“I believe I have some insightful updates, if I may?” Larkin said as he reported to Rath and Test in Rath’s barren office.
“That’s why we’re here,” Rath said.
“Right. So. The update. We thought Preacher didn’t have a car. Or he had one hidden. Perhaps stolen. But he does have a car.”
“What the hell, where?” Test said.
“Right there, under our noses. The truck.”
“That truck is registered to an Andrea Diamond.”
“Right,” Larkin said. “Well, sitting there in the cruiser like that watching his road, I got itchy looking at the fog and that massive rock with the lone rose on it memorializing a car wreck. So. I started thinking about how Preacher got to Johnson, or across the border, if it’s him. I started searching deeper into this Andrea Diamond. I dug social media, checked her criminal history. The usual. She’s clean, as we found initially. But, then I hit it. A relative of hers is anything but clean. Her cousin. Clay Sheldon.”
“Preacher is driving Sheldon’s cousin’s fucking car?” Rath said.
“I didn’t see him drive it, but it’s sitting in his yard.”
“Damn it,” Test said. “We need to check a lot deeper into her.”
“I did,” Larkin said. “Immediately. I did not want to leave my post, so I tracked her down by phone at her work, Connecticut Valley Bank, she’s a teller. She says the car is in her name but the car is actually Sheldon’s. He’d asked her to register it in her name, as a favor. Gave her some line about not wanting two cars in his name, and he was going to trade it to a friend, anyway, so it would only be in her name for a week or so. She thought maybe it was sketchy, but she and Sheldon were those close cousins as kids, the ones tighter than siblings in some ways. She was his daughter’s godmother. She wanted to do something to help him out. Classic enabler, I suppose. Said it didn’t hurt her any.”
“Trade the car for what?” Test said.
Rath thought he knew. “We have reason to go pick Preacher up,” he said to Test. “He lied to you about the truck.”
“Technically, he didn’t,” Test said. “He told me he didn’t own a car. He doesn’t. But. His MW affidavit will come through today. We’ll get him and haul him in.”
“I did a deep dive into Pratt, too,” Larkin said. “His alibi checks out for Jamie Drake’s murder. He was at the library groundbreaking. No doubt. Airtight.”
He brought up a local online newspaper on his laptop to show the photo of Pratt in requisite hardhat, pushing a shovel into the dirt with the heel of his Le Chameau as a small crowd of citizens circled round to witness the event.
“And the time frame for the Quebec murder, he was at a conference in his hotel up there, with about a dozen other investors and business partners.”
“The wife?” Test said. “She’s not in the photo for the groundbreaking.”
“Probably just didn’t make the frame,” Larkin said.
“Find out. Find out if she was up at the hotel with her husband when he had that conference, too. Look into her background. Dig. She’s a good fifteen years younger than Pratt. They’ve been together at least since they had their daughter who died, so Victoria was young when they met. Very young.” Test glanced at Rath just as a thought slipped through his mind, something to do with Victoria Pratt’s age. Or the age of her daughter. He could not seize it before it escaped.
“Find out all about her and Pratt,” Test continued, “how they met, and where. What she did and who she was before she met her not-so-charming prince. Thank you, Officer Larkin. Check on her maiden name, too, as quick as possible,” Test said.
“Won’t take a minute.” Larkin left Test’s office.
It was more like a half hour before Larkin returned, but he was practically gamboling when he did. “Victoria Pratt. Maiden name: Legault.”
“French,” Rath said.
“French Canadian,” Larkin said. “She’s from a small town outside Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu.”
“Shit,” Rath said. Her accent, French Canadian, diluted from years of disuse in the States.
“I need you to find out if she still has family up there. Old friends we could speak to,” Test said.
“Done.”
“You’re good,” Test said.
Larkin nodded in a deflective manner. “Once I found she was from there, I did a quick search. Worked backward. Found her maiden name. From there, where she was born, parents, childhood hometown, schools. Her parents have lived in a small town a couple hundred miles north of Ottawa for twelve years. Her sister, Charlotte, lives in the house they grew up in. I have the address.”
“Good, we’ll need it,” Test said.