Red Rain

31

A heavy silence for a moment.

Sutter lowered himself to the edge of the desk, hands still stuffed in his pockets. “I. . don’t understand. Why are you asking me about a blowtorch?”

“What kind of blowtorch do you have?” Pinto crossed his arms over his chest. Pavano noted on his phone: Blowtorch.

“Um. . let me think. It’s a fifteen-liter flame gun. I think that’s what it’s called. It’s propane. Do you want to see it? It’s in the garage.”

Pinto motioned for Sutter to sit still. “The crime scene officers will want to see it. Thank you. But I’d like to ask a few more questions first.” He rubbed his chin. “Fifteen-liter? That’s a pretty big mother. Why do you have it?”

Sutter twisted his face. Was he confused? Struggling to figure out why he was being questioned about his blowtorch. Or was he pretending?

Pavano admired Pinto for thinking of a blowtorch. It was a good notion. That man’s scorched neck wound could definitely be caused by a blowtorch.

“I use it for melting ice,” Sutter said. “You know. In the winter. Ice covers the front stoop. It gets treacherous. I melt ice off the driveway with it, too. Why are you asking me-?”

“So tell us, who is Richard. . whatsisname?” Pinto interrupted.

“Hulenberger. He’s from the Blakeman Institute. In the city.”

Pavano typed rapidly on the phone keyboard. He let Pinto ask the questions. Pinto was doing a good job. Pavano could see the Audi in the driveway from the office window. So far, the other cops hadn’t shown up.

“And you never met him? He drove here from the city because. .?”

“He wanted to meet with me. I’d applied for quite a large grant.”

“And he came to tell you. .?”

Sutter lowered his eyes to the floor. It took him a few seconds to answer. “He came to tell me they were turning me down. No grant.”

The bitterness in Sutter’s voice brought Pavano to attention. He felt his heart start to pound a little faster.

“He brought you bad news,” Pinto said softly. “Very bad news.”

Sutter nodded. He didn’t raise his eyes.

“And how did that make you feel? Angry? Fucking angry?”

Sutter raised his eyes. His face showed a new intensity. He pulled out his hands and held them tensely at his sides. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“I’m just askin’,” Pinto replied with a shrug. “Somebody brings me bad news, it makes me angry. You know? Kill the messenger? Know what I’m saying?”

“I’m a psychologist, Officer,” he said heatedly. “I think I know how to control my anger so that I don’t murder anyone who brings me disappointing news.”

“You’re a psychologist with a blowtorch?”

“I explained the blowtorch.” He uttered a cry of frustration. “Is that what happened out there? Are you telling me Richard was murdered with a blowtorch? He left my house, sat down in his car, and someone took a blowtorch to him in my driveway?”

Pinto made a calming motion with both hands. Pavano could see this guy was strung tight. But the situation would make anyone a little tense. And, he didn’t have much of a motive for killing Hulenberger. Not if he was telling the truth.

But was he hiding some things? Did he know Hulenberger better than he was letting on?

We should advise him to call his lawyer.

“It’s definitely a homicide, Mr. Sutter,” Pinto said, his hands still raised as if warding Sutter off. “The guy didn’t take a blowtorch to himself. The crime scene guys will want to see your blowtorch. And they’ll have a lot more questions. If you’d feel more comfortable with a lawyer present. .”

“Yes. I’ll call my lawyer. No. Wait. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything. Why do I need a lawyer?”

“Mr. Sutter, please take a deep breath,” Pinto said softly.

Pavano could see the turmoil in Sutter’s mind. His eyes were darting from side to side. He was thinking hard about something.

“I. . have to tell you one thing,” Sutter said, clasping his hands together in his lap. “There are fingerprints. I mean, I touched the car.”

Pinto raised one eyebrow. “Fingerprints?”

“I grabbed the side of the car. You know. The window. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know. I. . got blood on my hands. Blood from the side of the car. I was still washing it off when you drove up.”

Pinto gave Pavano a quick glance. Pinto was suspicious of this guy. “Thanks for telling us,” Pavano said, typing on his phone.

The doorbell rang. Pavano and Pinto followed Sutter into the hall. A woman carrying a little boy on her shoulder opened the front door. Pavano remembered her from the first time he was here.

A tall African-American man stepped into the entryway. He had a noticeably big, melon-shaped head, shaved bald, and a silver ring in one ear. He wore a baggy brown suit, wrinkled and frayed at the cuffs. He had a dark brown dress shirt underneath and a blue bow tie tilted under his chin.

“Can I help you?” Sutter motioned the woman away. “I’ll take care of this, Roz.”

The man ignored Sutter and approached Pavano and Pinto. “Are you the officers who discovered this?”

Both cops nodded.

“I’m Harrison. The ME.”

Pinto squinted at him. “You’re new?”

“I haven’t been new for thirty years. I’m from Riverhead. You’ve heard of it?”

“You’re an ME or a comedian?”

“I’m not as funny as your face. Let’s start again. There are CS guys dusting the car right now. Then they’ll sweep for fibers. You know. Stuff for the DNA lab guys. You’re familiar with that, right? Or are you new?”

“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.”