forgotten that she’d placed him on hold by the time she came back on the line.
“Your Hughes was Kevin,” she told Simon. Before he could ask, she added, “He retired about six or seven years ago. He was a good man. We worked together for a while.”
“Any idea of where I could find him?”
“You want a lot for that lunch, buddy,” Madeline said good-naturedly. “I may have to call you back with that.”
“I’d really appreciate it, Madeline. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Must be something hot. Maybe someday you’ll even tell me what this was all about.”
“Maybe,” he said as the first page began to come through the fax. “Maybe someday . . .”
Simon found Kevin Hughes alive and well and living in Trenton, New Jersey, where he offered his services as an expert witness in the area of police procedures to insurance companies obligated to defend officers who had been sued for civil rights violations of one sort or another.
At the time Simon called, Hughes was on his way to a trial in Connecticut but offered to look at the report that bore his name. All Simon had to do was fax it to him. Simon did, blessing the marvels of modern technology.
Hughes called him back right away.
“I remember this accident. I can’t believe you have this report. I remember this accident,” Hughes repeated somewhat excitedly. “It was actually one of the first accidents I investigated after joining the force. Damn. I can’t believe you’re calling about this accident. Madeline didn’t tell me it was
this
accident. . . .”
“Was there something special about this accident?” There was something in the former police officer’s voice that set Simon’s nerves humming. “Other than the fact that it was one of the first you investigated?”
“How ’bout the fact that she was hit twice?”
“Hit twice?” Simon sat up straight in his chair. “You mean she was hit by two different cars?”
“Nah, I mean she was run over twice by the same car.”
“But that would mean that the car . . .” Simon said slowly.
“Yeah. Backed up and ran over her a second time.”
Simon sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m looking at the police report. It doesn’t say anything like that.”
“No shit.”
“Did you write it up that way? To reflect that she’d been run over twice?”
“Yes. It was all in my report. Two sets of tire marks on the woman. And it was on the coroner’s report as well.”
“Your report now consists of two pages. And the coroner’s report is missing from the file.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Hughes murmured.
“Any idea of who would have removed those reports?”
“Honestly, no. I haven’t a clue. I was a rookie. I knew better than to ask.”
“And you never told anyone?”
“Some of the other guys knew about it. And right after the accident there was a private detective asking some questions, but I wasn’t allowed to speak with him. Seems the victim’s father was some big shot in D.C. But I don’t think even he ever got the full report. So if you mean did I speak with anyone outside the force, no. The only reason I’m talking to you now is because Detective Shaw asked me to give you whatever you wanted. She and I go back. If she trusts you, that’s enough for me.”
“Didn’t it bother you? That your report was changed?”
“Hell, yes, it bothered me. But the order to purge that file would have come from someone way over my head.”
“Did you ask who?”
“No. Like I said, I was a rookie. But it must have been someone really high up.” Hughes coughed away from the phone, then said, “I mean, you have to be way up there toward the top of the food chain to cover up a murder.”
“Murder . . .” Simon repeated as the full implication of what Hughes had told him sank in.
“What would you call it?” Hughes coughed again. “Whoever hit her sure enough wanted that woman dead.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The phone seemed to ring and
“Your Hughes was Kevin,” she told Simon. Before he could ask, she added, “He retired about six or seven years ago. He was a good man. We worked together for a while.”
“Any idea of where I could find him?”
“You want a lot for that lunch, buddy,” Madeline said good-naturedly. “I may have to call you back with that.”
“I’d really appreciate it, Madeline. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Must be something hot. Maybe someday you’ll even tell me what this was all about.”
“Maybe,” he said as the first page began to come through the fax. “Maybe someday . . .”
Simon found Kevin Hughes alive and well and living in Trenton, New Jersey, where he offered his services as an expert witness in the area of police procedures to insurance companies obligated to defend officers who had been sued for civil rights violations of one sort or another.
At the time Simon called, Hughes was on his way to a trial in Connecticut but offered to look at the report that bore his name. All Simon had to do was fax it to him. Simon did, blessing the marvels of modern technology.
Hughes called him back right away.
“I remember this accident. I can’t believe you have this report. I remember this accident,” Hughes repeated somewhat excitedly. “It was actually one of the first accidents I investigated after joining the force. Damn. I can’t believe you’re calling about this accident. Madeline didn’t tell me it was
this
accident. . . .”
“Was there something special about this accident?” There was something in the former police officer’s voice that set Simon’s nerves humming. “Other than the fact that it was one of the first you investigated?”
“How ’bout the fact that she was hit twice?”
“Hit twice?” Simon sat up straight in his chair. “You mean she was hit by two different cars?”
“Nah, I mean she was run over twice by the same car.”
“But that would mean that the car . . .” Simon said slowly.
“Yeah. Backed up and ran over her a second time.”
Simon sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m looking at the police report. It doesn’t say anything like that.”
“No shit.”
“Did you write it up that way? To reflect that she’d been run over twice?”
“Yes. It was all in my report. Two sets of tire marks on the woman. And it was on the coroner’s report as well.”
“Your report now consists of two pages. And the coroner’s report is missing from the file.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Hughes murmured.
“Any idea of who would have removed those reports?”
“Honestly, no. I haven’t a clue. I was a rookie. I knew better than to ask.”
“And you never told anyone?”
“Some of the other guys knew about it. And right after the accident there was a private detective asking some questions, but I wasn’t allowed to speak with him. Seems the victim’s father was some big shot in D.C. But I don’t think even he ever got the full report. So if you mean did I speak with anyone outside the force, no. The only reason I’m talking to you now is because Detective Shaw asked me to give you whatever you wanted. She and I go back. If she trusts you, that’s enough for me.”
“Didn’t it bother you? That your report was changed?”
“Hell, yes, it bothered me. But the order to purge that file would have come from someone way over my head.”
“Did you ask who?”
“No. Like I said, I was a rookie. But it must have been someone really high up.” Hughes coughed away from the phone, then said, “I mean, you have to be way up there toward the top of the food chain to cover up a murder.”
“Murder . . .” Simon repeated as the full implication of what Hughes had told him sank in.
“What would you call it?” Hughes coughed again. “Whoever hit her sure enough wanted that woman dead.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The phone seemed to ring and
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