by Donna Doyle
The red car driver was likely to be paying attention to the arriving car. Troy swiftly crossed the parking lot. He was only a few feet away from the red car. Squatting, he made his way alongside the car, below view, so that he could reach the back and see the license plate.
“What are you doing out on a night like this!”
Troy froze. That was Chief Stark’s voice. What was the Chief doing out on patrol? The Chief left that to his officers and he wasn’t likely to change that habit on a cold, snowy night like this one.
Then he relaxed. The Chief hadn’t seen him. He was talking to the driver of the red car.”
“Why not?”
The voice was male, young, and cocky. He was inside his car, and Chief Stark was inside a car as well. Not a police car, Troy noted; it was the Chief’s own vehicle, a Lexus that was the source of envy for the other officers who struggled to make monthly car payments on their own pick-up trucks and SUVs. Mrs. Stark was an insurance agent; and the insurance business, so the officers joked, must be a good line of work.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Chief Stark was saying.
“Gotta keep the customers satisfied,” the voice said. “Not showing up is bad for business, right?”
The Chief didn’t answer at first. Then, “No one will come tonight.”
“They’ll come,” the younger man said. “They have to come.”
“Watch yourself,” the Chief said.
Then the Lexus drove away; Troy watched it pass by on the other side of the red car. It didn’t matter now. While they were talking, he’d carefully made his way to the license plate and memorized it, brushing away enough snow so that he could see. He crawled away from the red car, just as another car approached on the other side.
Mrs. Hammond wasn’t a crazy old lady making up stories. She was dead-on in her accusations. Troy waited long enough to listen to the transaction, which was brief and businesslike and apparently satisfactory to both.
He was beginning to feel the cold, but it wasn’t anything worse than he’d experienced in Afghanistan during his deployment. He waited; when the next car came, he’d cross the parking lot again and get back to the garage.
Kelly turned from the window as soon as she heard the sound of the door opening.
“Did you get the license plate number?” she asked, pouring a cup of coffee from the thermos. “Did you write it down?”
“I didn’t have to,” he said. “It’s a personalized plate.” He drank the entire cup in one swallow, relishing the warm route of the liquid as it traveled inside him. “Fan Solo.”
13
The Red Car
He knew now, but he needed proof, the kind of proof that could only be provided by the Department of Motor Vehicles. He remembered that, when he first joined the force, there had been a Settler Springs cop who left for the DMV not long after Troy came on board. Nick Bakularov was a good guy, Troy recalled, although he didn’t remember much more than the guy’s name. But it was worth a try.
Nick remembered him too. “Hey, Troy, how’s things? You had a murder last month. It made the TV news.”
“Yeah,” Troy replied, still soured on the memory of the way the town had turned into an overnight media magnet.
“A Krymanski did it?”
“That’s what the state police say.”
Nick was alert. “You don’t believe it?”
“The Krymanskis aren’t in the running for Citizen of the Year, I’ll give you that. But they run to petty stuff, mostly. Murder? I doubt it. And the kid is just fourteen.”
“In Settler Springs, if there’s a crime, it’s a Krymanski.” Nick sounded bitter. Troy wondered why. He didn’t know Nick well enough to ask, but he’d be willing to bet that Nick had a story to tell.
“Yeah, well, that makes it convenient,” he said vaguely.
“Convenient for the real criminals.”
“That’s what I’m starting to find out,” Troy responded, his words deliberately suggestive and yet neutral.
“It didn’t take you long,” Nick said. He sounded reassured.
“Long enough.”
“At least you still have your job. Be careful.”
“Why?” The question was genuine. He hadn’t expected to contact Nick at the DMV to receive a warning.
“You think I’m here because I like working at a desk all day?” That bitter note was back in Nick’s inflection. “I’m here because Chief Stark and I had a falling out.”
“Over what?” During the time that Troy had been on the force, he hadn’t noticed the Chief getting involved in much of anything. He seemed to spend most of his day chatting with the mayor, or making visits to schools and social organizations, or handing off cases to the state police.
“I didn’t like the way he was doing some things,” Nick said, suddenly cautious. “I called him on it, and here I am.”
“You couldn’t report him?”
Nick’s laugh lacked mirth. “What did you call for, Troy? You want a name for a number?”
“I want confirmation. I have a plate. I need to know who it belongs to.”
“Shoot.”
“Fan Solo.”
Nick sounded disgusted. “I don’t even have to look it up and you’ve been there long enough to know who drives that car. It belongs to Scotty Stark, the Chief’s son. That little red rocket that he drives.”
“Expensive car for a college kid.”
“If Dad can drive a Lexus, Sonny can have an Aston Martin Vanquish. I never understood why he picked Fan Solo for his license plate. The character is Han, isn’t it?”
“Maybe Han Solo is trademarked, I don’t know. Can you look it up for me?”
“I don’t have to—”
“Just look it up, I need to be sure.”
There was a pause while Nick began his computer search. “Huh,” he said as if the results were a surprise.
“What? It’s not the Chief’s son?” Troy had been so sure that they had their man and that the pieces were coming together. If he was wrong, he wasn’t sure where they went from here.
