showed up...to help me.”
* * * *
Two hours later, using Chip’s printout of criminal offenders with the alias of Toby—five possibles in adjacent counties and three local—she had crossed off only the first two names. Tobias Swanson, aka Toby Swanson had moved, no forwarding address. She’d have to check further on that one. Next on the list was Michael T. Young, aka Toby Young. It seems he’d gone steady with his high school girlfriend for two years over her father’s objections. Then he turned twenty-five in February two years ago and she wouldn’t be eighteen until April that year. In Florida, twenty-five is over the limit to have sex with a seventeen year old. Her father had him arrested for statutory rape on his birthday. The judge found him guilty which marked him for life as a sex offender. They were married after his release. Sandy crossed him off as highly unlikely.
At dark, she had one local left on the list: Humphrey Towalski, aka Toby Towalski. She keyed in his last known address. Her GPS guided her to a small house far out on Indian Road at the county’s west edge, past the dump and within earshot of the Interstate. She parked at the side of the unpaved road. The neighborhood wasn’t tidy with old appliances and rusted out cars sprinkled around. This particular house had a large discarded cardboard box in the driveway with
She stepped up on the small porch. The bell didn’t seem to be working so she knocked. She could hear a TV. She was relieved when an older woman answered the door instead of the felon on her list.
The woman took the cigarette out of her mouth. “Yeah?”
Sandy took the textbook recommended one step back to appear less threatening. “I’m looking for, Humphrey Towalski.”
“Never heard of him.”
“So Mr. Towalski doesn’t live here?”
“If he lived here, I’d no doubt have heard of him, don’t you think.” She reached out to close the door. “I’m busy...you have a nice day. I’ve given up on mine.”
Sandy went into the routine she’d used so often in Philly to locate people who didn’t want to be located. She raised the clipboard. The business-sized check was clipped face down on top of the computer printout. Being careful not to show the face of the check, which was blank, she made a minor production out of pretending to read the payee. “I’m supposed to find...ah yes, Humphrey Towalski?”
The woman standing in her doorway straightened noticeably. Her eyes focused on the back of the check. “Oh, maybe I didn’t catch on to what you wanted. Well, Toby isn’t here.”
“His nickname is Toby? Are you Mrs. Towalski?”
The woman shrugged. “So I had some bad luck.”
“And you’re married to...Humphrey?”
The woman flicked the cigarette far out into the dirt street. “Yes, sweetie, I’m his wife. I handle all his financial affairs, the stocks, the bonds, all of our trust funds.” She reached for the check. “You can give it to me.”
“Oh, I’m supposed to see him personally. Procedure you know.” She was afraid she’d struck out on this lead. This Toby was an unlikely suspect since this woman was over sixty and her husband would be much too old to be messing around with Abby.
“Toby’s in Okeechobee Correctional. You’re the only one in town who doesn’t know that.”
Sandy checked the printout. Now she remembered Chip had told her to skip this last name because Florida had him locked up. “I’m sorry, made a mistake. Must go.”
“But don’t you have anything for us?”
“There’s an error in these papers. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wait...lady. Why don’t you come inside? I don’t care about the damn check. I don’t get any visitors. My name’s Ruth, you look like a tea drinker. I’ll make us some.”
“I’m afraid not.” Sandy stepped back off the porch.
“You don’t want to come in because you think my house is all messy inside. You think it smells. You think my house is junky because I got that stupid TV box in the front yard. The trash truck won’t pick it up big like that. Toby promised to cut it up tomorrow.”
“But Toby’s serving time.”
“Are we talking about Moron #1 or Moron #2? Humphrey is Moron #1. They both want to be called Toby, so you see the level of original thinking I must deal with around here.”
Sandy was instantly interested again in this family. She wondered how old Toby #2 was. She gave the woman a quizzical look.
“Yeah, Moron #2 is my stepson. Just as dumb as his father. If he were any dumber, I'd have to water him. Does nothing around the house. Glued to his damn computer. Have to beat him every so often to get him to do anything.”
“You have to spank the little guy now and then,” Sandy said trying to get at his age.
“I said I beat him. Spanking wouldn’t faze a lazy thirty-year old. I use an old broken golf club.”
Bingo! Sandy bit her tongue to keep from looking eager. A thirty-year-old Toby was a perfect fit for Abby. A dumb Toby fit even better. “Maybe I will come in for just a minute, Mrs. Towalski. I’m not supposed to go inside houses. Are you alone?”
“The cats like to jump on people, but seldom seriously injure anyone. Nothing compared to the dog.” She made a weak smile. “I'm a lot of laughs. My house is an animal-free zone, Sweetie. Yeah, I’m alone. The bridge society just left. Come on in.”
Once inside the house the place was unobjectionable from what Sandy could see and smell. Considering the probable income in the vicinity, it was fine. Sandy could detect the discordant scent of cigarettes mixed with apple pie. Open up the place, she thought. More air and more light. Bring in more Florida. Knock out that front wall and put in a large window. Then again, perhaps this woman didn’t want to see the neighborhood outside.
In the center of the living room, almost blocking passage back to the kitchen, sat a huge partially unpacked TV. A smaller old TV at the side insisted on delivering an important message. Mercifully, the woman lowered the volume.
“Gotta get someone to come out and hook up my new TV. Pretty fancy, huh?” She cleared a stack of crossword puzzle books from the chair opposite the couch for Sandy. “So, you’re from the government, corrections department, something like that?”
Sandy nodded and glanced around the room. Not too tidy but clean. She noted there were no photographs resting anywhere in sight, no evidence of any family whatsoever.
“Got that Motel 6 ashtray there in Branson. Years ago. Hundred percent tin. It’ll be worth a fortune in a few years if I can get the rust off. I keep it around as a reminder in case I start feeling good about my marriage. A honeymoon in Branson...every bride’s dream. Didn’t know it at the time, but it was the highlight of my life. Winning a free cup and saucer once at a supermarket was a close second. I’m sorry, forgive my smartass mouth. I don’t do much socializing.”
“You’re doing fine. Your marriage could be better, huh?”
“Our marriage lacked only two things, him and me.” She crushed the cigarette to death and lit another. “He calls me a bitch like it's a bad thing. I’m crazy. I admit it. That’s basically why Big Toby and me don’t get along. We’re both crazy.”
“At least you have something in common.”
The woman gave a little laugh. “Now you see? I don’t have any clever people like you to visit with. Not that I could keep up with you.”
Sandy settled back in her chair. She was getting a good reading on this woman and began to feel more comfortable.
“You can smoke if you want. Come clean now, you’re really a cop aren’t you?”
“No, I’m doing some ancillary fieldwork.”
“Ancillary, huh? Meaning adjunct or extra.” She nudged the ashtray toward Sandy. “I do crosswords.”
Sandy had to smile. “You got me on that one. I sense some formal education on your part. Am I right?”
“God, I thought all that had worn off long ago. Nice of you to mention it. Finished Junior College—they call it Community College now. Name’s Ruth. Did I already tell you that? You want some tea or a blast of something? How about some apple pie?”
