Case of the Chatty Roadrunner Page 3

  “That’s the guy who recorded the dashcam video of the VIC’s accident. I want to talk to him.”

  “I’m sure he’s already talked to the police,” I assured him.

  Vance was nodding, “Of that, I have no doubt. However, I want to get his feeling for the situation. What does he remember about the incident? Was there anything that stood out?”

  “Do you really think he’ll be able to remember anything new from an accident that happened nearly two years ago?” Jillian wanted to know.

  Vance shrugged, “Honestly? I don’t know. However, it’s a place to start and it’s worth a try.”

  “So, where does our witness live?” I asked, as we exited the restaurant and headed toward the van. I was holding Sherlock’s leash and Jillian had Watson’s.

  “You’re still holding the paper the PI gave me,” Vance pointed out. “You tell me.”

  “Oh.” I pulled the paper from my pocket and checked the address. “Paradise Valley? Okay. That’s a nice part of town.”

  “Where is it from here?” Vance wanted to know. “Is it far?”

  “Not really,” I reported. A quick glance at my watch confirmed that – thankfully – rush hour was over. “We should be able to make it there in about 20 minutes, provided traffic cooperates.”

  I lifted the dogs into the van, held Jillian’s hand while she climbed in after them (which had Vance rolling his eyes at me) and slid the door closed.

  “Kiss-ass,” Vance muttered, as we pulled away. “Why do you do crap like that? Are you trying to make me look bad?”

  “Tori’s not here,” I reminded him. “What are you worried about?”

  “I think it’s chivalrous,” Jillian told me, from her passenger seat behind me. “It’s very romantic.”

  “Just don’t do that type of thing around Tori, okay? You make me look bad.”

  “Well, you could really get on Tori’s good side by opening doors for her and letting her enter first, or opening the car door for her, or…”

  “I get it, I get it,” Vance grumped. “I’ve been married for over 13 years. I know how to keep my marriage going strong, thank you very much.”

  We headed west on Camelback Road until we hit 44th Street. Turning right, we were now angling north, and according to the signs, we were less than 5 miles from Paradise Valley. Alex Stokes’ notes indicated the guy who shot the video of Sam’s accident was a man by the name of Victor Aronson, and he lived behind Paradise Valley Community College.

  Once again, I thanked my lucky stars that we didn’t have to traverse the entire city to get to our destination. For the record, the Phoenix metropolitan region encompassed an area of 517 square miles. We could have easily been on opposite ends of the city from one another, and as a result, we could have spent close to an hour trying to find this guy’s house. But, since we were both in the northeastern section of the city, we arrived in less than ten minutes.

  Sam and I had been to Paradise Valley quite a few times. There were some fantastic restaurants in the area, and Samantha and I usually came up here every other week. In fact, we just drove by one of our favorites, called the Salty Pig. They had some type of taco with slow-cooked pork belly that was to die for. In fact, both Samantha and I almost had an arm-wrestling contest right there in the restaurant to see who was going to lay claim to the leftovers.

  I sighed as we drove by, a fact not lost on Jillian. She took my hand in hers and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I hooked a thumb back the way we had come.

  “We just passed one of Samantha’s favorite restaurants. We ate there less than a week before she died. I haven’t been back there since.”

  Vance glanced over at me and gave me a sympathetic look, “How are you doing with all of this, pal? I can’t even begin to imagine how rough this must be. I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”

  “It’s not easy,” I admitted, “but I’m all right. I had to deal with all of this sooner or later. Hey, there’s the college. We must be getting close.”

  We arrived at the house five minutes later. The Aronson home was a typical southwestern style house with a flat roof and several faux posts jutting out along the roofline. And the color? A rich, adobe brown. As ugly as the color was, it worked for this particular house.

  “Mr. Aronson? My name is Vance Samuelson. This is Jillian Cooper and over there with the two dogs is Zack Anderson. We spoke on the phone? I wanted to talk to you about the dashcam video you recorded almost two years ago about an accident on I-17. Late November. Do you remember the conversation?”

