Sticks and Stones Page 11

  Dan lifted his hand to his chin, obviously thinking about something.

  “What?” Leah asked.

  “Just . . . well . . . it just makes more sense, now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It just didn’t sit well with me that someone would go from having no record to slaughterin’ folk for fun.”

  “Dan, he boosted a stereo. That’s hardly the same as—”

  “Doesn’t matter. He did time. Bein’ in the joint changes a person. Especially when you’re young. Even in youth detention centers.”

  “Yeah, well, after that he got drafted for ’Nam. I talked to his pa this morning. Said Harry came back a lot different from how he was when he left.”

  Dan looked at the floor, his face rigid. “How so?”

  “Well, his pa said he had PTSD, but he was honorably discharged for psychological problems affecting his ability to do his job. They reckoned he already had them before the war. So I think it’s something more than just PTSD.”

  “There’s no ‘just’ PTSD, Leah. PTSD is a huge thing.”

  “Yeah, but . . . his brother. His twin . . . they’re identical. He’s got schizophrenia or somethin’. Apparently, pretty bad. That sort of thing can be genetic.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be.”

  “No,” Leah said. “You’re right. Chris, have you found out how likely it is for twins to both have schizophrenia?”

  “Jesus,” Chris said. “How much do you want from me in twelve hours? I can only do one thing at a time.”

  “Okay, okay,” Leah said. “I just thought you might’ve looked into it.”

  “I know I might look like Superman—I mean, if Superman was black—but I don’t have any real superpowers.”

  Dan took the scribbled notes. “I dunno,” he said, looking them over. “Getting juvie records like this? I’m goin’ to have to disagree.”

  CHAPTER 11

  After spending a couple of hours with Dan at the station, Leah sent Dan home to her house with her key. She’d already set out some blankets and a pillow for him this morning before she left. Dan would be sleeping on the sofa. It had only been six months, and Leah still felt uncomfortable about sharing a bed with the man while her kids were home. Dan had started to argue the point, but quickly acquiesced. “Besides,” he had said, “I do have to get some work done. And I like to start after midnight. Probably a time you like to be sawing logs.”

  Leah had laughed and said, “Yeah, probably,” but inside she felt conflicted. She already knew from experience that Dan’s idea of working involved not only late hours but a half bottle or so of Jim Beam.

  At first, she didn’t think about it, but the more she had to deal with his obvious addiction problems, the harder it became for her to wear the happy face. Oh well, he’d be out in the living room on the sofa and the kids would be in bed by then. So, she thought, out of sight, out of mind.

  Leah pulled to the side of the road right out front of Tommy Stork’s shotgun shack on Rodman Road. His house looked out of place here, surrounded by fields of ranchland. Most of the structures she passed on her way up were farmhouses and barns set way off from the road behind fields of cattle, cotton, and corn. Tommy’s shack looked like a pimple ready to pop on an otherwise clear porcelain doll–like face. The land surrounding it was flat and full of witchgrass and stretched way back to a tree line far off in the distance. It brought a memory of a picture she’d formed in her head one night while her pa thought she was sleeping and had what he assumed was a discreet conversation with Officer Peter Strident about some details of the night he shot Harry Stork dead.

  Tommy’s house looked a lot like the one she imagined Harry in. There was no driveway, and a pomegranate-colored Ford Fairmont was parked on the ground between the road and the house. The shack’s wooden siding was a faded pale green and the door was a rusty red. Leah walked across the dusty ground, avoiding the car. Up close, she noticed cracks in the door where the original light brown wood showed as deep splinters.

  She knocked.

  It took so long for anyone to answer that she was on the verge of turning back to her car when she heard a slide lock on the other side. The door opened, revealing a man slightly taller than herself with sandy black hair and green eyes she felt she recognized as being the eyes of Noah Stork. Only these ones belonged to his son. They were the spitting image of each other except for the gash running down the left side of Tommy’s face. Although she’d seen the photograph in the files, nothing could really prepare her for what the scar looked like up close. It hadn’t healed well, and Leah hoped her face managed to hide the visceral reaction it brought to her.

