When Cal arrived at the Crossing, he spent a few minutes visiting with Sully, then put his arm around Sierra’s shoulders and walked her over to the front porch on Sully’s house. Until the barn was finished, Cal met some clients at the Crossing, either at Sully’s kitchen table or on the front porch where they’d have a measure of privacy.
“You have circles under your eyes,” Cal said.
“I had a little trouble sleeping,” she said. “Just lay it on me. What do you know?”
“There was an accident, just as you suspected and feared. A cyclist was critically injured, but he did make a full recovery. It’s still a felony hit-and-run but they know it was a man driving. Sierra, I can only think of one way they could know that. There must be a witness. The witness could be the victim. I hired the detective I worked with at my old firm—she knows how to surf the public record documents, arrests and accidents, that sort of thing. She also knows how to finesse information by pretending to be an insurance agent, a banker, a lawyer—she’s very good. And very sneaky. The police know it was your car, a man at the wheel, that your car was abandoned. And that you disappeared. There’s even been some conjecture of foul play in your disappearance or the greater possibility that you and the driver ran off to avoid arrest. They want to talk to you. You’re a person of interest in the case. Not a suspect, but a person of interest.”
“Who could become a suspect,” she said.
“If they have evidence to support that. They’ve been looking for the identity of a man. I suppose they’re looking for this Derek Cox. My investigator couldn’t find him. She needs more information like where he worked, lived, where he grew up, where his family is, anything at all to heat up his trail, provide a map of sorts. I hate to put you through this but can you tell me everything again? We need to have as many details as possible.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “He said so many things. He said he’d made money in real estate but I knew tons of people who were licensed Realtors and even busting their butts, it was hard to make money. He said he ran a messenger service for a couple of years and that’s how he made all his connections. He also said he had owned a small valet parking service and made a bundle that way but before all that, he said he had been in the military and gone to Afghanistan. You know what I think? I think he was lying about everything. I think he was dealing. He always had something, usually pot. Sometimes he had ecstasy and oxy. He said he was from Maine, he said he was from California. I never went to his apartment. He said he lived three blocks from me but who knows if that’s true. I didn’t even date him. I hung out with him and other people, mostly—a bar crowd—and he came by work to take me to lunch. I’ll give you the names of some of my so-called friends, but they weren’t close friends. It’s not like we knew each other’s families; they weren’t friends from school or anything. I just hung out with him at the bar a couple of times, talked to him on the phone, then we had one official date. I let him come home with me once. Just once. And that’s when things got weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I didn’t get it until much later. He couldn’t get it up. He had trouble. I told him it was all right and to just forget it but he was so angry. He wanted to keep trying. It was when I pushed at him and told him I was done, boing! Then he couldn’t complete. He can’t get it up in a normal situation. He liked that I wasn’t into it. Then he didn’t want to leave. He was rough. I couldn’t get rid of him until morning, and then he showed up at the office where I worked with flowers. Flowers like we’d had a lovely, romantic evening, which we hadn’t. He called and called. He said he was sorry and that’s never happened to him before, which now I know is bullshit. I told him to settle down, we weren’t engaged, just casual friends, and he got worse. Calling, showing up where I was, parking out in front of my house, hanging out in parking lots waiting for me. I finally got mad and told him I didn’t want to see him or talk to him again but he didn’t back off. Everytime I turned around, there he was. When I talked to the police and asked them if they could do anything they were perfectly nice, they told me to be careful, to stop answering my phone if it was him and to call the police if he became threatening. I blocked his number, I dropped Facebook, I deleted his emails and he couldn’t get a text through. Then came that night.”
“How long did this go on?” Cal asked, making notes.
“Only a couple of weeks, that’s all. I talked to him at a bar, I gave him my number, I talked to him on the phone about three times. I saw him for lunch, at the bar after work a few times and there were lots of people around—people I saw after work all the time.”
“People you worked with?”
“A couple of them came from the company I worked for. I hadn’t had the job that long, didn’t know too many people. I found the people who liked to go out right away. I had a talent for it.” She laughed hollowly. “I was doing clerical work for Union Insurance.”
“I need some names, Sierra.”
“Sure. I can give you the names of some friends. My old roommate and her boyfriend. My old boss—but she was a battle-ax and I never shared anything about my life with her. She hated me. I wasn’t crazy about her. I was... I wasn’t the best employee.”
“In those two weeks did you ever learn anything more about the guy? Can you think of anything?”
She shook her head. “Just the stuff I told you—he had a lot of stories. A lot of jokes. He buddied up to people. He gave them dope, like pot or ecstasy. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to hang out with him. After all, he was so much fun and he liked me. It was awful. I didn’t want to explain why I knew he was bad news.”