  Mr. Aronson, a bald thirty-something black man who was covered with muscles, and was wearing a yellow shirt and black jeans, slowly nodded. I watched Mr. Aronson gave a slight cringe, which I could tell didn’t go unnoticed by either Vance or Jillian. After a few moments, he held out a hand. Once the introductions were made, which included the dogs, we were ushered inside.

  The house – in my opinion – was tastefully decorated. The living room had a high-end flat panel television and home theater setup, and for seating, there was a full leather sectional with several built-in recliners. Both corgis bunched their legs, as though they were preparing to jump up onto the couch, when I cleared my throat and waggled a finger at them.

  “You know the rules, guys. You’re allowed on the furniture in our house only. Don’t even think about it.”

  “It’s okay,” the homeowner assured us. “I like dogs.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Aronson,” I told him, “but the dogs do know better. I think they’re just seeing how much they can get away with.”

  “No worries. And call me Victor, please.”

  “Victor. Thanks.”

  Vance cleared his throat and pulled out his notebook, “Mr. Aronson? I… sorry. I mean, Victor, do you remember the day I’m talking about? The one with the crash involving the blue Audi SUV.”

  This time, it was more pronounced. Victor shuddered again. His eyes closed and he had to give himself a full five seconds before he was able to continue. His dark eyes opened and he stared hard at Vance.

  “What do you want to know about it?”

  “I, er, take it you remember the accident?” Vance hesitantly asked.

  Victor nodded, “Man, I will never, ever forget that day for as long as I live. Why do you want to know about that? I’ve been trying very hard to push that day out of my brain.”

  Vance looked over at me, as if to confirm I wanted him to continue. I held up my hand and signaled him to wait. Victor noticed the exchange and looked expectantly at me.

  “As Vance mentioned before, my name is Zack Anderson. The reason we’re asking about that particular accident is because, well, the driver of that SUV was my wife.”

  “Oh, shit,” Victor muttered. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

  Victor Aronson left the room and disappeared through a doorway. I’m guessing it was the kitchen, because we suddenly heard the tell-tale sound of a cap being removed from a bottle. He returned, holding a beer. He looked at me, shook his head, and took a long swig from his beer.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Call me Zack,” I gently offered.

  “Zack. I’m sorry. Would anyone else care for a beer?”

  I glanced at my companions. Jillian’s eyes were starting to fill. She blinked away her tears and nodded encouragingly at me. Vance was also nodding.

  “Sure, Victor. That’d be great.”

  “Be right back.”

  Once we were all holding our beers, Victor encouraged us to take a seat on the couch. He drained his own beer and leaned back, allowing himself to sink lower into the cushions. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Victor began to speak.

  “You guys have no idea what that day did to me. It’s a day that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  “Can you tell us about it?” Jillian softly asked.

  Victor nodded, “Yeah. I haven’t really talked about it.
Sheryl, my wife, has encouraged me to seek counseling, but I always made excuses not to go. Clearly, that was the wrong decision.”

  “Would you like me to get you another beer?” Jillian asked.

  “Would you? The kitchen is right through there.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  Once Victor had taken a long pull from his second beer, he shook his head and started talking. His eyes, I noticed, never left the floor.

  “I used to be a reckless driver,” Victor began. His voice had become monotone, and devoid of emotion. “I’ll be the first to admit it. People annoyed the hell out of me on the freeway. I always seemed to be in a hurry. That day, I remember being in a rush, like I always seemed to be in those days. I was zipping through traffic, getting angry at other drivers, and then got behind that Audi. Traffic slowed, so there was nowhere for me to go. I ended up following your wife, Zack, for what must’ve been a few miles. It was stop and go traffic, so you can imagine I had become so worked up that I was literally ready to blow a gasket. I was actually considering jumping onto the shoulder to pass all those slow-moving assholes that I… oh. I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. I should have a care with my language.”

