No answer.
Tanner reached the garage and entered pointing his gun. Sung watched from the far corner of the house. As Tanner disappeared inside, Sung moved closer.
“Sammy, get over here—fast!” Tanner yelled, as he holstered his gun and ran to the back of the garage.
“What is it, boss?”
Sung found Tanner crouched over a body laid out behind a small workbench.
“Is he dead, boss?”
Tanner felt the man’s neck. “No, he’s got a pulse, and he’s still breathing. He also reeks of alcohol.”
Sung pointed to the shelf behind Tanner. “Whiskey bottle, almost empty—you see it?”
“Yeah, the old man is piss-drunk. Better call nine-one-one. Let’s get an ambulance here.”
Tanner found some old rags and bunched them up beneath the man’s head while they waited. “This must be the kid’s father. Too bad—now we’re gonna have to wait to question him.”
“Should I check out the house while we’re here?” Sung asked.
“We have no warrant. If we find anything, it may screw up the case. I think we better wait until we can do this right. The old man certainly isn’t going to be able to hide anything at this point, so whatever is in the house isn’t going anywhere. We’re also out of our jurisdiction across state lines. I’m not familiar with the procedure, but I think we have to bring in the FBI or at least the local cops.”
CHAPTER 16
Ten police officers and three dogs gathered at Gilgo Beach, just off Ocean Parkway, to begin the search for Jamie Houston. Detectives Stone and Watts took the lead.
“Okay, people,” Stone called out, holding up a stack of papers. “Each one of you, take a map. You’re to break up into groups of two and cover the assigned areas that I’ve designated on each of the maps. Focus on your particular grid and look for signs of drag marks, clothing, blood—anything that looks like it doesn’t belong. You all know the drill. And those of you who are using the dogs, I have a pillowcase from the girl’s bed. Let’s see if the dogs can pick up a scent.”
The teams set off in varying directions searching for the young bartender. Curious onlookers began to gather, and the police presence was insufficient to control the growing crowd. Before long, local news reporters also showed up.
Watts pulled Stone aside. “We have to contain this. It’s too soon for the media.”
“Leave that to me,” Stone said as she walked toward the crowd of onlookers standing behind the police tape.
As she reached the edge of the roadway, Stone called out, “Attention: all non-police personnel are directed to leave the area immediately. Anyone without proper credentials will be detained for questioning in five minutes. Any media personnel with proper proof of their status may remain for a very brief press conference.”
After the crowd dispersed, Stone addressed the media. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give me your attention and cooperation. I know you’re all anxious to find out what we are doing here, but right now I need a little latitude and some discretion from you. All I can say is that we have an unverified lead that we are investigating—nothing more. This is all very premature, and you are wasting your time. Please just give us the time we need to do our jobs, and if there are any developments, we will be sure to transmit the information to you. I will not be fielding any questions right now. Thank you.”
Audible shouts and groans rang out from the throng of reporters.
“Can you at least tell us if this has anything to do with the disappearance of Jamie Houston?” one reporter asked.
“At least give us that!” shouted another.
“Yeah—give us something,” came from a third.
“No comment at this time,” Stone answered, as she walked off.
Shortly thereafter, Stone’s walkie-talkie crackled. A voice spoke though the static.
“Detective Stone?”
“Stone here. What is it?”
“Detective, this is Officer Morgan. We’re in grid four, and we’ve found a body. We don’t think its Houston—the body is seriously decomposed—just tattered clothes covering a skeleton. Has to have been here for a year or more. Looks like the skull was smashed, but we need an M.E. to evaluate.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t touch anything,” Stone said as she turned to Watts. “Lets roll. This investigation just escalated.”
Stone and Watts rushed to the scene and found the partially clad body half-buried in the sand. Watts bent over the remains to focus on the skull. “Check this out, Stone: looks like serious blunt-force trauma here. The M.E. can confirm it, but to me, there’s no doubt. Also, no question this isn’t Jamie Houston. The body’s been here far too long.”
“Which begs the question: could this be the body of the girl who disappeared around here last year?”
Watts interrupted, “And could there be even more bodies out here? Maybe this guy is the serial killer they’ve been looking for.”
“This thing just escalated big time.”
CHAPTER 17
My head is pounding as I lie wide-awake in bed next to Aurora and stare at the ceiling in her bedroom. We agreed hours ago that sex was off the table until we got to know each other again. I should say she agreed, because if it was my choice, I’d be all over her. But something inside me says this girl is the real deal, and jumping her too soon could blow the whole thing. I mean, she’s all onboard backing me, even with the load of shit that’s going down. I can’t think of anyone else in my life who would be here like this. And she hasn’t seen me in twenty years! I look over at her sleeping soundly. I climb out of bed, fumble around in the dark in search of my jeans, and dig into the front pocket. The clock says 3:10, and I need a few of my migraine pills to chill the pain in my head. They are the only things that have ever been able to make me feel better, and they’re running out fast. I’m thinking that I have to find a way to get more, but they aren’t regular prescription pills, so I’ll have to go back to New York—to the clinic—to get a refill.
