Everywhere That Tommy Goes

by Howard K. Pollack

  Tanner’s cell rang as he and Sung left the apartment complex. “Tanner. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Chief Knox. We’ve located Sullivan’s car.”

  “Great! Where is it?”

  “A few blocks from the beach. It’s parked by the Chalfonte Hotel. We’ve got an officer waiting there for you. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thank you, Chief. We’re on our way.” Tanner turned to Sung. “They found Sullivan’s car. Knox is sending the address—some place called the Chalfonte Hotel.”

  Sung’s eyes widened. “I’ll have it before she even sends it to you.” Sung tapped the keyboard and entered a new search. “Here it is, boss: make a U-turn and head toward the beach. We’re only a few miles away.”

  Ten minutes later the officers pulled up behind a police cruiser that was parked in front of Sullivan’s car. Officer Patrick Gilroy exited his vehicle and met Tanner and Sung as they approached Sullivan’s Honda.

  “I’m Sergeant Gilroy. Patrick Gilroy. This the vehicle you’re looking for?”

  “Looks like it,” Sung answered. “Any sign of Sullivan?”

  “No. The car’s cold.”

  “Did you search inside?” asked Tanner.

  “Not yet. It’s locked, and I was instructed to wait for you. Chief Knox told me it’s your case and to give you full control.”

  “Much appreciated, Sergeant,” Tanner said, escorting Gilroy away from the vehicle. “Thank Chief Knox for us. We’ll take it from here.”

  As Gilroy drove off, Tanner slapped Sung’s shoulder. “What are you waiting for, go get the tool.”

  Every cop car came equipped with all the necessary equipment to open a car in seconds. Contrary to popular belief, car thieves had nothing over the police, especially when it came to breaking and entering. Sung inserted the “Slim Jim” into the gap between the window and the door panel. He pulled upward, released the lock, and opened the door. Tanner half-expected that an alarm would sound, but the decade-old model wasn’t so equipped.

  Tanner began rummaging through the driver’s side while Sung took to the passenger area. After a brief search, Sung stood up outside the car. “Check out what I found under the seat, boss.” He held up a knife, still in its sheath.

  Tanner rushed around. “Looks like we may have found our man. Bag it fast, and let’s move. He must be staying at the Chalfonte. Maybe we can surprise him.”

  Minutes later, Tanner and Sung entered the Chalfonte Hotel and approached the front desk. An elderly woman, as much a fixture as the worn leather chairs that decorated the ancient lobby, frowned behind thick glasses.

  “Oh, dear,” the old woman said, shaking. “Is anything wrong?”

  “What makes you say that, ma’am?” asked Tanner.

  “Well, I can’t remember the last time the police came in here, and I’ve been working the Chalfonte for quite some time.”

  “Please don’t be alarmed. We’re just looking for someone, and we think he might be staying here.”

  Sung took out the picture of Sullivan and handed it to the old woman. “Does he look familiar?”

  She looked at the picture, removed her glasses, and let them hang from the band fastened around her neck. She brought the picture up to her eyes, held it inches from her nose, then stretched her arm out and held the picture as far away from her eyes as her arm would allow. Seconds passed as she rubbed her chin with her thumb and index finger. She put her glasses back on looking deep into the photo again. “Room 328.”

  “Ma’am?” Tanner asked, perplexed.

  “That man checked in here a few days ago, paid cash, and took room 328. Isn’t that what you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “But nothing, sonny boy. I may be old, but I still have my wits about me. He’s paid up through next week.”

  “Okay . . .” Tanner said. “May we have a key to his room?”

  “I could ask you for a warrant, young man. You know that. But truthfully, it really doesn’t matter much to me.” She handed Tanner a key. “Here you go, but don’t you go messing that room. We keep a clean place here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tanner said. “Can you tell me if you remember the last time you saw this man?”

  “I haven’t seen him since he checked in.”

  “Thank you. We’ll check upstairs.”

