Ashley motioned to the ditch, her motion languid, her shoulders slumped and head bowed.
“This is where they found him, down there in the grass and undergrowth. You couldn’t see him, even standing here and looking down during the day. Certainly not from a car driving by. He wouldn’t have been found if we hadn’t been looking for him. It isn’t exactly a place that hikers come through.”
He could see glimpses of black water and mud through the dense grasses and brush. There was brown grass beside the road that was trampled into the dirt, but it had snowed on and off in the past week and he couldn’t see a lot of footprints. Zachary could picture it as it would have been while the investigation was ongoing. Pylons with yellow tape stretched between them. Evidence markers wherever they had found anything that might have to do with the investigation. Examining and taking pictures of the body while it was in situ. Then it would be carefully loaded into a body bag and carried away. He hoped that Ashley had not seen any of these activities close up.
“Thanks. This is going to take me a while. You can stay or go, it’s up to you.”
It appeared she was going to stay. Zachary did his best to ignore her and go about his investigation like he would without any supervision.
He used a handheld GPS to record a few reference points, drew a diagram, measured the distances between the reference points and various landscape features. He had been involved in accident reconstruction scenes before. He was no expert, but he knew the basics and would collect enough information that he could consult with an expert later if he had to. The police had already done their best estimates, but it was difficult, given that they were out there several days after the collision had occurred and they had evidence to rely on.
He walked back on the road, keeping a careful eye and ear on the occasional vehicles that approached to ensure that he didn’t end up in the same position as Harding had. He walked the side of the road as Harding must have done, feeling the evenness of the pavement, the pitch of the slope, the way the road crowned and then sloped off at the edge. He kept a sharp eye on the ditch, his attention jumping from the road to the traffic to the ditch in rapid succession over and over again. They hadn’t found both of Harding’s shoes, so the other had to be out there somewhere.
After walking the road both approaching and departing from the site where the body had been found, Zachary geared up and descended into the ditch. There was a crust of ice over the sludgy water and mud. He slogged down its length; it was much harder than walking the road, and he was glad he had thought to bring hip waders. If someone were out there at night, they would definitely have to walk the road rather than the ditch. It would have been far too dangerous and difficult to get through in the dark. Even in daylight, it took at least four times as long to traverse the ditch as it did the road.
He watched for any sign of snagged clothing, anything that Harding might have been holding or wearing and any sign that someone else had been there. Had Rusty descended into the ditch to check on whether Harding was alive or dead? Had there been someone else with him? Had Harding been running away from someone or chasing after someone? What had made him go out there so late at night?
Even after Zachary figured he had gone past the point of collision, he kept going. He started to see trash in the ditch, which meant he had gone past the perimeter the police had established. The police would have collected every piece of debris they had found within the perimeter in case it were relevant to the case. The sun was getting lower in the sky. It would be dusk before too long. Zachary pressed on, slowed by the muck and vegetation and having to stop to examine the bits of garbage. Food wrappers, straws, unidentifiable clothing ground with mud. A “For Sale” sign. Curled black hunks of tire. Shredded plastic of every description. His foot caught on something in the ditch. Probably another piece of tire or a shelf of ice. Zachary bent down to pick it up, glad he was wearing industrial rubber gloves.
What he came up with was a very muddy red high-top shoe. The mate to the one the police had found.
Zachary clambered up the side of the ditch to the road. From his pocket he pulled a large glow stick and snapped it along its length to activate the chemical reaction that would start it glowing. He placed it on the side of the road, then placed a second one for good measure. Zachary briskly walked the road back to his car. Ashley had, at some point, left him alone there, taking her car back to the house. Zachary was glad she wasn’t there to see the sneaker. He put it directly into a plastic bag and left it in the car. He grabbed a small orange pylon and walked it back to the glow sticks and placed it as well.
Another walk back to his car to add the new location to the hand-drawn map. He measured the distance between the shoe and the body, taking a careful GPS read and using a laser sight to get as accurate a distance as possible. He pulled out his phone and searched through his contacts for Joshua Campbell.
Apparently, he was in Campbell’s contact list as well, since Campbell recognized his caller ID and greeted him by name.
“Zachary Goldman!”
“Hey. I’m out at the Harding scene.”
“You’ve seen our file, so I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help you with anything further.”
“No, I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh.” Campbell gave a rumbling laugh. “What did you find?”
“I’ve got the other shoe.”
“Hell! How did you find that? We searched and searched. Even had the dogs out, but they were useless at finding any kind of trail after a couple of days had passed.”
“It was outside of your search radius. And underwater.”
“Hmm.” Campbell cleared his throat and thought about that for a few minutes. “That’s going to have an impact on the reconstruction wonks’ calculations, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The rig was heavier or going faster than they figured.”
Campbell swore. “You’re on the scene now?”
“Yes. I planned to go through the house next, then come back out here after dark. Maybe seeing the scene like Harding would have seen it that night will trigger something else.”
“It will be the same, except dark.”
