“And those types are going to insist on nasty prenups,” Kreiger put in.
“Exactly.” Monica popped a fry into her mouth.
Neal waved his hand. “Okay, all that aside for now. Let’s say that Timothy is somehow behind Susan’s accident, why would he bother to come for her six years after she left his company? Was it really all triggered because she’d asked him for money? I mean, he had a lot of it.”
“It’s the principle of the thing. Who knows how many affairs he had. Also, he could have just found out about the kid,” Donny suggested. “That could have sent him into a tailspin.”
“Sure. Maybe. But unless, or until, we have actual proof Hanson orchestrated the crash that killed Susan, we need to focus on actionable steps.” Kreiger wiped his hands on a napkin, bunched it up in his empty burger wrapper, and left it all on the table.
Typical Kreiger…When Sandra first met him, he’d tossed his empty coffee cup on the ground. He was always leaving his messes for others to clean up.
“If we could find out what was going on in Susan’s life at the time, we might find motive for Timothy Hanson,” Monica said. “I say we track down her friends and coworkers at Hanson Property. See what they have to tell us.”
Kreiger pulled a sour face. “We’re talking about thirty-eight to forty years ago.”
“I think it’s worth a try,” Sandra said, stepping in, and earning a smile from Monica. “All we can do is ask questions.”
“Talking. Your favorite thing.” Kreiger shot her a side-glance.
She might take offense if she wasn’t proud to wield words as her weapon. Though it hadn’t taken long for his good mood to evaporate. Clearly, he’d taken her agreement with Monica as her siding against him.
Neal bit into a cupcake and sipped on his coffee. He weighed in with, “I think we stand a better chance tracking down Susan’s coworkers from back in the day.”
Donny was bobbing his head. “They could have been her friends too. Once Gibson finds out Susan’s position at the company, we’ll track down who she worked with and go from there.”
“Hey, can’t a guy take five minutes to eat?” Gibson whined.
“Nope, get back to it.” Donny pretended to crack a whip.
“I’m all for this, even if it’s a long shot,” Neal said. “Gibson, keep us posted.”
Gibson’s mouth was full of food, but he gave Neal a thumbs-up.
While many of them might be waiting impatiently on Gibson, Sandra had her own reasons for wanting everyone to finish eating. Thanks to Officer Moore, she had information she could use with Ryan, and wanted to get on the phone with him.
FIFTEEN
1:10 PM
A car honked behind Eric, alerting him to the fact the light had turned green. He waved a hand and hit the gas. His mind was just preoccupied replaying his conversation with Todd. He’d assumed Todd would ease his suspicions, but he’d only strengthened them. This motivated him to look into Roger Simms, the photographer, who had died thirty-some years ago. A quick peek at his file had Eric going cold. Simms had died within a week of Susan’s accident. Sure, it could have been a coincidence, but the conspiracy theorist in him was waking up. What were the chances the photographs he took of Susan’s crash were missing by happenstance? Meanwhile, he ends up dead? Eric wasn’t any statistical mathematician, but he didn’t care for the odds.
He pulled into the parking lot for Ralph’s Auto Wreckers. Another call to the MPD impound lot provided Eric with their name. They had held the contract with the department thirty-three years ago. Once vehicles were examined and ready to be destroyed, they were towed to Ralph’s. Eric reasoned if he couldn’t get further within the department, a visit to the auto wreckers was his next logical step. Another option was having a chat with Dean Finley, Todd’s sergeant from that time. Butgiven how talking with Todd had gone, a man Eric knew well, he preferred to be armed with more information before facing a complete stranger.
A bell chimed overhead when he walked into the office. The smells of metal, oil, and grease hung heavily in the air, but the space was tidy and clean. Not what one would expect of a typical auto wreckers.
No one was at the front desk, and Eric tapped the call bell. It was yellow with a grinning emoji on it.Someone has a sense of humor…After a few seconds, he hit it again.
“Alice?” a man called out.
Eric got the feeling someone named Alice was supposed to be seated at the counter, and said, “Sir?”
A lanky man emerged from a side office. He looked around the front area. “Sorry about that. It seems my assistant has wandered off. What can I do for ya?”
Eric flashed his badge. “I’m looking to speak with management.”
“You found him. Name’s Lyman Doyle. I own the place.” He was cordial with his introduction but didn’t hold out his hand.
“Detective Birch. Have you always been the owner?” It wasn’t missed the man didn’t share the business’s namesake.
