“We can’t ignore the possibility that Emma’s disappearance is somehow related to an issue that somebody might have with you. Perhaps a disgruntled customer. An angry former employee.”
“I got three guys working in my shop. The same three guys who have been working there since I bought it. Hell, even before that.”
“Names?” A.L. pulled out his notebook.
“Davy Grace, Pete Seoul, Cory Prider. Listen, I’ve known these guys since I was in high school. Davy was in my same class. Pete and Cory are older but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m their boss but we’re also friends.”
“Never any issues?”
Troy threw up his right hand. “Hell, yes, there are issues. Sometimes they screw up. Sometimes they even do shitty work, which really pisses me off because they’re better than that and with so much competition, that will kill you.”
“How’s business?” A.L. asked.
“Fine. Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Not sorry you bought it?”
“No. Why would I be?”
“Just asking,” A.L. said. “Owning your own business is tough. If there’s nothing left at the end of the month, you don’t get paid, right?”
“We’re doing just fine,” he said.
A.L. decided to let it go for the time. “You been in touch with any of your employees?”
“Not today. They knew I wasn’t going to be in.”
A.L. would swing by the garage next. “Let’s talk about your customers. Any problems with anybody lately?”
“No. I mean, maybe.”
“Which is it?” A.L. asked.
“Davy did some work on a vehicle earlier this week and he forgot to clamp a hose or if he did clamp it, it popped off. Anyway, long story short, customer drove the vehicle out of our shop, got halfway home with her seven-year-old and five-year-old and the engine overheated. She had a cell phone and called her husband. But before he could get there, another vehicle stopped. A couple redneck assholes. Didn’t touch her but I guess they scared her pretty bad. Anyway, husband arrives, assholes leave, and wife calls us to tell us we’ll be hearing from their attorney.”
“Did you?”
“Not yet. I offered six free oil changes. Wife told me where I could shove them.”
“Did you fix her car a second time?”
“Nope. They had it towed to Morton’s Garage.”
“What’s the customer’s name?”
“I do not want you going to see her. Maybe she’s over being pissed. This could just stoke the fire and she decides to call the fucking lawyer. I can’t be sued. I can’t...” He ran his hands over his short hair. “Listen, she’s got kids of her own. She isn’t going to do something to one of mine.”
“Unfortunately,” A.L. said, “we don’t know if that’s true. Maybe she feels that you endangered her kids and now she wants to return the favor. What’s her name?”
“Gi-Gi. Gi-Gi Thompson. Her husband’s name is Barrett.”
A.L. wrote it down. “Anybody else that might have a beef with you?”
Troy pressed his lips together. Looked at the back of his house. Then shook his head. “I can’t think of anybody.”
“Get along with your neighbors?” A.L. asked.
“I had words this summer with a guy whose dog was shitting in my yard but other than that, it’s good.”
“What was his name?” A.L. asked.
“There’s no need to go talk to him. I dealt with it. It’s over.”
“It’s better if we decide who we need to talk to,” A.L. said. “What was his name?”
“I don’t even know his name. But he lives across the street, a couple doors that way. His house has the ugly blue siding.”
“Thank you. If you think of anything else, please let us know.”
“Yeah, sure.” He started to reach for the pack of cigarettes but pulled his hands back and stuffed each hand under a thigh.
He’d been fast but not fast enough. His hands were trembling.
Troy Whitman seemed about to break.
* * *
A.L. found the neighbor with the blue siding sitting in a lawn chair in his garage. Figured it was a thing in the neighborhood. He was not smoking but he did have two empty bottles of cheap beer next to his chair. He was retirement age with thinning gray hair and wore an old Rolling Stones T-shirt and blue jeans.
“Hello,” A.L. said. “I’m Detective McKittridge with the Baywood Police Department.” He held out his badge, gave the guy plenty of time to look at it. “What’s your name?”
“Why? Am I under arrest?” the man asked, his tone serious. Then he smiled. “Just screwing with you. Roger Martin.”
“Thank you, Mr. Martin. I wanted to ask you about your relationship with Troy Whitman.”
“We don’t have a relationship. He lives down the street. That’s it.”
“He said that the two of you recently had words after he complained about your dog taking a dump in his yard.”
The man smiled again. “I’ve been walking my dog past his house for two years, ever since we moved in here. Didn’t realize who he was until my wife took her car to his garage about two months ago. Thank God I got a quote before I had him do the work. A thousand bucks. Double, literally double, what the guy six blocks down the street charged me. I told Lois that Troy Whitman was a crook. That’s when I decided to let my dog shit in his yard. After all, he’s shitting on his customers.”
Troy hadn’t said anything about a disagreement over a quote. “Did you and Troy discuss the quote?”
“No. Maybe Lois called them up and told them we were taking it somewhere else. I don’t know and I didn’t care. I hate it when people think they can rip senior citizens off.”
A.L. did not think this man had a five-year-old hidden in his house. “Are you aware that Mr. Whitman’s daughter is missing?”
“You couldn’t be alive in Baywood and not know that. Goddamn shame. Nobody deserves for that to happen. I may not like his business practices but I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
“Where were you, Mr. Martin, on Wednesday morning?”
The man gave A.L. a look that told A.L. that he was now the equivalent of dog shit. “Lois and I volunteer at the homeless shelter on Portuana Street every Wednesday. We were there by 8:00 and didn’t leave for several hours.”