Small Apartments by Chris Millis Read Free Book Online Page A

the autopsy is performed. He’s calling it an ‘open investigation’.”
    “Mmm-hmm,” said Burt. “I got two questions right off the bat. One is, if this fella started the fire himself, by accident say, why didn’t he run out of the barn? Even if he spilled gasoline all over himself from head to toe, and was getting burned up in the most hopeless sort of manner, the man would run around like a chicken trying to put out the flames. This fella here, he just burns himself up and drops right in front of his worktable. He’s even still got the hammer in his hand. Unless this fella was part lemming, I’ve never known anybody to give up that easy.”
    “Can’t argue there,” said Billy.
    “The second question is, where’s this fella’s vehicle?”
    “Fred says he’s got two vehicles registered to him. He’s got a 1987 Lincoln Continental, which as you saw is under a few hundred pounds of lumber in that barn stall over there. And he’s got a 1994 Chevy S-10 pickup.”
    “Well there ain’t no engine in that Continental,” said Burt. “So unless he was pushing that around town, he’s been driving the Chevy.”
    “Well there’s no sign of the Chevy truck on the property,” said Billy.
    “Mmm,” said Burt. “Well there ain’t nothing right about that.”
    Erie County Sheriff Fred McNally finished talking with one of his deputies and walked over to where Burt Walnut and Billy Browski were standing. The three men had known each other for more than forty years. They were hometown boys. They grew up playing the same sports and competing for the same girlfriends. Fred removed his tan cowboy hat and scratched his short, salt and pepper hair.
    “This fella’s got a daughter lives in Phoenix,” said Fred. “I’ve got to head back to the office and call her.”
    “Billy said this fella’s got a Chevy truck still unaccounted for,” said Burt.
    “That’s right. I put out an APB on it,” said Fred.
    “You mind if I sniff around the house?” asked Burt.
    “There weren’t no fire in there,” said Fred, smiling. “Not unless he was baking cookies while he was out in the barn. No, I don’t mind. I got a couple deputies going through there right now. What’s your take on this barn fire, Burt?”
    “A lot of things don’t add up. It don’t strike me at first glance as accidental.”
    “Maybe this fella was just crazy,” offered Billy. “Like that bald fella is always saying on the TV talk shows. His mind was
unfettered
and
uncooked
. What’s that guy’s name?”
    “Mennox,” said Fred. “My wife reads all his books. She says I need to stay mentally strong, or some such. She says this job of mine is leading me down the Road to Crazy. Nights like these I think she’s right. Well, we’ll know more about how this fella died when Bob is done with the autopsy report. I’ve got to go call this daughter in Phoenix. Give my best to the wives.”
    “Will do,” said Billy.
    “G’night, Fred,” said Burt Walnut.

CHAPTER
9

    T OMMY BALLS WAS passed out cold on his corduroy couch when his mother knocked on his door at 10 o’clock Wednesday morning. He had passed out during the first five minutes of the last episode of the
Magnum, P.I
. marathon.
    “Thomas,” called Tommy’s mother between knocks. “Open the door. It’s your mother.”
    “Fuuuuck,” moaned Tommy Balls. “Hold on, dude.”
    “Open the door. It’s not right to leave your mother standing in the hallway.”
    Tommy swept the remaining weed on the coffee table into a Ziploc Baggie and stuck it in his back pocket. He dumped out the water from the gravity bong and left the bucket and the soda bottle in the bathtub. He gave his apartment a quick inspection: filthy. Reluctantly, he opened the door.
    Tommy’s mother was forty-nine years old and petite, with a sharp nose and frosted auburn hair. She was wearing a cotton floral print church dress and white gloves. In her hands she carried a bible, a hardcover copy of
Am I Crazy
by Dr.