John Steel Collection - Books 4-6

Chapter 12

Owen Levitt was his real name. He told everyone it was Bob Gablonski just for the image. He was a large no-neck man with a bald head, and even shorter temper and a large bruise on his head above his right eye.

“Bob Gablonski, or should I call you Owen Levitt?” McCall said smugly.

The large man just folded his arms and looked away.

“You have been informed of your rights and your right to counsel,” McCall said calmly. Bob just sat there and grunted whilst avoiding eye contact.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” McCall said, laying down an open yellow legal pad and placing a thick brown file next to that. She took a pen from her jacket and clicked the end revealing the ballpoint and then placed it gently onto the pad.

“So, when did you see Tara Burke last, Bob?” McCall asked, her voice calm but authoritative.

Bob smiled and shook his head.

“It wasn’t me,” he growled, a smug grin crossing his large face.

McCall shot him a puzzled look. “What wasn’t you? It wasn’t you who killed or kidn*pped her?”

Bob suddenly looked panicked at McCall’s accusation. “What do you mean, lady? Tara’s dead? What do ya mean she’s dead? Nah, nah, nah. You ain’t pinnin’ that on me!”

The detective saw genuine concern in the big man’s eyes. “So, what do you think you’re in here for? Apart from being an i***t and swinging at a cop of course,” McCall asked as she leaned back. Behind the two-way mirror, Captain Brant stood with Steel, both taking in the show. Brant looked at Steel, who just shrugged at the statement McCall had just made.

“He took a swing at you?” asked Brant. Steel just shrugged and smiled broadly. Brant shook his head, thinking what a bad move that had been on the part of their interviewee.

“Here’s the thing, Bob,” Sam growled, whilst leaning on the edge of the table. “I am going to get a warrant, and we are going to search your home and your diner. And if I find anything to say you had anything to do with her disappearance, you’re going down.” McCall’s tone left him cold. “So, what happened that night?” she continued. “Did you two get into a situation and she bolted?” McCall went on, bluffing as a ploy to make him talk.

“No, it wasn’t like that. Some guy came in lookin for Tara. Didn’t think much of it, just thought it was some guy hopin’ she did ‘after-work’ stuff. They met up and took a seat in one of the corners, out of the way, like. Anyway, they start gettin’ into it, so I kicked the guy out. Tara left soon after, ’cause her shift had ended,” Bob was talking fast, leaving little time for a breath, he was nervous, and had the right to be, he was looking at a murder charge. McCall sat back, feeling a sense of fulfilment because she had brought this bully down.

“Do you think you can talk to a sketch artist to get a description?” she said, with an arm hanging over the backrest of her chair. Bob shrugged and nodded, hoping his cooperation would get him off the charges, unaware that McCall wasn’t feeling that generous.

“So, what did he look like—this mystery, man?” she asked.

“Gee, I don’t know. Average height, ginger hair, blue eyes. Kinda plain lookin’,” As Bob described the man, Steel and McCall both had the same thought.

Bob had just possibly described their John Doe.

* * *

Tony and Tooms had tracked down Tony Russo, Amber’s previous boyfriend, and sat him down in one of the interrogation rooms with a cup of coffee. The two detectives watched him through the two-way mirror. He was around five foot seven and weighed about two hundred pounds. He was broad-shouldered, and the muscles of his ripped body showed under his tight T-shirt. He was a security guard in the local mall but acted as if he was a top detective.

Russo’s brown hair was styled and held together with enough grooming products to be a fire hazard. His pearly white teeth glinted in the bright lights of the small room as he checked himself out in the large mirror.

Tony shook his head. “What the hell did Amber see in this dork?” he said as he watched this player start to pat his hair in case one strand had fallen out of place.

“Beats me, man. Sure, as hell wasn’t for his personality,” Tooms noted as he bit into a snack bar, he had gotten from the vending machine. “I think I know who ended it though,” Tooms added after swallowing down his snack.

Around half an hour had passed before they went into the small grey-walled room. They had checked up on their vain and preening friend, ensuring they knew everything about him before they went at him with questions. Nothing kicks off an interrogation more than a big fat surprise.

They found Tony Russo asleep on the table, his jacket nestled comfortably between his head and the cold metal surface. The two detectives looked at each other in a mix of surprise and anger, because to their way of thinking, this was an interrogation room, not a hostel. Tooms purposely slammed the door, causing Russo to stir and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Get your ass off of my integration table!” Tooms growled like a hungry bear with a taste for dirtbags. Russo slid off the table and onto the chair. He yawned as he picked up the empty coffee cup and stared at its brown-stained bottom. He looked up at Tony and raised the cup.

