He was Walking Alone

by P. D. Workman

  “Yes.”

  “He hadn’t had anything to drink?”

  Her eyes darted to the side, trying to decide whether to tell him the truth or not.

  “He said he’d had a couple of beers. He wasn’t drunk, but if the police had tried to test him that night, he would have had some alcohol in his blood. Just a little. It would for sure be below the limit, but it wouldn’t be zero.”

  “Is that why he didn’t stick around the accident scene? Because he didn’t want to be tested?”

  “I told you. He was disoriented.”

  “I think there might have been more to it than that.”

  “I know Richard. He wasn’t lying about that.”

  “Even if he’d had no alcohol in his blood, he still killed this pedestrian. He’s still responsible.”

  “And he paid for it. He served his time.”

  “Which was how much?”

  “Eight years in prison.”

  Zachary nodded. It computed. And the length of time confirmed that the court had convicted him of first degree vehicular homicide, not a misdemeanor. There was more to it than just misjudging the distance of the pedestrian from the car. Leaving the scene of the crime hadn’t helped. Neither had drinking, if there had still been alcohol in his system when they caught up with him.

  “What was the victim’s name?”

  “How do you expect me to know that?” Ashley demanded.

  Zachary just gazed at her steadily. She turned red.

  “Hope Creedy.”

  Zachary wrote it down. There, at last, were two more names to feed into his searches in trying to find a connection between Richard Harding and Rusty Donaldson. Brandon Powers and Hope Creedy. Hopefully, one of them would lead him to the answer to the puzzle.

  “Was there anyone specific Richard didn’t want to run into or be tracked down by?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was there anyone from Hope’s family who had been threatening him? Anyone sending letters to him at the prison? A specific person that he never wanted to hear from again?”

  Ashley’s brow wrinkled as she considered the question. “No… I don’t think so. He didn’t say there was one person, just that he didn’t want anyone to know his old name or his history. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Tell anyone. It’s a pretty big secret to keep. Did you tell a girlfriend? Your mother? Your hairdresser? Someone who you thought would keep the secret and would never be a threat to Richard?”

  “No!” she looked offended that he would even think such a thing. But in Zachary’s experience, people always told someone. A secret just kept itching away and the secret-keeper had to scratch it somehow, by telling at least one person they considered safe and trustworthy.

  “A therapist? Someone who was required under law to keep it a secret?”

  “No.”

  But he thought he had seen a shadow cross her face. Who, then? A spiritual confessor? Ashley was keeping tight-lipped. She had no intention of telling him who she had spilled the beans to. Had her indiscretion led someone from Richard’s past to him? Or was it just one of those things? People were getting easier and easier to trace. It wasn’t just Zachary’s growing expertise; there were more tools out there. More electronic trails. Saying one thing online…

  “Did Richard ever have any contact with anyone from Hope’s family? Did he ever go back to try to apologize?”

  “No. He wasn’t required to do that. And he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was an accident. He didn’t see her coming. It was unavoidable.”

  That hadn’t been the court’s determination, but Zachary couldn’t be sure if she knew that or not. Either way, she was just going to go on repeating Richard’s own rhetoric, no matter what Zachary tried to get out of her.

  “So as far as you know, he didn’t contact them and they didn’t contact him.”

  “No.” Ashley looked around the bare-walled meeting room. “So is that it? Can I go now?”

  “Did Richard have any papers? Anything from the trial, a legal name change, anything like that?”

  “I got rid of it all. Burned it.”

  Too bad the police hadn’t reacted faster than they had. Maybe they would have been able to get their hands on Richard’s papers before she’d had the chance. But there would still be public records. She couldn’t do anything about those.

  Chapter Thirteen

  N

  ice job,” Bowman commented, as they watched Ashley’s departure.

  She wasn’t happy, but at least she hadn’t fired him for doing what she had hired him to do. That just bolstered his opinion that she was relieved to be able to share the burden of Richard’s secret. She didn’t have to be the only one who knew about it anymore.

  “Thanks. I knew from the start she wasn’t telling me everything, but I didn’t have a clue what it was. Not to start with.”

  “How did you get that from a tattoo?”

  “I didn’t… not the whole story. I just knew that it didn’t fit. It didn’t match the others, and there was no explanation for him having a homemade tattoo. I figured he must have given her some story, even if it wasn’t the truth.”

  “But who would make up something like this? It had the ring of truth, right?”

  “Mostly.”

  “You’re saying you don’t believe that he was sober?” Bowman gave him a sardonic grin. “Now why would you not take the lady’s opinion for that?”

  “Because he wouldn’t have told her the truth. Maybe he didn’t even tell himself the truth about that one. He was the designated driver, but he thought it was okay to have a couple of beers? That’s not the way it works.”

  “Nope.”

  “And I don’t believe the pedestrian jumped out in front of the car, either. I think I’ll find a different story when I order the court documents.”

  “You mean like that he was driving recklessly and under the influence? But that would mean it was his fault, and the lady just told you it was not his fault.”

