A Brilliant Death (19 page)

“He was in hock up to his ass for that boat,” Tornik said.

Travis shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he killed my mom. He didn’t take the boat out on the river. He was on the road.”

“No, that alone does not mean he did it. As you’re looking at this, pretend you’re putting together a puzzle, a puzzle of that instant in time when your mother died. It’s the big picture we’re looking at. In a perfect world, it would show you how she died, where, and who was responsible. But you and I both know that isn’t possible. You’re always going to be missing a couple of the pieces, so you’re putting together a puzzle where you’ll never get a complete picture. You with me?” Travis nodded. “What we do is look at all the pieces that are available, and we try to put those together. Now, when we’re done, maybe we don’t have a complete picture with every piece of evidence that we’d like, but we’ve put together enough of the picture that we can imagine what the missing pieces look like. That’s what we’re doing here. In itself, that letter doesn’t mean your dad did anything, but it’s a piece of the puzzle. So you put it on the table and go look for the next piece.”

“Okay, what’s next?”

Tornik looked back down at his cheat sheet. “Page twenty-four. We found some of the instruments from the boat’s console. The switch to the boat’s running lights was turned off, but the ignition switch was turned on.”

“I don’t understand the significance,” Travis said.

“If you’re out on the river at night, it’s common sense to keep your running lights on.”

“So? My mom probably didn’t know much about the boat. Or, maybe they didn’t want to be seen.”

“Maybe they didn’t want everyone in Brilliant to know they were out on the river, but they would certainly have wanted a barge to see them. After your mom’s death, I went for a nighttime ride on that towboat—the same one that was pushing the barge that crushed your mother’s boat. That spotlight is strong enough to see a small boat drifting in the river a mile away, maybe further. I think the lights were killed on the boat because it was stashed in the brush near the bank—probably on the West Virginia side. When the barge got close, someone drove the boat out of the brush and toward the front of the barge, but under the spotlight. By the time the captain saw the boat, it was too late to do anything. And here’s the important fact: It wasn’t drifting, as was first reported. It was driven into the barge. That’s why the ignition switch was on: because it wasn’t adrift, it was a kamikaze mission.”

“Kind of a wild-ass theory, isn’t it? They drove the boat in front of the barge and then tried to swim to shore? I don’t get it.”

I watched Tornik roll his teeth over his lip, and his left eye twitched like a turn signal. Once again, Travis had lit his fuse. “There are two theories to the mystery, and one is that she faked her death and ran away. Since her body wasn’t found, no one can prove that she isn’t alive. Now, if your mother is still alive, which I seriously doubt, then what better way to fake her own death? Witnesses see you jump in the river and you’re never heard from again. The clothes and getaway car are parked near the river bank. Bye-bye, Brilliant. However, if someone wanted to make it look like she was killed on the boat, it’s just as perfect.”

Travis winced. “Okay, let’s assume for a minute that you are right and she was murdered. Do you think she volunteered to be part of her own murder? What did she do, agree to be seen jumping off the boat before she let someone kill her?”

It was, I sensed, the point Tornik had been waiting all night to make. He grinned. “Maybe that wasn’t her jumping off the boat,” he suggested. “Maybe she was already dead—maybe in the water or in the hull of the boat. The accident was just part of the cover-up.”

Travis looked at Tornik for a long moment and let his words sink in. “I think you’re reaching,” he finally said. “You know what I think? I think she and her boyfriend were screwing and weren’t paying any attention to what was happening to the boat and it drifted in front of the barge. End of story.”

“Let me tell you something, pally boy, I tagged a lot of tail in my day, but I have yet to meet the piece of ass that would make me ignore a barge full of iron ore rolling down the river shining a spotlight and blasting his foghorn.” Tornik’s voice was climbing with each syllable. “You’ve heard those foghorns. They rattle windows for miles away.”

“The newspaper story said the barge captain saw the boat drifting in front of him.”

