by Aric Davis
“He seemed normal, I guess,” said Ken. “I couldn’t say for sure, though. It was a few days ago, and my time here kind of blends together. We’re always busy, and most days are pretty similar. I remember him being mad, but that’s about it.”
Ken watched Hero look at Nelson across the desk, and Nelson nodded. “All right, Ken,” said Van Endel. “You are free to go. Thanks for your time.”
Ken shook all of their hands and then turned to Charlotte. “Is it OK if I get out of here? I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do at home, and it doesn’t seem like we’re going to be open.”
“That’s fine, Ken,” said Charlotte, “and you’re right, we won’t actually be open again until Monday. Have a nice day, and then we’ll see you and everyone else first thing Monday morning. We don’t know how long Mr. Everett is going to be gone, so we’re bringing in a manager from another store to take his place until he’s back.”
“All right,” said Ken. “See you then.” He managed not to run as he left the McDonald’s, not to burn rubber as he pulled out of the parking lot in the car, and not to sprint back into his apartment. He paused at the door, catching his breath as he waited to enter. Finally, he turned the key and slipped inside, sliding the dead bolt closed behind him.
After Ken Richmond was out of the office, Nelson turned to Charlotte. “That was embarrassing,” he said, grabbing his pager. “Would you mind if I used the phone so we can get back to this?”
Charlotte shook her head and said, “Of course not.” Nelson picked up the phone and dialed. Charlotte turned to Van Endel. “How is this going so far?”
“Better than expected,” said Van Endel, “assuming you like Everett as a weed mogul but not as a killer. I think we’ve got him as exonerated as a man without an alibi is going to get, at least for the time being. All three of the workers who were here that morning confirmed that James was here, and that’s good enough for me. Once Detective Nelson is off the phone, we can see if he agrees.”
As if in answer, Nelson hung up. “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Charlotte. “I’ve got a lobby full of employees out there waiting to talk to you. There’s no way we’re going to be able to reschedule.”
“I’ll let you know,” said Nelson. He walked to the door, opened it, and slid out, with Van Endel trying to keep pace with him.
“What in the hell is going on?” Van Endel hissed, but Nelson said nothing back. They were in the lobby a moment later, Nelson all but kicking the door open. The employees who were sitting jumped, and Nelson walked past them without a word; he just moved toward the door. Charlotte stopped next to Van Endel.
“Sorry, folks, but we have some pressing police business to attend to,” said Van Endel. “I’m sorry to have wasted any of your time, and if we do need to schedule an additional time to meet, we can do it on an individual basis.” Van Endel stole a glance outside; Nelson was pacing and smoking, a trail of gray wind pouring from his flared nostrils. “I hope you all have a pleasant afternoon.”
He turned and shook Charlotte’s hand. “I’m really sorry about this,” said Van Endel. “I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s serious. Nelson isn’t much of one to just skip out on something like this; he’s a by-the-books kind of guy.”
“You tell yourself whatever you need to,” said Charlotte. “That man’s eyes have been all but giving me a massage since you two walked in here. That doesn’t seem all that by-the-book to me, unless they started handing out new books.”
“Sorry,” said Van Endel as he inched toward the door. When his back hit the glass, he spun around, opened the door, and walked outside. Nelson was still standing there smoking.
“Get in the car,” said Nelson. “We have to go.”
“You just left me in there,” said Van Endel. “You made us look like a couple of complete assholes. Seriously, Phil, this is not right. We can’t just run out on those people — we set this up, we made them come here.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Nelson. “Here’s what does, though, Dick: Get. In. The. Car. Is that clear enough? I’m leaving, and if you want to come I suggest you get in the car.”
“Fine,” said Van Endel, whipping the door open, climbing in, and slamming it after him.
“Knock off the tantrum,” said Nelson. “We got bigger poop to scoop. Two bodies on the east side of the state.”
“The east side of the state?” Van Endel asked, incredulous. “What does that have to do with us? We don’t even do the east side of the county. That’s what state, county, and local police are for.”
