Part 22 (1/2)
”Listen faster,” I snapped. ”I was talking to Liberty a few minutes ago, and she told me about something that I'm sure is important.”
Jawarski perched on the corner of his desk, putting my face level with his stomach. ”Something about a kid named Davey Mendoza.”
Admirable as his flat stomach is for a man in his early forties, I lifted my eyes to meet his. ”Yes. He was killed in a car accident shortly after that whole group graduated from high school.”
”And you're sure this is related to Hobbs's murder because . . . ?”
”It's a gut feeling.”
”That's what I thought.”
”Don't dismiss me without even hearing me out,” I complained. ”First, you have a whole group of kids centering around Kerry Hendrix. Quentin Ingersol and Dwayne Escott are with him everywhere he goes. They're practically inseparable. There's a fourth kid in the group: Davey Mendoza.”
”Okay.” Jawarski folded his arms across his chest. ”Go on.”
”Then you've got the girls-girls who'd do just about anything for these guys. You know how some young girls can be. One of them is Ginger Ames-the same Ginger Ames who showed up back in Paradise a couple of months ago and opened an antique shop that we both know is selling phony antiques.”
Jawarski inclined his head slightly. ”We don't know anything.”
”All right, we suspect that she's selling phony antiques. Probably just enough phony stuff mixed in with real pieces so people don't get suspicious right away. I have no idea why she's doing this, except that she's still insecure enough to do what people ask her to.”
”Who would ask her to do this?”
”I don't know. Apparently, she was head over heels for Kerry Hendrix back in high school. Maybe she's still trying to please him.”
”Or maybe Hendrix knows something about her she doesn't want anyone else to know.”
I thought about that for a second, then shook my head. ”I don't think so. Those men I heard arguing at the recreation center were talking about a woman and the proof she had. I think they were talking about Ginger.” I hadn't forgotten that Liberty could have been the mystery woman, but an unexpected surge of loyalty kept me from saying so. I just hoped that loyalty wasn't misplaced.
Jawarski stood and walked around his desk slowly. ”But why do that? If you're right, and Davey Mendoza's death is somehow at the heart of all this, why is it suddenly an issue now?”
”I think Hobbs was blackmailing the others.”
Jawarski's gaze shot to mine. ”You think what? Why?”
”I was at the bank the other day. Dwayne Escott was trying to cash a check, but the teller couldn't do it. His account was overdrawn.”
”That doesn't mean he was being blackmailed.”
”It doesn't prove that he was being blackmailed,” I corrected him. ”But I have a hunch that he was. The teller said that this wasn't the first time he'd been overdrawn, and Hobbs always made deposits of cash.”
”Well, h.e.l.l, if that's the case, half the population's being blackmailed. Come on, Abby.” Jawarski dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk and picked up a file folder. ”I've gone through the report on the kid's death twice. It was an accident, that's all. He was driving under the influence, and he lost control.”
”You're sure?”
”I knew the cop who had the lead in the investigation. He was a good man, and an even better cop. If there was anything to find, he'd have found it.”
Disappointed, I sank back in my chair and racked my brain for answers. Liberty had filled me in on the details she could remember about Mendoza's accident. He'd gone off a cliff a few miles northwest of town, halfway between Paradise and Aspen. The road was narrow and winding, much of it running along steep cliffs that fell away to a narrow river valley far below. By the time they'd recovered the car and body, there wasn't much left of either.
”What about suicide?”
”I don't think so. Everything in this file indicates that Mendoza had an accident. According to McMillan's notes, there were skid marks all over the road going up that hill. Mendoza might have been drunk, but he was working the brakes, trying to stop the car. If Davey Mendoza had been intent on driving himself off that cliff, he'd have aimed straight.”
”You don't know that,” I argued without conviction.
”The evidence doesn't support any other answer-not well enough to take to court. And that's what I have to think of, Abby. You were a lawyer-you know that. I can suspect someone all I want, but unless I can find evidence that will stand up in court, I've got nothing.”
”I know,” I said, suddenly weary. ”Go on.”
”The testimony of witnesses-several kids at the party heard Mendoza making plans for the following day. n.o.body mentioned him being despondent, worried, or acting strangely, and it seems unlikely that he'd make plans with friends if he planned to leave the party and drive himself off a cliff.”
”So you think the accelerator got stuck?”
Jawarski nodded. ”That's what the investigators on the case believed.”
”And what physical evidence was there to support that theory?”
”There wasn't much. You saw the photos.” Jawarski flipped open the folder and studied the report again. ”I'll admit this part is odd,” he said after a minute. ”The crime scene investigators recorded the first skid marks at the base of the hill.”
”Which means what?”
”That he deliberately sped up that hill. They estimated his speed at over seventy miles an hour.”
”Seventy?” I gaped at him. ”And they're sure it wasn't suicide?”
”We probably won't ever be one hundred percent certain, but they called it an accident, and we have to go with that. He was eighteen and drunk. He probably thought he was invincible.”
Maybe he did, but I wasn't bound by the same rules and regulations. ”Is there any chance someone else was there? Maybe someone who rigged the accelerator at the bottom of the hill and then sent Davey Mendoza to his death?”
Jawarski looked up from the file wearing a deep scowl. ”Murder?”
”Why not?”
”You want me to list all the reasons, or just the top three?”
I smiled at his attempt at humor. ”Give me the top three.”
”Okay, how's this for starters? How could Mendoza have been alert enough to try to stop the car, but so out of it he let someone put him in that position in the first place?”
”What if it was more than one person? What if three guys overpowered him or something?”
”Such as Hendrix, Ingersol, and Escott?”
I grinned. ”If you insist, we can use them for argument's sake.”
”Okay, what's the motive? And how did they force him to drive?”