Tornik pinched his temples. “First of all, in a moment of panic he probably couldn’t tell if it was drifting or moving under its own power. And, if it was drifting, why didn’t he see it before then? Someone drove that boat into the path of the barge. The boat fairy didn’t just zap it there.”

I suspected that Tornik had gone to great lengths to get the investigative report. He had stuck his neck out for Travis, who was refusing to look at the evidence. It seemed obvious to me that Tornik had reread the case and the old investigative juices were again flowing. He knew his instincts had been right. Had he not screwed up his career and his life, he would have solved the mystery of Amanda Baron’s death. I had no doubt. Now, for whatever reason, Travis was in denial of every piece of incriminating evidence.

Tornik rubbed his right hand over his jaw, massaging a dark shadow as he tensed. “So tell me, kid, if you’re going to ignore all this, why in the hell did you ever come to me in the first place? Just tell me that and I’ll get out of your hair, because it’s obvious that you aren’t interested in the truth. For whatever reason, you’re being protective of your old man, when you should be being protective of your dead mother.”

Tornik threw the Styrofoam cup and the remainder of his coffee into the gravel parking lot. “Look at the copy of the bill of lading. Do you know when your dad scheduled his load? An hour before he left Steubenville. Pretty damn quick turnaround, wouldn’t you say? Read the interviews with the boat club members. Your dad’s boat wasn’t at its dock the day of the accident. Your dad was on the road, the boat’s not at its dock, yet the family automobile is in the driveway all day.”

“Now, there’s a revelation,” Travis said. “The boat’s out on the water and the car’s in the driveway. Congratulations. That’s some dynamite detective work.”

“How did she get to the boat that night?” Tornik whispered, barely controlling his rage. “It was a mile from where they lived to the boat club. She couldn’t drive the car or get to the boat because she was already dead.”

“Maybe her lover gave her a ride?” Travis countered.

“They found you in the crib. You’ve been investigating your mother. Do you think she’s the kind of woman who would have gone out with her lover and left a newborn at home? Think, junior, think! Your dad was involved.”

Travis pushed himself away from the car and faced Tornik. “You never proved that.”

Tornik stepped backed and laughed. “I’ve proved it to myself, kid. Let’s remember something—you came to me for help, and I’m telling you what happened. You can believe what you want to believe, but I’m done helping you.” He took two steps and slid behind the wheel of the car. He looked one more time toward Travis, shook his head, then sped out of the lot, throwing gravel and leaving us in a haze of dust.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I watched until Tornik’s taillights disappeared on Commercial Avenue and dust from his tires settled over the parking lot and my RC Cola. I turned to Travis, stared for a long moment, and asked, “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” He looked down and kicked at some gravel. “Now, I’m going to be late getting home because we have a three-mile hike in pitch darkness. We can either walk along the berm of Route 7 or on the railroad tracks. No chance of anything bad happening with either of those options, is there?”

We walked south along Commercial Avenue until it dead-ended into the Penn-Central railroad yard, then followed the main line south toward Brilliant. Railroad tracks are ridiculously scary at night when the tracks begin to vibrate and the single light of the engine can be seen in the distance. We ducked off into the brush twice to let northbound trains pass. It was, in my imagination, not unlike hiding from some prehistoric beast that lumbers along, shaking the ground, only a few feet away.

As we trudged south, I was doing a slow burn, upset about the trek home and the way Travis had treated Tornik. He stumbled over the ties a half-dozen times while he tried to read the report by moonlight. Following another stumble, I said, “You’re going to trip and break your neck,” I said. “Why is that so fascinating now?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me? Why in God’s name did you have to bust Tornik’s chops like that? The guy was trying to do you a favor.”

“If he hadn’t been such a jerk and left, we’d be home by now.”

“If you hadn’t been such a horse’s ass to him, he wouldn’t have driven off.” I could feel the heat creeping up my neck like a rash. “There aren’t many times I feel like this, Travis, but right now, I’d like to punch you square in the teeth. All I’ve heard for the past two years is how you want to learn the truth about your mother. Then, when the one guy on this earth who knows the most about the case offers to help you, you bite his hand. I don’t get it. All of a sudden you’re protective of Big Frank. Why? You asked me a long time ago what I knew about your mother’s death, and I played dumb because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You know what I heard? I heard that everyone in town thought your dad had something to do with her death. And you did, too, until Tornik put the evidence right in front of your nose. What’s the deal?”