  The men traversed two flights of stairs and found the room. Sung knocked. “Hello, is anyone in there?”

  Silence.

  Tanner banged the door hard. “This is the police. Open the door.”

  More silence.

  Both men pulled their guns in unison. Tanner inserted the key and threw open door. Sung rushed in first, gun pointed ahead. “All clear, boss.”

  Tanner ran to the bathroom and looked in. “Clear.”

  Sung began scanning the room and quickly focused on the floor beside the bed. “Check this out, boss,” he said, picking up a pair of board shorts. “Feels brand new.”

  “He probably bought that locally,” Tanner said.

  “Could be.”

  Tanner bent down and looked under the bed. Reaching, he pulled out a pair of thongs. “Look at this: a ‘Surf Shop’ imprint.” At that instant, everything became crystal clear and Tanner just knew. “He’s got the girl, Sammy.”

  Sammy nodded in the way cops do when they agree with the conclusion but don’t want to interrupt a superior officer on a roll.

  “We have to move fast. Get back on that computer of yours and put out an APB on the girl and her car. Then get started on the GPS search with Ford. We have to get the knife to the lab and have it checked for blood and fingerprints to confirm it, but there’s no doubt in my mind, that knife is our murder weapon, and Sullivan is our man.” Tanner raced from the room with Sung at his heels.

  CHAPTER 31

  Stone returned to the car carrying a large tea and a bag that contained a cherry Danish and a Yoo-hoo.

  Watts had just hung up the phone. “You’ve got that look on your face. What’s going on?” Stone slid into the car and handed the bag to Watts.

  “Major developments, partner.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Tanner and Sung located Sullivan’s car and found a knife. It’s being analyzed by their lab as we speak. Not only that, but they think Sullivan may have kidnapped a girl down in Cape May. They believe he has her car, too. They just emailed me the details.” Watts pointed to the computer screen in the cruiser. “I forwarded Sullivan’s DNA and his prints for comparison. The analysis will take some time, but Tanner is convinced Sullivan is his perp.”

  Stone should have been shocked, but she wasn’t. She calmly placed the large, Styrofoam cup in the cup holder and began reading the email. “Aurora Storm, black 2011 Mustang. If Sullivan is on the run in this car, he’s probably headed as far away from New York as he can get. We better alert the State Police in Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland, along with all the other surrounding states.”

  “Agreed, but we may have a better way to track the car. Tanner already contacted New Jersey DMV, got the VIN number and is checking with Ford to see if the car has a GPS. If it does, we should be able to pinpoint its location via satellite.”

  CHAPTER 32

  I come to on the floor of the motel room. Man, that dude packs quite a punch. I race outside, but there’s no sign of Troyer. I don’t even know how he got here, but he must have stolen a car or something. I run down to the parking lot, get into Aurora’s car, and take off. Maybe I can catch him on the road, if he hasn’t gone too far.

  I drive as fast as I can for ten minutes and don’t see anything. No other cars are even on the road. There’s nothing but woods for miles. No stores, no gas stations—absolutely nothing, all the way to the highway. I spin a U-turn and head back in the other direction. There’s only one road, so if he didn’t go toward the highway, he must have gone the other way.

  I backtrack past the motel, pedal to the metal, and just keep going. In this direction, the road leads
into town. There’s a diner, a gas station, and a few bullshit little stores. Further down, there’s a church and a crappy old high school. I remember that from when I worked at Camp Lakewood. Yeah, those are some good memories. First time I got laid was at that camp. Counselor named Ellen. Biggest tits I ever saw. The guys all called her “Melons,” but I never did. And that’s what got me laid . . . I think. The chick always wanted me to feel her up and squeeze those babies. So, late at night, during canteen, we’d meet by this weird-shaped tree that grew out of the ground like a banana. She’d lay up against it and lift up her shirt while I massaged her cans like you can’t believe. Man, that was hot. In fact, even now, when I think about it, I still get some wood. Anyway, I’m getting off the subject. I have to find Troyer before he does something bad to Aurora.

