Читать книгу Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 1: The Dark Tide, Don’t Look Twice, Relentless - Andrew Gross, Andrew Gross - Страница 59

There was a knock on the door the following afternoon, and Hauck went over to answer.

Freddy Muñoz was there.

He handed Hauck one of those large, string-bound interoffice envelopes. “Hope I’m not bothering you. Thought I’d bring it up to you myself, Lieutenant, if that’s okay?”

Hauck had just come back from a run. He was sweaty. He was in a gray Colby College T-shirt and gym shorts. He had spent most of the morning working on the computer.

“You’re not bothering me.”

“Place looks nice.” The detective nodded approvingly. “Needs a bit of a woman’s touch, don’t you think? Maybe make a little sense of that kitchen over there?”

Hauck glanced at the dishes piled in the sink, a few open containers of takeout on the counter. “Care to volunteer?”

“Can’t.” Muñoz snapped his fingers, feigning disappointment. “Working tonight, Lieutenant. But I thought I’d just hang around a minute while you took a look through that, if that’s okay?”

Buoyed, Hauck opened the envelope’s flap and slid the contents on the coffee table, while Muñoz threw himself into a cushy living-room chair.

The first thing he came upon was the incident report. The report of the accident by the lead officer on the scene. From the Essex County PD. Details on the deceased. His name, Lauer. Address: 3135 Mountain View. DOB. Description: white male, approximately thirty, wearing a yellow biking uniform, severe body trauma and bleeding. Eyewitness described a red SUV, make undetermined, speeding away. New Jersey plates, number undetermined. Time: 10:07 A.M. Date. Eyewitness report attached.

It all seemed to have a familiar feel.

Hauck glanced through the photos. Photostats of them. The victim. In his biking jersey. Hit head-on. Severe blunt trauma to the face and torso. There was a shot of the bike, which had basically been mangled. A couple of views in either direction. Up, down the hill. The vehicle was clearly heading down.

Tire marks only after the point of impact.

Just like AJ Raymond.

Next Hauck leafed through the medical examiner’s report. Severe blunt-force trauma, crushed pelvis and fractured vertebrae, head trauma. Massive internal bleeding. Dead on impact, the medical examiner presumed.

Hauck paged through the detectives’ case reports. They had mapped out the same course of action Hauck had up in Connecticut. Did a canvass of the area, notified the state police, checked with the body shops, tried to trace back the tread marks for a tire brand. Interviewed the victim’s wife, his employer. “No motive found” to assume it might not have been an accident.

Still no suspects.

Muñoz had gotten up and gone over to a canvas Hauck was working on by the window. He lifted it off the easel. “This is pretty good, Lieutenant!”

“Thanks, Freddy.”

“May get to see you at the Bruce Museum yet. And I don’t mean waiting in line.”

“Feel free to help yourself to any you like,” Hauck muttered, flipping through the pages. “One day they’ll be worth millions.”

It was frustrating—just like his. The Jersey folks had never found any solid leads.

It just came down to a coincidence, a coincidence Hauck didn’t believe, one that didn’t lead anywhere.

“Strike you as reasonable, Freddy?” Hauck asked. “Two separate 509s? Two different states. Each with a connection to Charles Friedman.”

“Keep at it, Lieutenant,” Muñoz said, flopping back over the arm of the heavy chair.

All that was left was the detail of the eyewitness depositions. Deposition. There was only one.

As Hauck opened it up, he froze. He felt his jaw drop open, his eyeballs pulled like magnets to the name on the deposition’s front page.

“See what I’m seeing?” Freddy Muñoz sat up. He swung his legs off the chair.

“Yeah.” Hauck nodded and took a breath. “I sure do.”

The lone eyewitness to Jonathan Lauer’s murder had been a retired New Jersey policeman.

His name was Phil Dietz.

The same eyewitness as at AJ Raymond’s hit-and-run.