Page 30 of One Little Memory
“I guess.”
They pulled in the driveway and parked. “I’ll check the garage apartment and make sure you’re safe, but then I’ve got to do some work in the house. You have the cell. Call or text me if you need anything.” He needed to put some distance between them. He was probably going to have to arrest her later.
“Okay.” She hopped out of the SUV.
He followed suit, and ten minutes later, he was sitting behind his desk in his home office. If Gus Marchand, or whoever the hell he was, wasn’t killed by the doomsday preppers, or whatever the group was, that didn’t leave many options. Jo had hit him with her car, but did she get out and shoot him, too? He could’ve run a gunshot residue test on her hands, but at this point, the results would be inconclusive no matter what they showed. Too much time had passed, and anything could have happened. The results would be discredited. But it might’ve given him peace of mind.
Or not.
He just couldn’t picture Jo getting out and shooting Marchand. Where the hell was the gun? She could have thrown it anywhere along the route. He tried to picture the road from Marchand’s place to where he found her, but he just couldn’t bring it up in his mind. He stood and grabbed his keys. He was going to drive it and see for himself. He didn’t think he’d find the gun, or at least he hoped he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t leave any stone unturned. The investigation had to be flawless. Of course, with Jo staying in his guest house, that ship might have sailed.
CHAPTER 13
Phoenix had sentJo a text and told her he would be back shortly. He also sent a text to a couple of uniformed officers he knew were on duty and asked them to buzz by his place every twenty minutes and check on Jo while he was out. With that done, he was free to pursue the investigation. He drove over to Marchand’s, passing behind the stadium by the high school along the way.
“Shit.” He hadn’t checked to make sure Mrs. Grossman’s car was back in her spot. He’d have to do that on the way back. Honestly, though, if she hadn’t gotten it back, he probably would’ve heard. She wasn’t one to suffer fools gladly.
The drive didn’t take long and there was no traffic. He made a U-turn after Marchand’s driveway and came to a stop. Yellow police tape blocked the narrow lane. He got out and looked at the shack, which was also still cordoned off.
It was early evening and the temperature was warm even though it was still cloudy. He hoped they didn’t get more rain. It might destroy any evidence that could prove Jo didn’t kill Marchand. He followed the tire tracks that were in the mud as he pictured the scene in his head. Jo zooming down the driveway, hitting Marchand, and then stopping her rental, getting out, andshooting him. He stared. That didn’t work. Marchand was found near the house, off to the side of a dying rose bush. How could he be by the house after being hit by the car?
Damian Kennedy had said Marchand wouldn’t have died from being hit. A broken leg and some ribs. If she had hit him and stopped, did she help him up? Help him to the house and then shoot him? That didn’t make sense.
What if there were two people? If Jo had a partner, then maybe this scenario could work. She hits him and stops and then the partner helps him to the house and shoots him. No. That sounded ludicrous. If on the other hand, Marchand had a partner, that worked better. Jo hits Marchand and keeps going. Marchand’s partner helps him to the house and then shoots him for some reason. Not perfect but closer.
As he approached his SUV beyond the police tape, he studied the mud and tire tracks again. It looked like a vehicle had slid on the way out, fishtailed. There were skid marks on the road as well. With all of the emergency vehicles around, no one had noticed. No one had known to look. They thought Marchand had been shot, which was true. No one else knew about him being hit by the car. No one except him and Aiden. Probably Jory by now, but those guys would keep it to themselves. The chief knew, but he wasn’t going to spread it around and Damian Kennedy wouldn’t say anything either.
He got in his SUV and drove slowly back to the embankment. About a half a mile from the break in the guard rail, he saw what he’d missed before. What they’d all missed. There were skid marks on the road here, too. It had been raining that night so the marks were faint, but they were there. Reasonably speaking, those marks could be from anyone sliding on this road. There was no way to prove they were from Jo’s car.
He pulled off to the side and then went back and examined the markings. There were some glass bits off to the side of theroad that looked like they could have come from headlights or taillights but, again, it was all speculation. There were definitely two sets of skid marks, though. Someone had pushed Jo off the road.
He got back in the SUV and continued. There were more skid marks and then the final ones where Jo had gone off the road. Once he knew what he was looking for, they were easy to see, but at night in the rain, no one would’ve picked them up, especially since no one thought it had been anything other than a one-car accident. It was sloppiness on his part. That was the truth of it. If Marchand hadn’t turned up dead, he would’ve come back to look at the area in the daylight and probably picked up on it sooner. He’d put that in his report. No point in shirking his responsibility in this.
Phoenix took some pictures like he had at the other stops and made some notes. Then he headed home. He wasn’t sure if all this made him feel better or worse. There were still too many unanswered questions. He drove slowly by the stadium and then turned in to the back entrance for the school. He went to the front where Mrs. Grossman’s car was sitting in her spot. He called dispatch and told them to have someone call her and tell her. If she needed a lift over to get it, send a patrol unit, he instructed. He turned and headed out again, but then stopped and made a phone call to Coach Moore. It was a long shot, but there was a chance.
Pulling into his driveway, he let out a sigh. It was dinnertime, but he wasn’t remotely hungry. He needed to see Jo. He walked over to the garage apartment and knocked on the door. She opened it with a small smile, but there was fear in her eyes. She’d remembered something.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay.”
He walked in. “Are you hungry? It’s dinnertime.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m good, but if you’re hungry, don’t let me stop you. Thanks for getting those officers to stop by. Made me feel better.”
“No problem.”
Jo went and sat down on the couch. “Phoenix, I’ve remembered something.” She glanced up at him but wouldn’t maintain eye contact.
He braced himself and sat down on a chair across from her. Distance was vital right now. He needed a clear head if he was going to do his job. “You’ve remembered something?”
She nodded and bit her lip. After clearing her throat, she said, “I remember hitting Gus Marchand. That’s his name, right?” At his nod, she continued. “I hit him with my car, or the rental, I guess. I remember his face against the windshield before he went over the side.” She shuddered. “I killed him.”
Phoenix’s stomach was twisted in so many knots he thought he might puke. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. What exactly do you remember?”
She took a deep breath. “I remember the darkness of the night and the rain. There’s a man standing in the driveway and he has something in his hands, but I can’t see it. Then I’m hitting him. He bounced up over my hood and into my windshield before sliding off.”
“Then what happened?”