He glared at me, but did not respond. We were just north of Brilliant when we hopped off the tracks by the water filtration plant, just before a third freight train barreled past. We walked in silence the rest of the way home. When he cut across Labelle Street to LaGrange Avenue, he said, “See ya around.”

While he claimed to doubt the veracity of its contents, Travis was captivated by the document Tornik had given him, but it caused him to struggle with an internal problem. Even though Travis hated Big Frank, in his heart he didn’t want to believe the old man had been involved in the murder of his wife and mother of his only son. Who would? But, as the circumstantial evidence against Big Frank continued to mount, Travis became extremely defensive. Any evidence showing Big Frank was somehow involved in the death of his wife only further squelched Travis’s fantasy of someday miraculously finding her alive. Travis didn’t talk much about this, but I knew he harbored that dream.

Me? I believed she was dead. Certainly, being married to Big Frank Baron was an excellent reason to run, but I didn’t believe for a minute she would leave behind her infant son.

Travis grew more moody as the summer wore on. His mixed emotions over the information in the report were further agitated by the fact that we had yet to hear back from Alex Harmon on the status of his search for his maternal grandfather. Travis spent hours reading and rereading the packet of information Tornik had given him. In the course of his own investigation, Travis gained a grudging respect for Tornik’s investigative skills. Even Travis had to admit that Tornik had been methodical and meticulous in his efforts. What Travis couldn’t understand is why Tornik spent so much time investigating Big Frank instead of tracking down other leads. Tornik, Travis speculated, had tunnel vision for Frank Baron, and that zeal caused him to overlook any other possibilities.

Whenever Big Frank was on the road, Travis sat at the desk in his bedroom, poring over the pages of Tornik’s report. He had punched holes in them and slipped them into a loose-leaf binder, hiding it in plain sight in the bookcase of his bedroom, which was the last place on earth that the nearly illiterate Big Frank would ever look for anything. It was not unlike the size-fourteen dress shoe from the cemetery that Travis was still hiding. It was on the floor of his closet, mixed with other shoes and hidden amid the clutter.

A month after our July Fourth meeting with Tornik, Travis stopped by the house after his shift at the bakery. I was in my room getting dressed for an American Legion baseball game against Bridgeport. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m kicking myself now for being such a jerk to Tornik,” he said.

“There’s a rare confession,” I said.

“I still don’t think Tornik’s interest in going after Big Frank was purely in the name of justice. I think he was going after him strictly for personal reasons.”

“To make his star shine even brighter?”

“Something like that. He seems like the kind of guy who always wanted to be in the spotlight.”

“Maybe he just didn’t like Big Frank.”

“That’s not hard to believe, but you don’t try to pin someone with murder just because you don’t like them.”

“I wondered about that. What if Tornik didn’t like Frank and suspected he was involved in your mom’s disappearance? Would he try harder to pin it on him?”

Travis shrugged. “Probably.” He sat down on the edge of my bed. “What do you think he was talking about when he tapped that paper in his pocket and called it ‘dessert’?”

I tucked my jersey into my baseball pants. “And there it is,” I said.

“There what is?”

“The reason you’re mad at yourself for showing your ass to Tornik. You want to know what else he has.”

He shook his head and said, “Goddamn Baron temper. What irritates me most is that it’s this constant reminder that I am, without question, the son of Francis Martino Baron.”

“Want to go to the game?”

Travis shook his head. “No, thanks. Big Frank’s on his way to Demopolis, Alabama, wherever the hell that is, and I’m going to start back through the report.”

“Why don’t you give it a rest? You’ve been at it for weeks.”

“I’m hoping I find something that Tornik might have overlooked.”

“Don’t you think you would have found it by now?”