“Think about it and make me a list—any connections that could give us information about the guy because he’s gone. And I’d like your permission to tell Maggie about this. She’s very good at confidences, so don’t worry about that.”
“You have circles under your eyes,” Cal said.
“I had a little trouble sleeping,” she said. “Just lay it on me. What do you know?”
“There was an accident, just as you suspected and feared. A cyclist was critically injured, but he did make a full recovery. It’s still a felony hit-and-run but they know it was a man driving. Sierra, I can only think of one way they could know that. There must be a witness. The witness could be the victim. I hired the detective I worked with at my old firm—she knows how to surf the public record documents, arrests and accidents, that sort of thing. She also knows how to finesse information by pretending to be an insurance agent, a banker, a lawyer—she’s very good. And very sneaky. The police know it was your car, a man at the wheel, that your car was abandoned. And that you disappeared. There’s even been some conjecture of foul play in your disappearance or the greater possibility that you and the driver ran off to avoid arrest. They want to talk to you. You’re a person of interest in the case. Not a suspect, but a person of interest.”
“Who could become a suspect,” she said.
“If they have evidence to support that. They’ve been looking for the identity of a man. I suppose they’re looking for this Derek Cox. My investigator couldn’t find him. She needs more information like where he worked, lived, where he grew up, where his family is, anything at all to heat up his trail, provide a map of sorts. I hate to put you through this but can you tell me everything again? We need to have as many details as possible.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “He said so many things. He said he’d made money in real estate but I knew tons of people who were licensed Realtors and even busting their butts, it was hard to make money. He said he ran a messenger service for a couple of years and that’s how he made all his connections. He also said he had owned a small valet parking service and made a bundle that way but before all that, he said he had been in the military and gone to Afghanistan. You know what I think? I think he was lying about everything. I think he was dealing. He always had something, usually pot. Sometimes he had ecstasy and oxy. He said he was from Maine, he said he was from California. I never went to his apartment. He said he lived three blocks from me but who knows if that’s true. I didn’t even date him. I hung out with him and other people, mostly—a bar crowd—and he came by work to take me to lunch. I’ll give you the names of some of my so-called friends, but they weren’t close friends. It’s not like we knew each other’s families; they weren’t friends from school or anything. I just hung out with him at the bar a couple of times, talked to him on the phone, then we had one official date. I let him come home with me once. Just once. And that’s when things got weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I didn’t get it until much later. He couldn’t get it up. He had trouble. I told him it was all right and to just forget it but he was so angry. He wanted to keep trying. It was when I pushed at him and told him I was done, boing! Then he couldn’t complete. He can’t get it up in a normal situation. He liked that I wasn’t into it. Then he didn’t want to leave. He was rough. I couldn’t get rid of him until morning, and then he showed up at the office where I worked with flowers. Flowers like we’d had a lovely, romantic evening, which we hadn’t. He called and called. He said he was sorry and that’s never happened to him before, which now I know is bullshit. I told him to settle down, we weren’t engaged, just casual friends, and he got worse. Calling, showing up where I was, parking out in front of my house, hanging out in parking lots waiting for me. I finally got mad and told him I didn’t want to see him or talk to him again but he didn’t back off. Everytime I turned around, there he was. When I talked to the police and asked them if they could do anything they were perfectly nice, they told me to be careful, to stop answering my phone if it was him and to call the police if he became threatening. I blocked his number, I dropped Facebook, I deleted his emails and he couldn’t get a text through. Then came that night.”
“How long did this go on?” Cal asked, making notes.
“Only a couple of weeks, that’s all. I talked to him at a bar, I gave him my number, I talked to him on the phone about three times. I saw him for lunch, at the bar after work a few times and there were lots of people around—people I saw after work all the time.”
“People you worked with?”
“A couple of them came from the company I worked for. I hadn’t had the job that long, didn’t know too many people. I found the people who liked to go out right away. I had a talent for it.” She laughed hollowly. “I was doing clerical work for Union Insurance.”
“I need some names, Sierra.”
“Sure. I can give you the names of some friends. My old roommate and her boyfriend. My old boss—but she was a battle-ax and I never shared anything about my life with her. She hated me. I wasn’t crazy about her. I was... I wasn’t the best employee.”
“In those two weeks did you ever learn anything more about the guy? Can you think of anything?”
She shook her head. “Just the stuff I told you—he had a lot of stories. A lot of jokes. He buddied up to people. He gave them dope, like pot or ecstasy. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to hang out with him. After all, he was so much fun and he liked me. It was awful. I didn’t want to explain why I knew he was bad news.”
“Think about it and make me a list—any connections that could give us information about the guy because he’s gone. And I’d like your permission to tell Maggie about this. She’s very good at confidences, so don’t worry about that.”
