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“Beacon Street. I often pass it to grab lunch.”
Ryan leaned back. “I’ll pull some strings, see if I can get my hands on the security cam footage from the area. Whoever took this was brazen enough to do it in public.”
“They should be easy to spot,” Caleb said. “This pic was not taken with a phone. The quality is too good despite the distance.”
“Noted.” Ryan scribbled something in his little notebook. “Let’s talk about the social media stuff. Did you keep track of that?”
“I have screenshots of everything. A lot was posted from throwaway accounts that no longer exist,” Roman said.
He opened a few screenshots, and Caleb pressed his lips into a thin line.
Local DA Drunk Out on the Town.
DA Covers Up Drunk Driving Accident.
DA Involved in Cheating Scandal.
And they were from Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, each one twisting the knife deeper into Roman’s reputation.
“The LinkedIn ones hit the hardest,” Roman said. “That’s my professional network, and those people take accusations like this seriously. I’ve had to do some damage control.”
“Which means they know where to hurt you most. Personal is one thing, but trying to dismantle your career? That’s another level of hate,” Alex said.
“I don’t know if I’d call it hate,” Ryan said. “I see it more as a calculated attempt at discrediting Roman so that if the case went to court, there would be a trail of rumors and allegations they might be able to use.”
Roman widened his eyes. “I hadn’t looked at it like that.”
“It’s hard when you’re in the middle of it. Outsiders have a different view,” Ryan said kindly.
“If you’ll allow me access to your social media, I’ll see what I can find out about who’s behind these,” Caleb said. “It’s clearly a coordinated, well-targeted effort.”
Roman waved his hand. “I’m happy to give you full access. I barely use my Facebook account anyway.”
“Let’s talk about that accident,” Ryan said. “To me, that’s the most puzzling one. How certain are you that you weren’t driving that night? Not that I don’t believe you, but I wanna know what level of certainty we’re talking about here.”
“One hundred percent.”
“Good to know. Where did the accident take place?”
“A couple of blocks from my house, on Parker Street, just off Route 9. I can send you the accident report and a copy of the form I supposedly filled out.”
Ryan jotted something down again.
Alex leaned forward. “Does the handwriting look like yours?”
Roman made a so-so gesture with his right hand. “It could pass for mine, but the signature’s a little off.”
So they’d done enough research to know his handwriting. Creepy.
“Where were you earlier that night?” Ryan asked.
Roman stiffened, his jaw hardening, his voice clipped as he recounted the night’s events. “I had dinner at Gianni’s, an Italian restaurant not far from my office. My usual fare of seafood pasta. One glass of red. Nothing outlandish.”
“You go there often?”
“At least once a week, usually on Friday evenings. They make great pasta.”
“Can you remember anything being different that night?”
