Red Rain

30

“It’s a ten-eighty-four, Vince. We’re on the scene.”

“I gotta learn those numbers, Chaz. I never know what Vince is talking about.”

“Forgetaboutit, Andy. No one knows what Vince is talking about.”

Pavano peered out the window as his partner, Chaz Pinto, eased the car up the gravel driveway. “Where are we? Why does this look familiar?”

“John Street, dude. You took the call ten minutes ago, remember?”

A dark Audi stood in the drive. Chaz stopped the black-and-white a few feet behind it.

“It’s taking me awhile to get oriented, you know. We’re by the water, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. The bay is over there.” Pinto pointed out the side door. They both gazed at the car in front of them.

“The caller was a woman. She didn’t say what the problem was. Something about a car in the driveway. The driver. .”

“I see him. The back of his head. Not moving.”

“Heart attack?”

“Hope so. That would make it easy.” Pinto leaned toward the radio. “We’re going to check out the car, Vince. You there?”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be, Pinto? Don’t sit there holding hands, you two. Get out and take a look.”

“The driver appears to be in the car.”

The front door to the house swung open, and a dark-haired man in jeans and a white polo shirt stepped out.

Pavano’s eyes went wide. “Hey, I know that dude.” His breath caught in his throat. “Oh, wow. Oh no. I don’t believe this.”

“What’s your problem, Andy?”

Pavano pushed the car door open, flipped his half-smoked Camel to the driveway, and lowered his feet to the ground. “I’ve been here. That night. Remember? The rain? I had the wrong house. I told him his wife was dead!”

Pinto let out a hoarse wheeze of a laugh. “We’re still talking about that one. Behind your back, you know. It’s classic. We’ll be talking about that asshole move for a long time.”

“Thanks, partner.” Pavano stretched his lanky body, adjusted his black uniform cap lower over his eyes. Maybe the guy won’t remember me.

Yeah, sure. What are the chances?

Pinto was approaching the driver’s side of the Audi. Pavano followed, boots crunching on the gravel driveway, eyes on the man inside the car.

“Hello, sir? Sir? Are you all right?”

The man from inside the house came running down the driveway. “I’m Mark Sutter,” he shouted. “This is my house.”

Pavano waved him back. “Please stay there.”

The driver’s side window was down. “Hey, sir!” Pinto shouted loudly into the car even though he was just a few feet away. “Sir? Are you okay?”

“He’s not okay. He’s fucking dead!” Sutter cried. He didn’t heed Pavano’s instruction. He ran up beside them, breathing hard. “He’s dead. I saw him. It. . it’s horrible.”

Pinto and Pavano both stooped and leaned into the window at the same time.

“Oh, my God!”

“Oh, fuck no! Fuck no!”

“I. . can’t believe it,” Sutter stammered.

Pavano frantically waved him back. “Please stay back, sir. Let us do our job.”

A pair of blond boys were watching from the front door. “Get the kids away, sir. Please!”

The boys stepped out onto the stoop. “Is he sick?”

“Please, Mr. Sutter. Get those boys inside.”

“Oh, fuck. This is impossible!” Pinto gasped. “His whole throat. .”

“It. . it’s open. Opened up. Like ripped open.”

“No. It’s burned. Totally burned. See the black skin around the hole? The skin is charred. It’s flaking off.”

Pavano turned away, his stomach tightening into a knot. The man’s throat had been cut or ripped open. He shut his eyes and still pictured the dark red flesh inside, blackened. A hole, a gaping hole in the man’s neck. Thick, dark blood caked down the front of the man’s suit, puddled in his lap.

Someone opened his throat and let him bleed out.

“How did this happen? How could it happen? Here in my driveway,” Sutter said, shaking his head.

“Mr. Sutter, please go in your house. Wait for us. And keep those boys away from the window. You don’t want them to see this.”

Sutter started to turn away, then stopped. “Hey, I remember you!”

Pavano ignored him and turned back to his partner. Pinto reached for the door handle, then thought better of it. “Fingerprints. Look. There’s blood smeared on the door here. Might be good fingerprints. We need backup here. We need an ME. We need the crime scene guys.”

