“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Come now, Thomas: you don’t really think you’re dealing with amateurs. We searched your house, and we found a container of color-safe bleach in your laundry room.”
“So, I’m sure a lot of people have bleach in their laundry.”
“Perhaps, but the chemical composition matches, and the container we found was close to empty.”
“So what does that prove?”
“Please, Thomas, admit it. You and Troyer have been in this together since the beginning. What did you do with Jamie Houston? Is she still alive? I promise if you can lead us to her, and she’s still alive, things may go a lot better for you.”
“That’s crazy. I didn’t do any of this, Troyer did.”
“It’s clear to me that you’re lying. You see, new evidence found at Gilgo Beach suggests that Jamie Houston may still be alive. You see, her blood was found inside a home near the beach. I’ll say it one more time, talk now and tell us what you did with her.”
I almost gag. Then I start thinking about the voice calling out for Troyer as I drove to Gilgo that night. “I’ve told you everything. As I said, I’ve got no idea about the girl. If I did, I’d tell you. I’m done here. You tricked me. I’ve probably said too much already. I’m not gonna say another word until you get me a lawyer.”
CHAPTER 65
The next morning, Watts made a call to Tanner in Seaview. “Just checking in. Have the tests come back on the undershirt?”
“They have, and unfortunately, the blood was too degraded to make an analysis. However, the DNA we collected from perspiration at the armpits matches the DNA your lab sent to us on Sullivan. There’s no doubt at this end.”
“As we suspected,” Watts said. “But without a blood match, all we have is a discarded undershirt, and that’s not enough.”
“I realize that, Detective. We are continuing to investigate.”
“I’m letting you know, Tanner: We’ve questioned Sullivan, and he insists that Troyer Savage is framing him for everything.”
“Have you come up with anything on Savage?”
“Not yet. So far, he’s a mystery. Nothing has come up in any of our databases.”
“I’ll check down here, too, and let you know if we find anything.”
Watts hung up the phone and moved over to Stone, who was fast asleep on the couch. He shook her by the shoulder.
“Wake up, partner. Latest report: still no sign of Troyer Savage.”
Stone stirred, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Eight thirty.”
“You let me sleep that long?” she said, bolting toward the door. “Follow me. I have to see what Sullivan is up to.”
Watts followed her with his eyes, jumped up, and fell in behind. “Okay, but I have some other news. I spoke to Tanner a few minutes ago.”
“Fill me in,” Stone said, as she headed around the corner.
Seconds later, the two entered the viewing room. Stone positioned herself inches from the mirror and stared at Sullivan as he slept in his chair, head on the pillow and snoring loudly.
“Peaceful enough,” Watts remarked.
“So it would seem.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Stone said, deflated. “Maybe I was hoping he’d be bouncing off the walls or at least foaming at the mouth.”
“Well, he is handcuffed, you know.”
“Yeah, but he could have knocked over the chair like he did earlier. I mean, even finding him laid out on the floor would have been better than this.”
“So, Stone, you really believe those pills have something to do with all this?”
“I had a hunch, but he looks too calm.”
“He does,” Watts said. “And there isn’t much time left. Parker’s going to bring in a public defender at ten AM.”
“That doesn’t give us much time.”
“For what, partner? I don’t like the look in your eyes.”
“No time to fill you in. Just stay here and watch. Better yet, turn your back and don’t watch. You may not want to see what I’m about to do.”
“Oh, no, I don’t like the sound of this,” Watts said. “But before you go, you should know that Tanner advised me that the blood on the undershirt was too degraded. The sweat in the armpits is Sullivan’s though.”
“Understood,” Stone answered as she ran out the door and reappeared seconds later in the interrogation room.
Moving over to Sullivan, she slammed the desk hard with both palms. Sullivan jumped awake.
“Good morning, Thomas. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I wanted to let you know that I spoke with your doctor. You need to start on a more consistent therapy.” Stone placed four pills on the table in front of him.
* * *
It takes me a couple of seconds to focus before I realize where I am and who is talking to me. “Really? “What’s that for? I don’t have a headache right now, what’s the point?”
“Preventative medicine.”
“Uh . . . I don’t know. I mean, I guess. He is my doctor, so why not?”
Stone picks up the pills, drops them in my mouth, and offers me a cup of water. I shake my head and swallow ’em dry, as usual. “You know, I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten since early yesterday. Can I get some breakfast? And while you’re at it, can you do something about these cuffs? My hands are going numb, and my wrists are hurting real bad.”
“I tell you what, Thomas. I’ll switch the cuffs to your ankles and get you a plate of eggs, but you have to answer a few more questions.”
“Just get these cuffs off and bring me my eggs!” I shout. Stone is one tough cop, but I can’t let her get over on me.
She steps around the table and looks right through me. “Okay, Thomas, I’ll cut you a break,” she says, as she takes a key from her belt, moves behind me, and unlocks my cuffs. For a second, my hands are free and I get this urge to turn around and slam my fists in her back before she puts the cuffs around my ankles. Then I realize that some other cops are probably watching us through the two-way. She locks me in and walks out the door.
