Blowout

garages and use them. No punks with cars up on blocks in their driveways or on the street.”
    “You said it was a white car, maybe a pale gray?”
    “I think now it was white.”
    Callie beamed at him. “So you remember that now.”
    “Yep, thought about it a lot, like Detective Raven said I’d do. I told the other cops it was a gray or white Toyota, late model, maybe a 2000 or a 2001, but I wasn’t all that sure at the time. Guess they had good reason not to take me seriously about it. I saw a couple of Toyotas today, and that’s what it was. The Toyota had two doors, not four. It was clean, even the radial tires.”
    Ben said, “So the guy runs up to the driver’s side, pulls open the door, jumps in, starts the car, and peels away from the curb.”
    Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “You know what—hey, Luciano, come back to Daddy—don’t chew on Marylee’s slipper!—good boy, that’s a good boy. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the thing is, now that I think about it, the car was already running.”
    Ben didn’t move a muscle.
    “That’s something else I remember now. You see, Detective Raven, there wasn’t time for this guy to run to the car, open the door, stick the key in the ignition, turn over the engine, and take off. Nope, he jumped in the driver’s side.” Mr. Avery snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember that clearly now. The car had to be running. And he didn’t have to open that door, it was already ajar.”
    Ben, doubtful now, and hating it, hoping the cops weren’t right about Mr. Avery making things up, nonetheless said, “Were you going to call the FBI about remembering this, Mr. Avery?”
    Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “Well, maybe, if they’d asked again, but I knew they were thinking I was just an old buzzard with pudding for brains and probably blind and deaf as a post, like poor Marylee. They sort of acted that way last night. I mean, they were respectful, and they nodded a lot, but you know, I saw them looking at each other when they didn’t think I’d notice. Why waste my time?” Mr. Avery paused a moment, then cursed. “Yeah, I would have called tomorrow, anyway. My pa was a cop, taught me what was right.”
    “Good for you,” Callie said.
    Ben sat forward, hands flexing on his knees. His eyes were bright, and he felt his heart begin to pound. “Well, I’m here, Mr. Avery, and it seems to me you’re as sound as I am, sir. Okay, then, were you saying there was someone else in the car?”
    Both Callie and Ben waited to the sound of Marylee humming to the theme song of a television show no one could hear, her knitting needles clacking loud in the silence. Luciano was standing on his hind legs, his front paws on Mr. Avery’s knee, tail wagging, as if waiting to hear what his master was going to say, too.
    “You know, I don’t remember hearing the car running, but then, I wasn’t really paying any attention, until I saw this guy heading toward that car on a dead run, that Burberry coat flapping around his legs. I guess someone in the car saw him coming, and that someone had to turn on the ignition key. The driver’s side door wasn’t shut, yeah, it had to be partly open, that’s it, because, like I told you, that guy comes running up—he wasn’t even out of breath, I remember that too—and he pulls the door open, jumps in, his foot slams down hard on the gas, and he fishtails it away from the curb.”
    Callie’s foot was tapping. She was sitting forward.
    Mr. Avery pulled Luciano back up on his lap. “Jeez, yeah, now I see it, you know what else? Someone moved inside the car, in the passenger seat. I remember when he floored the gas and the car fishtailed a little bit, someone’s head jerked back. It had to be a woman because her hair sort of fanned out. Yeah, it was a woman waiting for him, a woman who turned on that car. That or some sort of weird hippie guy with long hair.”
    It was close, but Ben avoided picking up Mr. Avery and Luciano and waltzing them around the living room.
    Ten minutes later, Ben was on his cell to Savich, telling him how smart old Mr. Avery turned out to be.
    Savich said, “You’re sure the old man has it together and he wasn’t spinning a good story for you?”
    Ben said, “He’s a piece of work, I’ll grant you that. Initially he comes across on the flaky side, but his brain is intact, Savich. I’m as sure of that as I am that my mother found my stash of Playboy magazines when I was eleven years