Everywhere That Tommy Goes (15 page)

CHAPTER 38

Stone and Watts were only a few miles away from Gilgo Beach as she talked on the phone with detective Morgan.

“And you’re certain the bracelet is identical to the one found at the scene?”

“I am.”

“Any blood where you found the bracelet?” asked Stone.

“Not a drop, but we’re backtracking between the original scene and this one.”

“Good. What about the neighbors?”

“Nothing yet, but we’re continuing to question them.”

“Okay. We’re almost there.”

Stone hung up her cell, and looked across to Watts. “There’s a slim chance our bartender may still be alive.”

“How so?”

“A matching bracelet was found near some house located over a quarter mile away from the beach scene.”

“So . . . you’re thinking she just got up and walked away from the beach?”

“I really don’t know. But one way or another, that body was moved.”

CHAPTER 39

The dirt road that leads to the lake is overgrown, but still clear enough to drive down. Branches scrape the car as we move forward, but within a half mile, we have to stop.

“I guess this is as far as we can go, Tommy Boy,” Troyer says. “The lake can’t be much further.”

“It’s not. This road used to go all the way there, but it looks like no one’s been through here in years.”

“Good for us, then. Why don’t you go get the girl from the trunk? I’ll scout ahead and make sure we’re alone.”

I nod, moving on autopilot, because I really have no idea what I’m doing, and I can’t figure out why Troyer’s got this power over me. That’s right: Even though I know I shouldn’t be listening to him, I keep doing what he says.

I pop the trunk, walk around to the back, and lift the girl out, when—get this—she opens her eyes and screams. I drop her, stumble backward, and fall to the ground.

“Troyer, quick!” I yell, but she’s already off and running.

I get up and call out to her. “Wait! Don’t run! I’m not gonna hurt you!” She ignores me and disappears into the woods.

“Troyer! Troyer! Get over here. She’s alive!”

Troyer strolls around to the back of the car and shakes his head. “No worries, mate. She won’t get very far. Let her go. She’ll run out of steam, and then we’ll catch up to her.”

CHAPTER 40

Sung raced into Tanner’s office waiving papers. “Warrant has been issued, boss.”

Tanner pushed himself out of his chair and grabbed his coat. “About time. Let’s go.”

Fifteen minutes later, the men pulled up in front of Gantry’s home—a small, one-story, wood-frame house with a detached garage.

“He’ll be at work for a few more hours, so let’s get to it,” Tanner said as he strode up to the front door and twisted the doorknob. “As I figured, it’s locked. Let’s go around back and see if there’s another way in.”

The men made their way around to the back of the house, found an unlocked door, and entered the main living area.

“The place looks too small for a big man to live comfortably,” Sammy said. “And it smells like wet dog.”

“Appetizing, with the empty beer cans decorating that coffee table.”

“Gross is more like it. This man is a total slob.”

“Okay, Sammy, let’s get to it. I’ll start in the bedroom. You can start with the garbage.”

“Come on, boss. If this is how he lives, I don’t want to see what’s in his garbage.”

“Sorry, but you know how important garbage can be in an investigation, so hold your nose and hop to it.”

Tanner moved over to the bedroom as Sammy donned rubber gloves.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, Tanner called, “Hey, Sammy. I’ve been through the drawers and the closets; there’s nothing in here. And all I found in the bathroom was a recent issue of
Hustler
. You find anything?”

“Just the usual garbage, boss. I checked the kitchen and living room too. There’s nothing here. This looks like a dead end.”

Tanner returned to the main room. “Okay, let’s check out the garage.”

The men made their way out back. The aluminum door squeaked, almost begging for lubrication as it folded its way into the ceiling and disappeared. The men were astonished by what they saw. Pristine would barely be sufficiently descriptive. The room looked as if it had come right out of a
West Coast Customs
episode. All manner of tools and car parts were neatly aligned along the walls. The floor boasted a glossy texture that practically dared an oil spill to attempt to defile it.

“Are you seeing this, boss?”

“That’s a ’57 Bel Aire!”

“Yeah, but look how clean this place is. It’s like night and day compared to the house.”