“Don’t even think about askin’ for another one,” Tony said angrily, beating Russo to the mark. Russo shrugged and placed the cup back onto the table.

“Mr Russo, do you know this woman?” Tony asked, sliding a photograph of Amber over to their sleepy interviewee. It was an old photograph that he had found in an album Amber had stored in one of her boxes. Russo looked at the picture but never picked it up. He sat back and smiled smugly.

“Yeah, I knew her, we went out for a while, but she broke it off.” Tony could sense the bitterness in his voice, and that suited Tony just fine. Anger was always a good motive for murder.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Tooms asked. Russo shrugged and tilted his head as if this whole thing was a waste of his time.

“I am sorry, are we boring you?” Tony growled at Russo, feeling the blood boil in his veins. Russo shrugged again and sucked his teeth as if he was removing the remnants of his breakfast. Tooms slammed a fist onto the table and leant forward. “Look, Russo, this woman is dead and so far, you’re the only suspect. So, unless you give us something, I am gonna lock your ass up. Have I got your attention now?” Tooms’s eyes became wide with anger. The other man suddenly sat up in his chair, and a look of utter panic contorted his face.

“Wow now hang on, fellas! Look, I haven’t seen her in, like, months. She found out I was trying to hook up with her sister, and she got a little mad and threw me to the kerb.” Russo held his hands up as if to show that was all he had to say.

Tony shot Tooms a confused look.

“So, you were trying to hook up with Brooke?” Tony asked, drawing a big question mark on the yellow legal pad. Russo shook his head and gave the two cops a disgusted look. “Brooke? Nah, she’s way too old for me. No, I am talkin’ about Sharney, Amber’s twin.” Russo had a look of surprise on his face as though he was astonished that he was the only one who knew of the existence of this twin.

Problem being, of course, that he was the only one. Tooms leant forward with interest.

“Her twin? Are you sure?” Tooms looked into Russo’s eyes to try to detect any hint of a lie.

“Amber had just got this job at some shipping place, International Removals or something. Anyway, she was always working and had no time for me. So, one day I am just walking down Park Avenue when I bump into Amber, leastways that’s who I thought she was. She explained that she was Amber’s sister and that she worked in Philadelphia.”

Tony stood and picked up Russo’s coffee cup, thinking that he had earned a refill. He opened the door and passed the stained cup to a uniform and asked him to fetch another.

“Go on,” Tony said, closing the door and heading back to his seat.

“Apparently she had worked in one of the hotels there and was just back to get her stuff before heading off.” Russo’s eyes darted between the two detectives, hoping this was pulling him out of the grave he had dug earlier.

“So, you tried hitting on Sharney?” Tooms asked, already having guessed the answer. “So, what happened? Did she call Amber or something?”

“Yeah, the b***h called her sister, totally sold me out, Next day Amber kicks me to the kerb.”

Tony detected the merest hint of remorse on Russo’s face as he talked.

“Strange girl!” Tooms added sarcastically.

Russo’s face lit up as if he had finally found someone who understood his pain.

“Yeah, right, she sure was,” Russo said, his hands held out in surprise.

“So, what happened then? Let me guess. You got pissed and tracked her down. Thought you would make her pay, did you?” Tony’s voice was gravelly from lack of moisture. His anger with this guy had made his mouth dry.

“Nah, sorry, cop. You got the wrong guy,” Russo sat back and waved his palms at them as though to say “wow, stop.” When did this all go down?” Russo asked, almost hoping he wasn’t home alone at that point.

“Tuesday night, around ten,” Tony answered, hoping that this scumbag had no alibi. He felt his soul die a little as Russo thought for a moment before a big smile came over his face.

“I was with some buddies. We had gone to Eddie’s Bar on 3rd. We were there until closing time.” Russo sat back, exuding an air of relieved smugness.

“OK, Mr Russo, we will need to know the names of your buddies, just so we can check your story out,” Tooms said, almost as disappointed as Tony was.

As Russo got up to head out, Tooms saw the look on Tony’s face. It was a lost, faraway expression.

“You OK, man?” Tooms asked his partner. Tony shook his head, then looked up at his friend.

“Tooms, if our victim wasn’t Amber, then, where is she? And is she still alive, or are we going to be looking at a second body?”

Tooms felt a chill at his friend’s words.

Because he was right.