Blow Out
Page 111
“Now Luciano is a seriously cute dog,” Callie said. “What’s his breed?”
Mr. Avery leaned close, whispered, “He’s a miniature poodle, but he doesn’t know it. If you asked him, he’d say he’s human.” He patted the dog, raised his voice, and waved them in. “All right, you come in and sit down. Marylee doesn’t use the sound on the TV, couldn’t hear it unless it was loud enough to blast out the neighbors, but she likes it on while she knits. Good lip-reader, Marylee.”
Mr. Avery settled himself in a matching La-Z-Boy, settled Luciano on his bony legs, and waved Ben and Callie to a very lovely brocade sofa opposite him.
“All right. Ask your questions, Detective Raven.”
“Let’s go over exactly where you were when you saw this man, Mr. Avery.”
“I was maybe twenty feet south of my house.”
“There was a half-moon last night, so that means light. Were you wearing your glasses?”
“Yep, have to when Luciano does his business because I gotta scoop it up. And I don’t want a car to run me down when Luciano wants to walk over to Madison Avenue, that’s one of his favorite areas around here.”
“Okay, so you saw a man. How old was he? What did you think when you saw him?”
“He wasn’t old, but gawldarn, Detective Raven, a guy’d have to be seventy before I wouldn’t think he was a kid. Okay, let’s say he was getting up there, middle age, fifties, I’d say. He was big, looked fit, no fat that I could tell. He was wearing a Burberry coat. I know Burberrys because that’s all my brother wears, the affected dufuss. I only noticed him because he was running. You don’t see that very often on a Saturday night in this neighborhood. No druggies hang out here, just good solid folks, like Marylee and me and Luciano. We’ve been here for forty-five years.”
“Where was his car parked?”
“About twenty feet north of my house, on this side, it was the only car out on the street. Like I said, this is a homey neighborhood, folks have garages and use them. No punks with cars up on blocks in their driveways or on the street.”
“You said it was a white car, maybe a pale gray?”
“I think now it was white.”
Callie beamed at him. “So you remember that now.”
“Yep, thought about it a lot, like Detective Raven said I’d do. I told the other cops it was a gray or white Toyota, late model, maybe a 2000 or a 2001, but I wasn’t all that sure at the time. Guess they had good reason not to take me seriously about it. I saw a couple of Toyotas today, and that’s what it was. The Toyota had two doors, not four. It was clean, even the radial tires.”
Ben said, “So the guy runs up to the driver’s side, pulls open the door, jumps in, starts the car, and peels away from the curb.”
Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “You know what—hey, Luciano, come back to Daddy—don’t chew on Marylee’s slipper!—good boy, that’s a good boy. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the thing is, now that I think about it, the car was already running.”
Ben didn’t move a muscle.
“That’s something else I remember now. You see, Detective Raven, there wasn’t time for this guy to run to the car, open the door, stick the key in the ignition, turn over the engine, and take off. Nope, he jumped in the driver’s side.” Mr. Avery snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember that clearly now. The car had to be running. And he didn’t have to open that door, it was already ajar.”
Ben, doubtful now, and hating it, hoping the cops weren’t right about Mr. Avery making things up, nonetheless said, “Were you going to call the FBI about remembering this, Mr. Avery?”
Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “Well, maybe, if they’d asked again, but I knew they were thinking I was just an old buzzard with pudding for brains and probably blind and deaf as a post, like poor Marylee. They sort of acted that way last night. I mean, they were respectful, and they nodded a lot, but you know, I saw them looking at each other when they didn’t think I’d notice. Why waste my time?” Mr. Avery paused a moment, then cursed. “Yeah, I would have called tomorrow, anyway. My pa was a cop, taught me what was right.”
“Good for you,” Callie said.
Ben sat forward, hands flexing on his knees. His eyes were bright, and he felt his heart begin to pound. “Well, I’m here, Mr. Avery, and it seems to me you’re as sound as I am, sir. Okay, then, were you saying there was someone else in the car?”
Both Callie and Ben waited to the sound of Marylee humming to the theme song of a television show no one could hear, her knitting needles clacking loud in the silence. Luciano was standing on his hind legs, his front paws on Mr. Avery’s knee, tail wagging, as if waiting to hear what his master was going to say, too.
