The Perfect Victim

“Don't get your hopes up."

 

They rode in silence for a moment. Then he asked, "Where did it happen?"

 

"Near Hoosier Pass, just off of Highway 9."

 

He looked away from his driving, noticed the pain in her eyes, and a jolt of affection shot through the center of him.

 

"How much do you know about the accident?"

 

She made a show of brushing a piece of lint from her leggings. ''I'd had Mom and Dad over for dinner that evening. I'd just moved into my apartment, and was having a sort of housewarming party. They left a little before midnight."

 

Her voice was carefully monotone. Randall steeled himself against it, knowing it was her way of hiding her pain. He'd done the same thing too many times himself not to recognize it. Funny how clear 'things became when they happened to someone else.

 

"They were almost home," she continued. "My father lost control on a curve. The car went off the road and rolled nearly two hundred feet." She stared straight ahead. Her hands twisted in her lap. "The sheriff's report said runoff from snow in the higher elevations earlier in the day froze after dark. My father hit a patch of ice. They didn't have a chance."

 

"Who investigated the accident?" he asked.

 

''The Summit County Sheriff's Department."

 

"We'll pay them a visit." Remembering his unpleasant encounter with Sheriff McEvoy back in Siloam Springs, he hoped the sheriff of Summit County would be a little more helpful. Damn, he hated small-town law enforcement.

 

*

 

 

 

Addison liked Sheriff Jefferson White the moment she met him. He was a burly African American in his late forties with intelligent eyes and an undeniable air of competence. He wore a crisp khaki uniform with a chrome badge pinned neatly below his name tag.

 

"Sorry you had to wait." He extended his hand first to Addison, then to Randall.

 

"We appreciate your time, Sheriff." Randall removed his P.I. license from his wallet and flashed it at the sheriff. "We'd like to have a look, at an accident report for a double fatality last February."

 

"The files are in my office." White turned and guided them down a narrow hall. "Want some-hot coffee?" he asked.

 

"No."

 

"I'd love some."

 

The answers came simultaneously, inducing grins from all three- "It's stale, but hot." White handed a cup to Addison then motioned toward the end office. "Right this way."

 

The sheriff's workspace was overused and cramped. A large metal desk flanked by boxes faced the door. Addison seated herself in one of the two sled chairs opposite the desk.

 

Randall sat beside her. The sheriff went to the file cabinet. "What were the names of the victims?” he asked.

 

Addison didn't like the word victim. She hated it that her parents, two vivacious, loving people, had been reduced to “the victims.” "Patty and Larry Fox," she answered, forcing herself to relax her grip on her purse.

 

The sheriff flipped through several files. "Ah, here we go."

 

Addison's palms dampened as he pulled out a file folder with a case number typed in bold letters at the top. It was all that was left. Two lives condensed into a neat file with a typed label.

 

Settling behind the desk, the sheriff opened the file and gave it a cursory read before handing it to Randall: "Do you mind if I ask why you folks are up here looking at a file that's, what, ten months old?"

 

''They were my parents," Addison answered quickly.

 

Sheriff White touched the rim of his hat. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. Tough to lose family."

 

''Thank you:" She was anxious to get her hands on the file. The last time she looked at it, she'd been so overwhelmed with grief that she hadn't paid much attention to the details. She certainly hadn't been looking for evidence of murder.

 

''This is a beautiful country, but the weather's unpredictable as hell," the sheriff began. "Unfortunately, we have our share of accidents. I investigated this one myself." He pointed to the file. ''There are a couple of photos of the vehicle in there. If my memory serves me, I believe the car skidded on a patch of ice. Happened sometime between midnight and two A.M. The driver lost control. Vehicle went off the road and down a ravine. Rolled a ways before it came to rest against a tree big enough to stop it."

 

Randall glanced at the sheriff. "Was there an explosion or fire?"

 

"Small engine fire, but it was out by the time we got there."

 

"What time was that?"

 

"Next morning. First light, a bicyclist called our office."

 

"Was the vehicle recovered?"

 

The sheriff shook his head. "No way. Two of my deputies and I had to rappel down just to recover the bodies."

 

A shiver trembled through Addison at the mention of her parents' bodies. She hated thinking of them in such ghastly terms.

 

"What were the causes of death?" Randall asked.

 

"Trauma. Autopsy reports are there, too." The sheriff rose from his desk and reached for the file. "Let me make you a copy of this. You folks can take it with you." He lumbered over to a desktop copier that groaned out two copies of each report.

 

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