after one o’clock this morning,” he said. “Kid who works nights at the ferry terminal up in Kingston, on his way home to the Cove, found a white Toyota abandoned on Bond Road, lights on, motor running. Our dispatch called the county, and they sent a unit up to check it out. Hell, what are we standing here in the rain for? Let’s go into the lobby and get dry.”
In the lobby of the Old Schooner they found a pair of vinyl-covered armchairs and a coffee urn. A friend of the Zoltens was minding the counter as the motel’s few guests checked out in dribs and drabs.
“Anyway,” continued Stu in a low voice, with a cup of fresh coffee warming his hands, “the license number belonged to Mrs. Anita Solheim, a divorcee who lives with her son and daughter here in the Cove. The dispatcher called me, and I called Mrs. Solheim. It seems that her daughter had taken the car up to Kingston last night, where she and a couple of girlfriends were supposed to see a movie and eat a little pizza afterwards. Naturally, Anita was frantic—didn’t even know Leah hadn’t come home yet. Is it any wonder kids get in trouble, when their parents don’t keep any closer tabs than that?” He sipped his coffee. “The other two girls were Gina Walsh and Teri Zolten.”
“How about Gina and Leah?” asked Carl. “Are they safe?”
“They’re both home with their families, which may be a minor miracle in itself, considering who they spent most of the night with.” Stu went on to explain that the girls had paired up with two of the town’s most notorious teenaged subhumans, Jason Hagstad and Kirk Tanner, whom police had pulled over on Bond Road for drunken driving later that morning, shortly before dawn. Teri Zolten had not been with them.
“They’d put down almost a case of beer among them,” said Stu, “and we knew from the paraphernalia we found in Tanner’s car that they’d been doing grass and crack, too. And judging from the wet stains on the seats, they’d been having an orgy that would’ve made Xaviera Hollander envious. They were all so loaded that it’s a wonder they didn’t end up splattered all over the road. We finally got Leah Solheim sober enough to admit that she’d given her mother’s car to Teri after the movie, because Teri wasn’t in the mood to party, or something like that. Teri was supposed to park the car up the block from the Zoltens’ and leave the key in it.”
“And that’s it? Teri left the Toyota in the middle of Bond Road, engine running and lights on?”
“That’s it,” confirmed Stu. “ Almost. ”
“What do you mean?”
Stu gazed a moment into his coffee cup, inhaling steam, frowning with deep furrows that Carl could not remember him having. Stu Bromton was beginning to look old.
“I checked out the Toyota myself,” he said finally. “If you can make anything out of this, be sure and let me know: When I opened the door—it was the passenger’s—I was hit with this... this incredible stink. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like something—no, it was worse than a sewer, worse than an open grave. I tell you, it made me want to blow my breakfast. Good thing I hadn’t eaten any.”
Carl studied the large, freckled face of his friend, then looked away, because it had taken on that haunted look again. “A stink like a sewer or a grave, you say. What could’ve caused it?”
“You got me by the ass. But there was one other thing: the passenger’s seat. It was all filthy and grimy, almost moldy. Anita Solheim said the car was cleaner than Mother Hubbard’s cupboard when her daughter took it to Kingston, and hell, it’s brand new. Except for the passenger’s seat, there isn’t a spot on it anywhere.”
“So you’re telling me that whoever got to Teri Zolten, whoever flagged her down and dragged her away—”
“If that’s in fact what happened. There were no signs of a struggle.”
“Whoever this was, he was one rotten son of a bitch—and I mean that
In the lobby of the Old Schooner they found a pair of vinyl-covered armchairs and a coffee urn. A friend of the Zoltens was minding the counter as the motel’s few guests checked out in dribs and drabs.
“Anyway,” continued Stu in a low voice, with a cup of fresh coffee warming his hands, “the license number belonged to Mrs. Anita Solheim, a divorcee who lives with her son and daughter here in the Cove. The dispatcher called me, and I called Mrs. Solheim. It seems that her daughter had taken the car up to Kingston last night, where she and a couple of girlfriends were supposed to see a movie and eat a little pizza afterwards. Naturally, Anita was frantic—didn’t even know Leah hadn’t come home yet. Is it any wonder kids get in trouble, when their parents don’t keep any closer tabs than that?” He sipped his coffee. “The other two girls were Gina Walsh and Teri Zolten.”
“How about Gina and Leah?” asked Carl. “Are they safe?”
“They’re both home with their families, which may be a minor miracle in itself, considering who they spent most of the night with.” Stu went on to explain that the girls had paired up with two of the town’s most notorious teenaged subhumans, Jason Hagstad and Kirk Tanner, whom police had pulled over on Bond Road for drunken driving later that morning, shortly before dawn. Teri Zolten had not been with them.
“They’d put down almost a case of beer among them,” said Stu, “and we knew from the paraphernalia we found in Tanner’s car that they’d been doing grass and crack, too. And judging from the wet stains on the seats, they’d been having an orgy that would’ve made Xaviera Hollander envious. They were all so loaded that it’s a wonder they didn’t end up splattered all over the road. We finally got Leah Solheim sober enough to admit that she’d given her mother’s car to Teri after the movie, because Teri wasn’t in the mood to party, or something like that. Teri was supposed to park the car up the block from the Zoltens’ and leave the key in it.”
“And that’s it? Teri left the Toyota in the middle of Bond Road, engine running and lights on?”
“That’s it,” confirmed Stu. “ Almost. ”
“What do you mean?”
Stu gazed a moment into his coffee cup, inhaling steam, frowning with deep furrows that Carl could not remember him having. Stu Bromton was beginning to look old.
“I checked out the Toyota myself,” he said finally. “If you can make anything out of this, be sure and let me know: When I opened the door—it was the passenger’s—I was hit with this... this incredible stink. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like something—no, it was worse than a sewer, worse than an open grave. I tell you, it made me want to blow my breakfast. Good thing I hadn’t eaten any.”
Carl studied the large, freckled face of his friend, then looked away, because it had taken on that haunted look again. “A stink like a sewer or a grave, you say. What could’ve caused it?”
“You got me by the ass. But there was one other thing: the passenger’s seat. It was all filthy and grimy, almost moldy. Anita Solheim said the car was cleaner than Mother Hubbard’s cupboard when her daughter took it to Kingston, and hell, it’s brand new. Except for the passenger’s seat, there isn’t a spot on it anywhere.”
“So you’re telling me that whoever got to Teri Zolten, whoever flagged her down and dragged her away—”
“If that’s in fact what happened. There were no signs of a struggle.”
“Whoever this was, he was one rotten son of a bitch—and I mean that
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