R. Stine - Red Rain

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.”

Aheavy 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.”