Red Rain: A Novel (25 page)

Big Pavano coughed. “That’s what we have, all right, Captain.”

Andy scraped at some loose skin on the back of his thumb. He knew that he and Pinto were being removed from the case and Franks was taking charge. Why did Franks have to put on a show first?

“Now, we have blood all over the man’s car,” Franks continued, almost as if talking to himself. “The victim’s windpipe is fucking
tossed on the backseat, ripped from his throat. And his throat has been burned open. We have a gaping hole there, right, and the skin is scorched black. Like someone tried to fucking barbecue him.”

Chief Pavano nodded grimly. Andy and Pinto stared straight ahead. Andy’s stomach rumbled. He pictured the wet, blood-tipped pink noodle stretched on the backseat of the car. It made him sick every time he thought of it.

“With all that blood and ripped skin, we should have some evidence,” Franks boomed. “The weapon. Fingerprints on the blowtorch? The killer had to reach in through the open window, yes? So how about a fingerprint or two on the side of the fucking car?”

“We took that car apart in the lab in Riverhead,” Chief Pavano told him. “I mean, bolt by bolt, Captain. We dusted it and X-rayed it and lasered it and micro—whatever those guys can fucking do these days. We did everything but
taste
it. And we came up with nothing. Prints from a tennis ball. Kiddie prints.”

Franks rubbed the scar on his chin, gazing at Chief Pavano thoughtfully. “Well, what
don’t
we have here? We don’t have a psycho serial killer, right? We don’t have a Hannibal Lecter. At least the killer didn’t
eat
the fucking windpipe. And God knows, we haven’t had similar murders we can tie to this one.”

“We don’t have a lot of murders in Sag Harbor, Franks,” Pinto murmured. “It’s a quiet little village, you know.”

Franks nodded. He pulled out a small key chain and twirled it in one hand. “So . . . we rule out serial killer. We have to look closer to home, don’t we? I think I’ve gone over this story enough. Try this on for size. The psychologist, Sutter, writes a book that people don’t like. He has a book tour. He gets booed and yelled at in one city, then another. Everywhere he fucking goes. City after city, people are angry at him. He comes home. Maybe he’s upset. Maybe he’s overwrought from all the abuse. Maybe the sonofabitch is about to lose it.

“So how does it go down? He needs money to pay the mortgage on his beautiful house by the bay. And he and his wife have just adopted two more kids. She doesn’t work. The load is all on him. It’s making him crazy. Nothing but stress and anger and abuse.

“He thinks he’s going to get a big grant. He’s
counting
on the fucking grant to keep him afloat. Then this guy Hulenberger arrives and tells him no way, José. Like a punch in the face, right? And Sutter fucking loses it. He runs outside, grabs his blowtorch from the garage, runs to the car in the driveway in a fucking insane rage and makes a mess of Hulenberger.”

Silence for a long moment. Andy heard phones ringing down the hall. He heard Marie at the front desk laughing about something. A siren started up with a growl in a black-and-white out in the parking lot.

“Sutter seemed distressed by the murder in his driveway. But he didn’t seem whacked-out or overly stressed,” Pinto offered. “He seemed to have it together whenever Andy and I talked to him.”

Franks frowned at Pinto. “So?”

“He had an excuse for the blowtorch. So we combed the house,” Big Pavano said, shaking his head. “I mean, every inch. Tore up floors and everything, Captain. No other weapon.”

Franks turned his glare on Pavano. “So?”

Silence again.

Franks turned to Andy. “Any thoughts?”

Andy realized he was tapping one shoe on the floor. He forced his leg to stop. “Maybe you’re on the right track,” he said, thinking hard. “It’s just . . . no one saw anything. His two boys, the twins . . . they were playing ball in the front yard. They didn’t see anything or anyone.”

“Are they lying?” Franks demanded, leaning over the desk. “They’re twelve, right? Twelve-year-olds can lie, yes? If they’re frightened? If somebody scared them or threatened them?” He twirled the key chain. “Or if they want to protect their new father?”

Andy shuffled his feet. Did Franks want them to
disprove
his theory? Or was he the kind of cop who only wanted to be backed up in everything he said?

“We’ve talked to the twins twice with a psychologist in the room, Captain,” Big Pavano said. “She found no evidence—”

“I think we have our suspect,” Franks interrupted, slapping his
hands together like cymbals. “There’s a lot we don’t know—yet. But we know it’s Sutter. So let’s get back to work and fucking nail him.”

