Though I didn’t know it at the time, Special Agent Terbert would find out about the Trust Savings bank heist the morning everyone else did. In a Houston motel, he woke up, to a breakfast of Marlboro Reds and a swig of Three Fingers, turned on the TV, and spit out the drink in a spray. When he checked his beeper, he saw a flurry of 911 messages about the case from his superior. He’d been on too much of a bender to hear it through the night. By morning, the criminals were likely far away, no use patrolling the streets looking for an RV. He still thought it best to keep that information to himself, so he got in his car and drove to Delray Beach to speak with the family of Troy Kingelton.
Reaching Delray by nighttime, the Kingelton’s front lawn was filled with reporters waiting in their parked vans. The family still hadn’t given an interview to the press. The police hadn’t obtained a warrant yet to search the premises. Evidently, the only two people who lived there were Troy’s grandfather and his little sister in junior high school. Terbert knew that they didn’t have to speak to him if they didn’t want to, the question remaining was whether either of them knew that too.
“Go away,” a voice barked from inside, followed by a string of wet coughs.
“Mr. Kingelton, this is the FBI,” Terbert said. He was tired, hungry, but wouldn’t let himself stop at all along the way.
“I do not give a hog’s ass,” the grandfather shouted.
“Mr. Kingelton, please, just a few questions. What if I helped get the press off your lawn?”
The blinds opened by a window, and an eye appeared.
“Yes, get the cockroaches away,” the grandfather said and shut the blinds.
Terbert turned toward the weary reporters. “There’s no use staying. He’s not gonna come out and talk to you. I’ll make a statement when I get back to my station, but for now, go home until morning.”
It took a lot more convincing, but finally, they all left with their tails between their legs.
“See, Mr. Kingelton? I’m a man of my word. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to. I want to help you.”
“How?”
“Make sure you have no part of this.”
“Po-lice already brought me in to speak,” he said, stammering.
“Well, I’m in charge of the case. I drove all the way from Houston.”
“I don’t give a rip where you drove from.”
“The faster you talk to me, the faster this ordeal can end for you. We know you had nothing to do with it since you were in Florida when the robbery occurred, but—”
The lock opened, and the grandfather peeked through a crack in the door.
“That so? Your colleagues were a might nastier.”
“It’s local cops, don’t worry about them. Can I?”
Terbert gestured to the door. The grandfather left it open a crack.
Inside, he sat at a round table, smoking a cigarette over an overflowing ashtray. A few empties stacked on the table in a line sat as a barrier between them.
“Thank you,” Terbert said, sitting down. The grandfather shrugged. “Did you have any idea your grandson was involved in anything like this?”
He coughed into his fist. “He lived in his world, and I live in mine. Two rarely crossed.”
“The man in the Jerry Garcia mask, you have no idea who that may be?”
“Nope.”
I’d never learn why their grandfather covered for us. He certainly didn’t owe us anything. Not only had he saved Barry’s life, but we were responsible for the loss of his grandson. And yet, he still kept mum. Rather honorable. Maybe he hated law enforcement enough not to bow down to their pressure. Maybe he also figured it would be a better way to keep him uninvolved.
Terbert pointed to the cigarette box, and the grandfather passed him one.
“Marty, right?”
“Yep.”
“Alan here, you can call me Alan.”
“Don’t give a fuck what I call you as long as you finish up what you need here soon.”
“Fair. So. Tell me about Troy.”
“What do you want to know?”
Terbert lit the cigarette, took a puff. “Kind of guy was he, a leader, a follower?”
“Parents died when he was just a little squirt, so I raised ’em. Let him do a lot of his own thing. I think he wanted outta here.”
Terbert ashed in the tray. “Oh yeah?”
“Far away, guessing he got caught up with people that promised him that.”
“Not locals?”
“No, definitely not locals.”
“You ever see an RV around your place?”
The grandfather sucked the top of his lip. For Terbert, it was hard to say whether that was a tell. He was usually good at reading people.
“RV? No.”
None of his other questions proved fruitful, and the grandfather was starting to get a sleeping buzz on.
Down the hallway, Heidi opened her door to watch them, only her eye visible.
“Can I talk to your granddaughter?”
“I don’t give a cat’s piss—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
Terbert put the cigarette out and went down the hallway to knock on Heidi’s door. The Cure’s “Disintegration” played from under the doorjamb.
“What is it?” she called out.
“It’s the police, sweetie—”
She opened the door before he could finish. She hadn’t cried yet. This would bother her. In one of the few interviews she would ever give, she’d expected the tears to come right away after hearing of Troy’s death, but she couldn’t squeeze them out, hard as she tried. She hoped he wasn’t watching from above, angry that it might’ve seemed like she didn’t care. Truthfully, she was still mad at him for being so foolish.
“Cool tunes,” Terbert said, coming inside. She gave him a side-eye. “Now, I know this must be hard for you.”
“I don’t know anything.” She plopped on her bed, picked up an Etch A Sketch, and started doodling. “Me and my brother weren’t, like, close.”
“Your grandpa said he wanted to get out of Delray?”
“Yeah, probably. I mean, who wouldn’t?” She knocked on her wall which seemed made of paper. “Like, our house is a shitbox.”
“You ever see him hang with anyone who owns an RV?”
She tossed the Etch A Sketch aside. “Like I said, we weren’t close. He was a shitty brother. He didn’t care about me.”
Terbert looked her deep in the eyes to ascertain whether she was lying. All she radiated back to him was pissed off.
“He was barely home anyway, so you can check his room, but—”
“We’re waiting on a warrant. Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah, I know what that is.”
“I hope you aren’t keeping anything from me.” He hiccuped, a waft of booze filling the air. She turned her nose, but wouldn’t break her stare. “Here’s my card if you think of anything.”
Barely holding it in her hands, she nodded. He rose, his knees popping.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She shrugged one shoulder and left it hanging up by her ear. His gut told him neither the grandfather nor the sister was lying, just part of a family that wasn’t too close. When I’d learn of their interaction later, I wondered why Heidi didn’t give us up either and whether I was the reason. But I’d never find out from her. And I didn’t deserve the truth. She and her grandfather likely forming a solidified front against the rest of the world. The less they outwardly connected themselves to Troy, the better. She said in one press interview that she always saw a sad end for Troy. Her brother was too reckless to live forever; some shiny object would catch him in its snare. I figured she really believed that. So maybe it was a relief that it finally happened. The worrying could end. Only the grieving to deal with.
Terbert drove back to his station, reaching Miami by midnight, not any closer to catching us, but with a renewed zest and feeling in his gut, he would take us down. Through sips of Three Fingers in the car, an oracle appeared in the form of the moon and told him so. He would not be completely victorious, the oracle warned with its crescent shine, but he would end our spree, he alone, and this was enough for him, this fervent belief.
He toasted the moon and killed the bottle.