  “Mr. Stork?” she asked. “I’m Detective Teal from the Alvin Police Department? I was wonderin’ if we could talk for a spell?”

  “Yeah?” Stork said. “Was wonderin’ when you’d show up.”

  “You were figuring I’d be comin’?” Leah asked. “Now, why’s that, Mr. Stork?”

  “You’re here ’bout that murder, ain’t ya?”

  Leah stared into his eyes. Although they were clear and bright, she got the distinct feeling nothing else about the man was. It was near on the exact opposite of the way she felt about his pa. “I am,” she said. “What do you know about it?”

  “Just what’s on the TV.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I dunno. Seems like another Stickman killin’.”

  Leah nodded slightly. “It does, but it’s not.”

  “I heard your report. I think it’s full of shit.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “On account of if you had evidence pointin’ directly to a suspect, you would be questionin’ him, not me.”

  “So why do you reckon I’ve come to your door?” Leah asked.

  “Because, just like last time, y’all is graspin’ at straws. And back then it wound up not bein’ me. And this time it ain’t neither.”

  Leah couldn’t imagine Tommy living with his pa. Having now met them both, they were nothing at all alike. She could see why Noah was frustrated.

  “Do you miss your brother?” she asked.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Seems like an easy one.”

  “ ’Course I do. Been a long time, though.”

  “It has. Funny how a new murder matchin’ the old Stickman ones just popped up after all this time.”

  She waited for Stork to respond, but no response came. Finally, he just shrugged. Leah’s eyes were drawn to the man’s right hand, where his middle finger and index finger didn’t go any farther than the lower knuckle. Tommy saw her studying it and put both hands in the pockets of his dungarees.

  “I understand you suffer from mental illness,” Leah said.

  Another shrug. “Dunno ’bout that.”

  “Your pa says you do.”

  “My pa says lots of shit.”

  “What about the doctors?” Leah asked.

  “What about ’em?”

  “What do they say?”

  “I reckon they ain’t that smart.” Tommy pushed himself up on his toes and scanned the horizon behind Leah. She took a quick glance behind her, trying to figure out what had his attention, but there was nothing there. Just an old timber-framed barn that looked as though at one time it had sheathing covering the clapboards. Now, from where Leah stood, the sheathing was mostly gone and time had turned the siding a dark gray. It stood two empty fields away, surrounded by dirt that was overgrown with witchgrass.

  “You still on medication?” Leah asked Tommy.

  “I don’t reckon that’s any of your business, ma’am.”

  “When was the last time you had an encounter with the police, Mr. Stork?”

  He thought long and hard, and again his attention went to an area behind Leah. “I dunno. I s’pose right before y’all killed my brother.”

  “And before that?”

  He dropped his gaze and looked at her. “Probably when I got this,” he said, and his left h
and came out of his pocket and traced the scar from the top of his lip to where it ended just short of his eye.

  “Bar fight up near Birmingham, right?”

  “You seem to know a lot ’bout me already.”

  “Just what’s in the reports. How did you get the . . .” She accidentally stumbled and started over. “What was the cause of your scar?”

  “I gave the bastard a left hook and went in for a right, but he came up with a broken bottle.”

  “What started the fight?”

  Stork inhaled deeply, stuffed his hand back in the pocket. “Him and his friend were makin’ fun of me. They’s sayin’ I lost my fingers on purpose so I wouldn’t have to go fight in ’Nam.”

  “Do you always get violent when people make fun of you?”

  Stork thought for a moment, scratched the back of his neck, and replied, “I was pretty drunk that night.”

  “I see. How often do you drink?”

  “Not so much now. With my meds, I tend to fall asleep if I drink too much.”

  “So you are on medication,” Leah said.

  “S’pose so.”

  “When was the last time you were hospitalized for it?”

