Wrecker

by Dave Conifer

  Rockingham pulled the door open and climbed in. “Settle down, please,” he said. “Just get a grip on yourself. Take a deep breath.” Jane did. “Now listen. Everything is okay. That was Creedmoor, the man who owns this house, and he’s fine. We saw him and we saw his car.”

  “That’s not Creedmoor! That’s Rob Manteo! Can’t you—“

  “Maybe you didn’t get a good look,” he said sharply, interrupting her. “I did. That was Richard Creedmoor.”

  “I saw him plain as day!” Jane protested. “He was looking right at me! It was Rob Manteo!”

  “He was looking right at me, too.” He reached for the computer console. “I’ll call up his driver’s license on NJWIN.” He slid a tiny keypad out from beneath the dashboard and typed with his thumbs. “C R E E D M O O R,” he spelled out loud as he typed before hitting the return key. Nothing happened. But then something did. A picture image of an enlarged driver’s license appeared. Jane craned her neck to look. The name said ‘Richard Creedmoor.’ The face said Rob Manteo. What’s going on here? Am I nuts?

  “See? That’s Creedmoor,” Rockingham said. “We just saw the man. This license confirms it.”

  “This isn’t right,” Jane insisted. “I swear to God that was my friend Rob Manteo in that car. I swear to God!”

  “I don’t know what else I can do to prove it to you. There it is right on the screen.”

  “If everything’s okay, why did he take off like that?” Jane asked. “Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you? That was the truck he comes to my house in. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

  “I think it’s time we got back to headquarters,” Rockingham said. “I want you to think this through. It might be best if you just dropped this. Nothing good can come of it. You’re not making a lot of sense right now.”

  She scowled. “I guess that’s how it must look to you. But I know what I saw.”

  Neither spoke until they were back on the expressway. This time Rockingham stayed in the right lane and took his time. There didn’t seem to be anything to be in a hurry about anymore.

  “I can’t be right, can I?” Jane asked quietly as the car moved along. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “You didn’t have a good angle, no matter what you say. And your brain wanted it to be your friend, or at least expected it to be him. Our minds can make us see what isn’t there sometimes. I think that’s all this is.”

  “Maybe,” Jane said.

  “On the other hand, if you’re sure this is the man that’s been coming to your house, then, well, the only answer is that he’s leading a double life. If he is, I’d like to know about that. The way I see it, the question is why would he do that? I checked Creedmoor out after you called. He’s got money to burn from selling his business. His house is worth a million bucks. God knows how much he collected from the insurance company for his wife and kid. He doesn’t need to be working as no handyman. So if he is, I’d like to know why.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s crazy,” Jane said. “The accident started it. Something like that could drive anybody insane. He’s been overdosing on steroids for years. I’ve seen him acting pretty wild.”

  “Okay. But why the handyman act? What’s the point of it? Can he even do the work?” Rockingham asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Jane answered. “Top notch. And his prices are really low.”

  “I wonder if they’re low for all his customers or just for you. That’s something I’d like to know,” Rockingham said.

  “Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of another customer of his. In fact, I thought Creedmoor was one of his customers. Every time he finishes something for us we give him something else to work on.”

  “His ideas or yours? The new projects, I mean.”

  Jane thought about it. “Both, I guess. He tells us what he knows how to do and we agree to it.”

  “Sounds like they’re his ideas to me.”

  “I never looked at it that way,” Jane admitted.

  “It’s almost like he picked you,” Rockingham continued. “Is there anything you’re not telling me? You got any history at all with this guy?”

  “No, I swear. My husband met him at Home Depot one day and hired him to build our sprinklers. It was completely out of the blue. This is getting kind of weird.”

  “Weird ain’t the word for it,” Rockingham said as they drove through downtown Hammonton toward police headquarters. “Weird ain’t the word for it.”