  Zachary appreciated Bowman’s sense of humor, but at the same time didn’t feel it was appropriate for him to be laughing at someone else getting killed. Or even about Richard having to go to jail or Ashley trying to cover for him. It was a tragedy all around. Even a pure accident could change someone’s life forever. And one that was Richard’s fault because of a stupid choice he had made… Zachary could empathize with that.

  He didn’t have to wait for the court documents to get started on the investigation into Brandon Powers’s hit and run in New Hampshire. A few internet searches of Brandon’s and Hope’s names brought up the old news stories, and Zachary browsed through them for details of the accident and for the names of Hope’s family and friends. Enough of them had spoken to the media to get started on his investigation. The news stories had similar details to what Ashley had told him. Harding, aka Powers, had been driving the vehicle with three passengers, college buddies who had been out drinking together. One of his friends had also been killed in the accident, a Kyle Corcoran. He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt and had been ejected through the windshield. The two friends in the back sustained only minor injuries.

  Hope Creedy had been waitressing; not at the same bar as the young men had visited. She had finished her shift and was walking back to her apartment just a few blocks away.

  The police had determined that speed had been a factor. With Powers having walked away from the accident, they were unable to test his blood alcohol levels. It had taken them a few days to identify and track him down. But they had tested vomit found near the body, which Powers admitted was his, and it did contain alcohol. Powers eventually conceded to having had a couple of beers, but insisted that he was not drunk. The police nevertheless believed that alcohol had been a factor in the accident, and he was charged with manslaughter, conduct after an accident, and DWI.

  Zachary made a list of the names of the people he hoped to
interview and started to search for their current contact information. When he had everything assembled, he threw some clothes in a bag. While most of his subjects were only a couple of hours away, it would probably take several days to get interviews with them all, and he wouldn’t want to be wasting time traveling back and forth every night. He added some toiletries and pills to the bag, his computer, camera, and any electronics that might come in handy. He stopped and considered whether there was anything else he was going to miss. Anything he really needed, he could buy on the way. He had plenty of experience surviving on the bare necessities. He’d already packed more than he normally had going from one foster home to the other.

  He waited until he was on the road to make his phone calls. He wasn’t sure whether he would be able to catch Kenzie at her desk or not, but she answered after just a couple of rings.

  “Zachary. Bowman said you put that tattoo to good use.”

  “Sure did. Helped us to get a break in the case. He told you it was a prison tattoo?”

  “Yeah. That also explains the dentistry and sedentary lifestyle. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it when I saw the quality of the tattoo. It just didn’t click in.”

  “You can’t know everything. You gave me enough to figure it out. Though you shouldn’t have had to—the client should have told me everything she knew when she hired me.”

  “Crazy to expect you to be able to solve a case without giving you the most important details.”

  Zachary nodded his agreement, not thinking that she couldn’t see him.

  “So, what’s your next step?” Kenzie asked. “I assume you’re going to have to look into this old hit and run, see what the parallels are…?”

  “The parallels are already pretty obvious. He killed someone else in a hit and run, and then he was killed in a hit and run. If they’re not connected, that’s a pretty big coincidence. I’m going to see if I can talk to the first victim’s friends and family, see if I can figure out if one of them was somehow involved in Harding’s death.”

  “How long will it take you to get that?”

  “I’m on my way now.”

  “On your way… where?”

  “To talk to the family. That’s why I called you. To let you know that I wouldn’t be home. I’ll be in New Hampshire. So… don’t be worried.”

  “How are you already on your way?”

  Zachary grinned. The expression felt unnatural, like it had been a long time since he had last smiled. “It doesn’t take me that long to get a few names and addresses.”

  “No kidding. You just found out about this other MVC this morning.”

  “The internet is your friend.”

  “It must be better friends with you than with me! It takes me time to find the information I want to.”

  Zachary gazed at the road ahead of him, enjoying the comforting sensation of gliding over the highway. Long-distance driving was one of the few times his thoughts slowed and he felt calm and focused. Maybe he should have become a long haul trucker like Rusty Donaldson, spending most of his days in a rig. It had a certain appeal.

  “When will you be back?” Kenzie asked.

  Zachary had almost forgotten she was still on the line. “It depends how long the interviews take. If no one will talk to me, it might be a pretty quick trip. But I think it will be a few days.”

  “Okay. Anything you need? Water the plants? Pick up the mail?”

  “I don’t have any plants and I only pick up postal mail once a week anyway.”

  “You should get some plants.”

  “Why?”

  “They improve your environment: clean and oxygenate the air and lower stress levels… and it would give me something I could do for you when you’re out of town.”

  “I don’t like to have anybody or anything depending on me. I think it’s best that way.”

  There was no immediate response from Kenzie. The silence grew uncomfortable. Zachary swallowed and licked his lips.

  “Why do you say that?” Kenzie asked.

  “It’s just… I wouldn’t want anyone depending on me, because if something happened to me… I would want to know that everyone was okay. That I hadn’t left any unfinished business.”

