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Anatoe had given JT a heads up.
“Come on in.” They strode along a well-rutted track across a brown yard, the two kids shoving in behind. “You guys go play.”
“I want to see too,” the boy whined in a squeaky, high-pitched cry.
“I don’t think so. Beat it.”
Both children raced to the rear, shrieking and howling with delight.
“Kids.”
The interior wasn’t much better than the exterior. Patches of mold mottled the dirt-encrusted windows. The walls had turned from an off-white to an off-yellow from tobacco. The living room had three couches, each rattier than the next. They were wedged into an unbelievably tiny space. A coffee table held several ashtrays, not overflowing, but getting there. Eckhart scrunched her face, wiggling her snout. The place smelled bad, smoky and of dead stuff.
“Have a seat.” JT punched out a puff of blue smoke toward the ceiling.
Both detectives made their way through the toy trap and squatted on the brink of their chairs. Eckhart squirmed. JT plunged backward into his spot—front line to the television, remote on the arm of the lounge.
“So, what’s up?” A red stone on his hand flashed even in the dingy light.
Gibson recognized the ring.
“You were at the fireworks? At Felton’s house, right?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Who did you come down with?”
“Logan, my buddy. He drove. Let me think. Joe and Ben.” He crushed his fag into the closest ashtray. A quantity of butts slipped onto the table.
“Last names?”
Eckhart scribbled in her journal, puckering her lips, trying not to inhale.
“Are they all from the same fraternity?” Gibson asked.
“Yeah, sure. Alpha Zee.” JT peered at Eckhart and presented a lopsided smirk. He crossed his tongue over his bottom lip. She ignored him.
“We found this at the crime scene.” Gibson plucked a photo from his pocket and tossed it over.
“Not mine,” JT said and flashed his ring in front of his face.
“I see that. Anybody missing one?”
“Not sure.” He picked up his pack of smokes, studied Eckhart, and then pitched them back onto the coffee table.
“Any guesses?” Gibson asked.
“How should I know? Maybe an ex-girlfriend or something?”
“Have you seen Gregory lately?” Gibson thrust that in as indifferently as he could.
“No. Not since the fireworks.”
“How did you happen to even be there?”
“Blinkers invited us,” JT said.
“Who?”
“Anatoe. We call him Blinkers. You know. His eye.” JT smirked.
“Why did he invite you? Because you’re fraternity brothers.”
“No. He’s a cousin of sorts. He shows up here all the time. Usually on weekends.”
“When was he out last?”
“A month ago, I guess?” JT replied.
“Okay. So back to the fireworks. Did any of you guys leave before they started?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“Go down to the beach?” Gibson asked.
“No.” JT narrowed his eyes. “None of us even knew Elsie if that’s what you’re getting at?” He hesitated. “I’ve met Todd though.”
“What? Her husband?”
“Yeah, he was here one day, hunting down Anatoe.”
Gibson took a quick look at Eckhart and glowered. “When was this?”
“A month ago. He paraded in, right after Anatoe got here.”
Eckhart watched him light up another fag. JT trapped the smoke in his mouth. He blew swirls out between his lips into perfect rings that scattered when they hit the wall. She felt dizzy and coughed, trying hard not to let it turn into a long fit of choking. Gibson remained mum, letting the guy reveal the story his own way. When JT flicked the cigarette toward the ashtray, the ash sprinkled onto the rug. He inhaled another round and continued.
“Todd confronted Anatoe. Told him to stay away from Savannah. Anatoe was chill though. Offered him a beer and they talked. Todd stuck around for several hours.” He crushed the butt and stared at Gibson with hardened eyes and a clenched jaw.
Gibson gestured, giving permission to proceed.
“Some ladies came over. It turned into a party. Todd became chummy with Sue. I think it was her. I was tipsy by then. He took off with someone.”
A ghost walked through Gibson. He shivered. “Are you claiming he left with a young woman?”
“Yeah, that’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“Oh, shit.” Gibson muttered under his breath.
Eckhart placed her hand over her mouth.
“So, you have a number or address?”
“No, I don’t know her personally, but Cindy will,” JT said.
Eckhart wrote in her notebook.
Gibson stood up. He turned toward the door. When he got there, he looked back at JT. “Don’t call her,” he said stiffly.
The guy lit up another smoke and shrugged. The kids came flying at the sound of the Expedition firing up. They pawed at the clean truck, leaving baby prints along the bottom panels.
“Take us for a spin?”
Eckhart rolled down the window. “Not today. Look out. Don’t want to run you over.”
The boy snatched his younger brother’s hand and tugged him aside. Eckhart backed up warily and tooted the horn as they rode away.
“Holy shit! Todd. Did he cheat on Elsie?” Eckhart said.
“Let’s find out. Cindy’s place is just off Kerman Road. Not far from here.”
After a few turns in the road, they made it to their destination. Gibson pointed to a modest dwelling adjacent to the freeway, massive power lines passing through the neighbourhood. “Bet you can hear those suckers buzz in the rain.”
“Yuck.”
“JT said on the right side. Basement suite.”
“Okay.”
Gibson rapped lightly on the doorframe. No answer, so he knocked again. A crack opened. A young girl with snarled hair and shabby clothes peered through the slim gap. She was scrawny as if drugs had a grip on her.
“What do you want?”
“Are you Cindy?”
“Who wants to know?” She eyed them suspiciously.
Oh brother. Gibson pulled out his badge.
“Yeah.” She shrunk into herself.
“Do you know Sue Reynolds?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have a number for her?”
“No.” She pushed on the door to close it.
“JT says you do.” Gibson stuck his foot in the way.
“My cell isn’t working.”
“Address?” Gibson barked.
She gave them an address and shut out the world with a bang.
* * *
The ancient wood-framed apartment on Parker Road was easy to locate because he knew someone that had lived nearby from that long-ago time. The rumble of a thousand automobiles resonated down the street from the highway barely a spit’s distance to the north. They slipped through the unsecured entrance and walked down a corridor that stank of a concoction of several countries. Gibson knocked on the flimsy door. A woman responded instantly. She lifted her eyebrows at his handsome face, flipped her mane and suggested in a silky voice, “May I help you?” She batted her lashes. Suddenly, she detected Eckhart standing at the side. She pouted, drawing her red lips down at the corners.
“Are you Sue Reynolds?” Gibson flashed his badge.
“Yes.” She reached back and gathered her locks into a bunch, twisting a scrunchy off her wrist to secure her hair into a high ponytail. “Oh, come on in.”
They went down a tight hallway to a respectable living room, painted a pastel colour. The sliding door faced the freeway. The detectives sat on a pink lounge covered with a quilt made up of every shade of pink imaginable. Sue perched herself on the edge of a loveseat.
“Do you know a Todd Webber?”
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