  I’ve got to start thinking like Troyer because the dude’s always one step ahead of me. The only way to beat this guy is to think what he’s thinking about what I’m thinking—before I start thinking about it. That sounds fucked-up, but if you think about it, it makes perfect sense.

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I slam on the brakes, pull another U-turn, and head back to the motel, hoping I get there in time.

  I pull into the lot, jump out of the car, and race inside the office. There’s no one at the counter, so I ring the bell and call out. “Hello.”

  No one answers.

  I call out again. Same shit.

  I walk over to the door that leads to the back, and turn the handle. It’s unlocked, so I push the door open and walk in. “Hello—is anyone back here? I need some help.”

  I keep walking until I reach an office. I look in.

  Holy shit—I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I shake my head and rub my eyes, but she’s still there. The front desk girl is stretched out on the floor, her body lifeless and dead as can be.

  Troyer, the fuck. He did it to me again.

  CHAPTER 33

  Tanner and Sung were greeted by Charise Ray, the senior technician at the modest crime lab used by all the local townships around Seaview. It was not a facility accustomed to the pressure brought on by the serious nature of the crime, but, “Cherry”—aptly nicknamed by her coworkers—was up to the task. Seasoned, capable, and possessed of the darkest skin imaginable, she always wore high-gloss red lipstick and too-tight tops that incited whispers, though no on one had the nerve to publicly raise an issue.

  “Okay, Cherry,” Tanner began, “what do you have for us?”

  Despite her appearance, Cherry was all business. “Well, first of all, that knife has quite a few stories to tell. There are at least four different human blood samples and one canine.”

  “But the blade looked clean,” Sung said.

  “As a matter of fact, it was cleaned—very thoroughly. But where the handle meets the blade, blood was caked up underneath, and preserved.”

  “Any DNA matches?” Tanner asked.

  “Yes, there were. This knife was definitely used to stab both the bartender from New York and our girl from the motel. No matches on the other two blood samples, though. I ran them through the system, and neither one came up. As to the canine——well, you can just forget that one.”

  “So the same perp killed both girls?” Tanner asked.

  “Likely, but not one hundred percent,” Cherry said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The handle tells a different tale. We found a few different prints, and we even extracted some DNA from what appears to be perspiration. There’s also dirt and grease imbedded in the sheath. It’s pretty clear that a number of people handled that knife recently.”

  “Great,” Tanner said, deflated. “A good attorney will eat that up.”

  “No doubt,” Cherry agreed.

  “Well, did you at least match anything to Sullivan?”

  “No match on the DNA. And we only have a partial on the prints so we’re still looking, but that’ll take a while.”

  Tanner mulled that over. “I dunno, Sammy—I still like Sullivan for this, but the evidence isn’t what I expected.”

  “Well, boss, you know one of the first things I learned at the academy was to follow the evidence.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know: fact before fiction.” Tanner looked at Cherry. “Okay, what can you tell us about the dirt and grease?”

  “All I can say is that there are trace elements of used motor oil, metal filings, and sawdust.”

  “Best guess?”

  “Hard to say—maybe from an auto repair shop.”

  “Huh? That makes no sense. Can’t you do any better than that?”

  “Give me some more time. I’ll keep digging. In the meantime, we have to wait for the prints to run through AFIS.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The continuing search at Gilgo Beach now involved more than a dozen investigators, some with dogs and some with metal detectors. A helicopter was making measured passes over the area, as well.

  Detectives Reese and Morgan stepped off the porch of Victor Constantine’s beach house. Moving quickly down the long gravel walk, they pushed their way through the tall stalks of overgrown weed grass until they reached the paved road that led back to Ocean Parkway. Morgan stopped as he caught the reflection of something bright on the ground. He bent down, eyeing a piece of jewelry stuck between the stalks.

  “What ya got there?” Reese asked.

