I could see doing this with an employee, but I wondered why the university had been so efficient about getting Ronald Fisher’s belongings out of his room. I decided to walk to the business building. I had plenty to think about.
I made some decisions along the way to Professor Wallace’s office. He was in his office, but he was busy with someone else. I couldn’t hear what was being said or who was there with him. My stomach did a flip. Kamila had been explicit in that she had seen Coach Williams with Professor Wallace and had heard part of their conversation. Now here I was, and I could not hear a thing that was being said. I doubted that Kamila had super senses, so she had not told the entire truth.
Perhaps it was as easy as she’d heard part of the conversation as Williams had left the office, or perhaps she’d actively engaged in eavesdropping. I truly hoped that I wouldn’t have to deal with trying to find yet another new chef for one of the food trucks.
The young woman left his office, and I went in, not leaving him no time for any escape.
“Maeve, what brings you here?” he said with a note of surprise in his voice. “It’s too far out of the way for you to just be dropping by.”
“I had a few questions and I wanted to put them to you in person,” I said, speaking much more politely than I felt.
“Certainly.” He motioned me to a seat where I sat and waited for him to return to his desk. “So what did you want to ask?” he said, adjusting some papers on his blotter.
“I spoke with Vince Joines. He was one of the men on the list that you gave me. He said that he saw Ronnie Fisher get into a dark sedan on the night he disappeared.”
“Interesting.”
“He also said that you had told him not to repeat that story—that it would only muddy the waters surrounding the disappearance.” I watched him carefully, but he would have made a great poker player. His face betrayed nothing, and I began to worry that this was all for naught. I’d spent almost all 50 hours to get to this point, and it appeared that I was going to hit a brick wall so close to the truth.
“I don’t recall that.” He looked down at his nails now, and I was flooded with disappointment. I had thought that we were on the same side of this investigation, but now it appeared that he had not wanted me to get this close to the truth. Why he’d dangled the analysis in front of me was unclear, but certainly he’d been holding back the entire time. He’d given me an employee that I was now suspecting was a plant, and he’d promised me an analysis that I wasn’t sure existed. I felt my stomach flip again. I had specifically wanted fewer hours going forward.
“He seems to recall that. Can I ask what type of car you had back then?” My tone plainly told my disappointment.
“Maeve, really? You think I killed Ronnie Fisher? What motive would I have for asking you to investigate if I had?” He turned and faced me, and the stupefaction was clear on his face.
“That seems like a pretty good guess for me. You want me to look into this and yet you’ve been holding back information. I found out that you and Coach Williams were talking about the case recently. I find witnesses that tell me you encouraged their silence. I find that you’ve been telling people things about the case that no one else other than Fisher and a very few other people might have known. What would you take from that?”
He cleared his throat. “I can see where you could think that,” he began. “Those are some suspicious circumstances.”
“Except for the fact that it’s pretty plain to me that Coach Williams happens to be Ronnie Fisher.”
I let the words hang in the air, and this time he did look at me. He stared at me, eyes wide and jaw clenched.
“Why don’t you tell me the whole story of what happened when he disappeared?” I suggested, wanting to hear if my deductions were valid.
He drew a deep breath. The words began to tumble out quickly, forcing me to prop my chin on my palms and just listen to what he had to say. “Fine. Ronnie came to me in the last few days of the summer session. He hadn’t found a job. He’d been in my office twice already asking about leads for employment. He did not want to go home again. He didn’t threaten self-harm explicitly, but the implication was certainly there.”
“So why didn’t he just move home?”
“His mother was very overbearing. He didn’t have any funds of his own at all. Everything had been paid by his wrestling scholarship, so he wasn’t hurting financially while he was here, but he’d never as much as held a summer job—not even temp work. Wrestling had been his only job. I suggested starting at one of those places during the summer, but his schedule was a mess and didn’t leave him much time for work.”
“So what happened then?” I asked. I had known the broad outlines of the case, but I wanted to hear confirm of the details.
“He decided to leave. Technically he had enough hours for a degree, so he could have a diploma, even though the business program required my class. He didn’t want to wait until the true end of the session, because he feared that his mother would be there too quickly for him to get away.”
“So what did you do?”
“I offered to take Ronnie to the bus station. He cut off all his hair that evening. He’d Went into the bathroom and buzz cut it down to the skin. He barely looked like the same person. We agreed to meet at the corner, and I would drive him there. I had no idea that he had created some ridiculous tableau, replete with hidden clues and ominous effects. It was just like him to be melodramatic and foolish like that.” He took out a handkerchief and patted his forehead. I didn’t move.
He didn’t speak, so I decided to prompt him. “So then what?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I never heard from him after that. He was good to his word. He vanished. No one ever thought to ask me if I was the driver of the car. I doubt that anyone would have even suspected that his professor would help him leave. Even if pressed, I would have been able to say that I’d only offered him a ride, and I’d had no hand in the disappearance at all. For all I knew, he came back after my car ride and then disappeared.”
