Painted Skins

by Matt Hilton

  Margaret Norris lived in North Deering, a large residential neighbourhood bordering the town of Falmouth, only minutes away. The neighbourhood boasted some of the oldest houses in Portland, having been spared the fire that razed much of the city to the ground in the nineteenth century. Oldest property didn’t necessarily equate to most expensive, and Margaret’s family home was a modest clapboard house, though it had a tiny but colourful garden to the front and rear. Po had previously accompanied Tess to meetings with Margaret, so knew exactly where he was going. He hit the gas as soon as she was settled in the seat of the muscle car, the sudden acceleration forcing her deeper in the plush leather.

  Tess’s cellphone played a ditty – her brother. She put it on speaker so Po could hear.

  ‘Hi, Alex. What’s up?’

  ‘Found the car you’re looking for.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You know Fall Brook, off Auburn Street?’

  Fall Brook was a small waterway that ran through North Deering, and emptied in the tidal Back Cove. For a majority of its course it largely paralleled Washington Avenue, she had no idea where the brook ran from beyond that. ‘You’ll have to be more specific, Alex.’

  He gave her a pointed description of the location, and Tess knew exactly where he was directing her. She had shopped at a nearby commercial strip, and as a Sheriff’s Deputy had once or twice attended jobs at the adjacent industrial buildings Alex described. ‘A couple of your old compadres have a suspect held at the scene. I’m on my way there now, you want to join me?’

  ‘They have the driver in custody?’

  ‘That remains to be seen. They have the car, except it’s burning like a torch. PFD and first responders are at the scene already. You’d best be quick, sis, before the suspect’s hauled off to lock-up.’

  ‘Be there in minutes,’ Po announced, and the Mustang rocketed.

  THIRTEEN

  Burning rubber, overheated metal, seared electrical components, and vaporized chemicals formed a stinging potpourri of stench that assaulted Tess’s sinuses and forced tears from her eyes. She held a palm over her mouth and nostrils, tried to breathe shallowly but it didn’t help. Her throat caught, spasmed, and she hacked up a cough as if she still smoked twenty cigarettes a day. Yet she didn’t turn away, still rapt on the smouldering remains of the car, deciding if it was the one she’d watched fly past her outside Charley’s Autoshop. Portland Fire Department had doused the fire, and the broken asphalt of the lot was awash with stinking, floating debris. The tyres had exploded, as had the gas tank, and the metalwork was stripped back to its base, discoloured by the intense heat to a myriad of reds and blues and yellows. Yet there were some small areas the flames had failed to reach, beneath the headlights, and around the fenders, and there the colour was blue-green. Alex and Po – who had an expert eye for vehicles – assured her it was a late-model Chrysler, even without having to check out the decal on the front.

  ‘How long until we can properly identify the make and model?’ Tess asked, though she knew that it wasn’t a huge task.

  ‘Not long,’ Alex replied.

  Even with switched plates, there’d still be a vehicle identification number beneath the hood and etched on the chassis. The only stumbling block at the moment was that it would take a CSI tech to look over the smouldering remains before the details could be fed through the system. Before that could be done, the car would have to be declared safe to approach by the PFD commander, and then possibly lifted with a crane to see underneath, having sunk to its axles when the rubber burned off the hubs. It was a job worth doing. Identifying the exact vehicle wasn’t that helpful on its own, but once they established where it came from it might help identify the driver – sadly he was long gone.

  ‘Who’s the guy in the ambulance?’ Po asked.

  ‘Witness,’ Alex said. ‘Victim. Take your pick.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ asked Tess.

  ‘Says he noticed flames as he was driving by, came in to investigate and was struck by an assailant. He was still unconscious when the fire crew arrived.’ Alex touched his head. ‘Must have a skull like concrete; looks like he took the wrong end of a steel bar to his head a few times. I’m surprised he’s awake and talking. Refusing to go to the ER.’

  ‘Stubborn,’ Tess said, and couldn’t help a glance at Po. ‘Any chance I can speak with him, Alex?’