Chief Pavano jumped up and, adjusting his black uniform tie, stepped behind the desk to get to Franks. Leaning their heads together, they started to talk in low tones. Andy and Pinto remained seated, exchanging glances.

Finally, Andy spoke up. “You mean . . . Chaz and I . . . we’re still working this murder?”

“We’re sticking with you,” Franks said. “You haven’t screwed it up too badly so far. I’ll be here. I’ll be watching over everything. With your captain, of course. You go ahead and nail this sonofabitch. You’ll be stars. You want to be fucking stars—don’t you?”

Andy wasn’t so sure. He nodded to the two captains and followed Pinto out of the room. When they were back in Andy’s makeshift office, they both let out long whooshes of air, although there was no reason to feel relieved.

“You think Sutter did it?” Andy asked.

“I do now” was Pinto’s reply.

B
reakfast Monday morning. Mark pulled on gray sweats. He thought maybe he’d run on the sand along Long Beach this morning. Downstairs, he was surprised to find Lea already in the kitchen, coffee made, a stack of frozen waffles ready for the toaster.

She wore a short, sheer green beach cover-up over a black one-piece swimsuit. Her hair was tied loosely back with a green hair scrunchie. She turned and smiled as he entered the kitchen. When he walked over and picked up a white coffee mug from beside the coffeemaker, she raised her face to him and kissed him tenderly behind the ear.

The kiss sent a tingle down his neck. He turned with a smile. He rubbed her cheek with two fingers. “What was that for?”

“An apology,” she said. Her dark eyes stayed on his.

“Apology?”

“I’ve been . . . sort of distant since I got home. I’m sorry.”

“I noticed,” he said. “The island?”

She turned to the counter, lifted her mug, and took a long sip of black coffee. “I . . . I dream about it every night. Really. Every night.”

He took her by the shoulders. “I’m really sorry.”

“I hear those people screaming and crying. I see all those bodies.
Bodies piled up everywhere.
Parts
of bodies. Houses all broken and destroyed. Will I ever get over it?”

“Sure, you will,” he said. Stupid, inadequate answer. He drew her close. He kissed her. Coffee breath, but he didn’t mind. “Maybe you should see someone. I know some doctors in the city you might feel comfortable with.”

She hesitated. “Maybe.”

He kissed her again. Then he pulled his head back and studied her. “The twins. Daniel and Samuel. Do they keep reminding you of all the horror you saw? Are they keeping you from pushing it from your mind?”

She raised a hand to his mouth. “Stop. Don’t even think it. You have to stop being so negative about them, Mark. I really care about them.”

“Sorry. As long as—”

“I’m going to be better. I promise. I’m back. You’ll see. It’s just the shock of everything. Now that the travel blog is over, I—”

“Are you sure you want to end it? I know you’re not a quitter. You came to New York with a goal and—”

She lowered her eyes. Her hair fell over her face. “I’m not quitting. I’m just changing.”

“Well, at least you won’t be traveling. Nice if you’ll be home all the time.” He raised his hands to her cheeks and started to kiss her again. But a cough interrupted.

Elena appeared in the doorway. “Yuck. Are you two kissing this early in the morning?”

“No.” Mark lowered his hands from Lea’s shoulders and took a step back. “Well, maybe yes. So what if we were?”

Elena didn’t answer. She pulled open the fridge door. “Isn’t there any cranberry juice? You know I hate orange juice. No one here drinks orange juice. It’s too fattening. Why do you keep buying it?”

“So you’ll have something to complain about,” Mark said. “And hey, maybe I drink it? And maybe Axl drinks it too?”

She pulled out a yogurt container and closed the door. “Could you buy better juice? You know Ruth-Ann is coming for our
sleepover Friday night. Do we have to have this grocery-store apple juice? Can’t you at least buy Martinelli’s?”

Mark laughed. “I had no idea juice was so important in your life.”

“Dad, do you think you could stop laughing at me just for a few minutes?”

That caught him by surprise. Was he teasing her too much? Fourteen-year-olds were so sensitive.

“Where’s your brother?” Lea said, pouring more coffee into her mug. “Is he getting dressed?”

“I don’t know.” Elena checked the date on the container bottom. Then she tugged off the top and started to stir the yogurt. “He wasn’t in his room. I thought he was down here.”