I nodded. If this story was true, then he was right. Offering someone a lift barely met the criteria for accessory. Not speaking up might have put him in hot water, but I was sure that the trail would have likely run dry. He could have taken any number of buses away from the university, and the police would not have any photos of him with his new haircut.
The police hadn’t even begun looking for him for days, and the trail would have been cold by then. A young man, who didn’t match the appearance of the yearbook photos, had walked away from an unknown bus station and vanished.
“You mean, until he came back?” I queried. After all, they had been seen by Kamila talking in Professor Wallace’s office. Certainly that implied a level of friendship between the men.
“He came back?” Professor Wallace’s brow furrowed and he stared at me. “When?”
It was my turn to stare. Either he was a great actor, or he truly hadn’t known.
“He was Coach Williams,” I repeated by way of explanation. “Didn’t you wonder why he asked all those questions about the disappearance? Williams told people details of the case that only Ronnie Fisher could have known.”
Moments ticked by in the office while the professor tried to make sense of what I’d told him. Apparently, he’d never known. Of course, the last thing someone would think of a colleague was that he was the same person as a student who had disappeared 30 years ago. I barely recognized some of the people I went to school with 7-8 years ago. Three decades would change the person’s face, hair color, and build.
“Are you sure of this?” he asked finally.
I went through the reasons I had developed over the course of the investigation. The similarity in appearance to Ronnie’s father, the interest in wrestling, the degree obtained later, and the detailed knowledge of the disappearance that could only have been known by Ronnie.
“You’ve been busy. My God, I sat in the same room with Ronnie and didn’t even know it.
You must think me an idiot.” He shook his head.
“I seem to have let him slip through my fingers. He’s disappeared again. Did you mention anything about looking into the case?” I asked, wondering if Wallace had had a hand in both disappearances, the first time by driving him to the bus station and the second time by accidentally warning him that the case was about to received additional scrutiny.
He put his head in his hands and groaned. “Yes, I told him all about you and some of the things you’ve done. He seemed like he was genuinely interested in what I was telling him, but apparently he was learning that the threat of being found out was real. So that’s what led him to skip out again?”
“I think so. He left in a hurry. That was another thing that put me on the right track. It’s not everyone who makes a habit of vanishing like that. I guess that since it worked so well the first time, he decided that he was going to try it again.”
“It’s hardly the same. Thirty years ago, he could slink off into the night and except for a few photos, no one would know who he was. Now he’s almost 50 and between improvements in computer and the Internet, it’s much harder to just escape.”
I nodded. “Whatever his social security number is now, that will track him. It’s more awkward to try to escape like he did before.”
The professor paused for a moment. “Would it help if we could get his social security number? Might we trace him in that manner?”
I smiled. The professor definitely had the makings of a detective.. “It couldn’t hurt.”
He picked up the phone and dialed a number. He explained what he wanted and wrote something down. He ripped a piece of paper from the legal pad that he scribbled on and handed it to me. “Here you are. I hope this helps.”
I pulled out my tablet and went to one of the search websites that was slightly less than reputable. I typed in the social security number and watched as the information came up on the page. The number had belonged to Williams for quite some time—nearly 85 years. Unless the coach was remarkably well-preserved, the number was a phony. From the looks of it, the original owner had passed away before receiving benefits but no one had informed the government, which had left the number available for abuse.
While it wasn’t positive proof, the social security number was just another sign that I had been correct. The coach had been using an appropriated identification number, which meant he had something to hide. The clincher for me was that the real Mr. Williams had lived on the same street as the Fishers had. Mrs. Fisher had indicated that she had remained in the family home so that Ronnie could come home if he wanted.
While the number wouldn’t help me in finding out where he’d gone, the information might help the police find him in the future—though perhaps not, since he hadn’t violated any significant laws. The only potential crime had been causing the police to use manpower on a phony disappearance, but even then it had been the college and the parents who had reported him missing.
Perhaps Ronnie Fisher had just disappeared into the ether for a second time, and nothing would be done about it. I expressed as much to the professor.
“Do you think he might be hiding out somewhere?” he asked me.
“I would guess that he’s gone to ground somewhere until he can determine his next move, yes, though he may be gone already.”
There was a long pause in the conversation. I waited for him to say something, which usually serves to make the other person talk, but in this case, the professor was so lost in his own thoughts he barely seemed to register that another person was in the room.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “What are your thoughts on this?”
He shook his head. “I need some time to think. I hope that’s okay with you.”
I nodded. Apparently, I was going to have to remind him about our bargain. “You had indicated that I’d get the analysis of the food truck hours when I finished the investigation?” I asked it as a question, knowing full well what he’d said. “I’ve made some conclusions about the case and I think this qualifies as my answer to what happened to Fisher. Certainly, not what either of us would have expected, but it’s the most likely solution.”