* * *
Stone returned to the viewing room, and Watts confronted her.
“I don’t like where this is heading. It is one thing to lie to a suspect to try to get a confession out of him, but playing around with drugs that you don’t know anything about is pushing things beyond the boundaries. None of this will ever be admissible in court, and if his lawyer finds out, it could undermine our whole case. Forget the fact that we don’t know what these pills could do to him at such a high dosage.”
“I understand your concern. Just bear with me on this. I need to see if the pills set him off. Besides, the doctor said that he had other patients in the study who were prescribed a much larger dosage and there were no bad reactions, so how bad could it be?”
Watts shook his head. “I don’t know, partner, I think you’re playing with fire here.”
“Let’s just get him some breakfast while the pills kick in. Then I can get back with him and push some more.”
CHAPTER 66
Parker fielded the call from Scottler, who was still on the scene outside of Camp Lakewood.
“Captain, we’ve got some new intel.”
“Go on, Fess.”
“Well, sir, we weren’t able to find anything at the camp, so when dawn broke, we refocused our efforts at the road and pulled over every car that passed by. A few minutes ago, we spoke with a motorist who was traveling into town. He told us that a mile or so back in the other direction, he happened to pass a car heading toward the Interstate. He said that the driver had just pulled over to pick up a hitchhiker who was running up to the car. It struck him as odd because he travels to work on that road every day and he couldn’t remember the last time he ever saw someone hitchhiking there, let alone so early in the morning.”
“Were you able to get a description of the hitchhiker?�
�� Parker asked.
“Just that he had blond hair and wore a dark jacket.”
“What about the car that picked him up?”
“Sketchy, Captain. The witness wasn’t fully focused. He thinks it was a silver SUV. Best guess, Nissan or Toyota.”
“And you say it was headed toward the highway?”
“Correct, sir,” Scottler said.
“Have you checked with our man at the Interstate roadblock?”
“Sorry, sir, but when you ordered our guys over to Seneca, we had to pull him to cover the search back at the camp.”
“Are you saying you left the road unattended, Fess?”
“Sorry, sir, but we figured that our perp was on foot, so a roadblock was unnecessary.”
“Apparently, you figured wrong,” Parker yelled. “You damn well better get some men out to the highway. I’ll put out a BOLO on every car that even remotely fits the description.”
“Excuse me, sir, but that description fits about fifty percent of the vehicles on the road.”
“Then you better get started right away,” Parker said, disgusted.
“As you wish, Captain, but do you really think this hitchhiker could be our man?”
“Use your head, Fess. There are no homes anywhere near that area. The only places nearby are Lakewood and Seneca, and both camps are deserted until summertime. We’re more than a month away from that, so who else would even be around there?”
From the sound of Parker’s voice, Scottler figured he had just dropped two notches on the promotion list. He turned and called out, “Yo, Coop, Stewart—get your asses over here.”
Brad Cooper was a good cop with seven years under his belt. Eddie Stewart was still green. Both responded instantaneously and in seconds stood before Scottler. “Each of you, grab a cruiser and hit the Interstate in opposite directions. I need you to look for a silver SUV with two men in the front seat. The passenger has blond hair and may be wearing a dark jacket. Get a move on; we’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not much time. I’ll have a roadblock put in place about five miles up the highway in both directions. Let’s not allow this guy to escape.”
“Roger,” Cooper said, as he raced off.
Stewart turned and followed shouting, “On it, sir,” as he ran.
* * *
After hanging up with Scottler, Parker pulled out his radio, called in the BOLO, and coordinated the roadblocks along the highway. Satisfied he had all bases covered, he grabbed his cell and called Stone.
“Detective, we’ve had some developments here. I need you to ask Sullivan what Troyer Savage was wearing last night.”
“Will do, Captain,” Stone answered, “but clue me in. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a possible ID. It seems someone may have picked him up about a mile down the road from Lakewood. We have a basic description, and I want to see if it fits.”
“Okay, I’ll get back to you shortly,” Stone said, still watching Sullivan through the twoway mirror. “I’m going back in, partner. If the lawyer shows up, keep him busy.”
“I’ll try, but what was that call about?” Watts asked.
“It seems they may have spotted Savage, and they need some details to ID him.”
* * *
Stone flies into the room and sits down. I look up at her. “So where’s my breakfast?”
“On its way, but can you tell me something first.”
“What now? I already told you I want my lawyer.”
“Yes you did, but this is harmless. I was wondering if you could tell me what Troyer Savage was wearing the last time you saw him.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, not at all,” she says, all serious. “This could be very important.”
“Well, that’s easy. He’s got this dark blue suede jacket that he wears all the time. It happens to be very cool. He let me try it on once, and it looked great. Fit me perfectly, too. He was wearing a pair of very faded jeans that rocked. The dude always dresses fine.”
* * *
Cooper was flying down the road toward the Interstate with Stewart following in the cruiser behind when he caught sight of a body lying a few yards off the side of the road. He slammed the brakes so hard the anti-locks kicked in and vibrated the car to a halt. Stewart almost rear-ended him, jammed on his brakes, and screeched to a stop inches behind.