Lea blinked. “Not in his room? What do you mean?”

Elena stopped stirring. She scrunched up her face, as if concentrating. “You know, I think his bed was made. Like he hadn’t slept in it.”

“Huh?” Lea uttered a sharp cry. “Are you serious?”

“That’s impossible,” Mark said. “Go get him.”

“Can’t I finish my yogurt first?”

The kitchen door opened. Daniel and Samuel walked in. Mark squinted at them. They looked more disheveled than usual. Their hair hadn’t been brushed and stood up in white-blond clumps over their heads. Daniel’s jeans had a stain in front. Samuel’s black T-shirt was wrinkled, tucked in in front but hanging over his jeans in back.

“Morning, Mum and Pa,” Daniel murmured.

As they made their way toward the breakfast table, Mark and Lea gasped at the same time. “Whoa. What’s on your faces?”

Mark nearly did a coffee spit. Each boy had a two-inch blue arrow, pointing up, on one cheek. “Hey, stop right there.” He set down the coffee mug before he spilled it.

“Those aren’t tattoos—are they?” Lea demanded.

The twins giggled. “No. Just the face paint, don’t you know,” Daniel answered.

Elena stood gawking with her yogurt spoon halfway to her mouth. “You painted arrows on your cheeks?”

The boys nodded. Daniel’s wide grin made his dimples flare.

Mark reminded himself he needed to stay calm and not overreact. “But—why?” He kept his voice low and steady. “What do they mean?”

“We’re going
up,
” Daniel said, his grin not fading.

“We want to be cool,” Samuel added. He popped two waffles into the toaster and pushed them down.

“That is
definitely
not cool,” Mark said.

He stared at the arrows, so shiny and dark on the boys’ pale skin.

“Definitely not cool,” he repeated. “You have to go take them off. I can’t let you go to school like that.”

“But, Pa—” Daniel started.

“He’s right. For once,” Elena said. “Not cool, guys. Actually, we’re talking freaky here.”

The grin finally faded from Daniel’s face and his blue eyes appeared to darken, as if a storm cloud had rolled over them. “We want to rule the school, Pa,” spoken in a low voice just above a whisper.

“We want to rule the school,” Samuel repeated.

Mark watched them both carefully. Daniel was always the leader. Samuel seemed to go along with everything Daniel said. He wondered about their birth order. Did Daniel come out first?

“I’m sorry, boys, but I can’t let you go to school with arrows on your faces. Mrs. Maloney will just send you home. You don’t want to get in trouble with her, do you?”

“She won’t be sending us home,” Daniel replied.

Such certainty,
Mark thought.
They seem meek a lot of the time, but then they show tremendous confidence.

His mind spun away from the issue at hand.
Maybe they
will
make an interesting book. I could do it as a diary of their development as they adapt to a whole new world.

Lea had her arms wrapped tightly around the front of her beach wrap. She looked tense, but so far, she hadn’t said a word of protest.

They stood defiantly, eyes locked on Mark. Stone statues.

Elena couldn’t hide her surprise at their stubbornness. “You two are
weird
.”

Lea pulled Mark to the back door. “You can’t win this fight,” she whispered. “Remember trying to get Ira to zip his coat in the freezing cold last winter? They get these ideas about what’s cool and what isn’t, and you can’t ever win those fights. Kids are stronger and crazier than we are.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he snapped, eyes on the twins. “Just do whatever they want? Is that really your policy? So far, you haven’t said no to them once.”

“Let them go to school. The other kids will let them know how dorky the arrows are. They’ll learn soon enough. From their peers.”

Mark shook his head unhappily. He shrugged. “Okay, I give up. I surrender.” He turned to Elena. “Where’s your brother? Go get him. He’s going to be late.”

Elena turned toward the hallway door and shouted. “Ira—get
down
here. You’re going to be late!”

“Don’t shout. Go get him,” Mark snapped.

Elena groaned and pushed between the twins to get to the kitchen doorway. But the back door opened, and Ira came walking breezily in from outside. “Hey, what’s up?”

Mark couldn’t hide his surprise. “What were you doing in the backyard? Why weren’t you in your—”

He stopped midsentence when he saw the blue arrow on Ira’s right cheek. “What the hell—”

That made the twins giggle.

Mark rubbed his finger down Ira’s cheek. “No, Ira. No. No way.”

“I’m going to rule the school,” Ira said brightly.