“That’s very true,” said Nelson. “I’m glad to see you have retained some of your high school civics classes.” Nelson reached into the backseat and grabbed a light with a magnet on the bottom of it. He smacked the light onto the roof of the car, then fired up the lights and sirens. He pulled out of the McDonald’s lot, and Van Endel could feel the power of the car chugging beneath them, Detroit machinery pumping Saudi gas.
“So if it’s true, why are we going?”
“Because the two bodies have identification from Kent County,” said Nelson. “They also have bullet holes, ones the ME over there has already confirmed as being from a .38 Special. We’re going to grab Tracy and head on over. I’m sure he’s setting up a portable lab as we speak.”
“Do they think they’re from our guy?” Van Endel asked as Phil gunned the car down the highway entrance ramp. Traffic parted like a car salesman’s haircut, leaving them a wide swath down the middle of the highway to drive through. Most of the cars parked on the right side of the road like they were supposed to, but some opted to just pull off on the left lane. Van Endel hoped none of them got anxious and tried to cross the highway to correct the faux pas, especially if the decision to merge intersected with their trajectory.
“I don’t know what they think,” said Nelson. “I know that I’ve got a gut feeling about this, and if I’m right, things are about to get pretty interesting.”
“Why’s that?” Van Endel asked. The cars in his peripheral vision were whipping by, and he kept his gaze as far from the speedometer as possible. He had no desire to know just how fast they were going; being in the passenger seat of Nelson’s race car was bad enough without knowing exactly how much danger he was in.
Nelson took the ramp off the highway and into the center of the city. Bums under the highway waved and hollered as they sped from the ramp.
“Because these particular bodies are less than twenty minutes from the Ambassador Bridge,” said Nelson. “That’s the one that goes into Canada, in case you forgot.”
“You think he jumped the border?” Van Endel asked. He’d never have expected their guy to run, not at this stage of the game. Running seemed like the pursuit of a trapped man, not the workings of a man still so far from capture.
“I think he killed two people, jumped the border, and is already in Canada. They’re supposed to be putting a file together on him as we speak; hopefully it’s ready by the time we get there.” Nelson parked in the fire lane in front of the station.
“Wait,” said Van Endel, “you said they’re putting a file together on the guy. They have a suspect?”
“Two suspects,” said Nelson. “Robert and Paula Farmer. The victims? Tim and Lisa Farmer. Now do you understand my sense of urgency?”
“Jesus,” said Van Endel. He opened the door of the unmarked car and hopped out. Tracy was staggering out of the police station carrying a large tackle box and a thin manila envelope. Van Endel took the envelope and opened the door for Tracy, who said, “Thanks,” and slid the tackle box into the car and then sat.
Van Endel closed Tracy’s door, then got back in the car and slammed his own. “Open it,” said Nelson, and Van Endel did. There were pictures of both Robert and Paula. Neither of them had a record, and the pictures were studio portraits, not mug shots. They didn’t look like killers, and Van Endel couldn’t wait to talk to them.
“How you doing, T
racy?” Nelson asked.
Tracy smiled and said, “Doing great, ready for a road trip. It’s been a little while.”
“Where exactly are we going?” Van Endel asked.
“Just off of 69,” said Tracy, “right before we hit Sarnia. The bodies were found just off the highway near Sparlingville, but the closest police post is right by the bridge. We’ve got about two and half hours in the car.”
“Let’s do it,” said Nelson.
Ken sat alone in his apartment.He was eating the afternoon equivalent of brunch, splitting the time in between lunch and dinner, and was enjoying the leftovers from a meatball sub and a pizza sub. Both were cold, but that was still far better than having to wait for the oven. He’d been starving since before the meeting but had been unable to eat for fear of throwing up, and the sandwiches were filling the void wonderfully. The TV was on, and he was watching the local NBC affiliate, the usual Saturday-afternoon crap — right now, golf was on. Ken didn’t really care what the thing was playing; he knew that pretty soon the Ken show was going to be back on, and if it went how it was supposed to, he was going to be sitting pretty good.