“Oh, Scotty drives it. But his mother owns it.”
“His mother?”
“You know, Lois Stark, the insurance agent?”
“Business must be good,” Troy said, repeating the line familiar to him from the others on the force.
“Business must be real good.”
He was working the late shift for Leo that night; Leo and his wife had to take their grandkids for a court-mandated counseling assessment in Pittsburgh and it was going to be a long day. Kelly would be at the library until closing time. They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk after he’d returned to the garage the night before. They’d stayed there until the stream of cars and pedestrians ended and the red car left. Then they’d waited awhile to make sure no one would see them leaving the garage. Kelly was eager to believe that they’d proven Lucas wasn’t guilty, but Troy brought her back to earth when he reminded her that they didn’t have proof yet.
Even now, he didn’t have proof. But he had a lot more evidence than he’d had when Lucas was first accused of killing Tyra Cardew.
He called Kelly. “How does a late supper sound? I’m working Leo’s shift tonight. I can take my break when you get off.”
“Okay.”
“My place okay? I need to let Arlo out.”
He could imagine the smile on her face. “And you don’t want anyone to hear us. Okay, Jefferson Street Take-Out it is. I like mushrooms and green peppers on my pizza.”
“What about pepperoni?”
“Do you know what’s in pepperoni?”
“Is there anything you don’t know? No, I don’t know what’s in pepperoni and I don’t want to.”
They arrived at his house at the same time, to be met at the door by Arlo, who was so excited by having two people to greet that he wasn’t sure which to notice first. Troy submitted to Arlo’s enthusiastic welcome before putting him on his leash.
“I can go ins
ide and set the table. It’s too cold for you to leave him out long,” Kelly said. “Real plates again?”
“Real plates, no booze. I’m working.”
When he brought Arlo back inside, the plates were set and coffee was brewing. She noted the pizza—onions on all of it, pepperoni on one half, mushrooms and peppers on the other half—with approval.
“Onions,” she said, “the sign of a working meal. What did you find out?”
“The car that Scotty Stark drives is in his mother’s name.”
“Mrs. Stark? She’s the president of the library board. She doesn’t pay her overdue fines. We’re not allowed to charge her. It’s not written anywhere, but it’s understood,” Kelly said, making a connection that made more sense to her than it did to Troy. “I can see the Lexus that Chief Stark drives, I don’t see the Aston Martin, somehow.”
“The DMV doesn’t lie.”
“So, let’s see. Mrs. Hammond is right about the drugs and the red car. Scotty Stark is the dealer. Chief Stark knows—”
“We think he knows. We didn’t hear him say anything that specifically ties his son to the drug dealing.”
“They both mentioned customers.”
“But not drugs. Scotty Stark could be scalping hockey tickets for all we know. Maybe he likes to come home from school and meet his old friends in Daffodil Alley, one at a time. Kelly, we can’t fabricate evidence that we don’t have. What we do have is proof that Mrs. Hammond isn’t making it up when she said that she sees a red sports car in Daffodil Alley on a regular basis. She and Lucas both saw the car the night of the murder.”
“It’s something, isn’t it?”
Troy smiled. “It’s something,” he agreed.
Kelly stretched in her chair. “I feel a lot better now,” she said.
“You ought to feel like you can’t move after eating four pieces of pizza.”
“You had four, too.”
“I’m six feet, two inches,” he retorted.
“I’m tall for my gender. What do we do now?”
“You’re going to contact Lucas’s lawyer and tell him what you know.”
“You mean it?” she asked, her eyes bright. “You’re going to let me do that?”
“It’s your turn to wear the red cape.”
14
The Case is Solved
Lucas was just glad to be home, even if it meant that Mom was hovering over him as if she couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight. His sisters were the same, even the twins, who let him choose the program he wanted to watch on television. Marissa baked chocolate chip cookies for him, and Carrie let him use her iPad. Minute by minute, as he sat in the crowded kitchen with his family, the memories of his stay in the detention center began to fade.
Mom was insisting that he would need to see a counselor. He didn’t want to, but she said it would be covered by health insurance and he wasn’t to worry about the expense. She wanted to make sure that when he returned to school after Christmas break, he was ready to return.
“I’m innocent,” he answered, holding up his plate so that Mom could put more stuffed cabbages on it. “Everyone knows it now.”
“Police Chief Stark is on leave from the police force,” Carrie said.
“He didn’t have much choice,” Mrs. Krymanski declared. “His son murdered that girl and tried to make you take the blame. If that girl’s parents hadn’t raised a fuss, you might have gone to prison.”
“I wonder what made them stir things up,” Carrie pondered. “They didn’t do much at first.”
“I suppose they were in shock,” her mother said. “Losing a daughter to murder would be too horrible to think about. Then, I suppose they started to ask questions themselves and they realized that nothing added up.”
“It’s a good thing they have money,” Carrie said. “They got attention when they said that the investigation wasn’t complete.”
“No one listened to us when we said that Lucas was innocent,” Marissa recalled.