  ‘Hold up a minute. I’ll have to clear things with the deputies.’ Alex walked away, approaching a Cumberland County Sheriff’s Department patrol car. Tess had already checked out the pair of deputies, but they were newcomers since she’d left the department, and she wasn’t sure they’d be amenable if she approached them directly. Best that Alex did the negotiating.

  Tess waited while Alex spoke with them, all the while catching glances from the two young men. One appeared nonplussed, while the other’s eyebrows rose close to his receding hairline. He knew her name, and of the short bout of hero-worshipping she’d received from some of her colleagues after helping to bring Albert Sower to justice. He grinned at her, showing all his perfect white teeth, and a wet tongue curled at the back of the bottom row. She feared that a simpleton had replaced her: but that was only judging the young guy by his goofy looks. When Alex beckoned her over, he was amiable, and seemed genuinely honoured to meet her. He stuck out a hand, which Tess accepted, and made his hellos, courteous and erudite. His nametag read Bronson. ‘My buddy Arlin speaks highly of you, Miss Grey, says he wouldn’t be the officer he is now without your leadership and support.’

  ‘How is Arlin?’ Tess asked, genuinely surprised to hear about her ex-colleague. Arlin was there the night she almost lost a hand. For some odd reason he’d distanced himself after she left the department, and she’d assumed it was through shame at being associated with her: but that was when she’d been enveloped in a self-imposed funk, when she thought her life was going down the toilet.

  ‘He’s our shift commander now,’ said Deputy Bronson, with a nod at his partner, perhaps seeking agreement. ‘He’s one of the good guys.’

  The second cop sniffed loudly. Her name meant nothing to him then, and his opinion of Arlin wasn’t as rose-tinted as Bronson’s. But he was more aloof to Tess than he was objectionable. He nodded, without meeting her gaze, then turned back to surveying the smouldering wreckage. ‘If you’re going to speak with the wit, you’d best do it now. Medics are keen to get on.’

  ‘I’ll be minutes with him at most,’ Tess promised. ‘You get a name off him?’

  Bronson was the one to answer. ‘Mister Trojak, John Arran.’

  Po was standing to one side, with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest, his chin down. In her periphery Tess watched his head snap up, and he took a step forward. Her surprise was no less evident, and Bronson wasn’t blind.

  ‘You know the guy?’ he asked.

  ‘I know of him,’ Tess answered, but she was already striding for the ambulance. Po matched her step for step. Alex was only a beat behind them, and he spurred forward to catch Tess’s elbow.

  ‘Go easy, sis. He isn’t the one who’s been following you.’

  ‘I know he isn’t the driver of the car,’ Tess responded without stopping, ‘but he hasn’t been following me? He just happened to be here through coincidence, huh?’

  Alex and Po shared a glance.

  ‘Trojak’s name came up earlier today,’ Po told him.

  ‘In the Jasmine Reed case?’

  ‘Works for a dude called Daryl Bruin,’ Po explained. ‘Who also happens to be looking for Jasmine.’

  ‘I should speak with him,’ said Alex, but was forestalled by Po’s outstretched arm, and the palm on his chest. ‘Give Tess her minute with him, then he’s all yours.’

  Alex halted, but it was only to stare down at Po’s hand. ‘Do you mind removing that?’

  Po’s mouth turned up at one corner, but he withdrew his hand. Alex owed Po, but their personal alliance was still shaky. Alex was a cop, Po an ex-con, and Alex wasn’t full
y comfortable with their association, or the more intimate one that Po shared with his sister. He certainly didn’t appreciate being treated as if he should defer to the time-served killer.

  ‘Don’t forget I’m only doing a favour for my sister,’ Alex said, and there was more to the statement than he voiced. ‘And don’t forget who’s actually in charge here, Po.’

  ‘Duly noted.’ Po strode after Tess, who was already leaning into the rear doors of the ambulance. Alex mouthed a silent curse at Po’s back.

