by R. L. Stine
“Pavano’s new,” Pinto said, motioning with his eyes. “He’s out here from the city.”
Harrison had one brown eye and one blue eye. He focused the blue eye on Pinto. “Am I going to get his thrilling life story now, or are we investigating a goddamn homicide?”
“Sorry, Dr. Harrison,” Pinto said. “We’ve been questioning Mr. Sutter here. He—”
“We’ll get to you, Mr. Sutter,” Harrison gave him a nod, then turned back to the officers. “Did you touch anything? Open the door? Roll down the window? Shake hands with the victim? Muss up his hair?”
Pinto squinted at Harrison. “Are you for real?”
“We didn’t touch a thing,” Pavano stepped in. “But Sutter did. He had his hands on the bottom of the window. Smeared the blood.”
Harrison squinted at Sutter and tsk-tsked.
“Pinto and I looked into the car, but we stayed back. Then we called in right away,” Pavano explained.
“Do you expect a Nobel Prize for that?”
Pinto exploded. “What the fuck, Harrison? What’s your problem?”
Pavano just wanted to get out of the house. There were kids upstairs. They were probably listening to all this.
What happened to those two little blond boys?
“Have you examined the body at all, Doctor?” Pavano asked.
Harrison pulled a soiled handkerchief from his jacket and mopped his bald head. “Yeah. I did a cursory exam before the CS guys arrived.” He tucked the handkerchief away and fiddled with his bow tie.
“And could you determine the cause of death?”
Sutter uttered a groan. Pavano turned and saw him gripping the bottom of the banister, his face pale. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Not really,” Sutter uttered. “I mean, a murder in my driveway? I feel kinda sick.”
“Why don’t you go sit down. Get a glass of water,” Pavano instructed. “We’ll come back to you, okay?”
Sutter nodded but didn’t reply. He made his way back toward his office.
“Cause of death?” Pavano repeated to Harrison when Sutter was out of hearing.
“Officer, you know I can’t say till I do the whole goddamn exam.” He motioned them outside. The cool evening air felt soothing on Pavano’s hot face.
Harrison led the way to the Audi, where two uniformed officers were combing every inch of it. “You want to know a cause of death from my first cursory exam? Okay, I’d say it was asphyxiation.”
Pinto and Pavano both uttered sounds of surprise. Pinto removed his cap and scratched his head. “Asphyxiation? What makes you say that?”
A grim smile formed on Harrison’s face. “Here. I’ll show you. You didn’t eat dinner yet, right?”
“We didn’t eat dinner. Why?”
“Because you probably wouldn’t be able to keep it down.”
“Another one of your jokes?”
The smile faded from the big man’s face. “No joke.”
He pulled open the back door. He pointed to something stretched across the backseat.
It looked like a wet pink snake to Pavano. No, wait. Some kind of long pasta noodle. Jagged on both ends. Dark streaks along the sides.
“What are you showing us?” Pinto demanded. “What is that?”
“The man’s windpipe,” Harrison said. “Whoever killed him ripped out his windpipe while he was still alive.”
32
Pavano again let Pinto do the questioning while he studied Sutter’s sister. Sitting across from them in Sutter’s office, Roz kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, squeezing her fingers. But it was the only sign of nervousness. She seemed like a straightforward woman, and Pavano believed what she told them.
Which was nothing useful.
She had come home from grocery shopping and was in the kitchen the whole time Hulenberger and Sutter were meeting in the office. She had heard voices, but she hadn’t seen Hulenberger and definitely hadn’t seen him leave the house. She hadn’t heard anything unusual. Now she was worried about upsetting the kids.
“You certainly don’t think the kids saw what happened?” she asked.
“We have to talk to them. You know. Be as thorough as possible,” Pinto said, glancing at the notes on Pavano’s phone. “It’s possible they saw or heard something helpful.”
“Elena and Ira were upstairs in their rooms,” Roz told them. “I’m sure they didn’t see a thing. And the twins . . . I’m not sure where they were. Probably in the guesthouse out back.”