All the cops had to do was follow the clues and he was all set. He never would have thought himself capable of outsmarting a couple of guys like Hero and Nelson, but it had actually been easier than he would have guessed, assuming they took the bait, of course.
He finished the meatball sandwich and turned his attention to the pizza one. It was so nice to be sitting in the peace and quiet of no children. Think how much time I wasted being burdened with all this shit. I could have been free years ago.
The way Ken figured it, there was really only one way things could go wrong with the plan, and that was if the detectives ignored the logic of the situation. Two people were dead, the last people to have seen them were in another country, and they were their only alibis. It was perfect. Ken felt good enough to start drinking, really drinking, but he wanted to be able to pull off being upset when the cops showed to give him the bad news about the kids. That part might even take a minute — Tim and Lisa’s taking Robert’s last name had been such a blow to him at the time, but it had worked out perfectly.
Ken walked to the kitchen and left the dish in the sink, then turned to the table. The magic bullet sat at the center of it, staring at him. He was exhausted but too wound up to sleep, and the bullet held an almost hypnotic effect over him. He’d drugged the kids with sleeping pills, then tied them up, gagged them, and carried them to the car. The moon was a sliver in the sky, and there was no one outside. He threw them both in the trunk of the Omni, then tossed a couple of heavy blankets over them. That done, he pocketed the gun and got driving. It took nearly three hours to get there, and he stopped when he was as close to the bridge as he felt safe being.
Ken pulled them from the car; they were both awake and wriggling. He threw them into the ditch by the side of the highway, one after the other, and then walked to them and shot them both three times. He emptied the gun of spent casings, put those in his pocket, and poured Windex all over the gun. He’d heard from some guys in prison that it was like acid when it came to fingerprints. Ken wiped the thing down with a cloth and then tossed it into the ditch with the bodies. When he was done, he got back in the car and drove home. Not a single car had passed while he did his work.
Next to the bullet was a .38 Special revolver, a new one, but Ken didn’t think that would matter much. The serial had been filed off, just like the last one, and he’d picked up the new one at the same place he’d gotten the last one, Bridge Street Pawn. It was a bit of a drive, but it was the only place Ken knew of that sold guns without asking any questions. There were a few old Polacks in there shooting the shit about how the city was going downhill, but they all found something else to look at as Ken bought his gun. He picked it up, weighed it in his hand. It could have been the brother of the last one, and Ken thought it would do just fine.
He pocketed the magic bullet and walked back to the TV. Golf was still better than dishes, and he knew that soon enough they’d be talking about the awful thing some poor driver had found, and about the two suspects who were believed to be in Canada. Perfect.
EPISODE 5
Nelson drove, Van Endel sat shotgun, and Tracy rode in the back.Nelson had eased off the gas pedal considerably since they’d left the police station, and Van Endel found his nerves slowly relaxing to a tolerable level. Tracy was a source of boundless energy in the backseat, fiddling with the things he’d brought in his tackle box and acting as nervy as a Little Leaguer called in to pitch in the World Series.
“Your turn, Phil,” said Tracy. “Favorite movie of all time — go.”
“I don’t want to play,” said Nelson. “Besides, I’m driving. Just let me keep my eyes on the road, and we’ll be good.”
“Phil, I just spent twenty minutes explaining why The Empire Strikes Back was the best movie ever made,” said Tracy. “Since you’ve made it clear that you’re not going to turn on the radio, and because I don’t believe you about that being a real rule, you have to play this game with me.”
“I’ll go,” said Van Endel, happy to have his mind occupied with something so mindless after the last few days. “My favorite movie is Serpico. Al Pacino is amazing in that movie. The first time I saw it was in the theater, and I was still in high school. I’ll watch a rerun of that every time they show it on TV; it has absolutely stood the test of time. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the Star Wars movies too, even that one with those dumb-ass little bear things, but Serpico is it for me, hands down.”