  Jillian waved off his concerns, “Trust me, I’ve heard a lot worse. From both of them. And from me, if you must know.”

  Victor briefly smiled. Then, his grin vanished as his eyes unfocused and he continued his narrative.

  “I was about ready to downshift when it happened.” Victor paused and took several deep breaths. “The Audi suddenly sped up and then swerved left, heading down the embankment. Thank God we were in the passing lane, because she would have hit whatever was next to us. As it was, there was nothing there but open space. Before I even could register what was happening, the Audi was up on the opposite side of the freeway, heading the wrong way. Damned if it didn’t look like it was speeding up, too. I tried to warn her, man. I tried flashing my lights and blaring my horn, but nothing helped. Before I knew it, the Audi had slammed headfirst into a semi-truck. It… uh, it burst into flames upon impact.”

  I suddenly discovered my mouth was dry. Bone dry. I swallowed a few times to no avail. Remembering I was holding a beer, I quickly took a drink and waited for my tongue to recover, only it didn’t. My hands felt clammy, and I was pretty sure I was close to hyper-ventilating. Jillian took my hand in hers and laced her fingers through mine.

  “Zack? Zachary? Talk to me. Are you okay?”

  I took a couple of deep breaths and waited a few moments to make sure my voice wouldn’t fail me. Before I could say anything, both corgis whined with empathy and jumped up onto my lap. Sherlock’s wet nose buried itself under my neck and he whined again. Watson curled up on my lap and steadfastly refused to leave.

  “They’re protecting him,” Vance noted. “Anubis does that to Tori from time to time. Zack, are you okay?”

  “I’m good,” I assured my friend. “Keep going, Victor. Please.”

  “Ever since that day,” Victor continued, “I haven’t broken the speed limit. Not even by a little bit. I won’t even change lanes without signaling first and then checking all blind spots at least twice. I’m tellin’ you, man. That day has turned me into a little old lady driver. No offense, ma’am.”

  Jillian smiled at him, “None taken, Victor.”

  At that moment, there was a commotion at the door. A white woman, about the same age as Victor, wearing blue scrubs – which indicated she worked in some type of medical profession – and had her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, came through the door. She caught sight of the three of us and plastered a guarded look on her face. Then she saw the dogs in my lap and her expression turned into a frown. However, before she could say anything, Victor came to our rescue.

  “Sheryl? This is Vance, Zack, and Jillian. The two dogs are Sherlock and Watson.”

  “Hello,” the woman said, after a brief hesitation. “What’s going on here? Are you friends of Victor’s?”

  Vance shook his head and was preparing an answer when Victor did it for him.

  “Sheryl, Zack is the husband of the lady who was killed in that Audi.”

  Sheryl gasped with shock. She hurried over to Victor’s side and took his hand in hers. She looked at me and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, I am so sorry for your loss. We didn’t know your wife, but can honestly say no one deserved to die like that.”

  “Thanks,” I quietly managed.

  “Why are you here?” Sheryl suddenly asked. “Please don’t tell me you’re looking for copies of that blasted video. I refused to watch it. I saw what it did to Victor.”

  “I saw it,” Vance announced, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. “The PI gave me a copy. And, for the record, I wouldn’t let Zack watch it.”

  “Good man,” Victor quietly mumbled. “Wait, what? You hired a PI? Was that who that guy that kept calling me was? Why? To find me?”

  I raised a hand, “It was me, Victor. I hired the PI. I have reason to suspect my wife was murdered. To give you some context, the three of us all live in southwestern Oregon. My PI, who’s local to Phoenix, said I had to come down here. He said he found evidence Samantha’s death was premeditated. Then he said he found dashcam footage of the accident.”

  “What about the footage?” Sheryl wanted to know. “Did he think there was something suspicious in it?”

  Vance was nodding, “For the record, I noticed something that looked suspicious.”

  Everyone in the room, including the two corgis, I might add, turned to Vance. Sherlock, for his part, comically cocked his head, as though Vance was spewing gibberish. I gave him a good scratching behind the ears for that one.

