Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(72)

For the rest of the night, she kept at it, checking and cross-checking, using every database she could think of until she finally hit pay dirt. Marcus Hubbard had bought a farm in Woodland from a man named Brody Bloom. She wrote down the property owner’s name and telephone number. It was too late to call now. She’d have to call in the morning.

Olivia had fallen asleep on the couch next to her. Jessie took a moment to watch her sleep. She was growing up so fast. She had a lot of the same facial features as Sophie. The same nose and full lips. If her sister was alive, did she think about her daughter? Or had she simply moved on, like their mother?





THIRTY-NINE

First thing Tuesday morning, after his wife and kids pulled out of the driveway, Ben Morrison finished dressing, grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, and jumped into his van parked in front of the house. The engine sputtered for a few seconds longer than usual before roaring to life.

The first time Ben had seen Sophie Cole on TV, he’d never thought his investigation into her disappearance would become so entangled with his own accident.

Last night he’d focused on the stolen vehicle. At the time of Ben’s accident, investigators had referred to it as an open-and-shut case. Vernon Doherty had stolen the car and was driving drunk when he plowed head-on into a tree in Auburn. The morning after the crash, it was confirmed that the stolen vehicle belonged to Caleb Montana, who’d reported it missing.

The police had brought Mr. Montana in for questioning, and, of course, Ben had done his own thorough investigation, but everything had pointed to Vernon Doherty and his long list of criminal activity.

Two recent discoveries had changed all of that.

One, Sophie Cole used to steal cars. And two, she didn’t have a car the night she’d stormed out of the house, but somehow she’d managed to get all the way to Auburn.

One quick search in the right database was all it had taken for Ben to discover that Caleb Montana had a son named Lucas, whose driving record at the time was less than stellar, including joyriding and underage driving; in both cases his parents had been forced to pay a hefty fine.

Which brought him to his meeting with Lucas Montana, a twenty-five-year-old rookie insurance salesman in Folsom.

Traffic was light, and it didn’t take Ben long to get where he needed to go.

The young man greeted him on time, with a fresh haircut, suit, and tie—the whole nine yards. Ben took the seat Lucas gestured to in front of a neatly organized desk and pulled out the accident report from ten years ago, which included an eight-by-ten glossy of the stolen Ford Pinto—a twisted hunk of burning metal.

Smile gone, Lucas leaned forward to take a better look at both the report and the picture. When he finally looked at Ben, he said, “So I guess you’re not here to buy insurance.”

“Sorry, kid.”

Lucas sighed as he loosened his tie. “What do you want?”

Ben gestured toward the picture. “I was in the passenger seat of that car when it went up in flames.”

The kid’s full attention fell to the side of Ben’s face, where thick scars covered part of his jaw and most of his neck. He was used to people staring. It didn’t bother him. The kid looked a little nervous, which spoke volumes.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said, elbows on his desk, palms up.

“You lived in Elk Grove with your parents at the time,” Ben said. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“I live with my girlfriend not too far from here, but I’m not sure why that would be any of your business.”

“Just a few more questions, and I’ll get out of your hair. I promise.”

The kid looked more than a little jumpy but seemed to be doing his best to appear calm.

“The accident happened after midnight on Friday night,” Ben said, “which in reality was Saturday morning.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Your dad reported the car missing on Saturday at approximately ten in the morning.”

Lucas shrugged. “Okay.”

“But the car was actually stolen around, let’s say, eight o’clock on Friday—wasn’t it?”

“How would I know?”

“Because your dad was working the night shift, and he had carpooled with coworkers.” Ben aimed a finger at the kid. “You took the car joyriding that night with friends in Sacramento—didn’t you?”

“Joyriding?” Lucas asked. “I don’t even know what that is, but so what if I did? What are you getting at?”

The kid was lying. “What I’m getting at, Lucas, is that you didn’t have your license yet, but you took the car to Sacramento to party with your friends. At some point during the evening, your dad’s Ford Pinto was stolen. But when you found out the next morning that your dad had returned from his trip and reported the car stolen from Elk Grove, you were off the hook—weren’t you? Your parents never knew you took the car to begin with.”

Lucas straightened in his chair, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “It’s been years. I don’t remember where I was or what happened that particular night.”

“I think you do. I’m a crime reporter with the Sacramento Tribune. We both know that too much time has passed, and even if you fess up now, you won’t be in trouble with the law. I’m investigating a cold case that has nothing to do with you, but has everything to do with that Ford Pinto. If you tell me the truth right now, I won’t publicize your name as one of the people I talked to in my write-up about this case. If you refuse, I’ll mention your name, and people with questions will come calling.”