Zachary laughed. “Well, yes. And the traffic patterns will be different. Animals coming out. I don’t know what else, because I haven’t seen it yet.”
“If you’re going to be out there after dark, do me a favor and light yourself up. Like a Christmas tree. Lights and reflectors from head to toe.”
His mention of a Christmas tree made Zachary remember the other tree. The tree that had blazed with fire. Whenever anyone said ‘lit up like a Christmas tree,’ that was what he remembered. It had been bright; like a burning torch. He gripped the phone hard and tried to focus on the feeling of it in his hand. He took a deep breath of the chilly air. “I’ll be sure to be visible,” he agreed weakly.
“Just leave the shoe where it is. I’ll have a couple of guys come out to take photos and forensics. They can bring out the big lights. If you just give me the geocoordinates—”
“I already moved it,” Zachary confessed, after a split-second consideration of whether to toss it back into the ditch. “Uh, sorry. It was underwater, stuck in the mud. I pulled it out to see what it was, and when I saw… I figured I’d contaminate it more by putting it back. Maybe wash off something that was stuck to it.”
“So now it’s got your fingerprints and transfer on it,” Campbell growled.
“I was wearing gloves. I put it directly into a plastic bag without letting it touch anything else. I’ve done my best to mark the location for you.”
Campbell grumbled, but couldn’t come up with an argument for that. “Alright. My guys will come by. Beam me your coordinates. They’ll have to find it in the dark.”
“I’ve got glow sticks out. As long as they slow down when they’re getting close, they should be able to see it. I’ll be back here once it’s dark.”
“Is it safe to leave the scene unsecured?”
Zach
ary took a slow look around. He didn’t see any other houses close by; it was pretty isolated. There were occasional vehicles, but no one had paid any particular attention to him. Without his car there attracting attention to the scene, there was nothing there to indicate it was a crime scene. No reason for anyone else to be poking around.
“Yeah, I think it’s fine. The only person of interest around is the girlfriend, and she’ll be in the house with me. If she suddenly decides to go out to run an errand, I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure she’s not tampering with anything.”
“Don’t tell her that you found anything. She’s not watching you now?”
Zachary looked back toward the house, but he couldn’t see it clearly. “Not unless she’s got a pretty good telescope.”
“Okay. Thanks, Zach. I’ll be in touch.”
Back at Harding’s house, Zachary had to knock on the door to be let in. He had divested of his boots and gloves and was fairly presentable. Ashley looked him over warily, as if she’d never met him before or he was someone she thought might be dangerous. Did she have something to hide? He knew she wasn’t telling him everything. Like the reason she thought Harding’s death was not an accident.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll take a look around the house… see if there’s anything that jumps out at me.”
She didn’t react for a few seconds, then stepped back from the door, nodding and opening it the rest of the way. “Did you find anything out there?”
She was his client, but Zachary wasn’t ready to divulge everything he knew yet. If he told her about the shoe and she decided to go out for a look, Campbell would not be happy about it. “That remains to be seen,” he said obliquely.
Ashley bit her lip. She looked around the living room of the small house. “I don’t know exactly what you want to see.”
“I’ll just wander, if that’s okay with you.”
“Well… I suppose.”
She didn’t go back to whatever it was she had been doing, but stood there looking at him. Zachary did his best to again pretend that she wasn’t there and just focus on his investigation. It was his chance to get to know who Richard Harding was and what kind of a person he was. Zachary didn’t have a good picture of him, only an amorphous impression of a man who had walked off down the road and been hit by a truck. He was a colorless sort of person. A custodian, non-drinker, steady girlfriend, owned or rented his own place, kept to a regular routine. No hobbies or interests, nothing that seemed to set him apart from the rest of the human race. Other than his stalker.
Zachary had seen pictures of Harding, but only after his death, and that was never a very good representation of what someone looked like in real life, especially after a few days decomposing in a ditch. So the first thing Zachary did was look for pictures.
The paintings on the walls were cheap reproductions, mass produced and purchased in some home decorator store. There were no pictures of Harding’s parents, or of himself with Ashley. No pictures of his brothers, his college friends, or bowling buddies. Either he lived a very solitary life, or he kept the evidence of his relationships somewhere else. Maybe he felt that they were not for public consumption. Not everyone felt the need to show everything off in the living room.
Zachary circulated around the room, glancing at magazines and books on the shelves, opening drawers in the side tables to poke through an assortment of pens, pencils, rubber bands, and junk. A few phone numbers scribbled on a piece of paper. Pizza delivery, a couple of first names, nothing that looked very interesting. The phone numbers were not ones he had gotten harassing text messages from.
Zachary went on. Ashley was in the kitchen, so he walked past it, leaving her to herself, and checked out the bedrooms. There were two of them. The one Harding used as his bedroom was immediately identifiable. His clothes were in the closet and drawers; the bed was made, but wrinkled; there was a picture of him with Ashley. Zachary picked it up and looked at it. Ashley appeared to be happy and relaxed. Harding did not. He was smiling unnaturally, looking anxious about having his picture taken, as if he might dart over and take the camera out of the hand of the photographer. Zachary didn’t like posed pictures. Even before he had become a private investigator, he had preferred candid shots. The pictures that showed people in unexpected moments, looking natural.
