Chapter 12
Geoffrey Daly’s garage stood in an industrial section of Richland, not far from the riverfront. Mitch and Monty pulled up to the front and parked, looking at the old building. The bay doors were open and they saw four men inside working on vehicles. Next to the bays was an office, the sign Daly’s Automotives across the door.
Stepping out of Mitch’s truck, Monty noticed the mechanics’ eyes immediately shot their way. He knew from years with the FBI, both he and Mitch had the air of law enforcement about them. Following Mitch into the office, they encountered a young woman behind the counter. Her messy bun of bleached blonde hair with black roots, dark eyeliner, multiple piercings, and open-mouth gum chewing greeted them as they approached. Her bored expression perked as she left the counter to go find Geoffrey.
A minute later, a lean man came from the garage, wiping his hands on a towel. A few inches less than six feet tall, built like a runner, his ash-blond hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail in the back. His sharp eyes took them in, quickly assessing.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Geoffrey Daly. I understand you have some questions.”
“Yes,” Mitch answered, introducing himself and showing his identification before introducing Monty. “Is there someplace where we can speak in private?”
The receptionist, who had returned to her place behind the counter, looked on wide-eyed, popping her gum. Geoffrey glanced her way with a scowl, saying, “Sure. We can talk in my office.” He led the way, speaking to the girl as they passed. “Just answer the phones and keep your nose in your own business.”
She blinked rapidly before dropping her gaze to the gossip magazine in front of her. Mitch and Monty shared a glance as they made their way into the small, crowded office. Geoffrey sat at the desk, piled high with papers, files, and receipts.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess, gentlemen. I haven’t been myself since my girlfriend passed away last month and there’re things that I’m getting behind in.” He sighed heavily, adding, “Fucking tax time.”
“We are sorry for your loss, Mr. Daly. We have come into some information and are hoping you can supply us with answers,” Monty began.
Geoffrey’s eyes darted between the two men. “About Theresa?”
“I know you gave this information to the police, but I’d like you to tell me about the night she died.”
Rubbing his hand over his face, Geoffrey heaved another sigh. “Jesus, this sucks. We were at our townhouse that evening. She was a teacher and always got home before I did. We ate supper and I was already in our den watching TV by the time she brought in some schoolwork to grade. I asked if we had any beer and she said we didn’t. She headed out to go to the store to buy some. It had been snowing a little and I didn’t know it was worse when she left. That was the last I saw her before the police came by.”
Monty noticed the succinct story Geoffrey related, giving little emotional details. He sat back, his eyes noting the man’s behavior…and the sweat beading on his forehead, as he let Mitch continue the questioning.
“Can you tell me where she parked her car when she was at home?”
Geoffrey’s brow furrowed as he answered, “We’ve got a one car garage at the townhouse. She’d always pull in there. My truck’s too big so I always park out on the street. Why?”
Ignoring Geoffrey’s question, Mitch continued, “Had her car had any work done on it recently? I assume since you own a garage you would have taken care of its maintenance?”
“Yeah, I’d have her bring it in here when it needed inspection or oil change or something.”
Mitch nodded thoughtfully, jotting down few notes. “I saw from the records her car passed state inspection two months ago. Had she complained about her brakes since then?”
Geoffrey sat up straight, his lips thinned in irritation. “No, she never talked about the brakes. What the hell are all these questions about?”
“Was it unusual for her to go out at night to buy beer for you?”
“Now, hold on just a goddamn minute! You’re trying to make me out to look like some kind of controlling male who makes his little woman run around after him. That wasn’t us at all. I didn’t tell her to get the beer. And before you ask, no, there was never anything implied either. I asked if we had any. She said no and that she’d run out and buy some. I never made her go and I sure as shit didn’t know the roads were so bad.”
“Mr. Daly, I’m not implying anything. I’m simply wanting to get an idea of exactly what happened that night leading to her going out in her car.”
Huffing, Geoffrey leaned back in his seat, his expression angry and his gaze distant. “I loved Theresa. No matter what anyone thought, we loved each other and planned on getting married. She had a little inheritance money and we talked about expanding this business. She was a high school marketing teacher and had some good ideas.” Running his hand over his scruffy beard, he shook his head slightly. “Her parents never approved of me. I was too working class for them, but Theresa…she and me talked about a future all the time.”
“Can you tell us about the matter of the domestic violence calls Theresa made?”
