Part 16 (2/2)
I pulled the car over to the curb and worked on calming Spinelli down. ”Dominic. Slow down. Where are you?”
”We're out front of the residence on Monroe. Tony, it happened so fast.”
”What happened, Dominic?”
”They blew him up, Tony. Jesus, they blew Howard Snow right the f.u.c.k up!”
”Dominic. Dominic. Calm down. Stay with me. Are you all right?”
”Yes, yes. I'm fine.”
”Where is Carlos? Is he all right?”
”Carlos is fine. We're both fine. Jesus, will you stay back? Let the fire truck in.”
I was sure that last part was not meant for me. ”Dominic. Are you there? Come back. Tell me what's happening.”
”Yeah, I'm here. Auh, Tony, man. It's chaos. I'm tellin' ya. The Hummer is gone. They blew the f.u.c.ker sky-high with Snow in it. We saw the whole thing. There's nothing left.”
”All right, Dominic, listen to me. I'm heading your way now. Get with Carlos. See if you can locate the owner of the house. Hold him there until I reach you. You got that?”
”Yeah, yeah. I got it. Hurry, Tony.”
I dropped the car into drive and laid a patch of rubber in the street thirty feet long. It was six miles from where I pulled over to the house on Monroe Street. I made it there in less than five minutes. That was without lights and siren.
Dominic described the scene to me over the phone as chaotic. I suppose it might have been chaotic immediately after the explosion, but more likely it was his adrenalin talking. That's not to say things were not interesting. Nearly a hundred people from throughout the neighborhood gathered to check things out. Thick black smoke rising over the rooftops can pose a strong attraction for the concerned and curious.
Fire trucks, police cruisers and ambulances lined the curb from one end of Monroe to the other, forcing me to park on the next block over. By the time I got to the scene, the fire was out. The only things recognizable were the skeletal frame of the Hummer and some twisted chunks of sheet metal from the doors, hood and roof that had blown yards away. As far as a body, well, there was nothing left.
I caught up with Carlos and Spinelli inside the residence of Howard Snow's old roommate, a man named Leonard Dwyer. Not surprisingly, Dwyer was not there.
”How did you get in?” I asked Carlos.
He pointed to the door. ”It was open.”
”Unlocked?”
”No. Opened. The screen door was shut, but this one was wide open.”
”Anyone home?”
”Doesn't look like it. We called out to identify ourselves upon entry. No one answered. I cleared the downstairs. Dominic took upstairs. He's checking the bas.e.m.e.nt now.”
”Nothing so far?”
He gestured toward the kitchen. ”No, but we didn't miss someone by much. There are two iced teas on the table. Lots of ice. Little condensation. The back door was open, too.”
”I'm not surprise.” I looked around the room. ”Place doesn't look disturbed. Whoever killed Snow must have been satisfied with that.”
”Do you want to put an APB out for Dwyer?”
”Yes. Do that.”
”Tony.” Spinelli came up from the bas.e.m.e.nt carrying a flashlight in one hand, his weapon in the other.”
”Dominic. You all right?”
”Sure. Fine.”
I pointed at his weapon. ”You can put that away.”
He looked at it as if he had forgotten he had it. ”Oh, right.” I noticed he holstered it backwards.
”Listen. Carlos and I were talking. I want you to put an APB out for Dwyer.”
”You got it. You want me to put one out for his wife, too?”
”His wife?”
”Yeah. I suppose he has a wife. We found a woman's handbag on the chair there.” He pointed to an overstuffed wingback in the parlor.
I walked over and picked it up. ”Did you check it out?”
”Sure,” said Carlos. ”There's no ID in it.”
I frisked through the bag's contents briefly before tossing it back on the chair. ”Yes, make sure you indicate Dwyer may be traveling with a female companion.”
”Roger that.”
”So, what do we do now?” asked Carlos.
I shook my head. ”I'm not sure, but I have to tell you. There is no way in h.e.l.l someone is blowing up people and houses all over town because of some stupid corn syrup subst.i.tute. I think we have to get to the bottom of that question first and foremost.”
”Back to see Ferguson?”
”I think we have to.”
”He won't tell you anything,” Dominic remarked.
”He has to,” I said.
”He won't, especially now with Snow blown to smithereens. He's going to clam up like a bear trap.”
”What do you suggest?”
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