  “Are you planning on leaving us any time soon?”

  “No, I don’t mean that…” But Zachary realized too late that that was exactly what he had meant. She’d nailed it. He liked to keep his affairs neat and tidy so that when things got to be too much for him, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about anything he had left undone. He mentally reproached himself for letting it slip out like that. “I’m sorry, Kenz. I really… I just like things to be uncomplicated.”

  “Yeah.” Her tone was hard and biting. “Uncomplicated. Fine. I guess I’ll see you when you get back.”

  She didn’t say anything else. When Zachary glanced over at the Bluetooth display, he saw that she had terminated the call.

  Chapter Fourteen

  H

  e wasn’t sure, to start with, how to approach Hope’s family. Whether he should show up in person or call or email them first. Whether to tell them that he was a private investigator, or to suggest that he was a policeman, lawyer, or reporter doing some kind of follow-up on Hope’s death.

  Eventually, he decided to stick as close to the truth as he felt he could, and that he would make a cold approach. If they had too much time to think about it, they might decide they didn’t want to talk to him. If he caught them off-guard, he was more likely to get an honest reaction.

  He figured that evening was the best time to catch Hope’s parents at home. They were a middle-aged couple who had suffered a terrible tragedy and had been forced to live in the public eye, and he was hoping that meant they wouldn’t be out partying, that they would want to relax after work or would be semi-retired.

  Their home was a nice brick bungalow. Not the height of luxury, but very comfortable. The home they had raised their children in. Zachary looked at himself in the mirror before getting out of the car. He had shaved carefully before he left the apartment, wanting to look clean-cut and trustworthy, not like some bum who had just wandered in off of the street. His hair was cropped short enough not to have to spend any time worrying about it. He had on a fresh button-up shirt, electing not to go with a tie or blazer. Professional, but not stuffy.

  He took a few deep breaths. The anxiety had started to seep back as soon as he got off the highway. He forced himself to get out of the car, go up to the house, and press the doorbell.

  It was only a short wait, and then a woman was standing at the open door, looking out at him curiously. Her hair was a sort of dark strawberry blond. It tapered around her face with minimum fuss, but looked polished rather than plain. She was taller than he was, and the step up into the house made Zachary feel even smaller, like he was a kid being dropped off at yet another new foster home.

  “Mrs. Creedy? My name in Zachary Goldman.” He paused, waiting for her to ask what he was there for, but she didn’t. “I am working with the police in Vermont, consulting on a case that has an old connection with your family. I’m wondering if I could come in for a few minutes?”

  She frowned slightly, then turned her head to look back into the house, directing her call back over her shoulder. “Mike?”

  Her husband didn’t show up immediately, and Mrs. Creedy stepped back from the door, motioning Zachary in.

  “Mike, can you come here?” She lowered her voice to speak to Zachary. “Just… come have a seat, Mr.…”

  “Goldman,” he repeated.

  He sat down in the living room at her instruction. It was an awkward minute of not speaking to each other before her husband joined them. Mr. Creedy was taller than his wife, dark-haired but balding, with glasses. He was wearing a sweater with a few buttons done up.

  “Who was at the door? Oh, excuse me…” He looked at Zachary, raising his brows.

  “Zachary Goldman,” he introduced himself again, electing not to stand up and shake Creedy�
��s hand. “I’m working with the Vermont police…”

  Creedy shook his head, not understanding. But his wife had already invited the unexpected guest in, and there wasn’t much he could do about it until he knew why exactly Zachary was there.

  “I don’t really understand what this is about. Investigating what?”

  Zachary studied his hands. “I don’t know whether you heard about what happened to Richard Harding.”

  “Richard Harding?” Mrs. Creedy looked at her husband, but neither of them seemed to make any connection with the name. “Who is that?”

  “You would know him by his former name. Brandon Powers.”

  There was an instant reaction to that name. Anger, pain, and frustration mingled on both of their faces. The anger was stronger in Mike Creedy’s face, but that didn’t necessarily prove anything. Women tended to be better at controlling their facial expressions.

  “Brandon Powers is the monster who killed our daughter,” Mr. Creedy spat. “Whatever happened to him, I can assure you it is not enough.”

  Zachary studied both of their faces, trying to memorize everything he saw, before letting slip the next bit of information.

  “He was killed in a hit and run.”

  Both mouths opened in shock. Mr. Creedy’s face drained of all color, making him look like a ghost.

  “He’s dead,” Mrs. Creedy said, a blank statement rather than a question. Repeating the words that she was too shocked to believe.

  “Yes,” Zachary agreed. “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell us? Why didn’t we hear about this?”

  “Like I say, he was going by the name Richard Harding. No one connected it with his previous name.”

  “Nobody even knew who he was?”

  “I just discovered it myself. His girlfriend knew, but no one else in Vermont, as far as I know.”

  Mr. Creedy shook his head. “Someone should call the papers. Let everybody know. This is the best news I’ve heard in years!”