Mr. Avery leaned close, whispered, “He’s a miniature poodle, but he doesn’t know it. If you asked him, he’d say he’s human.” He patted the dog, raised his voice, and waved them in. “All right, you come in and sit down. Marylee doesn’t use the sound on the TV, couldn’t hear it unless it was loud enough to blast out the neighbors, but she likes it on while she knits. Good lip-reader, Marylee.”
Mr. Avery settled himself in a matching La-Z-Boy, settled Luciano on his bony legs, and waved Ben and Callie to a very lovely brocade sofa opposite him.
“All right. Ask your questions, Detective Raven.”
“Let’s go over exactly where you were when you saw this man, Mr. Avery.”
“I was maybe twenty feet south of my house.”
“There was a half-moon last night, so that means light. Were you wearing your glasses?”
“Yep, have to when Luciano does his business because I gotta scoop it up. And I don’t want a car to run me down when Luciano wants to walk over to Madison Avenue, that’s one of his favorite areas around here.”
“Okay, so you saw a man. How old was he? What did you think when you saw him?”
“He wasn’t old, but gawldarn, Detective Raven, a guy’d have to be seventy before I wouldn’t think he was a kid. Okay, let’s say he was getting up there, middle age, fifties, I’d say. He was big, looked fit, no fat that I could tell. He was wearing a Burberry coat. I know Burberrys because that’s all my brother wears, the affected dufuss. I only noticed him because he was running. You don’t see that very often on a Saturday night in this neighborhood. No druggies hang out here, just good solid folks, like Marylee and me and Luciano. We’ve been here for forty-five years.”
“Where was his car parked?”
“About twenty feet north of my house, on this side, it was the only car out on the street. Like I said, this is a homey neighborhood, folks have garages and use them. No punks with cars up on blocks in their driveways or on the street.”
“You said it was a white car, maybe a pale gray?”
“I think now it was white.”
Callie beamed at him. “So you remember that now.”
“Yep, thought about it a lot, like Detective Raven said I’d do. I told the other cops it was a gray or white Toyota, late model, maybe a 2000 or a 2001, but I wasn’t all that sure at the time. Guess they had good reason not to take me seriously about it. I saw a couple of Toyotas today, and that’s what it was. The Toyota had two doors, not four. It was clean, even the radial tires.”
Ben said, “So the guy runs up to the driver’s side, pulls open the door, jumps in, starts the car, and peels away from the curb.”
Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “You know what—hey, Luciano, come back to Daddy—don’t chew on Marylee’s slipper!—good boy, that’s a good boy. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the thing is, now that I think about it, the car was already running.”
Ben didn’t move a muscle.
“That’s something else I remember now. You see, Detective Raven, there wasn’t time for this guy to run to the car, open the door, stick the key in the ignition, turn over the engine, and take off. Nope, he jumped in the driver’s side.” Mr. Avery snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember that clearly now. The car had to be running. And he didn’t have to open that door, it was already ajar.”
Ben, doubtful now, and hating it, hoping the cops weren’t right about Mr. Avery making things up, nonetheless said, “Were you going to call the FBI about remembering this, Mr. Avery?”
Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “Well, maybe, if they’d asked again, but I knew they were thinking I was just an old buzzard with pudding for brains and probably blind and deaf as a post, like poor Marylee. They sort of acted that way last night. I mean, they were respectful, and they nodded a lot, but you know, I saw them looking at each other when they didn’t think I’d notice. Why waste my time?” Mr. Avery paused a moment, then cursed. “Yeah, I would have called tomorrow, anyway. My pa was a cop, taught me what was right.”
“Good for you,” Callie said.
Ben sat forward, hands flexing on his knees. His eyes were bright, and he felt his heart begin to pound. “Well, I’m here, Mr. Avery, and it seems to me you’re as sound as I am, sir. Okay, then, were you saying there was someone else in the car?”
Both Callie and Ben waited to the sound of Marylee humming to the theme song of a television show no one could hear, her knitting needles clacking loud in the silence. Luciano was standing on his hind legs, his front paws on Mr. Avery’s knee, tail wagging, as if waiting to hear what his master was going to say, too.