Pavano raced back to the patrol car, flung the door open, and grabbed the radio. “Vince, we have a homicide here. We need backup. We need someone with a strong stomach.”

“I take it you don’t need an ambulance?”

“No. We don’t need an ambulance. This is a murder scene. We need CS guys. We have a man with a giant hole in his neck and-”

“Save the details, Andy. I’m eating my dinner. Ten-four.”

“Just hurry, Vince. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“You haven’t seen much-have you, Andy?”

Who told him he always has to have the last word? And who told him he couldn’t be serious even for a crime this horrible?

Pavano slammed the patrol car door and made his way back to Pinto. The big, older cop leaned with his hands on his waist, peering into the victim’s window. Finally he turned, removed his cap, and scratched his thinning flattop.

“It’s like a horror movie, Andy. The skin is all scorched. The hole is as big as a grapefruit. And it looks empty inside. Just burned skin.” He swallowed. His teeth clicked.

Never realized he has false teeth, Pavano thought. And then, why am I thinking about Chaz’s teeth when I’m staring at a guy with a giant knothole in his neck?

Pinto pulled Pavano back from the car. “Stop looking at him. Your face is green. No shit.”

Pavano nodded and turned his back on the Audi. It didn’t make him feel any better.

I came out to Sag Harbor to take it easy, get away from all the fucking crime in the city, maybe get back with Sari. What the hell happened here?

“We can’t do anything,” Pinto said. “Not till the crime scene guys get here. Let’s go inside and talk to that Sutter guy.”

Pavano nodded. “He acted totally innocent. That’s the first sign he did it, right?”

Pinto patted him on the back. “Too much TV, Andy.”

The sun had almost disappeared behind the house. The sky darkened to gray, and a cool breeze rattled the still-bare trees.

They stepped onto the front stoop. Pinto leaned close. “Andy, tell Sutter this time you got it right-the victim really is dead.”

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Pavano could feel his face turn hot. That rainy night on this doorstep had to be the worst moment of his life. And now here he was, ringing the doorbell again.

It took only a few seconds for Sutter to pull open the door. He had a glass of white wine in his right hand. Pavano saw the hand tremble. A few drips of wine spilled to the floor. “How did someone do that to him? Can you tell me?”

“Hard to say,” Pinto replied softly, eyes narrowed on Sutter.

Pavano didn’t see the blond boys, but he saw another boy, dark-haired, small, peering down from the top of the stairs.

“Dad, is everything okay? Why are the police here?”

“It’s okay, Ira. Go back to your room, all right?”

“But aren’t we going to finish dinner? My spaghetti’s getting cold.”

“We’ll finish dinner in a short while. Please-get up to your room. And tell Elena to stay up there, too.”

Sutter can’t hide how tense he is. Tense because he murdered the guy?

“Sir, I’m Officer Pinto. He’s Officer Pavano. As you can see, we’re from the Sag Harbor Police Department.”

Sutter gazed hard at Pavano. “We’ve met,” he said quietly.

“Sir, can we go somewhere more private?” Pinto had Sutter by the elbow.

“Sure. Come into my office. I can’t tell you much about Richard, but-”

“Is that his name? Richard? Do you know his full name?”

They stepped into the book-lined office. Pavano admired the dark wood, the big desk, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“Well, yes. His name is Richard Hulenberger.”

Pavano pulled out his phone. He brought up the memo app and typed in Richard Hulenberger. The phone had replaced the little black notebook that cops used to carry in their shirt pockets. Pavano missed his notebook. But he was grateful. He could never find a pencil to write with.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Pinto asked.

Sutter motioned for them to sit on the green leather couch. “A friend? No. First time I ever met him.” Hand still trembling, he set the wineglass down near the edge of the desktop.

The two cops remained standing. Pavano typed Not a friend into his phone.

Pinto shifted his weight. He gazed around the room. “Mr. Sutter, before we talk about anything else, I need to ask you one question.”

Pavano watched as Sutter jammed his hands into his jeans pocket.

“Yes. What?”

Pinto took a breath. For dramatic effect? “Mr. Sutter, do you own a blowtorch?”

Sutter blinked. “Why, yes. Yes, I do.”