  Catching a glance from Deputy Bronson, Alex offered a nod, telling him everything was cool. He moved for the ambulance, but angled so he was out of sight of the injured man inside. Perhaps he’d learn more from Trojak without showing himself: people said things to other civilians that they’d never admit in the presence of a cop.

  Tess stepped up inside the ambulance, a male medic making way for her. The medic went round the side of the ambulance to speak with the driver.

  Po stood in the doorway, watchful, silent for now. Alex caught a glimpse from him, but that was all. He gave off a hint of wariness, as if he expected trouble, and if Alex knew anything of the Cajun it was to trust his finely tuned senses. Alex rested his palm on the butt of his sidearm. Po winked at him. You’re in charge, his smug smile attested.

  ‘John Trojak,’ Tess said without preamble. ‘Want to tell me how you just happen to be here?’

  ‘My head almost got stove in,’ replied Trojak, and he touched fingers to the swelling on the side of his head. Another wound to the top of his skull held a gauze pad, through which seeped blood.

  ‘You know I’m not talking about being in the back of an ambulance,’ Tess said.

  ‘I know what you meant, just letting you know what I’m suffering on your behalf, Miss Grey.’

  ‘You know who I am, huh?’

  ‘Of course. I spoke to Daryl earlier; he said you’d been by his office, and that he’d suggested we work together to find Jazz. I’d be remiss as an investigator if I didn’t check out who I’d be working with.’

  ‘Let’s make something abundantly clear at the get go: we aren’t working together. And since when were you ever an investigator?’

  ‘Since Daryl asked me to look into Jazz’s disappearance.’ Trojak transferred his fingers to the top of his head, peeling away the gauze. He studied the bloodied patch, then allowed the gauze to slip from his fingers on to the bed alongside him. ‘Head’s not as bad as it looks, in case you were wondering.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ But despite her snippy response, Tess checked his wound. There was no open cut, only a grazed patch where he had lost some hair and the blood oozed from the abraded scalp. He touched other sore spots, but there was no alarm in his expression. He was going to survive his injuries.

  ‘I heard you went to see Maxwell Carter earlier today, and you hurt him. I think you’ve misinterpreted what it takes to make an investigator. Don’t confuse interrogation with torture, Mr Trojak.’

  ‘Did Max say I hurt him?’

  ‘He didn’t have to.’

  ‘Then if Max didn’t say I hurt him, where’s your proof?’

  ‘I saw the result of your handiwork.’

  ‘Max cut his hand on some glass, I heard. He’s a clumsy guy.’ Trojak struggled to sit up. In the doorway, Po stirred, his arms unfolding to hang loosely by his sides. The motion wasn’t lost on Trojak who eyed him for a long second. ‘I take it you’re Nicolas Villere?’

  Po didn’t answer, because if Trojak had spoken with Daryl Bruin then his identity was already apparent. Bruin had probably also warned him about Po’s less than subtle display with his knife. Trojak settled himself on the gurney, one arm propped behind him for stability. His suit jacket had been removed, and his shirt was dotted with blood, plus dirt from where he’d collapsed from his beating. ‘Would you just look at me,’ he moaned. ‘Veronica will go spare when she sees the state I’m in.’

  ‘Veronica is your wife?’ Tess asked, and couldn’t resist a sour smile. ‘I just bet she’ll make you do your own laundry, huh?’

  Now it was Trojak who didn’t answer. He was no fool, and would suspect that Tess had already checked him out, and learned of his shameful past as a victim of domestic violence. Tess thought he’d nothing to be embarrassed about, but suspected that wasn’t the case. But she wasn’t against mentioning her dislike of the woman she’d never met, if it meant it would get a truthful response from Trojak.

  ‘So,’ she went on. ‘What’s the story? How’d you end up here like this?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Trojak replied.

  ‘It’s obvious you enjoy the sound of your own bullshit,’ Po offered from the doorway.