  “Check this out,” Morgan said, sliding a pen through a silver bracelet. “I think this one’s identical to the bracelet found near the blood and the drag marks back at the Gilgo Beach scene.”

  “You have to be kidding. How in the world would that get all the way over here?”

  “Not a clue, but the implications are huge.”

  “No shit,” said Reese, gazing back at the tiny bungalow-style house set behind the weed grass.

  Morgan’s eyes followed Reese’s. “You don’t think this guy is playing us, do you?”

  “I don’t know. He seemed legit.”

  “So how do you explain this bracelet?” asked Morgan.

  “Logically, the girl who was wearing it had to have passed through here. Either on her own or aided by someone else.”

  “Aided or against her will.”

  “Yeah—or against her will,” agreed Reese. “But Constantine is way too old and weak to carry her all the way here. It’s over a quarter mile, and you saw the guy.”

  “I know, but either way that means she could still be alive.”

  “For better or worse.”

  Morgan’s jaw tightened. “Did you have to say that?”

  “Sorry, but I’ve seen too much on this job to sugarcoat it.”

  “Enough said. But since we found the bracelet along the road, any house in this direction may hold the answer.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Leaving Sung at the station, Tanner sat alone in a booth inside the Pantry Diner, trying to gain some perspective. He studied the menu as if it were the first time he’d ever seen it, though it was as familiar to him as the scar that ran across the four knuckles of his left hand. Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He recognized the number immediately. “Give me something good, Cherry.”

  “I don’t rate the info, Sergeant; I just report it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. What have you found?”

  “Well, I’ve got an ID on the print.”

  “Great—who is it?”

  “A guy named Charles Gantry. Lives right in Seaview, in fact.”

  Tanner scratched the back of his neck. “Gantry—that name sounds familiar. What else can you tell me?”

  “He’s a small-time offender, arrested for assault about seven years ago and pled it down.”

  “That was before my time. And you say he lives in Seaview?”

  “He does.”

  “I need an address and a photo. Email it to Sammy at the station. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Will do.”

  Tanner disconnected the call and dialed Sung. “I’m on my way back. Che
rry has an ID on the fingerprints. Check your email.”

  * * *

  Sung had just finished reviewing the arrest record for Charles Gantry when Tanner walked in. “Hey, boss, you’re not going to believe this.” He handed the rap sheet to Tanner.

  “What is it?”

  “Look at the picture. That’s Chunky. Younger and a hundred pounds lighter, but it’s definitely him.”

  CHAPTER 36

  “We going to arrest him, boss?” Sung asked. “His prints were on the murder weapon. That’s probable cause.”

  “It may be, but this just doesn’t make sense. I know this guy, and he doesn’t seem the killer type. I think we should search his place before we tip him off.”

  “Well we do have enough for a warrant.”

  “We do, so contact the county attorney and get the warrant.”

  “On it, boss, but the warrant has to specify what we’re looking for?”

  “Blood, Sammy. Come on: there was massive blood at the scene. If he was there, he would have brought some back with him. We check his clothes, his car, the tow truck . . .”

  Sung nodded, continuing, “. . . his shoes, his garbage, his laundry . . .”

  “Now you’re getting it. And then we bring him in and see what he has to say about the prints.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Yeah, and after you call the county attorney, fire up that computer of yours and start searching for anything about Gantry. As much as I can’t believe this, we have to check this out completely.”

  CHAPTER 37

  My nightmare just got worse. And it feels like I’m reliving the scene outside of Club Radical. I’ve got another dead girl on my hands because of Troyer, and if I don’t hide her fast, I’m probably gonna get blamed. Without another thought, I pick her up and carry her out, feeling damn lucky that there’s no one around. Even better, there’s absolutely no blood, which means no evidence. With the body gone, the cops will have a tough time figuring out what happened to her.

  I load her in the trunk and jump in the car, and get this: There’s fuckin’ Troyer sitting right in the passenger seat, wearing that stupid-ass, toothy grin of his.