Free More Stories from the Twilight Zone by Carol Serling

“Lenny was always nice to us. Show some respect.”
    Rog wouldn’t shut up. “Maybe she killed herself,” he said helpfully. “ ’Cause I heard her say she couldn’t stand the idea of going to jail.”
    â€œYou are
so
naive,” the girl said. “What she did was an
ac
cident, dummy. And Lenny was really truly sorry anybody got hurt.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Nobis said to Rog, although he already knew what they were talking about.
    Rog shrugged and spun several wheels of the car.
    â€œDUI. Her
second
DUI. This time she drove up on a sidewalk in the village and nailed some people waiting to get into Sea Fare. Nobody got killed, but I think one’s still in a coma.” He shrugged again. “Yeah, her lawyers probably had it fixed already. Not that it matters now,
does
it, Chrissy?”
    â€œShut up—and this time I mean it,” his sister said, making small fists.
    â€œMind telling me where you got that flam car?” Nobis asked the boy.
    â€œLenny gave it to me ’bout a week ago. I thought I lost it, but I found it again this morning.”
    â€œWhere?”
    Rog pointed to the terrace. “It was just sitting there outside the doors to her bedroom. So I went up and got it.” He folded his lower lip between his teeth. “Doors were open, like always. I didn’t know she was dead then. I mean, I didn’t look inside.”
    Chrissy said, “Lenny always likes to sleep with the doors open. She says air-conditioning dries out her skin. She has . . . beautiful skin.” A look of pain crossed the girl’s face. “I mean . . . I can’t think of her being, like, dead.” She trickled tears.
    Nobis took out his ID folder.
    â€œRog, I have to ask you for that car. It could be part of an ongoing investigation.”
    Rog made a face, but he seemed impressed by Nobis’s tone of quiet urgency. And anyway you didn’t say
no
to the FBI. He put the shiny black speedster on the table and heaved a sigh.
    â€œCan I get it back, d’you think?”
    â€œDo my best,” Nobis said. “And thanks for your cooperation.”
    Â 
    In Lenny Vespasian’s
luxe
bedroom, Nobis showed the little car to his team. Saint-Philèmon’s only comment was a raised eyebrow. Nobis put the toy into an evidence bag and handed it to one ofthe Bureau’s evidence response techies who had taken over the crime scene investigation.
    â€œTurn a chopper around and get this to Ludecke and Hopkins at DARPA right now.”
    The Interpol inspector said, “You will want to see what has been found in the recreation room.”
    Nobis glanced at the bed where Lenny, a pale sack of blood, was being zipped into a body bag for transporting. The techies handling her wore surgical masks, and it was a special kind of body bag. Nobis heard Lenny’s superstar boyfriend blubbering and moaning in another part of the four-room suite. He followed Saint-Philèmon.
    Two other members of the FBI’s ER team were measuring and photographing a spill of what Nobis assumed was cocaine on the marble floor. He kneeled for a closer look and saw little tire tracks from four sets of wheels through the white powder.
    â€œPlaying with their little toy while they were getting high?” the inspector mused.
    â€œMiss Vespasian gave the car to the caretaker’s kid. I don’t think she knew it was here last night. And not conscious while it was on the move.” Nobis looked at the bedroom, turned to a techie. “Microscopic particles of coke would have rubbed off the tires as it rolled along. I want to know if the car went straight to her bed.”
    â€œThe bedroom’s carpeted,” the techie said. “Cashmere, but still tough going for a toy car with wheels less than a millimeter in diameter. Unless something was pushing it along.”
    â€œSomething, or someone, was,” Nobis said. “As for