Free Fall

58

“You okay?” I ask when the bedroom door is securely closed.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“So, how much did you hear?”

“Not much. Just mom calling dad a wimp and Uncle Michael a homo.”

Little Arnie sits down on the edge of his bed.

“Does your mother say mean things like that about your father a lot?” I ask, even though I don’t think David Rosen is really Little Arnie’s father.

“Yeah. All the time.”

I can hear Ceepak and Judith’s muffled voices through the door. Well, actually, I can hear Judith. She is a loud drunk.

“Hey,” I say to Little Arnie, “if you ever feel like, you know, you’re in danger here, that you might get hurt, you can call me.” I give him one of my cards. “And right now, there’s a cop parked right in front of your house. Nice guy. Sal Santucci. He’ll be down there all day.”

“Thanks. So, is Franz Gruber the guy who gives surfing lessons over near Veggin’ On The Beach?”

“Yeah,” I say, hoping I can change the subject fast. I’m not a social worker and I think Little Arnie’s going to need one when he learns the truth about who his birth father really is.

I notice a photograph in a cardboard frame propped up on the dresser: Little Arnie and his dad, locked in their seats and screaming their heads off as they plummet down the StratosFEAR.

“So, how many times have you ridden the Free Fall?” I ask.

“A bunch. We get to ride for free. And they have these cameras that snap your picture when you’re like halfway down.”

“Awesome,” I say.

There’s a knock on the bedroom door.

“Danny?”

Ceepak.

“Yeah?”

“We need to roll.”

I open the door.

“Everything okay?”

He nods. “Is the boy safe?”

“I think so. He has my card and knows Santucci’s outside if his mom, you know …”

Another nod. Neither of us wants to get into gory details in front of Little Arnie.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Bill Botzong is e-mailing us a list of names and addresses.”

And Ceepak’s state-of-the-art cop car has a computer.

I turn around. Look Little Arnie in the eye. “You sure you’re okay here?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember. There’s a cop right outside.”

Arnie pulls back his curtains. Looks out the window.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“And if Sal can’t help you …”

Little Arnie smiles. “I’ll give you a call.”

“Excellent.”

The list Botzong and his MCU crew have pieced together is actually pretty short.

Guess there’s not that big of a demand for potassium cyanide in Sea Haven. Also, Ceepak informs me that it’s very expensive-over five hundred dollars for half a gram of the pure stuff.

None of our suspects’ names show up in Botzong’s report of recent sales:

Bobby McCue

Buggy Bobby’s Fumigation and Pest Control

25 Spruce Street

Clare Thalken Harrington

The Treasure Chest

2311 Ocean Avenue

David Magayna

Dave’s Roof Rat Removal Inc.

101 Swordfish Street

Cele Deemer

The Gold Coast Fine Jewelry

1510 Ocean Avenue

Bart Smith

Sinclair Enterprises

1500 Ocean Avenue

“Of course,” says Ceepak.

“What?”

“We need to head over to 1500 Ocean Avenue.”

“Sinclair Enterprises?”

“Yes. We need to talk to ‘Bart Smith.’ He is our murderer.”