Not an Audi.
Johnson wasn't remembering the incident from the other night. This was a separate accident, somehow spurred by the memory of that Hunt, of Nansen's death.
I grabbed my laptop from my bag.
It didn't take a PI license to find what I needed. Search for "Keith Johnson" plus "car accident," and the result was...
The reason Johnson was a widower.
He moved to Chicago five years ago, shortly before marrying his wife, Kathy. Three years later, she died. In an automobile accident.
In a hit and run.
An unsolved hit and run.
My mind leapt to a conclusion, but I had to slow down, figure out ways to prove my theory. I had an idea, one that required zooming along a back road of the internet. Trespassing on private cyber-property.
Vehicle licensing and registrations.
And there, I got my lucky break.
Johnson's wife died almost exactly two years ago. The week after that, the Nansens took ownership of a new Land Rover, bought from Alan's dealership-owning brother-in-law. Before that, they'd owned, yep, another Rover. They didn't transfer the license plate, though. They continued paying the license fees and insurance on the old one, which made it look as if they simply bought a second car. No harm in that. But the timing was too coincidental. Way too coincidental.
Before I jumped to any conclusions, I placed a call to Heather, who was out on bail.
"Hey, it's Liv Jones. I have a few questions. Can you spare a minute?"
"Of course."
I ran through some questions I'd been accumulating for the defense case. Then, I said, "Okay, now, some of the questions I ask will seem odd, but we're preparing for the prosecution's tactics. They're going to ask why you stayed home after you thought someone tried to break in those two other nights. They'll try to suggest you weren't too concerned, possibly because no one tried to break in. Gabriel will shut them down, but you'll need to answer their questions if you take the stand. Am I right that you only have one vehicle? That Alan had your car those nights?"
"Yes."
"So you don't own a second vehicle?"
"Right. We only have..." A slight pause, as if she just remembered the other Rover. "We had two, but we got rid of the second one a while ago."
"Before the break-ins?"
"Yes. Just before that, I think." Another pause. "I never had any reason to drive it, and Alan knew someone who needed a car and couldn't afford it. He gave it to them. He looked after all that, so I don't know the details, but it was definitely gone before the first break-in. I was stuck home alone."
"That's all I needed to know," I said. "Thank you."
Seventeen
Gabriel
Gabriel listened as the office door opened and then shut. Heels tapped across
it. Not Lydia's sensible pumps or the click of high heels, but the solid thunk that indicated Olivia's boots. He had been waiting nearly thirty minutes, and he was growing impatient, ready to phone and ask where she was.
Olivia would pause to speak to Lydia. On cue, he heard a contralto voice and then Lydia's higher one. Roughly thirty seconds of conversation would ensue, enough for Olivia to greet her and then say, "Is he in?" before crossing to rap at his door. He'd pretend to be busy on his laptop as he said, "I believe I have something on the Johnson case," casual, offhand, as if he had not been drumming his fingers for these thirty minutes, resisting the urge to phone, wanting instead to present it as a gift.
I know how much this case is bothering you, and I wish I could have joined your investigation today, but as soon as I had a free hour, I checked a few things. I have a possible answer, one I know you're looking for. Motive.
He was so caught up in his fantasy revelation that he missed the sound of her boots walking to his door. The next thing he heard was the tap. Except it didn't sound like Olivia's jaunty rap. It sounded...
The door opened, and Lydia peeked in. She held up an envelope, and behind her, he saw a boot-wearing delivery woman walk out.