  “Before I answer that,” Vance started, “am I right to understand that only the two of us have seen that video, Victor?”

  Victor solemnly nodded.

  “Okay. Did you notice the timing?”

  “What timing?” Victor wanted to know.

  “You told me you had been following the VIC’s Audi for a mile or two. I couldn’t quite tell in the video, but it looked like there was some type of construction going on, is that right?”

  Sheryl nodded, “They added another northbound lane to I-17. What of it?”

  “The concrete dividers!” Vance triumphantly exclaimed. He looked over at me and grinned. “Zack, do you remember Harry asking about those huge cement dividers they frequently use on freeways? Especially under construction?”

  “What about them?” Victor asked, confused. “I remember seeing them in the video. What of it?”

  “Well, Harry called it,” Vance continued. “At the exact instant those dividers stopped, the Audi veered left and headed straight over to oncoming traffic. Coincidence?”

  Jillian and I glanced at Victor, whom I was relieved to say, had a puzzled expression on his face. After a few moments, he turned to his wife.

  “Could you bring me my laptop, please?”

  “You’re not going to watch that video again, are you?” Sheryl angrily exclaimed. “I know what that thing did to you. I’d just as soon not go through it again.”

  “Baby, if that poor woman was killed on purpose, then I want to know. I want to help nail the bastards responsible. Please, would you bring me my laptop?”

  Sheryl exited the room and returned moments later, holding a pencil-thin laptop. Victor set it on the coffee table, booted it up, and then started tapping the touchpad. The video began, complete with audio, when Victor suddenly paused it and looked over at me.

  “You don’t want to see this, do you? Here, I’ll mute it. I don’t need to hear that crash again, and Sheryl certainly doesn’t need to hear me swearing like that. Okay, there’s the Audi. Yes, I see those dividers. They’re there, preventing anyone from crossing into the oncoming lanes.”

  “Is the freeway separated yet?” I asked, from my spot on the couch. I had still made no move to watch the video.

  Vance sat up and moved over to sit on Victor’s right side so h
e could see the video, too.

  “Not yet, it isn’t,” Vance reported. “What speed do you think you were going there? I know it’s not full speed, but then again, it’s faster than your typical freeway crawl.”

  “Probably around 40,” Victor answered. He fixed Vance with a neutral stare, and then noticed the small notebook in my friend’s hand. “What do you do again, Vance?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry. I’m a police detective up in Oregon.”

  “What part of Oregon?” Sheryl asked, innocently enough. “Did you say and I missed it?”

  “Pomme Valley,” Jillian answered. “It’s in the southern part of the state. We’re close to Grants Pass and Medford.”

  “Pomme Valley,” Sheryl repeated softly. “Pomme Valley. Why is it I’ve heard of that town? Hmm. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

  Victor’s wife left the room and headed into the kitchen. Shrugging, Victor turned back to the video. He slapped a hand on the pause button moments before the Audi slammed into the truck. He shook his head, sighed, and looked over at me.

  “I will admit that I never noticed it before. The Audi had ample time to swerve left, which would’ve ended up slamming into those dividers, but at least she wouldn’t have made it the other side of the freeway. Of that, I’m sure.”

  “True,” Vance admitted, “and I’m also certain the VIC would’ve survived the crash. The rest of the traffic was moving too slow. They could have easily stopped in time.”

  Victor played the video over from the start and watched it a second time.

  “I see what you mean, man. No wonder you’re here, dude. If someone did that to Sheryl, I’d be doing the same damn thing you’re doing: searching for answers. I…”

  “Hang on a sec,” Vance interrupted. He pointed at the screen. “Would you play that back, Victor? About 10 seconds, please.”

  “What are you looking for?” I asked, from my place on the couch. I still hadn’t had the nerve to watch the video, and I doubt I would any time soon.

  “It’s something I noticed,” Vance murmured quietly. “Something… there. Did you see that? Play it again.”

  “It looks the same to me,” Victor admitted.