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“This one is dead-bang. It even gets better. You actually brought me two specimens.”
“Say again?”
“A microscopic piece of bone was on the inside of the molding. My guess is it came from the collision of the fender against Crustacean Man’s hip.”
“You don’t think it came from the blow to his head?”
“Maybe. But the body-and-fender guy told you the glass and molding came from the passenger side of the vehicle, right?”
“Correct.”
“Crustacean Man’s left hip was crushed. My guess is he either walked in front of the vehicle or he was walking on the side of the road, in the same direction as the Buick, when he was hit.”
“Here’s the problem with that scenario, Mack. The cause of death was massive trauma to the right-hand side of the cranium. Death was probably instantaneous. He ended up in the coulee, which means he wasn’t slammed to the asphalt. He wasn’t knocked into a post or telephone pole, either.”
“You’re saying the fatal injury wasn’t caused by the Buick? Maybe a second vehicle killed him?” Mack said.
“There’s another possibility.”
“What?”
“The second blow didn’t come from a vehicle,” I said.
“Maybe he got hit by a chunk of meteorite. Ease up on the batter, Dave,” he said.
A few minutes later I went into Helen’s office and told her of Mack Bertrand’s findings. She was hunched over her desk, her short sleeves folded in tight cuffs on her arms. She thought for a moment before she spoke. “Okay, so we’ve got a dirty vehicle, but we can’t put Bello Lujan behind the wheel,” she said.
“We can make a case for destroying evidence and aiding and abetting.”
“Provided we can prove he had knowledge a crime was actually committed. What if his kid was the driver? What if one of the kid’s fraternity brothers borrowed the car? How about the wife?”
“She’s an invalid. She doesn’t drive. These wouldn’t be issues if the victim wasn’t a wino,” I said.
“If there were no gravity, monkey shit wouldn’t fall out of trees, either.”
“I don’t think this is a simple hit-and-run, Helen. Something else is involved.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Dave, there are times I want to kill you, I mean actually pound your head with my fists.”
I gazed out the window, choosing reticence as the better part of valor.
“Go back to that business about it not being a simple hit-and-run,” she said.
“Mack believes the Buick either struck Crustacean Man in the hip while he was walking down the right-hand side of the road, or Crustacean Man walked out in front of the car. But neither Mack nor Koko can explain the origin of the fatal injury, which was to the head.”
“I think we’re starting to drown in more information than we need here. Look, somebody hit this guy with the Buick. He was left to die on the side of the road. The DNA evidence on that is absolute. Somebody is going down for what we can prove happened. Whoever it is, Bello or somebody else, will probably not receive the punishment he deserves. But we’re going to do our jobs as best we can and leave the rest of it to God. Am I putting this in words you can understand?”
“Bello’s son is the key.”
“Why?”
“Because his face is full of secrets.”
“Be honest with me. Are you trying to tie all this to the suicide of Yvonne Darbonne?”
