The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(37)
Next to his car, Michael said, “Look, Justin, I can’t go back over there. They associate me with the horrible news. You have to ask Verna for his briefcase and cell phone, okay? Tell her it’s crucial.”
Michael Geismar was the boss and Justin had little choice.
—
The Hatch home was easy to find because of the crowd. Cars lined both sides of the street and several men were loitering in the front yard, as if things were too crowded inside. Justin approached reluctantly and nodded to the men. They were polite but said little. One, a white guy in a shirt and tie, looked vaguely familiar. Justin explained to him that he worked with Hugo at BJC. The guy gave his name as Thomas and said he worked for the Attorney General’s Office. He and Hugo had studied together in law school and had remained close. Almost in a whisper, Justin explained the nature of his visit. It was imperative to locate and secure Hugo’s briefcase. It contained sensitive BJC files, and so on, and Thomas understood. And the cell phone issued by the office was missing. Was there a chance he left it at home? Thomas said, “Not likely,” and eased into the house.
Two women came out of the front door in tears and were comforted by their men. Judging by the number of cars lining the street, Justin knew the house was packed with stunned family and friends.
After an eternity, Thomas came through the front door, empty-handed. He and Justin walked to the edge of the street for a little privacy. Thomas said, “His briefcase is in there. I explained things to Verna and she allowed me to look through it. It appears to be in order, but she would not let me leave with it. I told her to make sure it was secure. I think she understands.”
“I’m not going to ask how she’s doing.”
“It’s awful. She’s in the bedroom with the two oldest kids, and she can barely talk. Hugo’s mother is laid out on a sofa. Aunts and uncles everywhere. There’s a doctor with them. It’s just awful.”
“No sign of a cell phone?”
“No, he had it with him. He called her last night around ten to check on things. I asked her if he had a personal cell phone and she said no. He used the BJC phone for everything.”
Justin took a deep breath and said, “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”
Driving away, Justin called Michael with the update.
—
Early in the afternoon, Hugo’s body was transported by hearse to a funeral home in Tallahassee, where it was prepared for burial, though Verna had not yet been able to finalize the details.
Lacy remained in intensive care throughout the day. Her vitals were strong and her doctors were pleased with her progress. Another scan revealed a slight improvement in the swelling, and if all went well, the doctors planned to ease her out of the coma in thirty-six to forty-eight hours. Lyman Gritt wanted to talk to her but was told to wait.
—
After a restless night in bed, Michael went to the office at dawn Wednesday and waited on Justin. Still sleepwalking through the nightmare, he read about Hugo on the front page of the morning newspaper. There were two photos—one a publicity shot of Hugo when he played for Florida State, and one in a coat and tie taken for the BJC website. Michael read the names of his four children and felt like crying again. The funeral would be Saturday, three days away. He could not imagine what a nightmare it would be.
He and Justin left at seven and drove to the reservation. Lyman Gritt had inventoried the contents of Hugo’s wallet, counted the money, and photographed everything. He asked Michael to sign an inventory sheet, then turned it all over to him. Michael also left with Lacy’s handbag. They walked down the street to a small salvage yard with a dozen wrecked cars, a locked gate, and chain-link fencing all around. Without touching anything, they examined the two vehicles. The pickup still smelled like whiskey. The Prius was far more damaged, and there was so much blood that neither Michael nor Justin wanted to probe too much. Their friend’s blood, and it was still fresh.
“There will probably be litigation,” Michael said gravely, though he had no real knowledge of this. “So it’s imperative to preserve these vehicles just as they are. Is that a problem?”
“Of course not,” Gritt said.
“Plus the insurance companies will be involved and they’ll send out their adjusters.”
“We’ve been through this before, Mr. Geismar.”
“And you’ve searched everywhere for the cell phones?”
“As I said, we’ve looked everywhere and found nothing.”
Michael and Justin exchanged glances as if they were skeptical. They asked if they could take photographs and Gritt said he didn’t care. When they finished, they followed the constable to the county road where it happened. They looked around, tentatively at first, and were struck by the remoteness of the place. The perfect spot for an unwitnessed accident. They saw the Beale home in the distance, the old bingo shack not far away, and no other buildings.
Michael stared at the pavement and said, “No skid marks.”
“Not a one,” Gritt said. “She never had time to react. It looks to me like the truck crossed the center line and they hit right about here.” Gritt was standing in the center of the eastbound lane. “Her car was spun around and was facing that way. It did not leave this lane. The truck, which was of course much heavier, bounced over here and almost went into the ditch. Evidently, it veered quickly into her lane, before she could do anything.”