“Ma’am, could you bring them in one by one?” Pinto asked, speaking softly.
“A horrible murder like this could upset them terribly, Sergeant. Ira is very delicate. You might say he’s troubled. And the twins just arrived here.”
Pavano raised his eyes. “Arrived here?”
“Mark and Lea adopted them. She brought them home less than two weeks ago. It’s hard enough for them to adjust. If you—”
“We’ll do our best not to upset them, ma’am,” Pinto said. “You and Mr. Sutter are welcome to stay in the room when we talk to them.”
“Where is Mr. Sutter?” Pavano asked. Sutter had slipped away while they were questioning his sister.
Roz sighed. “I think he’s trying to phone Lea. His wife. She’s in the city.”
Pinto shifted his weight on the desk chair. He suddenly looked old and weary. Pavano knew he was ten years older than he, but he looked even older than that. Frayed. That’s the strange word that popped into Pavano’s mind. The frayed life of a cop.
With another warning to be careful, the sister went to round up the four kids. Pavano picked up a pink paperweight from the desk and tossed it from hand to hand. It took him awhile to recognize it as a porcelain model of a human brain.
The color reminded him of the slender windpipe tossed on the backseat of the victim’s car. He set the brain back down on the desk.
Elena, the fourteen-year-old, came downstairs first. She was a pretty girl with shiny black hair and lively dark eyes. She seemed confident and mature for her age. She spoke in full sentences, not in teenage grunts and fits and starts. She didn’t seem at all hesitant to answer Pinto’s questions, but she had nothing to tell them.
She had been in her room since getting home late from school, texting her friends and listening to music. She had glimpsed her father talking to a man in a suit but didn’t hear what they were talking about and didn’t see or hear the man leave.
Ira Sutter, the twelve-year-old, slunk down on the couch and pressed close to his aunt. He gripped the couch arm tightly with a slender hand. Before Pinto could ask a question, Ira demanded in a tiny voice, “Is Dad in trouble?”
“No, of course not.” Roz answered for them.
“Then why is he so upset? Why are all these policemen here?”
“There was an accident. In your driveway.” Pinto spoke up before the sister could answer. “We’re just trying to find out what happened. No one in your family is in trouble. I swear.”
“Ira, did you see that dark car in your driveway?” Pavano asked.
The boy had a slender, pale face. His natural expression appeared to be worry. “I saw it after the police came.”
“But not before?”
He shook his head, then glanced at his aunt. Roz gave him a reassuring pat on the knee of his jeans.
“Did you see the man when he was talking to your dad?”
He shook his head again. “No. I was upstairs. Then Roz called us down to dinner but there was no man here.”
A few more questions and they let him go.
“Do you want to see the twins together or one by one?” Roz asked.
Pinto sighed and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Together is fine. I know this seems like a waste of time. But we just have to do it. You know. So we can say our report is complete.”
Somewhere a clock chimed. Was it seven o’clock or eight o’clock? Despite the horror of what they had seen, Pavano was starting to feel hungry.
The twins ploppe
d down on the couch, all blond hair, wide eyes, and innocence. They were very cute, Pavano observed. They looked smaller than their twelve years. Their voices were little boys’ voices.
The two cops chitchatted with them for a few minutes. The boys had funny accents, sort of English, sort of Irish. They didn’t seem at all fazed by having to talk to policemen.
Their answers turned out to be a lot more interesting than those of the other two kids.
“Did you see the man talking to Mr. Sutter?”
“Yes, sir,” the one with dimples seemed to be the one who liked to talk. “We saw him in the den with the new pa.”
“The new pa?”
“That’s what they call Mark,” Roz interjected.
Pinto leaned forward in the big chair. “You saw them in here when you came home from school?”
Both boys nodded. “He was talking to the new pa, telling him bad things.”
Pavano’s breath caught in his throat. He squinted at the expressionless boy. “Bad things?”
