Thread of Truth, стр. 12
Twice.
The officer seemed less than satisfied with my answers but told me to hang around until one of the detectives could talk with me.
About half an hour after that, a woman in a black pantsuit and sunglasses on her head eyed me for a moment, then headed in my direction.
“You're the one that found him?” she asked.
I nodded.
She looked at the small notepad in her hand. “Tyler? Private?”
“I'm not licensed,” I said. “Family hired me to look for their son. I've done this kind of thing before. Used to be a police officer on Coronado.”
“Got it. I'm Detective Swanson.” Her hair was nearly as dark as her suit and it was pulled back into a tight, single braid. “You're the guy with the daughter.”
I shrugged, then nodded. “I have a daughter, yes. I found her after she was abducted, if that's what you're referring to.”
“I am,” she said. “Okay. Can you run it back for me? How you found the body?”
I told her the same thing I'd told the responding officer. She listened closely, making a couple of notes on her notepad. Her eyes moved between me and the scene in the bushes.
“So he rode here regularly?” she asked when I finished.
“That's my understanding, yes.”
“The family hadn't gone looking for him?”
“They had,” I told her. “And they did report him missing to local police.”
She read me well. “And?”
“And they didn't feel like they were getting much help from them. Kid had a record, but he'd cleaned himself up. Parents felt like they buried it.” I shrugged. “Not saying it's true. Just telling you what was relayed to me.”
“Sure,” she said. She glanced toward the bushes. “My guys are saying it looks like hit and run.”
I looked over toward the bushes and then nodded. “Okay.”
She eyed me carefully. “You don't agree?”
“Not my job to agree or disagree.”
“But?”
I motioned toward the bike. “Did you get a look at the back tire?”
She looked toward the people working around Desmond's body. “I saw it.”
“Bent up pretty good.”
She looked at me. “So?”
“Hit and run, I'd think maybe he would have been hit from the side,” I explained. “Or maybe bumped from behind. Right?”
She was quiet for a minute. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Tire doesn't get bent from something like that,” I said.
“That’s a big pretty big leap.” Her voice was cool. “You ever see a car bumper after a low-impact fender bender?”
I turned to the road, ignoring her comment. “And they would've had to come onto the path to hit him. Not like he was sharing the road.”
She glanced at the road, too. “Cars go off the road all the time, Usually because people are on their phones and not paying attention.” She let out an irritated sigh. “Happens way too much.”
“Yeah, and then they usually over correct, right?” I said. “They realize what's happening and go opposite.” I looked toward Desmond. “That tire doesn't happen if that's what occurred.”
She pursed her lips. “Look, there are a lot of variables here. Speed of the car. Type of vehicle. Where the kid was on the path.”
“Absolutely,” I said. I pointed toward the road. “I did a quick look for skid marks. Didn't see any.”
“We'll check.” She tucked the notebook and pen into her pocket and then looked at me. Her expression was critical. “So what do you think happened then?”
“I don't know what happened,” I told her. “That tire looks off to me, though.”
“You a bike tech?”
“No.”
“You ever do accident recreation when you were in Coronado?”
“Simple traffic stuff.”
“That’s what I thought.” She nodded, satisfied that she'd made her point. “Okay. I'll take a look. But this stuff happens on this road quite a bit. Not making light of it, but just saying.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
I wasn't going to start an argument with her, but the tire really had stood out to me when I backed out of the bushes. It was bent and smashed in, and seemed like it had been hit harder than just someone unintentionally grazing the bike.
But Swanson was right. There were other variables.
One thing that wasn’t up for debate was the fact that Desmond Locker was dead.
“Have you notified the family?” Swanson asked, as if she had been able to see exactly what I was thinking.
“Not yet,” I told her. “Called you guys first.”
She pulled out her phone. “Can I get contact info for them?”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and gave her Desmond's parent's names and phone number. She tapped them into her phone. The medical examiner's vehicle was backing up onto the bike path. They'd laid a white blanket over Desmond's body.
“Thanks,” she said. “I'm going to call them and let them know.”
I nodded.
She looked away for a moment. “Didn't mean to be rude about your daughter.”
“It's fine.”
“I just read a lot about that after it happened,” Swanson said. “And about your wife after.”
I looked away. “Yeah. You need me anymore?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, we're good. If I need to follow up, I'll find you.”
I nodded, thanked her, and headed for my car, wondering how the Lockers were going to respond to hearing that their son was dead.
ELEVEN
I didn't have to wait long to find out.
I was at a gas station getting gas for my car and coffee for my stomach when my phone buzzed. It hadn't even been thirty minutes since I'd left the accident scene and Tom Locker was asking if I could come to the house. I finished fueling up the car, stuck the coffee in the drink holder, and headed to their home.
Tom greeted me at the door with a handshake and a grim expression. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” I said. “I assume you got the phone call.”
“We did.”
“I'm sorry,” I said.
He nodded, his lips pinched tight, and led me to the living room.
Alice Locker