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“How did it get connected to Aaron Crenshaw?”
Peter said, “We have evidence that indicates the deceased male, Solomon Uzeska, is a known local forger. Driver’s licenses, passports. Birth certificates. Basically anything you want, he can make it.”
Bob entered the room, now wearing latex gloves. Carefully treading each footstep. The guy knew what to do at a crime scene, but she didn’t envy him what would happen if the PD evidence techs collected proof he’d been here.
They’d likely arrest him on principle.
“Aaron is gonna run?” She wanted to know how he’d been aware to come here to get fake papers he could use to flee. But she had to tell the cops so they’d alert Homeland Security in case he fled the country. “Do we know he killed these two? Is that what we think?”
Peter, stood closer to her, nodded. “A payment was made from Crenshaw Industries to Solomon Uzeska’s offshore accounts in Belize. Accounts we’ve been monitoring. His parents are in Italy, and they’ve been there more than two years without coming home. A proxy is running the company—into the ground, I might add—though no one seems to care.”
“And Aaron?”
“Computer science major. He got into the company, and he’s using that access and his skills to get new IDs.”
Clare blew out a breath. “And he came here, picked up the stuff, and killed the two of them? Not a sustainable way to do business.”
“Witnesses claim he came back here, and minutes later there were three shots. He didn’t exit the way he came in, through the front. We’ve got surveillance of the street out back. Very grainy gray wash, so it’s barely visible. He had on a hoodie, but we did the math, and the height and weight match Aaron.”
“Okay,” Clare said. “Where does he live?”
“I’ve got the address. But we still have one other to identify and locate.”
“Looks like this one is the dangerous one. Even if it is a thin connection.” They didn’t know for sure if it was Aaron who’d killed these people, but the thread connecting them was good enough for her.
Bob called out from across the room, where he was rifling through a drawer of the file cabinet. “We could call in an anonymous tip to the PD. Tell them we heard screaming inside the house. Give his address.”
Peter frowned. “It’s his parents’ house. Could be he’s staying there.”
“We can pass the information to the police department, and they can get a warrant. Or go question whoever is living there.” Clare wasn’t going to ruffle feathers.
It was her personal hangups that derailed her every time. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure. With a situation this serious, she didn’t want to risk another person being hurt. There had been too many injuries, and casualties, so far. The last thing she wanted was to lay her head down at night and feel the weight of responsibility for more than she’d already done.
“I already asked Lucas if it would hold weight, and he said it might be enough of a connection for a warrant.”
“Good.” Lucas was about to marry Peter’s sister. Utilizing him as a resource within the PD was a good idea. “Let’s send SWAT an email, tell them what we found.”
Peter shifted his weight.
Clare glanced at the young man. “What is it?”
Bob came out of the office, tugging off his gloves. “My idea. That’s what.”
She frowned, about to ask what was going on, when someone said, “It’s just after six. You all start work this early every day?”
She bit the inside of her lip and turned.
Gage strode down the hall wearing his uniform pants, shirt, and boots. Jacket. Stuff he’d wear around the office rather than the vest and helmet he added for a callout. Of course he looked well rested. Like he’d slept ten hours and had a good breakfast. She’d inhaled a granola bar on the way out the door and washed it down with coffee in the car.
“Morning.” Bob rocked back and forth on his shoes.
“Yes, it is.” Gage paused. “I was thinking eight a.m. briefing. Not a six o’clock meeting at a crime scene.”
Clare didn’t want to have to explain everything Peter had just told her. But if he didn’t know already, how had he come to be here? She glanced at her young employee.
“I already called SWAT,” Peter said. “Let them know what we’ve got.”
“Right.” Clare didn’t know what to do with that.
