Gone With the Woof by Laurien Berenson Page B

early. “It would have just been getting light then,” I said.
    Wygod inclined his head in my direction.
    â€œMaybe the driver never saw him. Maybe he was hit by accident.”
    â€œWe don’t believe that’s the case.”
    â€œWhy not?” asked March.
    â€œThere are several reasons. Aside from the fact that the driver left the scene, Andrew March was also wearing a reflective vest and shoes. So he should have been very visible even at that time of day. In addition, there are no skid marks or evasive tire tracks, nothing to indicate that the driver tried in any way to avoid hitting him. And on top of that . . .” Wygod paused.
    â€œGo ahead,” March said gruffly. “I want to hear all of it.”
    â€œHe was wearing a runner’s armband that was meant to hold a cell phone, but the phone itself was missing.”
    March closed his eyes briefly and drew in a breath. He sighed heavily. “Andrew always had his phone with him. Always. He wouldn’t have left the house without it.”
    I’d been clinging to the hope that Andrew’s death was nothing more than a tragic mistake. But the implications of that piece of news were definitely damning.
    â€œYou think that someone ran him down, stopped the car, and went back to make sure that he was dead,” I said quietly.
    Wygod nodded. “Either that or they saw he was still breathing, and removed the phone so he couldn’t call for help.”
    March had been sitting upright, elbows braced on the table. But now he leaned back in his chair, and his shoulders slumped. He seemed to crumple in upon himself.
    â€œWhat kind of animal could do such a thing?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s what we intend to find out.” Wygod withdrew a small notebook and pen from an inner pocket. “If it’s all right, I have a few more questions for you.”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    â€œYour son was president and COO of March Homes. Is that correct?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œA company you started.”
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œAnd you are now retired?”
    â€œNominally, I’m the CEO. But Andrew has been running March Homes for several years.”
    â€œIs the company experiencing any problems . . . financial trouble, union issues, administrative difficulties . . . anything at all?”
    â€œNot that I’m aware of.”
    Wygod made a small notation, then changed the subject. “Your son isn’t married. Is that correct?”
    â€œNo. Never has been.”
    â€œCurrent girlfriend?”
    â€œI’m sure there is one. I wouldn’t know who she is. Like I said, Andrew and I both like our privacy.”
    Wygod looked around the table, including Charlotte and me in the question. I had no idea. I’d only just met Andrew, and I said so.
    â€œThere was Julia,” Charlotte said hesitantly.
    March looked at her and frowned. “They broke up.”
    â€œWhen was that?” asked Wygod.
    â€œBefore Christmas.”
    That sounded pretty current to me. The detective must have agreed.
    â€œLast name?” he asked.
    March only glowered.
    After a moment, Charlotte answered again. “Davis. She lives in Norwalk.”
    Wygod made another note.
    â€œWhat about the car?” I asked as an uncomfortable silence stretched between us. “The one that hit Andrew. Wouldn’t it be likely to need a repair?”
    â€œWe would expect so,” Wygod agreed. “But unfortunately, so far we’ve found nothing at the scene to indicate a make or model, or even the color of the vehicle. Between Fairfield, New Haven, and Westchester Counties you’re talking about several hundred repair shops, all within easy driving distance. We might as well be searching for a needle in a haystack.”
    â€œOh,” I said, disappointed. That was no help.
    The detective turned back to Mr. March. “We’re going to need access to your son’s house, as well as his