“You’re serious,” said Nelson. “Holy shit, you’re really serious.” Nelson began laughing uproariously, and Tracy started in too. Van Endel wasn’t sure what was so funny about his choice in movies, but he could feel his blood pressure rising. Nelson hammered his hand against the steering wheel twice, then ran a handkerchief over his forehead to wipe the sweat away.
“I’m not sure I get the joke,” said Tracy, “but that was still funny as hell. I think I’m just in a mood.”
“What’s funny is that Unlikely Promotion over here totally became a cop because of a movie,” said Nelson. “Admit it, Dick, you have to. You’re a cop because you were like, Damn, Pacino’s a hard-ass, then got in line at the academy.”
“Not quite,” said Van Endel, his cheeks reddening, and making him feel more than a little ridiculous. “I had to graduate high school first. You don’t get to just mess with me, though, Phil. Favorite movie, spit it out. It’s only fair.”
“I already said I didn’t want to play,” whined Nelson. “Besides, I’m still enjoying this Serpico shit. It had to have been a pisser when you weren’t the only straight cop coming out of the academy.”
“I’ve seen enough and heard enough to know that not everything in cop movies is make-believe,” said Van Endel. “Not to mention Serpico is based on a true story. Peter Maas wrote the book about a real cop.”
“Jesus,” said Nelson, “you even know trivia about it. You are so fucking cute, do you know that? I mean seriously adorable. We need to get pictures of you with kittens and sick kids, and then we can make posters about staying in school and eating your vegetables. The photo in the press was just a start.”
“Going to need a new suit before you start the PR campaign,” said Tracy. “He looks like he might ask you for a quarter — not really the best motivator for a stay-in-school program. Most kids who go to college want a job that requires the use of an iron.”
“All right, enough,” said Van Endel. “Nelson, you are going to tell us the name of your favorite movie, and you’re going to do it right now. If you don’t, I shoot Tracy.”
“You don’t want that,” said Tracy. “I’m the only one who knows how to use the stuff in this box. Trust me, I come in handy. There’s going to be all sorts of samples to gather and pictures to take, I would be very useful in such a situation.”
“Fine,” said Nelson. “Dirty Harry. All of them. I love those fucking movies.”
“You made fun of me for liking Serpico when your favorite movies are cop flicks too?”
“Well, yeah, sure,” said Nelson. “I knew you were going to say a cop movie, and I wanted to give you shit over it.” Nelson shrugged. “I’m bored, you know? I mean, we’re stuck in this car, still have an hour left — it sucks. I figured if I played my cards right, you’d spill and I could razz you about it. No big deal.”
“You must be a god at poker,” said Tracy.
“I hold my own,” said Nelson, taking his hands from the wheel to shake loose a cigarette and light it. “Truth told, if the cards would agree, I’d be great. I am one coldhearted bastard when it comes to bluffing. The problem is that everyone knows it — makes it hard to really swindle people with a bad hand if they expect it out of you.”
“Your luck will come around,” said Tracy. “Bunch of guys will go all-in because they think you’re full of shit, and then you’ll blast them with pocket aces. After that, no one will know what to think. The trick is gambling enough to have that magic moment and not going broke.”
“Or having your wife notice,” grumbled Nelson. “Christ, does she hate cards. Not that I blame her — games of chance have taken the occasional toll on the old paycheck.” He sighed, and then stretched in his seat. “How much longer do we have?”
“Hour, tops.”
“Crap.”
Ken Richmond paced in the apartment.There was nothing on the news yet, nothing about two bodies dead in a ditch at the side of the road, and nothing about suspects being brought in for questioning. There was no one calling on the phone, no cop on his doorstep to share the sad news with him about the kids and about the awful thing his ex was suspected of doing. Ken couldn’t wait for it. Even in his wildest dreams, the plan had never seemed like it could come together so well. Not killing Paula and Robert was a little depressing — he loved the idea of putting bullets in them — but this was almost as good. The thought of it even made his loins stir slightly, something that hadn’t happened since the grocery store. Ken rubbed the magic bullet in his pocket and walked back into the living room.