  Chapter 17

  “He told me about his wife and daughter once,” Jane said as the patrol car rolled through downtown Hammonton. “I wasn’t very sympathetic. I don’t think I really believed it, not all the way. I still don’t. If it really happened, I’m not so sure it really happened to him.” She stared out the window as small-town scenery whizzed by. “I’m not sure how to explain this. What if he’s taking on the life of the guy who lived in the house? You know, he really believes that it was his wife and daughter that died? I mean, my guy, Manteo, pretending that everything that actually happened to Creedmoor happened to him.”

  “There’s only one man, Jane. They’re the same guy. I already proved that to you.”

  “I wish I’d talked to him about it more,” Jane said. “I think he really wanted to talk about it.”

  “Do you know about what happened up there after the girls died?” Rockingham asked. “With the district attorney?”

  “I don’t know a thing about it.”

  “I do,” Rockingham said. “You know what mercy killing is, right?”

  Jane drew in a breath. “Of course I do. I’m a nurse. What happened?”

  “Nothing was proven. There wasn’t even a trial. But the district attorney up there thought your boy pulled the plug. Plugs, I should say.”

  “No!” Jane replied. “It just keeps getting crazier.”

  “I guess it didn’t help that after three months in comas they died at almost exactly the same time,” Rockingham said. “Talk about a red flag.”

  “That jumped out at me when I read it.”

  “Like I said, it never came to anything in the end. He walked. Got away with it.”

  “How do you know he really did it?” Jane asked.

  “I just do,” Rockingham replied flatly.

  “It would explain a lot,” Jane said. “About how he is.”

  “So are you coming around?” Rockingham asked. “You understand now that Manteo is Creedmoor, right?”

  “I’m not sure what to believe,” she admitted. “It makes sense, in a way.”

