Chapter Sixty-eight

Saturday morning, Tonya left for an extra appointment with Alice, and Parrott drove into the station to get some work done at his office. When he arrived, the clerk on duty handed him a message from the coroner. “Maria Rodriguez called to say they’re sending Tripp Anderson’s body to North Carolina this afternoon.”

“I know, but thanks for taking the message.”

After brewing his coffee and settling into his chair, Parrott called the SAE office in Chicago. He didn’t expect anyone to answer on the weekend, but he left an urgent message and followed up with an email. No names appeared on the website, so that would be a dead end until they got back to him. Next, he called Tripp’s father.

After preliminaries, Parrott asked, “Are you aware of whether Tripp had college yearbooks or fraternity composite photos from his years at Chapel Hill?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, my wife and I have all of them here, at our house. We were just going through the things in Tripp’s room, and we found them on his nightstand. We wondered why, since he’s been out of college so long. Why? Do you think they’re pertinent to his murder?”

“They could be. Can you please send them to me by FedEx Priority Overnight? I’ll reimburse you for the cost. You can send them to me at home to speed things up.”

“I can do better than that,” Anderson said. “I’m coming back to Philadelphia this afternoon. The coroner has finally released Tripp’s body, and my wife and I want to fly on the same plane with him. Probably sounds strange.”

“Not at all. I’m sure I’d feel the same way. How about if I meet you at the airport, and you can bring me the yearbooks, composites—anything at all related to Tripp’s college years involving names or photographs.”

“Sure thing. Glad you caught us before we left home.” Anderson gave Parrott information about where and when to find him.

Grateful for the way fate had shortened the time to acquire these items, Parrott took a chance to garner another bit of information. “By the way, did you ever hear Tripp talk about someone named Brock Thornton?”

“Brock Thornton? Not that I can remember. Was he a college
friend?”

“That’s what we want to find out. Mention the name to Mrs. Anderson, and if it rings a bell, she can tell me when I meet you both at the airport.”

After he disconnected, Parrott drank his coffee and did a search in the court archives for Commonwealth v. Thornton. Not that he doubted Pennington, but it never hurt to verify, especially since Pennington still had one foot on the suspect list. After some digging around, he found the case. Harvey Thornton had been convicted of involuntary manslaughter and remanded to the state correctional facility at Rockview. He served three out of a four-year sentence and was released.

Whatever happened to Thornton after he left Rockview, he never had another arrest or conviction. He never served in the military. Claire had said Brock Thornton came Newport. There were no Rhode Island drivers’ licenses issued currently under the name of Harvey Thornton, but who knew if the man was still alive, still driving, or if he still used his real name. For now, it was enough to know that Pennington’s story about the involuntary manslaughter was true.

As long as he had the criminal database open, Parrott did quick searches for Herman Powell and Brock Thornton.. Neither came up dirty, but he didn’t expect them to. Searching technology behind Sylvester’s deep dive was like picking bones after a heavy feast.

He had four hours before meeting the Andersons at the airport. He called Tonya, who was leaving Alice’s office. “Hey, honey. How was your appointment?”

“Good. Alice applauded me for telling you. She says that was a huge positive step.”

A bubble of hope rose in Parrott’s throat, and his jaw relaxed. He hadn’t realized until now how tightly he’d been clenching. “I’ve got a proposition for you, if you can arrange a spur-of-the-moment house tour. I have to be at the airport at four-thirty. That should give us time to check out the house, right?”

Tonya’s response had a new lightness. “Oh, Ollie. I’m sure the agent would be glad to meet us there. He knows about your erratic schedule and told me I could call him anytime that was good for you.” She gave Parrott the address and told him that, unless she called him back, she would meet him there right away.

His coffee was long gone by the time he shut down the computer. He called the hospital to check on Jacqueline Pennington. Introducing himself and giving his badge number to the clerk at the patient information desk, he learned that Jacqueline’s condition had been upgraded to “serious, but stable.” The news made him cautiously optimistic. When he caught the poisoner, maybe he’d only have to charge him with attempted murder.

With next steps planted in his mind, Parrott neatened his desk and left the office. Who knew? Maybe today would be the day he bought a new house.