Cooper jumped out of his cruiser and bolted over to the body. Bending over, he checked the neck for a pulse. No response. The body was still warm, though. Stewart exited his vehicle and ran over to the scene.
“He’s dead, Eddie. Looks like his neck’s been broken.” Cooper pointed. “You see that?”
Stewart moved closer and bent over the body, focusing on the awkward position of the head. “Looks like a clean break. Definitely a powerful guy who knows what he’s doing.”
Cooper checked the dead man’s pockets. “No ID, Eddie. I’ll call it in and get an ambulance. We need to move now. There’s nothing more we can do here, and the longer we wait, the more time this guy has to escape.” He took a picture of the man with his cell phone. “We’ve got to hit the highway now. Get back in your car and let’s roll. I’ll call Parker and fill him in.”
“Roger, Coop,” Stewart answered, as both men raced to their cars and took off.
Once on the road, Cooper called Parker. “Captain, we just found a body by the roadside. Looks like the perp broke his neck and threw him out of the vehicle. Update the BOLO; there’s only one guy driving the vehicle, and he’s dangerous. We need a crew here fast to secure the scene. We’re about a mile away from the Interstate. The body is lying a few yards off the west side of the road. We’re proceeding to the highway.”
“Did you ID the vic?” Parker asked.
“No wallet or cell, sir. But he’s about five-ten, mid-thirties, slight build, goatee, and jet black hair cut short. He’s dressed in a suit and tie, so he’s obviously white collar. I’m sending a picture to your cell right now.”
“Got ya. I’ll handle it at this end, Coop. We’ll circulate the picture. Maybe someone will recognize him. With a name, DMV should be able to give us a plate number and a make and model of his SUV.”
CHAPTER 67
Detective Reese was reviewing the blood results from the summerhouse at Gilgo. He looked up from his computer. “Morgan, you need to see this.”
Morgan placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Gimme a minute, here. I’m running down the ownership of that house.”
“No problem. I just wanted to tell you that the blood we collected on the floor of that place matches our vic. It’s definitely Jamie Houston. Odds are she was still alive when she entered that house.”
Morgan nodded, gave Reese the thumbs up, and spoke into the phone. “Yes, sir, so you’re saying that the property is held in a trust? Can you give me the name of the trust and the contact info for the trustee?” Morgan held the phone in the crook of his neck and began writing notes on the pad in front of him. Finally, he hung up.
“Well, Reese, I have some info about the owner of the property but no natural person’s name. It seems the property is held in a trust and it has been for the last ten years. The Savitch Family Trust is the deed owner. The trust document is confidential, so they can’t tell us who the trustee is. There’s no mortgage on the property, the taxes are current, and the tax bills go to a P.O. Box in Montana. The property’s worth at least six hundred thousand dollars, so it’s clear we’re dealing with some relatively wealthy people.
“That name mean anything to you?”
“Not at all,” Morgan answered. “I think we better call Stone with all this and update her, though.”
“I’ll do it now,” Reese said, sliding his cell from his belt and speed dialing his boss.
“Stone here. What’s up, Reese?”
“Got a quick update. The blood we collected at the summerhouse is Houston’s. She was definitely alive, at least when she first entered the place. We also have some info on the owner. Seems like the
property has been held in a trust for the last ten years. The place is owned free and clear, and the taxes are all paid up.”
“Any info on the trust?” Stone asked, still watching Sullivan through the mirror in the viewing room.
“Yeah, it’s called the Savitch Family Trust. There’s a P.O. Box address in Montana.”
“Say again, Reese?” Stone said, alarmed. “Did you say the Savage Family Trust?”
“Savitch, boss. S-A-V-I-T-C-H.”
“Interesting. Very interesting.” Stone’s eyes widened anxiously as she caught Watts’ eye. “Listen, Reese: I have to check something out. Keep digging and call me with any new info.” Hanging up the phone, she grabbed Watts by the wrist. “You’re not going to believe this, but the house at Gilgo is owned by an entity called the Savitch Family Trust. Spelled S-A-V-I-T-C-H.”
“No shit!”
* * *
Attorney Harold Levy showed up and was ushered into the viewing room. Stone had been pacing, waiting for Sullivan to finish his breakfast so she could continue her interview. She was taken by surprise.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Levy said in a whiny voice as he stretched his hand out to greet her. “My name is Harold Levy. I’m with Legal Aid, and I have been assigned the Sullivan case.”
Stone kept her hand by her side, declining the invitation as she examined the short, emaciated figure with greasy hair.
Levy was a young lawyer only three years out of school who had returned to his hometown with a head still filled with idealistic beliefs about the purity and perfection of the legal system. Possessed of a near-photographic memory, he had breezed through law school and could have worked at any of the most prestigious firms in Manhattan. However, he felt his calling was to defend the less fortunate, and he thrived at a challenge. If the case was unwinnable, he wanted it.
Levy looked at Sullivan through the two-way mirror, looked back at Detective Stone, and asked, “Have you questioned my client without the benefit of counsel?”
Everywhere That Tommy Goes Page 18