  “I just wanted you to know what kind of man this is. I’ve got to get back inside,” Rockingham said after they pulled into the station parking lot. “Look, promise me you’ll stay away from him. It’s a sad story but he’s damaged goods. Don’t feel sorry for him. All it’ll do is bring you trouble. Just steer clear. And call me if you’re thinking about doing anything like going out to his place again. I’ll talk you right out of it.”

  ~~~

  As she drove out of Hammonton she couldn’t get her mind wrapped around everything she’d learned in the previous hours. She knew Rockingham was right. Manteo wasn’t the man that she and Steve thought he was. He wasn’t even Manteo. He was Richard Creedmoor, a successful and well-off man who’d lost a wife and daughter in a horrible accident. Was it even possible that he’d then been charged with killing them himself? The story of Manteo wouldn’t go away the way she wanted it to. She had to know more.

  Sergeant Rockingham had made a remark that troubled her. Why had Manteo, or Creedmoor, gone to such great lengths to present himself as something that he wasn’t? And why the Havelocks? If there was any logical reason, she couldn’t see it and neither could the sergeant.

  It wasn’t even two o’clock yet and Steve wouldn’t expect her home for hours, since she’d lied to him about working a second shift. There was still time for another round of research. The idea of more time in front of the computer in the dingy media center held little appeal, though. Besides, she dec
ided, if there was anything in the system about a related mercy killing controversy she probably would have come across it already. By the time she’d reached the hospital she had a plan. She parked in the shade, pulled out a blank pad and grabbed her notes. It only took a few minutes on the cell phone to get a number for The Gorham Messenger in Maine. She held her breath after asking for Gary Moyock, and silently pumped a fist in the air when she was asked to hold. Five years later and he was still there.

  “Gary Moyock,” a voice said after a few minutes had passed.

  “I can’t believe you’re still there!” Jane said.

  “It’s only two o’clock. Who is this?”

  “No,” Jane said. “I mean, I read your stories from a long time ago. I was hoping you still worked for the paper.” She introduced herself and awkwardly tried to explain her connection to Manteo—no—Creedmoor— to a reporter who was hundreds of miles away and probably hadn’t thought about the story in five years. As she heard herself talk she tried to imagine what he must be thinking. It couldn’t be good. She sounded like a lunatic.

  “I remember this,” Moyock finally said. “Don’t tell me. You want to know about what happened with Creedmoor after the girls died, right?” he asked in a nasal voice.

  “They didn’t just die, right? Wasn’t he accused of pulling the plug on them?” Jane asked.

  Moyock snorted. “You just saved us twenty minutes. I’d go pull my notes on this but I’m sure they’re gone. It doesn’t matter. I remember it well.”

  “So it’s true?” she asked. “I couldn’t find anything in the paper about it.”

  “We didn’t write it up, and nobody else caught wind of it unless somebody down your way did.” Jane made a mental note to check the local papers when she had a chance. “I started on something but by then it all wound down and they let him go. It ended up as a non-story as far as we were concerned.”

  “What happened? Did he do it?”

  “Let’s put it this way,” Moyock said. “Somebody did it. After he got off they charged somebody else with it. An orderly or nurse’s assistant, somebody like that. I can’t remember exactly what she was. Somebody pulled those plugs.”

  “So maybe Creedmoor didn’t do it.”

  “Oh, he did it. The other woman never got to trial. She had a stroke or a heart attack or something the day after she was charged. They ended up dropping the whole thing. I don’t think the prosecutor really thought she was guilty. He felt like he had to do something, anything, until he could find a way to nail Creedmoor. But that’s only my opinion.”

  “So why didn’t he?” Jane asked. “How did Creedmoor get away with it?”

  “There was no way to prove it. If I remember correctly the time of death for both of them was almost identical. It was like 2:35 and 2:37 in the morning. There was absolutely no medical reason for either of them to die, let alone both of them at the exact same time. A few people at the hospital swore they saw him skulking around that night but there was no evidence. Somehow he never got caught by any security cameras. The DA couldn’t believe it. There were cameras all over the place. It seemed impossible but somehow he stayed out of view. That man was clever. He had a plan.” He paused. “I don’t know what your views are, but if you think about it, Creedmoor had the best motive. They were both permanent veggies. He probably didn’t want that for them.”

  “That’s a tough one,” Jane said. “I’ve never walked in his shoes. I don’t know how I’d feel.”

  “Yeah. Not that I’m passing judgment either way but like I said, they were both completely brain dead. I guess it depends on your own beliefs. That’s not my call. I don’t know what I would do. I don’t know if I could do that or not. But I think he did it.”

  “The prosecutor felt pretty strongly about it,” Jane said. “That’s what the police around here said.”

  Moyock laughed. “With that guy it all depended on what the people wanted. The voters, I should say. He could play it either way. You’d have to know this guy. We always figured he’d end up running for governor but he’s still here. He knew how to work a crowd and the crowd didn’t take kindly to what Creedmoor did. Or what everybody thought he did. The DA had a lot to gain by convicting Creedmoor.”

  “The police down here told me he was arrested.”

  “He was arrested, all right. That kind of thing, taking life and death in your own hands, that doesn’t play well around a place like Gorham. The DA pulled out a bible and thumped it every chance he had, you know what I mean? Especially if there was a TV camera or a reporter nearby. I remember him using the phrase ‘playing God’ over and over. The guy’s still around. Still hams it up any time he gets a chance.”

  “But the charges were thrown out?” Jane asked. “How long did that take?”

  “Right. It didn’t stick. They charged him. Arrested him right there at the motel before the sun came up the next morning. He didn’t post bail so he spent a few weeks in jail. Then it got thrown out.”

  “He was in jail for killing his own wife and daughter? For a few weeks? Why didn’t he post bail?”

  “You’d have to ask him,” Moyock answered. “I would guess that he reached the end of his rope, if you follow me. I didn’t interview him or anything, but I heard people talking. He just pretty much sat in his cell and stared into space and didn’t say much. Can you blame him?”

  “I guess I can’t. I can’t even imagine what he was feeling. He was in jail for killing his wife and daughter,” she said again.

  “And he was guilty as hell. He really did it. I guess he figured there was no place to go,” Moyock said. “I’m surprised he didn’t hang himself in jail. I’m sure they were watching for it. Probably took away his belt.”

  “He’s been through so much. I had no idea,” Jane said. As she talked she pulled out the Narvatek folder from her day bag. She’d never gone through it. She couldn’t even remember why she’d taken it. Hopefully Steve didn’t notice it was gone. “No wonder he’s crazy.”

  “Is he still around? What’s he been up to? It’s been a long time.”

  “I only met him this year,” she said. “He’s working as a kind of handyman repair guy.”

  Moyock whistled. “Wow. I can’t say he looked the part when he was up here. The guy looked too thin for any kind of manual labor. But I guess everything fell apart for him after the crash.”

  “He sure doesn’t look so nerdy anymore. It hardly sounds like the same guy, but I know why. He’s been overdosing on steroids for years. Maybe ever since the accident, for all I know. He doesn’t have any hair left and I think it made him pretty sick.”

  “Steroids? Where did that come from?”

  “Some kind of warped memory of his wife,” Jane explained. “I got the impression that she made some offhand remark about his being skinny just before she left on that trip. That’s what he remembers most about her, somehow. He’s huge now and he says he was just ‘keeping a promise.’ Those are his exact words.”

  “So basically the guy went off the deep end,” Moyock said.

  “If you want to call it that.” Jane leafed through the contents of the folder. “I can hardly blame him, the more I find out about his past.” Just as she remembered, the file contained a lot of computer printouts. “You know, now that I think about it all, I’m kind of relieved,” she said. “It all fell apart for him, but at least he’s not in trouble. I was worried because he was lurking around that house. The house that the Creedmoors owned. I couldn’t figure out where the Creedmoors had gone and I was scared. Now I know. I had no idea he was Creedmoor.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Moyock said. “Hey, keep me posted, okay? I kind of feel for this guy. Maybe I could even do some kind of ‘five years later’ piece on him.”

  “Sure. I’ll do that. But I don’t think the past five years of his life are anything that anybody wants to read about.” They said goodbye and Jane pushed a button on her phone to end the call.

