Ron couldn’t remember the house, and he didn’t seem terribly keen on even trying to. That surprised police. More normal would have been for a father like him to have marched to the home on his own, maybe multiple homes, and immediately killed the presumed poisoner himself, execution-style. It took some prodding, and Ron at last led the cops to the place. Based on Ron’s word, police arrested the man of the house.
That man of the house was C.E. Melvin, and police never charged him. Because Melvyn explained that he hadn’t even been home when trick-or-treaters were making the rounds that night. He’d been working ... at the airport. Meaning the international airport in Houston, where dozens of witnesses could back up his alibi. Ron said a man in the house had handed out candy, but there was no man in the house, just Melvin’s wife and daughter, who’d gone to bed early (which was consistent with the kids’ story, which said they’d rung that house and received no answer).
So, had Ron made a mistake, and he had actually got the sticks from elsewhere? He wasn’t able to point to any other house. In fact, his story—he said a man who hid his face handed the candy out—sounded less than credible. Luckily, no new reports came in of any more kids suffering from poison.
As the days went by, Ron started acting a little ... odd. At the funeral, his neighbor noticed that he walked right past his son's coffin, displaying little emotion. He marked his son’s death by writing a song about the boy meeting Jesus in heaven. He had a local TV station play the recording, and after Tim’s funeral, when the family wanted to go to sleep instead of staying up to watch the broadcast, he got angry. Still, people grieve in all kinds of ways. Think about the dad on Twin Peaks: Not long after his daughter’s death, he was singing and dancing, and police didn’t run and arrest him for that.