Bobby Andes told how he took a peek at Ray in the factory. Not a bad match to both your description and the guy in the holdup. No fingerprints, but we knew that before.
“I wonder why there weren’t any fingerprints,” Tony said.
“His hands were probably on your wife. Hell man, we’re lucky to have the ones we do.” He said, “Does he look familiar?”
“I’ll need a closer look.”
“Plenty of time.”
Bobby Andes full of details. He said, “I assume in the used car case this Ray was not involved. This Lou, maybe.”
“Used car case?”
“Ajax. Where you couldn’t recognize Turk. Though you recognized him dead easily enough.”
“I was nervous. He looked different.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m thinking your Lou might have been the guy who got away in Ajax. The black beard. I’m thinking this Lou and Turk decided to travel a bit and that’s what they got into. More bad company. Why do you suppose they came back here? Because of Patricia or because of Ray? It looks to me like Ray has been here all along.”
Tony calculated. This was thirty miles from Bobby’s office. It was fifteen miles from the place in the woods where they had taken him. Predators travel far in the night.
A gust of wind came up, blowing dust from the infield across the pitchers’ mound and to the benches, stopping the game so the players could wipe their eyes. The shower on the two round hills had disappeared beyond the ridge. Overhead the bright clear sky, and more dark clouds over the other ridge.
In the seventh inning Marcus, number 19, entered the game, out in right field. Someone shouted at him, he grinned back, he did a dance step. He moved his hips in a hula, his face dark and tiny under the beak of his cap.
A ball came his way, he was lazy getting to it, the batter took second. Someone booed. He held up his middle finger, the boos were louder. He caught an easy fly, someone exaggerated a cheer. In the bottom of the ninth he waited in the batter’s circle for his turn to bat. “Let’s go down to the backstop and get a closer look,” Bobby Andes said.
They worked through the small crowd to a place behind the backstop. Watched number 19 as he wiggled his legs, kicked and dug at the dirt, swung his bat and pointed it at the pitcher. His teeth and his eyes, tiny spots of white in his ruddy face. The right type, you could say that. He took a ball and three strikes, not swinging at anything, and with each call said something to the umpire. Tony Hastings tried to see his expression. The man went back to the bench, shouting to someone in the bleachers. He stood for a moment with his bat in his hand. His words broke through a sudden silence. “Fuck you, asshole.”
From behind the backstop, Tony Hastings watched him in profile as he sat on the bench and took a swig of water with a dipper from the bucket. He took off his cap and ran his arm over his head. The high forehead, the bare front half of his head.
“Looks like him,” Tony said.
“You sure?”
“I’d like a better look.”
“Wait.”
The game ended, the crowd loosened and spread out, fans merged with the players and began to disperse. Tony Hastings followed Bobby Andes into the cluster around the Chevrolet team. Bobby Andes had a baseball. He went up to the Chevrolet pitcher.
“Mr. Kazminski, would you mind autographing this here ball for my son?”
Kazminski, tall, young, surprised, laughed and said, “Why shore, I’d be glad to.” Tony Hastings looked at Ray nearby. He was standing alone, looking out vaguely at the road, his glove hanging at his side, his cap in his hand. He was chewing, his adams apple went up and down. He looked as if he didn’t know what to do. He stood there a long time, Tony looking at him. He turned around. Tony saw directly into his face, their eyes met for a flash, a shock for Tony, but Ray remembered nothing. He looked at the cluster around Kazminski, spat on the ground, and turned away. He walked slowly toward the road by himself.
“Well?”
“That’s him,” Tony Hastings said.
SEVEN
Caught in the excitement of closing in on Ray, Susan at the chapter break has almost forgotten her caution back there when Tony was discussing the death penalty with Francesca. On the question of revenge, Susan’s own answer is simple: I’ll kill anyone who harms my children. Send me to jail. Tracking down Ray is exactly what she wants, it thrills her. She hopes she’s not being manipulated into some ideology she doesn’t approve.
Nocturnal Animals 18
They watched Ray Marcus get into his car down beyond third base, a dirty green Pontiac, fifteen years old. “Let’s see where he goes,” Bobby Andes said.
They had come in Tony Hastings’s car, parked near by. “I’ll drive,” Andes said. There was congestion where they turned out to the main road, Ray’s car stopped ahead. They followed him into Hacksport with two cars between. They waited while he parked at a package store and came out with a six-pack, and watched without moving as he drove on two blocks, then turned right. “He’s going home,” Bobby Andes said. “Let’s go.”
They came to where he had left his car by a hydrant on a narrow one-way street parked with cars all the way down. Number 19, he walked on the left sidewalk with the six-pack and his baseball glove. There was a row of small white two-family houses along the street. Andes drove up beside him, with parked cars between. He leaned out the window. “Hey Ray.”
Ray looked at him.
“Where you going?”
He stopped, said nothing.
“What you doing?”
He stood there behind the intervening car, staring.
“Come here, I want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“I want to ask you some questions.”
“Fuck you.” He turned and went on.
“Hey look at me. Don’t make me come and get you.”
The man stopped again. “Who the hell are you?”
Bobby Andes held up a plastic case with a piece of paper in the window. His other hand was in his coat.
From a distance Ray squinted at the document Bobby Andes held. He looked around. He shifted his feet. “What’s that?”
“Come and see.”
He came, slowly, between the cars to Bobby’s window, bent over, took a look. He took a new look at Bobby Andes in sunglasses, at the grim face under his hat. Tony Hastings watched Ray, closely, closer than he had ever been.
“What’s it about?”
“A few questions. That’s all. Get in back.”
“What for? I ain’t done nothing.”
“Didn’t say you did.”
“Ask me here,” Ray said.
“In the car. Okay?”
“Okay okay!” He shrugged his shoulders as if he were humoring Bobby Andes and opened the back door of Tony’s car. Bobby Andes stepped out and got in the back seat with him.
“You drive,” Andes said to Tony.
From the back seat, Andes directed Tony where to go. They went down to the end of the street.
“Where you live, Ray?” he said.