“How is that?”
“His son runs this company. If Edward finds out I spoke against his father, then I’ll be fired.” Her shaky voice made Cindy want to offer a hand of reassurance—a gentle touch on her arm or shoulder—but she didn’t dare.
Respect a person’s individual space…Her training officer had beaten that into her too. But Cindy suspected Sabrina’s fear was about more than getting fired. Was she afraid for her life? “You are safe to talk with me. The police can protect you.”
“Not from the”—Sabrina leaned forward—“Hansons.” She added the latter part at a lower volume.
“If you are in fear for your life, let me help?—”
“Please. Just leave.”
Cindy imagined there might be another reason Sabrina refused to talk. Even why she went so far as to say she couldn’ttalk about Timothy. “I will go if you’ll answer one more question for me. Did Timothy Hanson have you sign an NDA?”
Sabrina met Cindy’s eyes. “I’m begging you. Leave. I need to get back to work.”
Cindy would take that response as a big fatyes.“Thank you for your time.” She handed Sabrina her card and hoped that she’d reconsider and call. But Cindy felt like she’d messed up going right to Timothy’s character. It had clearly touched a sore spot and caused Sabrina to withdraw. So much for tapping Sabrina for more information on Timothy’s inner circle. That conversation was shut down before it could even start.
TWENTY-SEVEN
3:15 PM
Eric pulled up to the gate at the Carmichael estate. It was Coleman’s call that had Eric here, taking a break from investigating Susan’s accident. Coleman beseeched him and said he was the only detective he had to call on at the moment, and he was strapped for patrol officers too. But the request came at a convenient time, serving as a segue before Eric reached out to the eyewitnesses from the Crawford case. It would also help him shake the meeting he’d had with Medina. His sarge was right, though. Eric should have gone to him first.
A man poked his head out of the gatehouse, and Eric lowered his window.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
“Detective Birch with the MPD. I’m here to speak with Peter Carmichael on urgent police business.” He flashed his badge.
The guard angled his head and narrowed his eyes. “What is this about? He’ll want to know that much.”
“It’s regarding Timothy Hanson.”
“Hanson? He’s?—”
“Dead? I’m well aware. If you could just tell your boss I’m here, we can all get on with our day.”
After several seconds of holding the silence, it worked its power. The guard pulled back into the gatehouse and picked up the phone. Soon after, the gates opened, and Eric was waved ahead.
He dipped his head in thanks and drove slowly toward the vast house.What does anyone need with all this space?
After parking, he walked up to the front door and rang the bell. It was answered by a studious-looking man in his forties.
“Step inside, and I’ll take you to Mr. Carmichael.”
“Thank you.” Eric entered the home, absorbing the architecture with its sweeping vaulted ceilings and wood beams. A set of staircases wrapped around the outside walls, making for the most grand entry Eric had seen outside of movies.
The man led him to the rear of the home, which Eric soon found out was where the kitchen was located. Like the rest of the house, it was grand. Here, marble and stainless steel were everywhere.
An older man was sitting at a dining table with a newspaper and a half-eaten sandwich on a plate. He was drinking what looked like iced tea.
He set the paper down, nodded at his employee to leave. “Detective, I’m interested in what brings you here wanting to discuss the late Timothy Hanson.”
Eric walked toward the table. “May I?” He pointed at the chair on Peter’s right. The man dipped his head, and Eric pulled it out and sat down. “I’m hoping you could tell me what you know about Timothy Hanson.” With any luck, he could circumvent Carmichael’s curiosity. At least for the time being.
“To start with he’s dead.” Carmichael laughed.
The old man had a quirky sense of humor. “Yes, and he was your brother-in-law. My condolences for your loss.”
