Chapter 6
SIX
MPD Officer Cindy Moore pulled her cruiser to a stop in front of the blue rowhouse.
The place was well-maintained and registered to Russell Crawford.
On the way there, she couldn’t shake the feeling this was her chance to really prove herself.
She had been riding on her own for seven years now, but at thirty, she was ready for the next step in her career.
Her eyes were set on becoming a detective in the Criminal Investigation Division, ideally for the Homicide Branch.
She knew it was a long shot she’d be selected.
Most third-grade detectives started in property crimes or robberies—and she hadn’t made it there yet.
Even after she’d jumped through all the hoops, including passing the detective selection exam a few months ago, she was still here on the streets.
With hard work and dogged perseverance, she was going to use today to change that.
Make the department see what they were losing out on by keeping her as a patrol cop.
She had almost dropped her phone when Lieutenant Coleman called. When he told her the situation, he used the words, “this is pertaining to an active high-profile incident.” Then he told her what he needed her to do and added, “Can I trust you won’t let me down?”
“You can trust me… Ah, to not let you down.” She shook her head at herself for the slip.
“I already put this past your sergeant, so see that you don’t.” With that, Coleman had clicked off.
So Levine knows… He was well aware of her aspiration to become a detective. Not that anything remained secret for long around First District. And her passing the exam circled like wildfire.
She ran a quick plate check on the truck in the driveway and confirmed it was registered to Russell. Coleman had already told her that Crawford’s background was clean.
You can trust me… She reiterated her promise to Coleman and called in her location. After receiving acknowledgment from dispatch, she got out of the car, smoothed her uniform, and walked briskly to the front door. There she rang the bell.
After no answer, she tried knocking. Just when she thought no one was home, footsteps padded toward the door.
The deadbolt thunked, and soon after, Cindy was looking at a handsome man.
Russell Crawford. While his license told her he was sixty-eight, he’d certainly aged well.
One could shave thirty years off that if they didn’t know his age.
He was in excellent shape, possessing a lean runner’s body.
His piercing green eyes assessed hers. “Can I help you, Officer?”
Russell wasn’t the man inside the Hanson residence, but he could still prove useful. Coleman had told her there was another person of interest related to Russell. “I have a few questions about your nephew, Ryan Crawford.”
“Ryan? You’ve come to the wrong place. I haven’t seen that kid… well, since he was a kid. I guess he must be, what, near forty by now?”
Cindy’s heart sank at Russell’s response, but she was never one to back down or give up.
Her parents taught her that by their example.
“He’s thirty-eight, but you still might be able to help me.
” After all, he could know more than he realized about his nephew.
Even if not, he could have something to say about his sister’s accident all those years ago.
From her phone call with Lieutenant Coleman, she deduced that Susan Crawford’s accident may have been the initial trigger for today’s events.
“Not sure about that, sweetheart, but—”
“It’s Officer Moore.” Never one to tolerate any man calling her things like sweetheart or darling, she always swept in with an immediate correction.
“Well, Officer, as I told you, I’m out of touch with my nephew, so if you have questions about him, I can’t help you.” Russell started to close the door.
Cindy stepped forward. “With respect, I’ll need to be the judge of that. Just a few minutes of your time, sir.”
Russell sighed but stepped back to let her inside. As she entered, she sized up her surroundings. Staying alive while in uniform required living with one’s head on a swivel.
“Is anyone else with you?” Even if there wasn’t, she had to weigh the risks.
“Nope. Just little ol’ me.” He smiled, and she cringed. It didn’t matter how handsome he was; he was older than her father. But she wasn’t reading sex offender vibes from him.
“If you could show me to a room where we can sit down…?”
“This way, Officer.” He led her to the living room.
Cindy took in the house’s layout from what she could see.
The rowhouse was boxy and far from open concept.
There was one way in and out of the room and two decent-sized windows overlooking the street.
She sat in a chair that faced the doorway, perched on the front part of the cushion, ready to act if it became necessary.
She pulled out her notepad and clicked her pen.
She noted the date and time and Russell’s name, date of birth, and address.
“You said you haven’t seen your nephew since he was a kid.
When was that exactly?” To hell if she wasn’t going to be extremely thorough.
Not when assisting today could make her dream come true.
Russell sat on the couch, rested his right arm on the top of it, and crossed his legs at his ankles. “It was at Suz’s funeral.”
Cindy scribbled that down. “And that was the last time?”
“It was.”
“Not even at your sister Teresa’s funeral?”
“I never made it. Not long after Suz passed, I started volunteering for relief work around the world. I was in Haiti when T died, and her funeral was put together rather fast by one of her friends. I just got back to the States yesterday.”
While all that sounded honorable, his charitable efforts only accounted for so much. “All right, but how could you walk away from your nephew after his mother’s death?”
“He was never alone. His grandparents were long gone by then, but T swept in and took care of him. It worked. I mean, T never got married or had kids. This was her shot.”
Cindy took offense, not being a mother herself.
For now her focus was on her career but she figured one day she’d find the right man and have a kid or two.
Or she might go modern, skip the relationship, go in vitro fertilization, and become a single mother.
Nothing wrong with that either. But that was assuming she physically could have children.
Some women couldn’t, no fault of their own.
That might have been the case for Teresa.
“I’m sure she still would have appreciated some help. ”
“You don’t understand my family. We were never what you’d call close. I’m six years older than T. I was out of the house when she was a teenager. We lived in different worlds. Why are you so interested in Ryan anyhow?”
Cindy wrote down that Teresa had raised Ryan, then said, “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Crawford. All I can tell you right now is that the MPD is interested in him, as well as in Susan’s case.” There was no way she was crossing a line and informing him about the crisis incident.
Russell’s forehead scrunched up. “What case? You mean her car accident? There wasn’t anything to investigate. It was straightforward. It was winter, and the roads were crap from an earlier snowfall. She slid into a pole. End of story. Nothing much mysterious about that. Why is this coming up now?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you.” Discretion was necessary to protect the investigation, and she intended on safeguarding it.
“Uh-huh. And why do I feel that Ryan and a request to reopen the case are connected?”
“I can’t say.” She’d mostly tapped out this resource, except for one remote possibility.
It was a tidbit that Coleman had shared about Ryan.
Or more like one enigma about him. “Do you know the situation with Ryan’s father?
Who he was?” Her mind ran wild with another theory.
Had that man resurfaced after all these years wanting to avenge Susan’s death?
Some people can’t shake grief and move forward.
The easiest path some see is to lay blame on others.
And the way she saw it, whoever was inside the Hanson home must hold the family responsible for the crash.
“No clue. I’m telling you, I wasn’t around much. When I was younger, I got into trouble. Not legal trouble, mind you, but booze and drugs. I cleaned up my act, hence aid relief, but by then I was far removed from my family. Out of touch, as I believe they say these days.” He smiled.
Based on Russell’s own words, he wouldn’t know if there was a connection between his sister Susan and the Hanson family. Cindy made some final notes and shut her book, clicked her pen and put both in her uniform pocket.
On the way out, she handed Russell her card and told him to call if he heard from his nephew.
But as Cindy turned her back to the rowhouse, her instinct was screaming at her.
The hostage taker must think there was more to Susan’s accident than simply poor road conditions.
And if there was, would they even be able to prove that after all this time?