“A daughter. Senior in high school.”
“So you got your own worries.”
“Not like this,” A.L. said. “This is about as bad as it gets. We know that.”
Troy said nothing.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, A.L. shifted. “I need to ask you about your day on Wednesday.”
“Okay.”
“What time did you leave for work?”
“After Elaine picked up Emma?”
“Right after? Ten minutes later? An hour later?”
“Pretty soon after,” Troy said.
“And how far a drive is it to your work?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“So you estimate that you probably arrived at Garage on Division by 7:45 at the latest?”
“That sounds right.”
“And what if I told you that your employees who were working that day estimate that you arrived around 9:00?”
Troy shrugged. “They’re wrong.”
“They seemed pretty confident.”
“Maybe they didn’t see me. I remember I was doing some paperwork up in the office. They’re back in the bays, thinking about other things. Cars these days are complicated. You got to really be thinking about what you’re doing.”
It seemed reasonable. The office was separate from the rest of the garage. But both Cory and Pete had seemed sure. But could either man be trusted? “You recall any customers who came in on Wednesday morning who could verify that you were there?”
Troy shook his head. “Sorry. Nobody that I can think of.”
“You’ve got a scheduling system of some type, right?” A.L. said. “Something that allows you to keep track of what vehicles are coming in for what type of service?”
“Yeah.”
“On a computer?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d like to see that for Wednesday. In fact, for all this week.”
“I can’t access it from home,” Troy said quickly. “And I shouldn’t leave right now.”
He could be a hard-ass and demand that they go right now. Or, he could get a warrant and they could confiscate the computer. He decided to take a more measured approach. After all, he could not forget that Troy Whitman had lost a daughter and there was still no real reason to suspect that he was anything but a grieving father here. However, if he found out that there was an unexplained absence of more than ninety minutes, all bets were off. “Then, tomorrow,” A.L. said. “Early tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll print you off a copy,” Troy said.
A.L. shook his head. “I’ll meet you there at 8:00 with a technician. We’ll have him or her get it off the computer.” A.L. paused. “Don’t go inside until we get there. Don’t access your computer before we get there. Trust me on this, my person will know if you did and be able to find anything that’s been modified, added or deleted.” He was willing to cut the man a little slack but he wanted to make sure there was no question that Troy understood that this wasn’t a suggestion but rather a demand.
Troy stared at him. “Anything else?” His voice was just short of hostile.
“Yeah. You should know that we executed a search warrant for your storage shed at Alcamay Corners. The landlord opened the door for us.”
Troy said nothing.
“It would have been helpful if you’d mentioned that you had a storage shed.”
“There was no reason to,” Troy said.
“In the spirit of good faith and all,” A.L. said. “Does Leah know about it?”
“She knows that I have an interest in taxidermy. She does not know about the extent of my collection or the rental unit. I used to keep a few of the pieces here, in the basement, but she didn’t like looking at them when she came down to do laundry. She wanted me to sell them. I told her that I did.”
But he hadn’t. In fact, it sounded as if he’d obtained more since that conversation.
“You look as if you disapprove, Detective,” Troy said, a challenge in his tone.
“Just don’t think lies are the best foundation for a strong marriage. But that falls outside the scope of this investigation. Have a good night, sir,” A.L. said. Then he walked out of the house and across the small yard. Sunset had faded into full-blown darkness. The end of another day.
But not for him. Even though his conversation with Troy had left him with a bad taste in his mouth, there were more people to talk to.
* * *
Gi-Gi was short for Georgiana. “My father had been George and was attached to the name,” Gi-Gi Thompson explained. She, Barrett and A.L. were sitting at her kitchen table.
After learning that he was a police officer who wanted to talk about an incident that had happened at Garage on Division, the Thompsons had sent their two grade-school children upstairs to finish homework. Even though he’d arrived well after dinner, dirty dishes were still on the counter and the smell of tuna and noodle casserole lingered, at odds with the gleaming stainless steel appliances, the quartz countertops and the four thousand feet of living space.
“Tell me about your recent interactions with Garage on Division.”
“We’re pretty unhappy with the work that got done on our vehicle,” Barrett said. “It put my wife and my children in a bad spot. A dangerous spot. Are you here about the report that we filed?”
“In a way,” A.L. said. “I recently had a conversation with a few people who mentioned the incident.”
Barrett looked at Gi-Gi. “I told you it was a mistake to post something about it.” He looked at A.L. “She loves social media.”
“That’s not where I got it,” A.L. said. “But if you could walk me through your experience, I’d appreciate it.”
“My wife’s car had been running rough for a couple weeks. We had used Garage on Division before and had been happy with the work. On September 9, we dropped it off and they had it for hours. Five hundred and sixty-two dollars later, I was promised that the vehicle was ready for pickup,” Barrett said.
Gi-Gi leaned forward. “Barrett dropped me off at the garage and went back to work. I drove it to pick up our young children from school. I did that and was halfway home to our house when it died. Just died. Left us stranded. Well, the first thing I did was call Barrett.”
“I was at work. Left as quickly as I could but it wasn’t soon enough. A couple of redneck local boys stopped, supposedly to help.”