“Not exactly,” Nick said.
“The hell you say.”
Nick’s gaze snagged on the TV over the bar. The sound was off but the headlines announced the potential Senatorial run of Leland Walker, heir apparent to one of Massachusetts’ oldest and richest legacies. As far as Nick knew, the guy didn’t have an ounce of political experience, but that never mattered when you had friends in high places who wanted you to win so you could keep them there.
“My interest is professional,” Nick said returning to the conversation. “The research just took me down a rabbit hole.”
Kyle studied him. “You want my advice, this is not a hole you want to fall into.”
“Because she works for the AG?” Nick asked.
“That, and because of the weird shit I told you about.”
“So you think there’s something there,” Nick said.
“I think it’s been a long time. Files get shuffled, reports get misplaced, things go wrong. You know all of this,” Kyle said.
He wasn’t wrong. Nick didn’t know why he’d been so interested in Alexa’s accident since her visit to MIS. Hit-and-runs weren’t as unusual as people thought. This one had gotten more attention than some — as unfair as it was, the death of one pretty white high school girl and the near-death of another would always garner news time — but that wasn’t enough to account for Nick’s interest in the case, his willingness to call in old favors to find out more.
Maybe it was because the accident had been serious enough to kill someone, yet the driver responsible had managed to remain invisible. It stood to reason the perp’s vehicle would be a tangled mess. It was a miracle the car had been drivable, let alone able to go undetected in the weeks that followed when the story had been front page news.
And the accident hadn’t occurred in the middle of nowhere. It had been after two a.m., the girls returning (sober — confirmed by blood tests at the hospital) from a graduation party, given special dispensation by their parents to be out later than normal. The highway had undoubtedly been more deserted than it would have been during rush hour, but it was still a busy road. If nothing else, CCTV footage should have given the detectives assigned to the case something to go on.
Maybe it was none of those things. Maybe it was the way Alexa Nash had walked into MIS like a queen, head held high as if she’d had a lot of fucking practice. Or the way her eyes flashed like blue fire even in the pictures of her right after the accident, when she’d been nothing but a kid dealt a shitty hand.
“You have to admit it’s weird there’s no record of CCTV footage,” Nick said. “On Allston Street?”
“Like I said, shit gets misplaced. What’s the point in revisiting it now when no one will remember anything anyway?”
Nick couldn’t argue the logic, and yet the next question was out of his mouth a second later anyway. “Who worked the case?”
Kyle closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. “Fuck me.”
“I knew it,” Nick said. “Tell me.”
“Dick Delaney and Gary Maynard.”
“And?” It didn’t take a genius to know there was more, not with Kyle reacting the way he did to the questions.
“Delaney got promoted a month after the case closed. He’s a Lieutenant now.”
“You don’t say.” Somehow Nick wasn’t surprised, and he felt the old rush of excitement, the thrill of solving a seemingly unsolvable problem, of feeling the pieces fall into place. “What about Maynard?”
“Dead.”
Nick sat up straighter. “Dead?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Guy got cancer, retired to focus on his treatment, didn’t make it.”
“How long ago?” Nick asked.
“Retired six months after they closed the case. He was dead a year later.”
Nick filed the information away with everything else he’d learned. He’d revisit it later when it had had time to settle, or it would surprise him by delivering an epiphany when he least expected it, at the grocery store or while he was filling the Beamer with gas.
“Thanks, man. I know you stuck your neck out here. I appreciate it,” Nick said.
Kyle finished his beer and looked at Nick. “You can appreciate it by letting it go. You know how this shit works, Murphy.”