  ~~~

  Jane absentmindedl
y worked through the Narvatek folder as she thought about what she’d just learned about Manteo. Wait -- Creedmoor, she reminded herself again. For her, the phone call with Moyock brought closure. She knew what had happened to him and why he was teetering on the brink of insanity. He was clinically depressed, she suspected, and had never been treated for it. Instead, he embarked on a series of odd behaviors that turned him into, well, a freak. But it really wasn’t her problem and she was ready to put it out of her mind. There were plenty of other things for her to think about, most notably her own marriage.

  Near the back of the file was a weather-beaten copy of a Regal Pharmaceuticals company newsletter. When she saw the headline on the top of page one she knew why Steve had kept it. “Narvatek Team Announced: Deal signed with CliniMedix.” It went on to detail an agreement between Regal and CliniMedix, a clinical research organization, to share the task of analyzing the results of the latest clinical trial for Narvatek. Already one of the most popular diabetes medications in the country, Regal executives expressed hope in the article that this trial would lead to certification for Narvatek as a treatment for atherosclerosis. CliniMedix would supply a team of pharmaceutical specialists and much of the analysis would be done using CliniMedix’s cutting edge software, a plan which was expected to shave six months off the wait for FDA approval.

  Jane knew how it all turned out. Things went wrong, errors were made and heads rolled. Steve and Cindy lied and blamed it all on CliniMedix and their software. She didn’t know if the drug had ever been approved for atherosclerosis, but if it had, CliniMedix hadn’t had anything to do with it.

  She looked at her watch. Three-forty-five. Speaking of lying, she decided that it was late enough to go home, pretending her afternoon shift was over. When she flipped through the newsletter to find the rest of the story she came across a picture of a dozen people clustered around a long table. For all she had heard about Cindy, she realized they’d never met. Could she even pick Cindy out of a lineup? Because that’s what she was trying to do at the moment. She held the photograph closer to her face and squinted as her eyes moved from person to person. Steve, she knew, of course. The olive-skinned man in the expensive suit had to be Ramos. Javier, she was almost certain was his name. Her eyes swept past three men toward the next woman in the picture. Then they darted back to the man who was shaking hands with Ramos across the table and suddenly something was wrong. Very wrong.