“For sure. He said he had bad news. The new pa looked very sad.”
Pinto and Pavano exchanged glances. Pinto cleared his throat. Roz suddenly looked troubled, her lips pursed tightly. She started to say something, but Pinto motioned for her to remain silent.
“So what did you do?” Pinto asked.
“Sammy and I took a ball and went outside to play.”
“Did you hear the man have a fight with your dad?”
“No. They weren’t fighting. Just talking, right, Sammy?”
Sammy nodded his head solemnly.
“Were they arguing? You know. Shouting.”
“No. Just talking,” Daniel insisted. “But I think Pa was a wee bit angry.”
The quiet one spoke up. “Daniel and I went out to play catch. With a tennis ball.”
“Where did you play?” Pavano asked.
“By the driveway. You know. Next to the garage.”
“And so you saw the man’s dark blue car?” Pinto asked.
They both nodded. “The ball bounced off it a couple of times, don’t you know. But it didn’t make a dent.”
“And did you see the man leave the house?”
They nodded again.
“Did you see him get into his car?”
Daniel nodded. “He got in his big car. And the new pa shouted at us.”
“He said get out of the way,” his brother chimed in. “He said the man was backing up and we should get out of the way.”
“So what did you do?”
“We went back to our house. In the garden.”
“Your house?”
“Their room is in the guesthouse,” Roz explained. “That’s where they’re staying.”
“You went back to your room? And you didn’t hear anything strange? Did you see anyone come to the driveway? Did you hear a shout or a fight or anything weird?”
The twins exchanged puzzled glances again. They shook their heads.
“We didn’t hear anything. Not a peep, sir.”
Pavano heard a baby crying somewhere.
Roz jumped to her feet. “That’s Axl, my little boy. He’s waking up from his nap. Officers, I have to go upstairs and get him. I’m afraid this interview session is over.”
Pinto climbed up with a groan. Pavano’s head suddenly felt like solid granite. Too much. This is too much to think about.
They followed Roz to the front. Before they could exit, the screen door swung open. A uniform cop, one of the crime scene guys, poked his head into the house.
“Sergeants, one more bit of info you can add to your report.”
“What’s that?” Pinto asked. Pavano pulled out his phone to write it down.
“That blowtorch in the garage? We went over it. Looks like it’s been used recently.”
33
“I wish I was there with you, Mark. I’m so sorry I’m not there to help you. Roz must be a mess, too.”
“Lea, is it too late for the jitney? Can you get a train? I’ll pick you up in Southampton.”
“Mark, you’re breaking up. I can’t hear too well. Are the kids okay? Are they upset?”
“I don’t know if they realize what happened. I think they’re mainly confused. I’m going to talk to them later. After the police leave. You know. Try to see how they feel, what they know.”
“How can you explain it to them? A murder right at our house?”
“I’ll just be straight with them. I mean, I don’t know how else to handle it. Just tell them what happened and be there for them.”
“Oh, wow. I have the shakes just thinking about it. Right in front of our house. And you didn’t hear anything? You didn’t see anyone go up to his car?”
“None of us did. Listen, can you—”
“I’m worried about the kids, Mark. Poor Ira. Something like this . . . a horrible murder in our front yard . . . I mean, how much more traumatic can it be?”
“He was up in his room. I don’t think he realizes . . . I’m going to sit down and talk to them all. Get their feelings out in the open.”
“I can’t hear you very well. You keep breaking up. I’ll try to get back as fast as I can, darling. I’ll cancel my meeting for tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know what jitney I’m on. I’m so sorry I’m not there with you, sweetheart.”
“Are you feeling okay? I really didn’t think you were ready for the city. Those nightmares you were having. And . . . and the tomato soup thing . . .”
“You’re breaking up, Mark. What did you say?”
“Do you feel okay?”
“Actually, no. Maybe you were right. Maybe this city visit was too soon. I feel weird. I can’t really explain it. Kind of like I can’t concentrate. I don’t really feel I’m totally in control. It’s nothing. I’m sure. Just tired, I guess.”