“And then, when that old lady came forward and said she’d seen the car in the alley that night,” Carrie continued. “That proved that Lucas was telling the truth.”
“Lucas, you’re going to carry her trash out for her every week on trash night,” his mother said. “Carrie, I want you to do her grocery shopping for her. Lucas can carry the bags up for you.”
Neither of her offspring complained.
“What can I do?” Marissa asked.
“Bake cookies for her. Miss Armello knows her from the library; she said she loves cookies.”
“What about us?” Alexa wanted to know.
“I’ll find something,” Mrs. Krymanski said forcefully. “I’m sure there are things that you can do to help.”
“I just don’t understand why it took as long as it did. Even if Officer Kennedy says it didn’t really take that long, once things started moving.”
“It felt like a long time to me,” Lucas said darkly. “I don’t ever want to end up in that place again.”
“Stay out of trouble,” his mother admonished, “and you won’t have to. And that goes for the rest of you,” she said, encircling her brood with a warning look.
“Lucas is the only one who gets into trouble,” Marissa pointed out. “Except for when Carrie got into a fight with that girl.”
Lucas stared at his oldest sister. He hadn’t heard that story. “You got into a fight?”
“Some girl was saying things about you,” Carrie said in an off-handed manner. “She was getting on my nerves.”
“The school called the police,” Madison relayed the story with zest, now that the episode was over, and with it, the fear of an uncertain and threatening time in their family. “Officer Kennedy brought her home in the police car.”
“I’ll bet you were grounded for a month!” Lucas said, thrilled at the prospect of his sister’s sentence.
His sister examined her nails. “No,” she said. “Mom didn’t punish me.”
Lucas was about to protest the unfairness of the treatment she had received compared to his usual fate, when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Krymanski went to answer it. Even though Lucas was home and the real murderer, Scotty Stark, had been arrested, she was vigilant about the safety of the family. No one was to talk to the press, she told her children.
They knew she meant it, but no one balked at the rule. They’d had enough attention. They wanted to be left alone.
“Officer Kennedy! Miss Armello! Come on in. We’re eating supper and there’s plenty. Join us.”
It was a command, not an invitation and Carrie pulled two chairs to the table while Marissa got plates and the twins finished the table settings. By the time the guests were in the dining room, their places were ready.
“We didn’t mean to interrupt your supper,” Kelly said. “We just wanted to stop by and see how Lucas is doing, now that he’s been home for a few days.”
“He’s doing fine, and he’ll be able to finish doing his community service hours,” Mrs. Krymanski said.
“Good,” Kelly smiled at Lucas. “We’re getting everything ready for the kids’ Christmas program this weekend and we could use an extra pair of hands. Officer Kennedy is going to help, too.”
“I think you and I will be doing the heavy lifting, Lucas,” Troy said. “I hope you’re up to it.”
Lucas nodded. “Miss Armello moves all the tables out of the library,” he said. “So, there’s plenty of room for Santa Claus,” he said, giving Troy a meaningful look that warned him to play along, because there were believers present.
“Do you want me to bake anything for the Christmas program?” Marissa offered as she handed Kelly the casserole dish with stuffed cabbages packed aromatically inside.
Kelly put three on her plate and passed the dish to Troy. “If you can,” she said. “We’ll have lunch with Santa after he gives out the toys. How about brownies?”
“She makes good brownies,” Lucas admitted, unused to finding a reason to praise the sister who was clo
sest to him in age. “As long as they have frosting on them.”
“They’ll have frosting on them, but they aren’t for you, they’re for the kids.”
“What about the helpers?” Troy asked. “Can’t we have brownies?”
The conversation continued in that vein while they were eating. When the meal was finished, Mrs. Krymanski told her kids to clear the table and clean up the kitchen. She wanted to talk to Officer Kennedy and Miss Armello in private.
She led them to a small room that appeared to serve as a catch-all for winter coats and boots, sports equipment, lawn furniture, and various items. She closed the door and sat down, indicating that they should do the same.
“It’s impossible to find any privacy in this house,” she said. “But I want to know if Lucas is safe now.”
“From arrest, you mean?” Troy asked. “He is. Scott Stark confessed. He picked Tyra Cardew up at the shopping plaza to take her to a Halloween party, just like she had told her father. But that’s when she told him she was pregnant. They got into a fight. He said she wouldn’t stop crying. He strangled her . . . dropped her body in the alley and took off. The tenant in the upstairs apartment saw the car. She didn’t get a license number, but she’d seen the car there before. It seems that Scott Stark was a drug dealer in town. No one ever asked how he was able to afford such an expensive car.”
“His parents didn’t ask?” Mrs. Krymanski asked in disbelief.
Chief of Police Roger Stark was on leave and likely to resign from the force because he was currently under investigation for involvement in local drug trafficking. But that wasn’t widely known, and Troy wasn’t going to divulge the information. The town was still stunned from the news that a Stark, not a Krymanski, was the villain in this unexpected turn of events and it would take time before the council would be able to come to grips with the change in fortunes. In the meantime, Leo Page was acting chief of police.
