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“What can you tell me about Ronnie Campbell?” Jack asked.
“I looked up his file this morning after I talked to Mr. Vance. It’s been ten years, so I needed to refresh my memory. Campbell only worked here about a year. He was an average mechanic, but he got here on time and was willing to work overtime and weekends. I ended up having to fire him because of drugs. I recognize the signs of someone who’s on something.”
“How’d he take it?”
Booth laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Pissed. You could really see that he was on something then. His eyes got crazy and he was sweating like crazy. I told him to get help and come back when he was clean. Mr. Vance gave me a second chance after my problems,” Booth looked at Jack. “I assume you checked me out?”
“I did, but your past isn’t my concern. Not if you’re toeing the line now.”
“That’s how Mr. Vance felt too. So I figured I owed it to Campbell to try and do the same for him. But he never came back.”
“He ever try dealing out of the garage?” Jack asked.
“No,” Booth said adamantly. “And I would’ve known if he was. I pay attention to what goes on around here. This is my territory, and nothing gets past me.”
***
Jack pulled into his driveway, and I saw Carver’s shiny black Tahoe parked next to my Suburban. Carver was asleep in the front seat of the SUV, his head resting on the back of the seat. Jack hit the window with his fist and Carver jumped about a foot in the air, banging his head on the ceiling. I winced in sympathy and then got out of the way. I was used to the childish antics of men, and I knew it never paid to be caught in the middle.
“I was just resting my eyes,” Carver said as he got out of the car. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
“You’ve got a little drool on your chin,” Jack said.
“I can get this kind of grief at home,” Carver said, his pout reminding me of a toddler. “How’d the interview with your mechanic go?”
“Informative,” Jack said.
We went into Jack’s office, and I hardly blushed at all at the thought of what we’d done on the rug only a few hours before. Carver didn’t seem to notice my distress, and went directly to the white boards. Jack filled him in about the size of the perp who’d given Oglesby the drug and the lab results of the bandana.
“You can’t tell me Wormy wouldn’t know what was going on in George’s shop,” Jack said. “He was George’s right hand, and he was there six days a week.”
“Maybe he’s just a loyal employee,” Carver said, playing devil’s advocate.
“Maybe, but George wasn’t really the type of man to inspire loyalty,” Jack said. “I’ve got Martinez and Lewis sticking to William Vance. They reported in earlier that he spent the night at the hospital on call, but they had no way of knowing if he stayed there the whole time. His car was in the lot, but there are a lot of ways in and out of the hospital, and he could’ve taken any number of means of transportation.”
“So you’ve got an initial suspect that administered the drug to Daniel Oglesby who matches Wormy Mueller’s physical description,” Carver said. “We can also tie him to the bandana and the crime scene, though his attorney will shred that to pieces. We can’t however, tie Wormy to the Aryan Nation. Not without seeing the membership roster.”
“I looked for a tattoo while we spoke with him this morning, but I didn’t see anything visible,” Jack said. “Not that that means anything. It could’ve been anywhere. We’ve also got the connection between Greg Vance and Ronnie Campbell.”
“What about the rest of the employees at Murphy’s Auto?” Carver asked. “Have you finished backgrounds there?”
“Yeah. Most of them have been working there for years. George pays pretty well, and they’re able to do side work if they want. None of them have inconsistencies in their bank accounts, though a few of the men have blips on their records. They’re worth taking a closer look at, but like Lewis said, I don’t have the manpower for the number of hours involved. It’s going to take time.”
“I can farm it out to some of my guys if you’d like,” Carver offered. “I can do that since I’m in charge.”
“I’ll take you up on it, but I still need to go through them all myself. Something might click.”
Carver sighed. “I’d do the same thing.” He passed out thick folders to me and Jack. “This is everything I could find on the Vances. Relatives, lovers, ex-wives, girlfriends, family friends—you name it. You’ll know the size of their underwear and their last prostate exam by the time we’re finished. Let’s see what we see.”
I was an hour into reading through the file of Cynthia Vance, ex-wife to William, and my eyes were starting to glaze over with the tedium. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make her any more interesting. Charities and being a cardiologist’s wife. That’s what Cynthia Vance had excelled in. She’d come from a wealthy Virginian family—at least on her mother’s side—and she’d married William when she was twenty before giving birth to two offspring.
I skimmed across the pages, wondering how Jack stood the process of police work. It was mostly boring. At least with a body I had the chance of discovering the occasional abnormality. I looked up at him, and I could tell he was in the zone—just as alert as he’d been when we’d started.
“You need more coffee,” he said without looking up.
“I need a lobotomy.”
He grunted and went back to his file. I rolled my eyes and went back to mine as well, and I almost missed the name. It was at the bottom of the page, and I’d already flipped it over to go to the next when my brain caught up to what my eyes had seen.