“Please get home as fast as you can. We need you here. I . . . don’t know what’s going to happen. I mean, when word of this gets out. You know. I’m a public figure now. The publicity. ‘Gruesome Murder in Bestselling Psychologist’s Driveway.’ It could get bad, Lea.”
“But you had nothing to do with the murder.”
“Don’t be naïve, sweetheart. Does that matter? It happened in our fucking driveway. If the details are released . . . Can you see the front of the Post?”
“I’m so sorry, honey. I can’t hear. I’ll text you my jitney.”
A soft click. Then silence. The connection was lost.
Mark headed to the bar against the den wall. I need something stronger than wine.
And then he felt a stab of anger: How can she be away when I need her? When we all need her here?
He knew what he was doing. It was obvious. He was angry at himself for what happened with Autumn. And he was transferring his anger to Lea. Embarrassing to be so obvious.
Autumn, you missed all the excitement.
He thought about kissing her. Fucking her on top of his desk. Oh, Jesus.
———
The two police officers left. He saw two other cops in the driveway, working over the car. They had set up halogen spotlights on poles to light their work. Yellow crime tape had been stretched across the bottom of the front yard. Cars moved slowly on the street. Gawkers wondering what had happened there.
Mark shook his head and took a long sip of his Cruzan Single Barrel rum. The neighbors must have their binoculars out.
Luckily, the houses were far apart, separated by tall, old oak and sassafras trees and high evergreen hedges. Mark had no idea who his neighbors were.
Richard Hulenberger’s body had been removed. Wrapped and carried away in a silent ambulance. Now, gazing into the white halogen light, Mark saw that the car seats were on their backs on the lawn. One cop was leaning into the trunk, sweeping it with some kind of whirring device. A vacuum?
He gathered the four kids in the den while Roz went to feed and entertain Axl. The den had two brown, soft-leather couches at a ninety-degree angle against two walls, and a matching recliner chair, all facing a
fifty-five-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the only wall without bookshelves.
A stack of glass shelves to the right of the TV screen held Lea’s stuffed-monkey collection, dozens of specimens. Lea wasn’t embarrassed to show off her monkeys. She told anyone who asked that growing up in a house jammed with so many kids, she never had room for any kind of collection. In a way, the mostly hideous monkeys were fulfilling a lifelong dream.
Samuel and Daniel sank into one couch and slumped down, looking uncomfortable, troubled. Elena took the recliner, sitting stiffly on the edge, not tilting back as she usually did. Ira perched next to her on one arm of the recliner.
Mark studied them for a few seconds. Elena wore freshly applied lip gloss. Ira had a tomato sauce stain on his chin.
“As you’ve probably figured out, something terrible happened in our driveway this afternoon. The man who was visiting me was murdered by someone.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Dad, please—tell us something we don’t know.”
Mark’s impulse was to scold her for being so flip. But he quickly remembered that her attitude might be her way of dealing with something frightening.
“Elena, not appropriate.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t really know much about it,” he confessed, standing awkwardly in front of them as if giving a lecture. He had set down his glass but found himself craving another few sips of rum. “But if I can answer any questions. I know you must be upset. And maybe confused.”
Ira spoke up first. “Dad, did the killer mean to kill you?”
The question made him suck in a burst of air. Not a question he expected. “No. I . . . don’t think so, Ira. The police didn’t have anything to say about that. I don’t think anyone wants to kill me.”
Ira screwed up his face, thinking hard. “But will the killer come in the house?”
“No,” Mark answered quickly, without wanting to think about that. “No one is coming in the house. We’re all safe here. You don’t have to be scared. We are all completely safe.”
Elena shifted her weight on the edge of the recliner. “Does this mean that Ruth-Ann can’t come for a sleepover Friday night?”
Mark blinked. Is she totally self-involved? Doesn’t she react at all to someone being murdered in front of her house? Maybe that’s a good thing.