  Trojak’s eyelids pinched at Po’s final word. He chose not to answer Po; instead he looked directly at Tess. ‘I followed the guy here who set fire to his car.’

  ‘You were following me first,’ Tess corrected him.

  ‘I came over to try to speak to you,’ he said. ‘Daryl said you were against working with me. I only wanted to reassure you of my good intentions. When I got to the auto-repair shop, I saw that bozo driving away so fast that I guessed he was up to no good. The son of a gun almost run me over, so I went after him to ask what his game was. I followed him here, saw him torch the car and thought that was it. But then he cold-cocked me, got me good too.’ Trojak again touched his wounds, flinching for good effect.

  ‘I don’t appreciate you lying to me,’ said Tess.

  ‘Who’s lying?’

  ‘You are. For one, you weren’t coming to the autoshop to speak to me; you had to have followed us there. OK, you might have learned that Nicolas works from the shop, but I doubt it. And if you had, and had come by to speak, then why were you out on the street in a place where you almost got run over? Why not just drive up to the shop itself?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure of its exact location. Only knew what street it was on. I got out my car to have a scout around, that’s all.’

  ‘Beep-beep,’ said Po from the doorway. ‘That’s the sound of my bullshit detector alarming.’

  Rubbing his face with both hands, Trojak sighed. ‘OK. You’re right. I did follow you guys to the shop, but I didn’t know how you’d react if I just walked on inside.’ He glimpsed at Po. ‘I was waiting for my moment, to approach in the open, where you would see I was no threat. That was when that guy took off as if he was in a drag race and almost ran me down.’

  He was still lying, but only partly. Tess chose to ignore the disparity in his story, because it wasn’t necessary to push for more. ‘Do you know who the man in the car was?’

  ‘Nope. Do you?’

  Tess shook her head.

  ‘Shame. I owe him.’ Trojak made an effort at tucking his shirt in his trousers.

  ‘You did get a look at him, though?’ Tess prompted.

  ‘No. He snuck up on me from behind. Smacked me upside the head with a tyre iron or something and that was all she wrote. Next thing I knew was when a firefighter was standing over me.’

  Po exhaled loudly. ‘You saw him torching his car, but you never got a look at him?’

  ‘Guy had his back to me. Could barely make him out in the dark, then once the flames went up he was out of there. What can I say, buddy? I can’t say what I didn’t see.’

  ‘Or you did see him but don’t want to admit you know him,’ Po pushed.

  Trojak again returned his attention to Tess. ‘I didn’t see him. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I got a glimpse of him through the windshield, and the son of a gun swore at me. If I saw him again I might recognize him, but as for knowing him beforehand …’ He frowned, but his expression looked forced. Trojak did have an inkling who his attacker was, he simply wasn’t prepared to admit his suspicion yet.

  ‘Describe him as best you can,’ Tess said.

  Trojak shrugged. ‘White guy. Maybe in his mid- to late-thirties, short dark hair, regular features. No facial hair or distinguishing features I can recall. Just one of those faces can easily lose th
emselves in a crowd. You see him, think he looks kind of familiar, but you just can’t place him, so you forget about him and move on. You know the type, right?’ He thought harder. ‘Y’know, when I think about it, he was a big guy. When he was standing out there by the burning wreck, I could see his silhouette. He looked broad, but not like one of those muscle guys; more like he naturally grew big, a bit like I did.’

  Tess recalled Mrs Ridgeway saying something similar, that the mystery man looked as if he was carrying some bulk.

  ‘Did he say anything to you?’ she asked.

  ‘If he did, I didn’t hear him or I don’t remember. Being clubbed around the head kind of has that effect sometimes.’ He offered a smile, maybe seeking sympathy.

  Tess stood. There was clearance overhead, but she still stooped. Her nose was inches from Trojak’s. ‘I said earlier we won’t be working together. I haven’t changed my mind. Now you’ve learned what comes of sticking your nose in where it isn’t wanted, take note of the warning. Back off from this now, Mr Trojak.’