Page 74

Story: Guilty as Sin

“Could have been taken to a junk yard and resold from there. They don’t always keep the best records. But they’re following the trail. Mendes sent a picture. Prettiest little ’71 GTO I’ve seen.Baby blue with a black hardtop. Four fifty-five High Output V8 with a four eighty torque. Probably goes zero to sixty in under…” His words trailed off as he noticed the look on her face. “What?”
“Are GTOs referred to as GOATs?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Mendes didn’t happen to send you a picture, did he?”
“Yeah. But only because he appreciated the car as much as I did.” Hayes picked up his cell and scrolled, bringing up the image and sliding the phone across to her. When she studied it, the color leeched from her face. “What’s wrong?”
Without a word, Reese stood and left the table, heading to the bedroom. Mystified, he waited until she returned a moment later with her laptop. She sat down and did a quick search before turning the computer around to nudge toward him. “Looks like this, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in to survey it more carefully. Then clicked on another image in a montage of pictures. Someone had meticulously documented every stage of the vehicle’s restoration. “The accident caused a fair amount of damage. No way that’s the original chassis.” He clicked quickly through the pictures. “I wonder how long it took them to…” Hayes forced himself to refocus. “Okay, how did you find this page?”
“I discovered it last night, but didn’t really look through it. And to answer your question, restoration took about five years.”
When she said nothing more, he scrolled to the top. Discovered it was a Facebook group dedicated to muscle car restoration. He made a mental note to return to the page later to check out the other posts. “So who’s TrevorGOAT71?”
She moistened her lips. “Click on the user name.”
When Hayes obeyed, he was taken to yet another Facebook page, this one belonging to an individual. There were several photos of a midtwenties man with the same car. Even more of him paired with an older man and a few of Trevor, the sameman, and a woman. Parents, he assumed. He paused and looked closer, a sense of familiarity nagging at him.
“That looks like…”
“Gerald Rivers,” she said flatly. “With the son who died of cancer. Trevor Rivers.”
33
Less than five minutes after Hayes sent Mendes a text with pictures of their findings, the deputy called back. Almost simultaneously, Reese’s cell rang. Kervin. Pushing her chair back, she left the table as she answered.
“You didn’t show up today.” His voice was hushed. Furtive.
“I just saw your text about an hour ago.” She got to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. “You said you had something big.”
“That’s right, and blowing me off isn’t the way to hear about it.”
Annoyance flickered. “I’m not at your beck and call. I actually have a life.”
“So do I, but I’ve been putting my ass on the line for you. The least you can do is respond to a message.”
“I can tell you right now, nothing you have to tell me is worth a thousand bucks.”
“You don’t know that. This is big. I mean like I can’t even believe it myself. You’re going to want to hear everything I have to say. And…” Kervin lowered his voice. “I’ve got photos to prove it all.”
Something in his tone had her journalist instincts quivering. Hayes was convinced he was wringing the situation for the cash she’d paid him, and no doubt that was a significant factor for his interest. But there was more here. Reese wondered just what the man had come up with. “I’m interested, but not at that price.”
“We can negotiate. Meet me tonight. I’m due at the funeral home at seven. I’ll send you the address. Make it about eight, though. Everyone should be out by then.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure I can do it tonight. But I’ll text you either way.”
“Be there, or the cost goes up.” He disconnected.
“Asshole,” she muttered, rising from the edge of the mattress. Hayes was right. The man was all about feathering his own nest. But she’d deliberately whetted his appetite when they’d first met, so Reese could hardly complain at this point.
She got as far as the bedroom door before her cell rang again. The screen read only SDPD. Her heart sank. Jennings contacted Hayes. Gibbons and Usher’s names appeared on their calls. It occurred to her that she was collecting an extensive and unwanted acquaintance list within the department. “This is Reese.”
“Miss Decody. This is SDPD Detective Elaina Loffler. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine, thanks.”