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We went across the showroom, and I eyed a sexy silver sports car that made me think disloyal thoughts towards the Suburban. Greg’s office was in the far back corner, and it had been professionally decorated in shades of blue and black to match the rest of the dealership. Jack and I sat in the two chairs across from his desk, and I waited as he poured my coffee.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
“Just black, please.” He handed it to me and I told him thank you before he went around to the other side of the desk.
“What can I do for you folks? You look like a lady who’d know how to handle a sports car. I’ve got one out on the floor that drives like a dream. A six-speed convertible that hugs every curve in the road.”
“Will it hold a dead body?” I asked.
He looked a little nonplussed by the comment, but he rallied quickly. “Only if you folded it in half. There’s not much trunk space.”
“We’d just like to ask you a few questions regarding our investigation into the deaths of Daniel Oglesby and George Murphy. I’m sure your father spoke to you already.”
Greg rubbed his hand across his jaw and sighed. “Yeah, I should probably apologize for him. My father and I don’t always see eye to eye about everything, but he’s not a killer. He’s very—stringent about his beliefs. I think it’s the generation. He’s always right and refuses to see that anyone else might be right instead, or that the world has evolved.”
“Families can be difficult when your beliefs are different,” I said. “What about your brother?”
“Will?” Greg asked. “He’s always kind of been the chosen one because of his profession, but he and Dad don’t talk much. They rub each other the wrong way, and Dad disapproved of his divorce. They had a big fight about it when Will said he was leaving Cynthia. Mostly Will stays to himself and keeps focused on work.”
I could see the worry in Greg’s eyes, as if there was something else going on with his brother that he didn’t want to mention, but I didn’t press it.
“I’d like you to look at a couple of photographs for me,” Jack said. “They’re not going to be pretty, just to warn you.”
I watched as Greg mentally prepared himself, and Jack handed him the first photograph of Julie Lawrence—the one of how she’d been found in the parking lot. Greg winced as he looked at her, and his hand shook a little as he put the photo down on his desk.
“Just look at her face,” Jack said. “Try not to think about the rest of it.”
“Jesus,” Greg said. “How could anyone not think about the rest of it? Look at her.”
“Do you recognize her?” Jack pressed. “Her name is Julie Lawrence.”
“No—I’m sorry—No. I’ve never seen her before.” Greg pushed the photograph back and seemed to sigh in relief when Jack put it back in the folder.
“What about this one? Do you recognize him?”
I recognized the mug shot from Julie Lawrence’s case file. Ronnie Campbell had been in too many pieces to bother with an identification photograph at the scene of his meth trailer blown to smithereens, so the mug shot was all we had.
Greg looked at this one more closely, taking it in his hands and holding it right in front of his face. “He kind of looks familiar, but I can’t place it. Should I know him?”
“He worked in your auto shop about ten years ago, here at this dealership,” Jack said. “His name is Ronnie Campbell.”
I sat up straighter in my chair but didn’t say anything. Another one of the pieces of the puzzle had slid nicely into place.
“I’ve had a lot of employees over the last ten years, Sheriff Lawson. He’s familiar. I can tell you that much. But I can’t really remember anything else. You’d do better to talk to my head mechanic. His name is Booth Wilkins, and he’s been at this location since I opened the doors fifteen years ago. Is he who you suspect for these murders?”
“No, Ronnie Campbell died a few months ago,” Jack said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Vance.”
“No problem. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
Jack and I walked quickly back to the cruiser since a light mist had started to fall.
“So what did you think of the younger Vance?” Jack asked, turning on the heater.
“I would’ve bought a car from him.”
“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “Me too.” He looked at his watch. “Nine o’clock. Too late to talk to Booth Wilkins. Let’s go back home. I’ve got a late night ahead of me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
