Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
A car honked behind Eric, alerting him to the fact the light had turned green.
He waved a hand and hit the gas. His mind was just preoccupied replaying his conversation with Todd.
He’d assumed Todd would ease his suspicions, but he’d only strengthened them.
This motivated him to look into Roger Simms, the photographer, who had died thirty-some years ago.
A quick peek at his file had Eric going cold.
Simms had died within a week of Susan’s accident.
Sure, it could have been a coincidence, but the conspiracy theorist in him was waking up.
What were the chances the photographs he took of Susan’s crash were missing by happenstance?
Meanwhile, he ends up dead? Eric wasn’t any statistical mathematician, but he didn’t care for the odds.
He pulled into the parking lot for Ralph’s Auto Wreckers.
Another call to the MPD impound lot provided Eric with their name.
They had held the contract with the department thirty-three years ago.
Once vehicles were examined and ready to be destroyed, they were towed to Ralph’s.
Eric reasoned if he couldn’t get further within the department, a visit to the auto wreckers was his next logical step.
Another option was having a chat with Dean Finley, Todd’s sergeant from that time.
But given how talking with Todd had gone, a man Eric knew well, he preferred to be armed with more information before facing a complete stranger.
A bell chimed overhead when he walked into the office. The smells of metal, oil, and grease hung heavily in the air, but the space was tidy and clean. Not what one would expect of a typical auto wreckers.
No one was at the front desk, and Eric tapped the call bell. It was yellow with a grinning emoji on it. Someone has a sense of humor… After a few seconds, he hit it again.
“Alice?” a man called out.
Eric got the feeling someone named Alice was supposed to be seated at the counter, and said, “Sir?”
A lanky man emerged from a side office. He looked around the front area. “Sorry about that. It seems my assistant has wandered off. What can I do for ya?”
Eric flashed his badge. “I’m looking to speak with management.”
“You found him. Name’s Lyman Doyle. I own the place.” He was cordial with his introduction but didn’t hold out his hand.
“Detective Birch. Have you always been the owner?” It wasn’t missed the man didn’t share the business’s namesake.
“My older brother Ralph and I were partners until he passed a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, but I’m sure you’re a busy guy. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I have some questions about a vehicle that was brought in by the Metropolitan Police Department thirty-three years ago. I don’t suppose you keep records going that far back?” Eric would treat it as fact that Crawford’s Chevrolet Cavalier sedan came here.
“I keep everything when it comes to files and paperwork. The lovely Internal Revenue Service only asks businesses to keep the last three to seven years. Let’s just say, I’m not a trusting fellow.”
Not a great way to go about life, but Eric was happy for what this could mean for him. “Then you could look up a vehicle from back then?” He was struggling to accept his good fortune. There was still plenty of time for the ground to drop out beneath him.
“Sure, give me what you have, and I’ll see if I can fill in some blanks for you. Just before I do this, though, could you tell me what this is about? Thirty-three years ago is long done and gone for some detective to come around asking about it.”
“Let’s just say that recent events have necessitated this trip to the past.”
Lyman gave Eric a knowing smile. “I’ll see what I can do to help. Which vehicle? Make, model, owner’s name? Any or all of those details would be helpful. Then I’ll see what I can find in the system.”
“A Chevrolet Cavalier sedan, registered to Susan Crawford. It would have been in January.”
“The year? To save me from doing the math.”
Eric told him.
“All right, just give me a minute here.” Lyman typed on his keyboard, and a moment later he was smiling. “You’re in luck, my friend. I’ve got the scanned copy of the requisition right here. It was requested destroyed on January tenth.”
The day of the accident… what the… Had the vehicle gone straight from the accident scene to here, bypassing the MPD lot and any examination? “The tenth? Are you sure?”
He swung the monitor around to face Eric and pointed at a spot on the screen. “That’s the date right there.”
Eric absorbed what was in front of him. The date in black and white. Handwritten. He looked up the form in search of the name of the officer requesting the destruction. At the sight of a blank line where it should have been, his stomach turned sour. “There’s no name on this.”
Lyman turned the screen back to face him, brows downward in concentration. “Ah, but see, there doesn’t need to be. There is a signature.” He started to spin the monitor around again, but Eric stopped him.
“I saw that, but…”
Lyman looked at the form again, his eyes narrowing. “It is illegible, isn’t it? More like a scrawl than an actual signature. But it is signed. It’s not my job to analyze or question that.”
Eric sensed defensiveness rising in the man. “No one is challenging why you destroyed the car. Could you bring up other requisitions from the MPD around that time? We might find that signature on a form with a name.”
“Let’s see.” Lyman tapped on his keyboard again. “Okay, so I brought up all the requests from the MPD. Just give me a few minutes here.”
While Lyman worked, Eric stood there and stewed.
“Yep, here we are.” Lyman turned the monitor again and pointed out the line with the name.
Eric stared in disbelief.
“That helpful?”
“You have no idea how much.” Helpful aside, his life had just become more complicated.
Lyman smiled and turned the monitor back. “Good thing I digitized all the old paperwork, eh? But if that’s all, I should get back to work. And track down Alice.”
“Actually, could you print out the requisitions? The first one without a name and this one?”
“Yeah, sure, not a problem.”
A few minutes later, Eric was thanking Lyman and heading out the door with them in hand.
“Don’t mention it. Have a great day, Detective.”
Eric parroted the well-wishing in his head.
No chance he was having a good day. The possibility of that happening was long past. The blatant mishandling of this case could only mean one thing.
Susan’s death wasn’t the result of some random crash.
She had been targeted. And somehow his old mentor and Dean Finley were caught up in the mess.