “You’ll figure it out sooner or later. Gordon was a monster.”

*