Chapter 15 - THE PRICE OF A NAME
Thomas would not say the name over the phone.
When he came to the house, his face was gray with exhaustion.
Rebecca followed him inside, her eyes swollen from crying.
They sat on opposite ends of the sofa.
I waited, afraid that asking another question might break something neither could repair.
"The truck belonged to my uncle," Thomas said.
He meant Rebecca's cousin, Martin Hale, a contractor who had worked for Richard years earlier.
Martin had died in a boating accident five years ago.
Rebecca explained that Martin had owned several vehicles and sometimes loaned them to employees.
Ownership did not tell us who drove the truck.
But Richard had been responsible for arranging one such loan in the week before the crash.
A terrible picture began to emerge without becoming complete.
Grandpa had discovered financial misconduct.
Thomas's father, an accountant, had offered to review records for him.
Days later the car crash killed him and injured Thomas.
The collision might have been an accident.
It might have involved somebody connected to the records.
The difference was enormous, and we owed the dead man more than guesses.
The warehouse search produced documents showing that Richard and Elise had transferred trust funds into an investment vehicle.
Some money had been restored temporarily to make the books appear balanced before audits.
The scheme was more sophisticated than the crude house transfer Julia attempted.
Investigators also recovered a document bearing the name of Martin's contracting business and a payment marked VEHICLE COSTS.
My mother arrived without warning while detectives were leaving.
I met her on the porch rather than inviting her inside.
"You have to stop dragging us through this," she said.
I asked whether she knew about the payment.
Her expression changed so quickly it answered a different question: she recognized the transaction.
"Your father handled the business," she whispered.
"I didn't ask."
"You didn't ask when Thomas was hurt?"
I said.
She looked past me toward the garden.
"I had two children to think about."
For a moment I wondered whether she counted me among them.
Then she said, "Julia needed stability."
I almost laughed at the familiar script.
Even in the shadow of a dead man's name, Julia's comfort came first.
"You were my mother," I said.
"You were supposed to protect both of us.
You made me the cost of keeping her happy."
Mom's face hardened.
"You always dramatize everything."
I stepped back and closed the door.
I had spent twenty-eight years waiting for one sincere apology.
It was no longer my job to stand there until she invented one.
That night Miller called with the first unequivocal break in the old case.
The archived repair records contained an original customer signature that had not appeared in the photocopied file.
A document examiner was comparing it to known samples.
"We cannot name the driver yet," Miller cautioned.
"But we have evidence that the repair was arranged under a false identity."
May you like
Before he hung up, he added, "And there is something about the crash your grandfather never told you."