“Downright bizarre. But I’ve gotta tell you, I’m even more blown away by the car. Check it out: the restoration is magnificent.”

“Unreal, boss. This guy has some serious talent.”

“Truly amazing. I guess I never really knew this guy after all.”

“It seems that way.”

“Okay, Sammy, you check out the car, I’ll look around the place.”

Tanner set about inspecting every shelf, drawer, and toolbox in the garage while Sung rifled through the classic Chevy. Before the end of Chunky’s shift at the Mobil station, Tanner and Sung had completed the entire search.

Sung closed the trunk and spread his arms wide. “The restoration is immaculate, boss. Not a suspicious thing in the whole damn car. You find anything?”

“Clean as a whistle. But we still have to question him. Let’s go pick him up and bring him down to the station.”

Fifteen minutes later, the men arrived at the Mobil and found Chunky half-buried under the hood of an old Ford pickup.

Hearing the men arrive, Chunky stood up, tossed his wrench on the nearby Craftsman toolbox, and pulled a dirty gray rag from his rear pocket.

“Back again, guys?” Chunky asked, wiping his forehead and then his hands.

“Afraid so, Chunk,” Tanner said. “And we have a problem.”

“Problem? What kinda problem?”

“We’re going to have to take you down to the station,” said Sung. “We need you to answer some questions for us.”

“Didn’t I answer all your questions before? And why do I have to go there? Why can’t you just ask me here?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Tanner answered. “And we have to read you your Rights.”

“My Rights! What’s this all about? Are you guys arresting me?”

“Yes, we are,” said Sung. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

“Come on, Monty,” Chunky said, raising his palms and backing away. “Is this some kinda joke?”

“No joke. We have to do this by the book—for all our sakes. We can’t have anyone saying you were given preferential treatment because we know you.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Do you understand your Rights?” asked Sung.

“Yes. Now will you tell me what this is all about?” Chunky pleaded.

“Do you want an attorney?” asked Sung.

“Do I need one?”

“That’s up to you,” Sung said.

“No lawyer. Just tell me what you guys want to know.”

“I’m sorry, but we still have to take you down,” Tanner said. “And we have to put the cuffs on.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Sorry—standard procedure.”

“Well, at least tell me what this is all about.”

Tanner looked at Sung, then back at Chunky. “Okay. First, can you tell me if you looked through Sullivan’s car?”

“Of course I did. I was all over it. You know I worked on it here.”

“Yes, we know,” Sung said. “But what about the contents of the car?”

“Contents? Whaddya mean?”

“You know, anything inside the car?”

“I’m sure I looked around it, but I got no idea where you’re going with this.”

“Okay, Chunk, I’ll get to the point.” Tanner’s tone was official now. “Did you find a knife in Sullivan’s car?”

Chunky hesitated, then swallowed hard. “A knife? I . . . uh, let me think, uh . . . no, I don’t remember seeing a knife. Why?”

Tanner pursed his lips and looked sideways at Chunky. “Let’s just finish this back at the station. In the meantime, you keep thinking about what you may have come across in that car.”

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later, Chunky was led into a holding room routinely used to interrogate suspects. There was no see-through mirror, no cameras, and no recorders. The Seaview budget would never allow for such items.

Tanner took this one alone, sat down in front of Chunky, and folded his hands. “Before we go any further, are you sure you don’t want a lawyer?”

Perspiring heavily, his face burning deep red, Chunky shook his head no.

“Okay, then, have you thought any more about what you may have come across in Sullivan’s car?”

“Like I said, I can’t remember anything in particular.”

“Well, perhaps you can explain how your fingerprints were found on the knife that killed Syeda Bakht.”

“What? My fingerprints? Are you sure?”

“There’s no doubt.”

Chunky wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I don’t know, Monty. I mean, I did go through the glove compartment, and I musta moved some stuff around looking for the manual. If it was in there, maybe I accidentally touched it.”

“Come on. You can do better than that.”

“Look at me: I’m the first to admit I’m a bit overweight and it can be a problem. You know I can’t always fit into small cars like that, so sometimes I just feel around for stuff without getting all the way into the car. Like I said, I was looking for the manual, and maybe I touched it. I don’t remember, though.”

