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“My father,” said the man sitting diagonally from her. He was wearing a forest green rain jacket over a black collared shirt. His hair was thinning, and his eyes looked pale. She’d seen pictures of Dennis Moore, and this man was a washed-out version.
“You’re Brian. I’m so sorry for your loss.” And she was. Losing someone on a racetrack had to be so devastating. She wished she knew more about why Dalton thought there was something off with Moore’s death before she had to interview these people. She wasn’t sure what she should be asking, and poking around in the dark was not necessarily helpful. But she gave up hope that Dalton would tell her, leaving her no choice. Whatever he was hiding would come out eventually.
It always did.
“Thank you,” Brian responded.
“I didn’t realize you would be here today.” She glanced at the men at the table. “When I called the hotel and left the message, I thought I would be seeing you all there.”
“I didn’t feel like staying at the hotel. Philip and Don have known my father since before I was born, and Richard has been a close family friend forever. It feels good to be with people who knew him well.”
Phillip exchanged a look with the two other older men but said nothing.
Greer wanted to ask about Moore’s wife, but by the sounds of things, that might be a sore spot. Claire Moore looked to be younger than Brian if pictures were anything to go by. Was that why he wasn’t at the hotel with her?
“Well, thank you for being here.” She opened a new page in her notebook as the rain picked up, coming down in sheets now. The open garage door made it chilly, and the dampness brought goosebumps out on her skin. She suppressed a shiver. “Can any of you tell me how Mr. Moore was feeling before he arrived here?” She’d collect background first before moving to tougher questions.
Brian took a sip from the coffee cup in front of him and then spoke. “Dad was excited about racing. He’d done some other racing back in the States, but he was totally into driving Porsche Cups cars in the European Cup.”
She glanced around the table and caught a look pass between Bainbridge and Lyle yet again. Goodman avoided everyone’s gaze. Something there. Maybe it was better to question Brian now and the others separately. “I’m glad he was excited. Did he seem nervous or upset at all?”
Brian shook his head. “My father didn’t get nervous. He was impatient to get on the track.”
“Was he upset at all? Leading up to the first practice session?” she asked. The other occupants of the table sat mute, letting Brian do the talking.
“No more than usual. He was sorting out some business things back home, but that was about it. He had to hop on a call or two, I think, but certainly nothing out of the ordinary.”
She made a few notes but knew they would be useless. Instincts learned on the track and honed as an investigation warned her that she wasn’t getting the truth out of Brian. Perhaps he didn’t want to paint his father in a negative light. People often didn’t want to speak ill of the dead. That didn’t help her investigation any.
“I understand that the authorities think your father had a heart attack. Did he have any history of heart trouble?”
Again, Brian shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
Goodman cleared his throat. “He’d just had his physical, and his cholesterol was up, as was his blood pressure.”
Brian frowned. “Well, yeah, but it wasn’t serious.”
Greer made a note.
“But it wasn’t serious,” Brian repeated. “He was fine.”
She glanced over at Goodman and then back at Brian. “I’ll need a copy of those medical records.” That was pushing it, but she might as well give it a shot.
Brian shook his head. “My father’s medical records are private.”
Greer wasn’t going to argue with him. “Mr. Goodman, if you would go on the record to say what exactly Mr. Moore said to you, that would be very helpful.”
Goodman’s face lost a bit of color. “Er, well, I’m not sure I could tell you verbatim or anything. I mean, it was just a conversation.”
“Any little bit helps.” Greer made another note. They were going to have to get a copy of Moore’s medical records at some point. She’d ask Claire, Moore’s wife, for permission. She would be the next of kin. None of the stuff she was writing down was helpful, but she needed to go through the motions. Plus, she found her note-taking often bothered people, and they revealed things they didn’t mean to when they got agitated.
“You said he was concerned enough to work on his will with you,” Lyle countered.
Goodman’s face paled considerably. Greer perked up but fought to hide her reaction. Finally, something of interest.
Brian whipped around and faced Goodman. “You didn’t tell me that. He changed his will?”
“Er, now isn’t the best time to discuss this, Brian. Maybe we could talk about it later.”