About three months ago, I joined this experimental trial group that was advertised on the radio. They actually pay you to try out some new drug, and all you have to do is keep track of when you take the pills, whether they work, and if you notice any side effects. Then you report back to them every few weeks for an evaluation. So far, the damn pills have been great. The migraines go away less than an hour after I take them. The prescription calls for two, but I found that four work like magic. Trouble is they run out faster.
Aided by the soft light glowing from the bathroom, I see Aurora curled up in fetal position, her hands folded neatly underneath her face. The corners of her lips are creased up in an innocent smile. Yeah, she’s one cool chick.
I sit down in her loveseat and stare at her while I let the pills do their thing. I still can’t believe she was actually my first kiss. I kind of, sort of remember, but not really. Anyway, after a time, I get up, walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. The leftover Chinese food catches my eye. I just love cold spare ribs and wonton soup—even better than when you eat them the first time. Makes me think of that dish they call “Twice-Cooked Pork.” Some brainiac must have realized that cooking the dish a second time makes it taste better—and there you go: another page full of dishes gets added to the menu. Same shit, just cook it twice. I tell you, Chinese restaurants have more choices on their menus than any other place I know. You could spend a whole year eating every single dish, and I bet you wouldn’t eat ’em all. Now, that’d be a study. Forget that Spurlock dude who ate McDonald’s for a month to see how bad it would screw him up. I say try and eat every dish on a Chinese menu and see how bad that messes you up.
My head starts feeling better and I get sleepy, so I head back into the bedroom and quietly crawl back in bed next to Aurora. Later on, I’ll break the news and tell her that I have to go back to New York to get more migraine medicine.
* * *
I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs.
Aurora yells, “Breakfast is served.”
Aurora is unbelievable; she actually cooked for me. I could get used to this. I’m almost at the kitchen when I realize I’ve still got the morning wood on, so I stop and readjust before I enter. Wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
“How’d you know that’s my favorite?”
“I didn’t. It’s my favorite,” she laughs. “I figured if you didn’t like it, more for me.”
“Too bad—now you’ve got to share.”
“You’re lucky I made enough.”
“That, I am.”
“So how’d you sleep?”
“Actually, I woke up with a migraine in the middle of the night and had to take some of my pills—which reminds me: I’m running low, so I’m gonna have to go back to New York, to refill my prescription.”
“Don’t you think that’d be dangerous?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it, and going back to New York is probably the smartest thing to do. The cops would never suspect I’d return now, especially after that detective found me here. If anything, they’d probably think I’d go further south. Anyway, I can’t go without my meds. The pain is too much. So I have no choice.”
Aurora patted her index finger against her lips, deep in thought. “You know what, I think you’re right. That’s pretty smart.”
“Yeah, but still, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“But I do, Tommy. I want to help.”
“You sure? I mean, what if the cops find you with me? Then you’re an accomplice and you could get in big trouble.”
“I’m not worried. As long as we take my car they can’t track you. So we go to New York and get your meds, then just keep moving north.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
* * *
We load Aurora’s little bag into the trunk of her Mustang and head up to New York, four or five hours away, depending on traffic. And you can always depend on traffic when you hit New York. I mean, as soon as you get over the Verrazano Bridge and onto the Belt Parkway, there’s always a damn traffic jam.
Once we make it into Brooklyn, I direct her to the clinic.
“You stay out here, Aurora. I’m going in alone. It shouldn’t take long, but you never know; they always ask these lame-ass questions. I know how to duck ’em, though, and get out quickly. I promise I’ll be right back.”
I head inside, hell-bent on getting in and out in ten minutes. No such luck. First, they make me wait for a half hour. Then the nurse comes out and brings me into a tiny room with one of those doctor beds. I wait there for another fifteen minutes. Finally, the nurse comes back, takes my blood pressure, and needles my arm for a sample. Then she hands me a cup to pee in. This wastes another fifteen minutes before the doctor finally shows up.
“Hey, doc, what’s up? Why all the delay, here? I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Just routine, Thomas. I have to ask you a few questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Okay. First, how are you feeling?”
“Great, doc—never better. Now can we get on with it?”
“Have you had any anxious feelings, any nervousness, sweating, or feelings of excessive heat?”
“Nope—nothing like that.”
“Any other things out of the ordinary?”
“Like what, doc? What’re you getting at?”
“I can’t tell you that, Thomas. The study is objective, meaning that you have to report your feelings. I can’t tell you what to expect.”
“Gotcha. In that case, no—I’m all good.”
“Great—one more thing: these pills were supposed to last three more weeks. Have you been taking them more frequently?”
“Uh, sure, doc. Like you told me when I first started, any time I feel that migraine pain coming on, just take two pills.”
“Right, but I also said not more than two at a time or more than four every twelve hours.”
“Yeah, I know. No worries—I’m cool. Now can you fill me up and get me outta here?”
