Chapter 11
The incident had made the news for a day, then drifted out of the cycle.
That was five years ago, and frankly, I had forgotten about it.
Brock had hit and killed a cyclist one night.
There was speculation that he had been drinking, but the arresting officer was a fan and didn't bring him in for processing.
Just gave him a ride home. It wasn't until the next day that they brought him in for a blood alcohol check, which he passed.
The family sued for wrongful death but settled out of court for an undisclosed sum.
"Do you know if he had been drinking at the time?" I asked.
She hesitated, staring at me for a long moment. "I guess it doesn't matter now.” She admitted, “That was during a time when Brock's consumption of alcohol was, how should we say, excessive.”
"How much did he settle for?" JD asked.
"It was around $1 million.”
JD and I look surprised.
"I would have thought something higher," Jack said.
"If I recall correctly, the first offer Brock’s attorney threw out was $500,000. They countered with $1 million, and Brock accepted. I don’t think they had much money. I’m sure a million sounded like all the money in the world.”
“Do you think that was a fair amount?” JD asked.
“Doesn’t matter what I think. Can you put a dollar value on a human life? That’s the deal they agreed to. I think it was more than enough for the average person, given the ambiguity of the situation."
Celeste didn't consider herself average in any way. Something told me that $1 million might not even cover her annual credit card bill.
“Ambiguities?”
"Don’t get me wrong, I felt terrible about the situation.
And that woman had three kids to raise. But what was her husband doing riding his bike at night, wearing all black, with no reflectors?
How was anyone supposed to see him? He veered across the lane at the last minute.
There was no way to avoid him. Whether Brock had a beer or two is irrelevant. ”
“Reaction time is a factor,” I said.
She gave me an annoyed look. “He could have had the reaction time of an F1 driver, and I don’t think it would have made a difference. Sometimes, bad luck is bad luck.”
"Were you with Brock at the time?"
"No. I'm just going by what he told me and what evidence was presented.” She sighed. "It was a terrible thing all the way around. I wish it had never happened. But it did.”
I shared a look with JD. It was probably a stretch to think that five years later, the widow decided to break into Brock's house and stab him to death with a pair of pruning shears. But I wasn't ruling anything out.
"I take it you got a good settlement during the divorce?”
She looked a little perturbed by the question.
"I don't see how that's anyone's business.
Brock was no dummy. The slimeball structured certain deals to pay out after our divorce was finalized.
That way, the bastard didn't have to split the income.” Her face twisted with disgust, then she sighed.
"But yes. I did okay. You see, gentlemen, I have no real reason to murder my ex-husband.
I'm happy. My life is great. Why would I throw all that away?”
She had a point.
“How long has Brock lived in the house in Palm Haven?”
“He bought that after we divorced, but before he married the skank, I think.” Her eyes narrowed at me. “No. I don’t have a key, in case that’s what you’re wondering.”
I thanked Celeste for her time and offered our condolences once again, not that she seemed all that upset. "Get in touch if you think of anything else that might be helpful."
She texted me her friend’s contact information before we left.
JD and I stepped into the hallway and ambled back toward the elevator.
"I’m going to say she didn't kill Brock," Jack said. "But I can’t be so sure his kids didn't. And I certainly think we need to have a talk with the widow of the guy he killed."
We stepped aboard the elevator and plunged down to the lobby. I pulled out my phone and called Isabella. I asked her to look into Brock's kids, Gavin Carver, Colt Ralston, the widow, and the cyclist Brock killed.
Maybe she could put a cell phone in the area at the time of the murder or find something incriminating.
The valet pulled the Porsche around, and we hopped in.
Jack pulled away, and we headed toward the station. My phone buzzed with a call from Tiffany. I was a little surprised to hear from her.
“Good morning, deputy. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No. Not at all. What can I do for you?”
“I met with my attorney this morning, and he made a copy of the will and the prenuptial agreement for you. I thought you might want to take a look, just to satisfy your curiosity.”
“Yes, I would indeed. When is convenient for you?”
“I’m in the Coconut Cabana at the Seven Seas if you’d like to stop by.”
“That’s perfect. We can be there in a few minutes. How are you getting along this morning?”
“I’m okay, thank you for asking. I have a headache, and my scalp is sore. I’m still a little numb from the whole thing. It just doesn’t seem real.”
“I understand.”
“Are you making any progress? Have you turned up any new leads?”
“We have a few avenues to pursue.“
“That doesn’t sound optimistic.”
“It’s the early stages. These things can take time to develop.”
“I sure do hope something turns up.”
“Me too,” I said. “We’ll talk soon.”