Tanner stared Chunky down, scratched his head, and stood. “We’ll see about that, my friend. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. You’re here for the night while we do some checking.”

CHAPTER 41

I look crossways at Troyer. “So we’re just gonna let her run? What if she goes to the cops?”

“Relax, Tommy Boy. We’re miles from civilization. She’ll tire soon enough, and then we’ll find her.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

Troyer points at the tire iron laying inside the trunk. “Do you really need to ask?” he says, bellowing out that perfect, psycho laugh that sounds even crazier with an Australian accent.

“Look, man. There’s no need to kill the girl.”

“Oh, but there is, Tommy Boy. Pick that up and let’s get a move on.”

Now, you have to try and understand this, because deep down inside I know it’s not right, and I know I shouldn’t be listening to anything this lunatic is saying, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve got no choice. It’s like I have to do what he tells me.

“Let’s hunt her down like the animal she is,” Troyer says, staring all crazy eyes at me. “Then, when we catch her, I’ll let you gut her. And after she’s dead I promise you I’ll take you to Aurora so you can finish her off, as well.”

I pick up the tire iron. Part of me wants to swing it right across Troyer’s face and destroy him, while another part of me says,
No—don’t do it. He’s the only one who knows where Aurora is
. I know that without Troyer, Aurora’s dead. I think Troyer knows that, too, and he’s playing with me, trying to see how far I’ll go. After all, the dude always seems to know what I’m
thinking before I even start thinking it. And with his fighting skills, if we do end up in a confrontation, I’m better off with a weapon in my hands.

Without another word, Troyer turns and starts hop-skipping after the girl. All of a sudden, I get this
Alice in Wonderland
feeling, kind of like I’m about to chase the fuckin’ rabbit down the rabbit hole. Anyway—and don’t ask me to explain it—I race after him, death-gripping the tire iron.

The woods are thick, but Troyer maintains a feverish pace as we wind our way through the lighter brush, dodging small bushes and fallen trees. As if by instinct, he seems to know which way the girl is going. We continue the hunt, barely slowing, until we’re led back to the road. Somehow, she must have found her way out.

Even worse, when we get there, we look up ahead and see her flagging down a passing car. That just about does it for Troyer. He starts jumping up and down and slapping his hands together in this mad-ass, wild way.

“Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” Troyer screams, swinging punches at the sky. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

Troyer looks rattled for the first time ever, and I don’t know what to make of it. On the one hand I’m kind of relieved, because now she’s safe, but on the other hand, she’s going straight to the cops.

Troyer stops gyrating, squats down, and wraps his arms around his knees. Breathing heavily, he looks up at me. “Quickly—let’s get back to the car. There’s not much time.” He jumps up and takes off.

It doesn’t take me more than a second to turn and follow him. At top speed, we race through the woods, dodging branches and leaping rocks, until we reach the car. I get behind the wheel, start her up, ram her into reverse, and nail the gas pedal. The car jolts backward, and I spin her around, throw her into drive, and book out of there at Mustang speed. We bounce along the dirt path for at least a half mile before reaching the paved road. I turn to Troyer and see the dude rocking back and forth, staring blindly, his eyes almost popping out of his head.

“Okay, Troyer, the shit’s gonna unravel real fast now, so let’s get Aurora and bolt before that girl tells the cops.”

Troyer stops rocking, slowly looks over at me, and smiles from ear to ear. “No worries, mate—just a small setback. We can handle this.”

“I don’t know about that. Once she gets to the cops . . .”

“. . . we’ll be long gone, Tommy Boy. Just head for the highway.”

“Not until we get Aurora.”

“Come on, mate. She’s as good as dead, anyhow. Like I told you, she knows too much.”

“Look—Aurora comes with us, or I don’t go. I swear she’s no threat.”

Troyer slaps me across the back of my head and laughs. “Oh, you have it bad, Tommy Boy. When will you learn? Chicks are just baggage, and you have to travel light.”

“I don’t care. Those are my terms.” I slam on the brakes and stop short right in the middle of the road. “Aurora comes, or you can get out here and start walking.”