“He hated having his picture taken.”
Zachary jumped and looked up at the doorway, where Ashley was looking in on him. “Some people do,” he acknowledged.
“I had to beg him to get that one. I told him I had to have a picture of him. It was a dealbreaker. So he finally agreed. But I think you can tell, looking at the picture, that he really didn’t like it.”
Zachary gave her a small smile of acknowledgment. “Yes, I can see that.”
“So, this was his room,” she made a small gesture to present it to him. “This is where he slept. Where we slept when I stayed over. But there’s not really anything… no secrets, nothing that was really… special to him.” She looked around the room critically. “I never realized how little he had.”
“What was his childhood like? He grew up with his family?”
“Yeah, sure.” Her manner was dismissive.
Zachary put the picture down and continued to look. There were no pictures of Harding’s family. “Are his parents still living? Did he keep in contact with them?”
“No, they passed a few years ago.”
Richard had been forty-five. It was possible that both of his parents had already passed away, but unlikely. Zachary opened and closed drawers, pushing clothes around to look behind and under them. Ashley was right, he had few possessions. She had almost as many clothes in the closet and drawers as he did. And more dresser space for her cosmetics and jewelry.
His clothes in the closet were uniformly nondescript. T-shirts, blue jeans, a couple of blazers. Nothing really dressy for church or funerals. One pair of loafers on the floor of the closet, placed neatly together.
Zachary approached the door and Ashley moved out of the way to let him back out of the bedroom. “I’ll just hang out here until you’re done.”
“Wherever you want, I don’t want to put you out.”
She picked up a book from the dresser and sat on the bed. Zachary went to the second bedroom, which was a multi-purpose room. A small computer desk and chair, a couch that undoubtedly folded out into a spare bed for guests. An exercise bike and some free weights. Zachary could see by the wires that the desk was where Harding’s computer normally resided. Zachary took a slow look around the bleak room. Richard Harding really was an enigma. Had he even existed before he had died? There was nothing of his personality in the house. He could have been someone that Ashley had made up, except for the fact that the police had found a body.
Zachary spent a couple of minutes in the bathroom, looking through Harding’s toiletries, which weren’t much more revealing than the rest of his house. He did not use generic bath products, but the more expensive brand names. He used a manual razor with a disposable head. The medicine cabinet contained all of the usual products—toothbrush and toothpaste, pain pills, cough syrup, antibacterial spray. But also a few over-the-counter sleep aids, and several prescription bottles.
Zachary was well-versed in the pharmacopeia of mental illness. A glance at the labels showed him that Richard Harding was being treated for anxiety and depression. Not just one of each, but several different types, which meant they had been struggling to find the right cocktail for him. Zachary reviewed the dates of the prescriptions and could see Harding’s treatment plan take shape in front of him.
He closed the medicine cabinet and checked under the sink for anything Richard had preferred to keep out of sight. Nothing more interesting there than cleaning products. The last room to check was the kitchen. He didn’t expect to find anything enlightening. With the way Harding had kept the rest of his house, Zachary didn’t think he’d find a secret stash of booze or evidence of some other vice there. He looked anyway, methodi
cally going through the drawers and cupboards. Ashley returned to the kitchen as he finished up.
“Did you find anything?”
“You didn’t mention he was suffering from depression.”
She bit her lip, thinking about that. “I don’t know if he really was. I thought he was being kind of a hypochondriac. He didn’t act depressed.”
“People who are depressed don’t necessarily go around acting sad all the time.”
“Then why do they call it depression?” she challenged.
“They may feel depressed without looking depressed. They might be silly and clown around. Look at Robin Williams. It’s a way of covering up what they’re really feeling, or trying to connect with the world in spite of it.”
“Well… Richard didn’t seem depressed to me, and we were together. We shared everything.”
“He may not have had it before. It might have been the result of the harassment.”
Ashley’s brows went down. “What?”
“He was probably having such difficulties because of the harassment.”
“What harassment? Did something happen at work?”
Zachary searched her features for any sign that she was trying to mislead him. Could she really have not known about the unrelenting harassment her boyfriend had been going through? Could Harding have kept that a secret? If Ashley had known, that would explain why she thought Harding had been intentionally murdered. If she didn’t know, where did that leave him?
He couldn’t see any deception in her face. She really didn’t know what had been going on in Harding’s life. It must have consumed him, but he’d kept it from her. He’d continued to go to work and to do things with her, acting like there was nothing wrong. He told her he was depressed—just a chemical thing—and that he’d be straightened out as soon as the medication kicked in. And she hadn’t known how some lowlife was driving him to distraction.
Zachary indicated the chairs at the table. Ashley sat down, and Zachary pulled out a chair and sat across from her, making sure he wasn’t too close, wasn’t crowding her.
He was Walking Alone Page 6