His head jerk up. “Yes, I’m sorry.” He stood up, walked to his desk, and pulled out the leather-covered binder. “I hope you can use this information.” He gave me half a smile.
I felt bad leaving him alone in this stunned emotional state, but he was none too subtly suggesting that I should leave.
I took the binder and walked back to the car. Every part of me wanted to read the material now, but I had decided to wait until Land was home to review the information . We’d have to make the decisions together, so we might as well look at it together as well.
Another part of me wanted to call Detective Danvers and point out that I’d solved the mystery of Ronnie Fisher’s disappearance before he had. However, I knew that he would follow up on my ideas and provide the proof that I didn’t have. My theory was just that, a theory. I had provided no solid evidence that could be used in court. The pieces added up and would convince an individual, but never a jury.
I made it home on auto-pilot, going over the analysis and the disappearance. Land was at home when I returned. I hadn’t realized how late it was. I hadn’t eaten, and he whipped up a quick omelet for me as I told him about the meeting.
“You’re not satisfied with this resolution, are you?” he asked as he sat down to watch me eat.
“Not at all. There is no resolution. Just a half-proven solution and no one brought to justice. It’s not the way things usually end with our cases.”
“Justice comes in many ways,” he said, picking up my plate when I finished it and putting it in the dishwasher. I was lucky to have someone who listened to me and took care of me in this way.
We sat down on the sofa and began looking through the professor’s numbers. I was embarrassed to see the information presented in this way. When I looked at the recommendations, they seemed so obvious to me, and yet I hadn’t seen them as the owner.
He had provided data on the hourly sales of each truck and created a presentation worthy of any college senior which showed line graphs and tables. Shown in this way, the profitable hours were clear to see.
For Dogs on the Roll, the least profitable hour was 1:00 p.m.-2:00 p.m. Apparently, hot dog consumers wanted their fare earlier. Professor Wallace showed that the profits for that last hour did not cover the costs. I hated to admit to myself that I’d started taking that hour to go visit Land and enjoy a few minutes of uninterrupted time with my husband. Taco Inferno showed a similar pattern with the truck needing to finish an hour earlier than it did now. I knew that Carter would be pleased with that.
As an added bonus, Wallace made suggestions that we would saturate the market with more than six trucks, two more than we currently owned, and suggested only adding one more truck to the fleet before stopping. His analysis was fascinating, with more charts and graphs. I was beginning to dig down into the appendices of the report when my cell phone rang.
“Hello,” I said, not even looking at the call information.
“Maeve? This is Professor Wallace. I need your help now.”
I was surprised to hear from him so soon. He had seemed poised to think about the information I’d provided him for hours, if not days.
“What’s going on?”
He gave me an address, told me to hurry, and hung up.
I stared at the phone for a second and then clicked off.
I explained the situation to Land, whose face made it clear that he wanted none of this. To him, the case had ended with the receipt of the analysis.
I pulled up the maps app on my phone and typed in the address. The location seemed to be a somewhat remote road near Capital City’s largest park. We could be there in 20 minutes.
Land gave me a stern look, which told me that I was going nowhere without him. We made ourselves look presentable in under five minutes and hit the road.
The app had not been w
rong. The address was for a cabin perched on the edge of the park. Other homes were about 50 yards from each other, which provided maximum privacy— and as Land pointed out, the best chance to pick people off who approached the cabin.
I tried to ignore his comments, but I felt vulnerable as we approached the cabin. The worry subsided when the door opened and the professor stood there, hurrying us along.
As soon as I entered the cabin, I could see why the professor had wanted our help. Blood was everywhere. I turned and looked at the older man, but he seemed unscathed.
“What is this place?” I asked, looking around at the sparsely furnished room, which held a sofa, desk, and chair.
“An old cabin that belonged to the Fisher family,” he replied. He shuddered as he spoke, and I worried that he was going into shock.
“Why did you come here?” I asked, though I had an inkling as to the answer already.
“After you told me that he might hole up somewhere until things were settled, I started thinking about where he could have gone. I knew from the original investigation that the police had checked a cabin owned by the family. I was able to find the address through some friends, and I came out here to see if I was right.”
“And this is what you found?” I looked at the floor where a set of bloodstained footprints led to the door.
He nodded. “I called you first thing.”
I internally groaned. The fact that the crime had been reported to me before the police would not sit well with Danvers. The map had carefully shown that the cabin sat just inside the county lines, which meant this was his jurisdiction.
I asked to see the body and Wallace just pointed to a door. I assumed that this led to the bedroom. Land entered the room first and stopped abruptly, making me almost run into him.
A body rested on the floor, arms flung out and face in an expression of shock. I assumed this was Coach Williams. I had seen photos of him, but it was hard to know with any certainty given the ashy complexion and lifeless features.
FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books) Page 145
