It took a moment for Tori to follow his meaning. “Driver error.”
“That’s right. The road had just been reopened after road crews had worked on it for months. There was interest for a while to straighten out that curve, make the road into four lanes, but folks got upset about cutting down the big ol’ trees along one side. In the end they just widened it. Most likely Joseph Tremaine took that curve too fast. Only idea I ever come up with. If it happened in these times, they’d probably all survive, what with the shoulder harnesses and air bags. But back then with just the lap belt.” The older man shook his head. “Didn’t none of ’em stand a chance of living through it.”
“Didn’t that surprise you, though?” Tori asked. “I mean, he must have been familiar with the area.”
He let out a crow of delight as another tug on his line brought him to his feet. “I think I got me a big one here.” He let the line play out a little before reeling it in slowly, watching the fish on the other end thrash. “Sure he knew the roads like the back of his hand,” he continued his earlier thread seamlessly, “but like I said, that road had been changed some. And there’s not a one among us that don’t get behind the wheel when our mind isn’t totally on driving. That’s why they call them accidents.”
“I guess there were no witnesses to help clear up any questions.”
“Nope. Just a couple of Bernie Glasser’s cows that musta got out and come downriver, and they weren’t talking. Leastways, that’s the story Glasser gave. Like nobody knew he brung them down regular every morning to avoid the cost of watering ’em. Used to tromp ’em across Cooter Beecham’s property like clockwork, and didn’t that make the old guy cuss a blue streak. Had a mouth on him, old Cooter did, and he didn’t need to be liquored up to let loose, no sirree. Why I remember a time…”
Tori let the man ramble and her mind drift. Ex-Sheriff Halloway’s retelling of the accident was different from his report only in the colorful details. Doubt about the cause of the accident hadn’t lingered long in his mind, if at all.
If he was right, his conclusion would mirror her dad’s. His report had been included in the file, as well, and she’d pored over it with particular attention. Just reading it, imagining him sitting at his battered desk painstakingly typing his findings, had summoned a lump to her throat that appeared only too easily these days.
For the first time she considered the fact that if she arrived at a different conclusion from his, it would mean he’d been wrong. That he’d overlooked something, or been too careless in his investigation. Neither of the possibilities seemed likely. Rob Landry had been meticulous about his work and his reputation. If there had been something to find twenty years earlier, something to support James’s fear that the accident had been deliberate, he would have found it. Reported it. And remained on the case until the wrongdoer was brought to justice.
She let out a sigh, only half aware that Halloway had fallen silent. It was highly probable that there was nothing to the claims in those messages about Tremaine’s parents. They’d likely been sent to distract him at a time when he most needed to focus his attention on his work.
But the conclusion didn’t make her breathe any easier. She couldn’t dismiss the threats in the notes as easily as James did. Even if the car wreck all those years ago had been an accident, he could still have a target on his back. Either way, this investigation could well prove dangerous to him. And if she was honest, the fear that followed that thought was more than just a professional one.
Chapter 4
James peered at the screen, tapping in commands rapidly. “I’m still not satisfied with the speed of the file-wiping function of the software. For optional utility, the task needs to be accomplished twice as quickly.”
Marcus Rappaport, Vice President of Production and James’s right hand in the company, shook his head. Bracing his hands on the table beside James, he leaned closer to the computer. “Figured you’d raise a breeze about it. But if you’re bent on overwriting the data a dozen times in the wipe, it’s going to take more time. We can speed it up by doing a sextuple overwrite, which still is twice as often as conventional methods, but…”
James lifted a brow. “Did you actually mention conventional methods in my presence?”
The man straightened, raising his hands in mock surrender. “What was I thinking? But it’s getting pretty close to deadline to do more than fine-tune any aspect of the system. Maybe we should just…”
“Adjust the algorithm, compress the oppositional system and, if that doesn’t work, see what our new super-sonic chip would do to the speed.”
Rappaport gaped at him. “Do you know how that would impact the cost?”
James pushed away from the computer table. He assumed the question was rhetorical. There was no one in his company as well versed as he in the profit/loss margin of every contract he undertook. “I have a general idea, yes. It’s a last option, but if it comes to that, I’d rather shave our profit than put a product out there that doesn’t perform exactly as I envisioned it.”
Marcus stared at him a moment longer, then began jotting notes on a pad of paper. “This perfectionist trait of yours may be the death of this company yet.”
James was too used to the man’s pessimistic nature to take offense. He smiled and rose, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m not a perfectionist, Marcus, just fussy. Give the job to Analiese and tell her none of us think it can be done. You know how she responds to a challenge.”
The man visibly brightened. He’d always had a soft spot for James’s little sister. “I’ll do that, although your brother-in-law may not thank you if she starts putting in overtime to accomplish it.”
“I’ll let her manage Jones.” Although his sister’s husband was overprotective enough to meet with even her brothers’ approval, Ana had a gift for wrapping the toughest man around her little finger. James daily counted himself lucky that the lion’s share of responsibility for her could now be shared.
“What’s the latest on the arrangements for the Technology Expo?”
“I’ve turned over the final details to Tucker.” Tucker Rappaport, the man’s son, interned with their company during summers and college vacations. He had one semester left before earning his M.A. When he was finished, James hoped to hire him for good. It wasn’t only friendship and loyalty that had him making a place for the young man at his company. The kid was brilliant, with a mind for cryptography that was staggering in one his age.
“Have him coordinate with Jones. I’ve put him in charge of securing the physical grounds. Better yet, get a meeting set up for the three of us.” Regardless of the questions that the anonymous notes elicited, nothing would distract him from business. Projects could be delegated, but his stamp would be all over them, down to the last detail. When he’d picked up the reins of his father’s company, with the ink still fresh on his master’s degree from M.I.T., he’d also donned a heavy mantle of responsibility, vowing to stay true to his father’s vision for the business. In that way, at least, he hadn’t failed him.
But now it was the failure of a far different kind that haunted. If there was any truth to the last couple notes, he’d allowed three people’s deaths to go unchallenged. He’d let down his brothers. His sister. Not to mention the man standing next to him.
Truth wasn’t often delivered anonymously, he reminded himself, jaw tightening. The messages were the mark of a coward, one who wished to inflict pain while staying in the shadows. No one had ever been allowed to strike at the Tremaines without certain reprisal. The sender would learn that all too soon.
James checked his watch, shifting his thoughts firmly