  Another pause went by while he considered this. “I don’t reckon I can recall,” he said.

  “In the past year? Two years? Surely you have some idea.”

  His eyes gripped hers. “I said I don’t recall, ma’am.”

  “Your pa says you get hospitalized a lot.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s the one who’s schizo. Not me. He just likes to tell people that. Like the doctors.”

  Leah narrowed her eyes. “Now, why would your pa make up something like you havin’ a medical disorder?”

  “On account of he doesn’t care so much for me. He uses it as an excuse as to why I ain’t perfect like him or like Harry was before he came home all messed up.”

  “When you say you’re not perfect, what do you mean? Not perfect at what?”

  He scratched his neck again. “Behavin’, I guess. Harry never got into no fights or nothin’. Well, ’cept for when he was in ’Nam, but that’s different, least to my pa it is.”

  “You lived with your pa quite a while, didn’t you? Seems strange to me you would stay with someone you feel so strongly about.”

  “Yeah, back then I didn’t know how much of a liar he is. Practically everythin’ comes outta his mouth is a lie. I ain’t got no ‘mental illness,’ I just have problems. Normal problems. Everyone’s got problems.”

  “Okay.” Leah decided to drop the schizophrenia for now and try a different tack. “Do you own a gun, Mr. Stork?”

  A long time went by as he carefully studied the world off in the distance. Finally, he said, “Nope. Sure don’t.”

  “For certain?” Leah asked. “You seemed to think on that a long while before answerin’.”

  “I’m sure. I ain’t got no guns.”

  “Not even a shotgun for huntin’?”

  Something flashed in his green eyes. He once again fixed his gaze on Leah. “I told ya! I ain’t got no guns!”

  “I can come back with a warrant, you know.”

  Again he fell silent. This time he studied the floor while coming up with a response. “No guns,” he said, looking back up. “Just like I told ya, I ain’t got no guns.”

  “What were you doing Tuesday evening between five and nine?” Leah asked.

  This time, Stork answered right away. “Was sittin’ on my couch watchin’ the TV.”

  “You came up with that pretty quick. You sure you were here? Don’t want to think about it a bit?”

  “No, damn straight I know where I was,” he said. “I watch Mod Squad Tuesdays. It don’t end till eight-thirty.”

  “You watch it every Tuesday?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can anyone confirm you were here watching television?”

  “What do ya mean?”

  “Did you have anyone with you? Did you call anyone on the phone during that time? Did anyone happen to come to your door?”

  “Nope. I told ya. I was watchin’ Mod Squad. I wasn’t talkin’ to nobody.”

  Leah let out a big breath. “I see. One more question. Do you own any boots?”

  Stork’s eyes partially closed while he examined Leah’s face. “That’s a strange question to ask someone,” he finally replied.

  “Can you please answer it?” Leah asked.

  “Of course I own boots. Who the hell doesn’t own boots?”

  “How many pairs of boots you own?”

  Leah had been holding her pad the whole time she’d been talking to Stork, but so far she’d only written but a few notes. There really wasn’t much to write. Now she thought she might be coming to something of value.

  “Three, I reckon.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “Do you count hip waders?”

  Leah shook her head. “No, just proper boots.”

  “Three then,” Stork said. Then: “No, wait, four. I still have my old Timberlands with the sole comin’ off. I haven’t tossed ’em yet. So it’s four.”

  “Can I see them?”

  He blinked. “You wanna see my boots?”

  Leah nodded.

  “All of ’em?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, hang on a minute.”

  Leaving the door ajar, he walked down and disappeared in one of the rooms in the center of the shack. Leah could hear him start rummaging. It sounded like he was pulling stuff off of shelves or going through a cluttered closet. She took the opportunity to reach out and push the door open wider. Craning her neck, she took a look inside the first room of the shack. It was a living room with two worn sofa chairs, one forest green, the other a beige. Both were torn in several places and the stuffing popped from the armrest of one. The beige had been repaired several times with silver duct tape.