“Sure, Thomas—just relax. I’ll have another prescription in a few minutes. Just take this survey with you and answer all the questions. Please get it back to me in the next few days. You can mail it in; there’s a self-addressed, stamped envelope inside.”
He hands me a large envelope.
“Great, doc, and thanks; these pills have really helped. My migraines go away so quickly now it’s unbelievable.”
“Good to hear that, Thomas. Just keep in touch, and remember: if you feel anything out of the ordinary, you must call me and let me know.”
“Gotcha, doc. No prob.”
Yeah, the doc is cool but a little too stiff for me. Always writing shit down in that folder of his and nodding or shaking his head. No way am I telling him I take four pills at a time. He’s liable to stop the study and cut me off. Then I’d be miserable with pain. Anyway, the meds can’t be bad for you. They stop the pain like nothing else I’ve ever had.
Five minutes later, I’ve got another ninety pills. That should last a while. I head back outside and find Aurora dozing off in the front seat.
“Wake up, gorgeous,” I say, tapping the driver window.
Aurora jumps up like she’s seen a ghost or something. I just laugh.
I walk around to the passenger side and climb in.
“That wasn’t funny, Tommy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. So where to now?”
“Okay, I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve got a great idea. There’s this place upstate where I used to go to camp after I stopped going down to Cape May. I know the area real well, and no one would ever think to look there in a million years.”
CHAPTER 18
Joe Sullivan was hooked up to monitors in the cardiac care unit of North Shore University Hospital on Community Drive in Manhasset. He was being treated for alcohol poisoning but showed signs of a minor heart attack. He was still in a coma. Officers Tanner and Sung had all but given up waiting to question him when Detectives Stone and Watts walked into the room.
“Gentlemen,” Stone said, “I understand that you found this man unconscious, in his garage, yesterday afternoon.”
“That would be correct, ma’am,” Tanner answered. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Detective Theresa Stone. This is my partner, Detective Jake Watts. We’re with the Third, over in Manhattan.”
“Good to meet you. We’re up from New Jersey, investigating a homicide.”
“So we’ve been told. Can you tell us what this man has to do with your investigation?”
Sung chimed in, “Detective, I’m not sure if you heard the news, but there was a brutal murder in our county a few days ago.”
“I wasn’t aware until I was informed about what happened at the Sullivan house,” Stone answered. “We were just there executing a search warrant the other day.”
“Well,” Tanner said, “we’ve uncovered some evidence that suggests that Thomas Sullivan—the son of the man in bed over there—may be involved. We came up to investigate and found the older Sullivan passed out in his garage.”
“What can you tell us about this murder?” Watts asked. “We’re actually investigating the disappearance of a young bartender last week. And our information has led us to Thomas Sullivan, as well.”
“You think this guy might be a serial killer?” Tanner asked.
“That’s what our evidence suggests,” Watts answered. “And now that we’ve learned about this other murder . . .”
Stone chimed in. “Can you share some details about your case?”
“Gruesome, to say the least,” Sung answered. “A female motel clerk was repeatedly stabbed inside a motel room. She was covered in blood with at least thirty knife wounds all over her body.”
“Sounds horrible,” Watts said. “And what evidence do you have that suggests that Thomas Sullivan was involved?”
“He was seen in the area. His car broke
down, and he had to stay in town the night of the murder. The only motel in the vicinity of the repair shop was the one where the murder took place.”
Watts shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like much to go on.”
“We know, but it’s all we have for the moment. We were hoping to find something more at his house. Unfortunately, the old man slowed us down. . . .”
Tanner interrupted. “What can you tell us about your investigation, Detective?”
“Everything we have is preliminary. We’re holding back what we’ve found until we have some more proof. Suffice it to say, we believe we’re on the right track, but we need more than what we have to be sure.”
“Well, you can certainly tell us. We’re on the same side here,” Tanner said. “Anything you have may help us, and in turn, we’ll help you. Just don’t keep anything from us.”
“Fine. Why don’t you come to the station, where we can give you a full briefing?” Watts said. “Also, please have your people send up whatever info you’ve got down in Jersey.”
CHAPTER 19
Aurora drives us across the Tappan Zee Bridge as we head upstate to hide out. By ten PM, we reach Port Jervis and stop at this dump motel.
“You really know how to pick ’em, don’t you, Tommy?” she says, scrunching up her nose.
“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers. We should be safe here, though. I know the area. You see, when I was a kid, I worked a bunch of summers as a junior counselor and a waiter at a camp nearby. This place is a ghost town until summertime.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now go get the room. I’ll stay here. It’s better if they think you’re alone. One thing, though, get a non-smoking one. I hate the smell of cigarettes.”
“Ha—what makes you think they even have them here?”
“Nothing. But if they do, get one.”
“Gotcha.”
Five minutes later, Aurora comes back and shows me a card that apparently replaces a conventional key. “Technology at its finest, even at a shithole like this.”
Everywhere That Tommy Goes Page 8