  A small round table stood between them, and across the room a twelve-inch TV with rabbit ears sat upon two upturned crates. The television was turned on and the picture was fuzzy. Tommy had been watching an I Love Lucy rerun. Now that the door was open, Leah heard Ricky Ricardo’s distinct voice and the ubiquitous laugh track coming from the set in a wave of static.

  The room was a sea of empty bottles—mostly beer, but Leah also made out at least a dozen wine and alcohol bottles, too. They covered the table and the floor. Pizza and other takeout boxes were scattered among them. One empty pizza box balanced open wide on the back of the green sofa chair. There was a distinct smell of sourness, like when milk turns. Flies buzzed around and the dead air hung hot and heavy inside the room.

  Leah shook her head, once again comparing in her mind the difference between this place and Noah Stork’s spotless home. She could not get her head around what the two living together could possibly have been like.

  Hearing Tommy’s rummaging come to a stop, she quickly pulled the door back a bit and stood up straight. He came down the hall awkwardly carrying eight boots. It seemed especially awkward for him on account of missing those two fingers.

  Arriving at the threshold, he simply dropped everything in his hands. The boots hit the wooden floor with a bang. “These are all my boots,” he said, his breathing labored.

  Leah crouched down and went through them, setting them up straight and pairing them together. When she was done, she discovered he had a pair of gum boots, cowboy boots, and two different sorts of work boots. She took the left one of each pair and looked at the soles, trying to remember the sole of the “jump boot” print Ethan and Chris had put in the file.

  The gum boots definitely weren’t a match. Neither were the cowboy boots—they had a slight heel. The work boots she wasn’t sure about. One pair had Timberland written in the center of the sole, but the rest of the tread could be a match. Sure enough, the sole of Tommy’s right Timberland boot was barely hanging on to the rest of it. She doubted he would’ve been able to walk in it.

  The other work boot was leather an
d looked fairly new. The boots and the soles were tan-colored and the tread looked to Leah like it was similar to the one in the Polaroid. She looked inside the boot for the brand and the size. They were US Men size eight and made by Tomis. The company name didn’t sound familiar, but Leah couldn’t exactly remember what Chuck from Mobile had told her. She also wasn’t entirely sure what a “jump boot” looked like, so she wrote all of the boot information on her pad.

  Standing back up, she thanked Tommy for being so forthcoming with the boots.

  “Why’d you wanna see my boots? What did you write?”

  She shook her head. “Nothin’ important.”

  “You wrote somethin’.”

  “Really, it’s nothin’ important.”

  Stork sighed but gave up asking any more questions.

  Leah poised her pen over her pad. “Do you have a telephone number I can call you at if I have any more questions?”

  Stork shook his head. “Phone’s disconnected.”

  “Okay then, I suppose if I need anything else I’ll just have to drop by again. You’re okay with that? Not planning on leaving town in the next while or nothin’?”

  “No plans.”

  “Good. Well, Mr. Stork, I reckon that’s about all I have to ask you today. I hope you have a good afternoon.”

  Leah took one last look at her pad where, at the top of the page, she’d written Tommy Stork’s name. Now she circled it. Twice. Then she put the pad back in her pocket and said good-bye before turning around and heading back to her car. Behind her, she felt Tommy’s gaze leave her before he closed the door.

  As she got behind the steering wheel of her Bonneville, she thought about what she learned from this interview, deciding she only knew one thing for certain. And that was the fact that Tommy Stork lied at least once.

  He definitely owned a gun.

  CHAPTER 12

  One of the perks of having Jonathon as a boyfriend was that he had a car. A silver 1982 Nissan Sentra, not the greatest car in the world being seven years old, but it sure beat having no car at all. Even still, Carry and Jonathon did a lot of walking. Carry liked walking because he would hold her hand the whole time. In the car, he occasionally held her hand, but it didn’t seem as intimate.