Geoffrey’s grimace turned ugly. “How do you know about those?” An expression of dawning appeared and he growled, “I see you’ve talked to her parents.”
“Your arrests are a matter of public record, Mr. Daly,” Monty responded.
He sat quietly for a moment and then turned his gaze back to Mitch. “I didn’t have the upbringing Theresa did. In my house, if my dad wanted to make a point, he did it with his fist. I even got into trouble as a teenager when I fought back to help keep my mom from dad’s anger.” He snorted as he shook his head, lost for a moment in the memories. “So yeah, when Theresa and I first lived together, I fucked up and hit her once. I got arrested and that was the last time I ever hit her. The last two calls were unfounded. She felt threatened by what I was saying, but I never hit her. We worked out our communication issues and I got more anger counseling. But her parents never forgave me.”
More silence filled the room before Geoffrey suddenly looked back at Mitch. “You said something about her brakes. What were you referring to?”
“It appears her brake lines were cut. Just enough to let the brake fuel leak out slowly. Perhaps just enough for her to drive to the grocery store on icy roads before she lost control completely and was killed when her car was unable to stop at an icy intersection.”
Geoffrey stared numbly, his mouth opening and closing several times before his face turned red and he stood quickly. “You tellin’ me Theresa’s brake lines were cut?” He paced to the edge of his desk before turning back suddenly. “Holy shit, you think I did that? You think I cut her lines and sent her to the store.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk, roaring, “You can get the fuck outta my shop! You want me, go through my lawyer.” Turning back to the corner of the room, his chest heaving, he said softer, “I loved her. I was gonna marry her.”
*
“What does your gut tell you?” Mitch asked as he and Monty were back in his truck, leaving Richland.
“He’s got a lot to hide. Whether it’s about her accident or just the state of their relationship, he’s scared right now.”
“Yeah, that was my impression also. Did Luke dig up info on Daly’s business or personal finances?”
“He was working on it when we left.” Monty reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out his phone. A few clicks later and he had Luke on the other end. “I’ve got you on speakerphone with Mitch. What do you have for us on Daly?”
“His shop is doing fine according to what I can determine. Steady business, steady income, not great, but okay. Granted, it looks like once all expenses are paid, he puts a lot back into the shop, but he still lives well enough.”
“Do you see any reason why he would be desperate to get his hands on a life insurance policy, other than normal greed? Outstanding loans, gambling debts, or something?”
“Not from what I’m seeing, but I’m still digging. You think maybe Bart and Cam should take a look at his office?”
“Jesus, not in front of me,” Mitch groused, eliciting chuckles from both Monty and Luke.
Monty clicked off speakerphone and gave Luke a nod. “Contact Bart and Cam. Tell them to find whatever they can, both at the house he shared with Theresa and his business.”
“You got it,” Luke replied. “Tell Mitch not to get his panties in a bunch!”
Laughing as he disconnected, Monty looked over at Mitch. “You gotta loosen up, man,” he joked.
“Easy for you to say. I’ve got superiors breathing down my neck to make sure whatever we get can stick in court if need be.”
“You could always have a change of scenery, you know. Jack would love to have you.”
Mitch ran his hand over his jaw but did not answer for a long time. “I’m third generation law enforcement. My grandfather worked as a deputy for a small county in Virginia for most of his career. He never ran for sheriff, saying he wanted to be the one helping folks instead of dealing with the political side of things. My dad spent his career as a police officer and then a detective for the Richland PD. When I finished training for the FBI, both men were there at my graduation. I thought their buttons were gonna pop, they were so proud.”
Monty listened, finding envy sliding over him. “You had respect and pride from them,” he commented. “My parents groomed me for a career as a lawyer, with hopes I would someday become a judge. When I headed to the FBI Academy after law school, I thought they were going to have a coronary.” Sighing, he continued, “The only one at my graduation from the Academy was my sister.”
Mitch glanced sideways, “That’s tough, man.” He thought for a moment and then said, “I know I could make more money with fewer headaches going private but, for now, the Agency gives me a sense of public duty that was passed down from my family.”
Nodding, Monty agreed. “Makes sense. It really does and I gotta say it makes our life easier having you on the inside, understanding how we work and are willing to work together.”
Returning to Charlestown, Mitch dropped Monty off at the bakery. Parking behind a pink VW bug, Mitch stared at it for a moment before chuckling. “She ever take you for a ride in that crazy-ass car that looks like a cupcake?”
Shaking his head, Monty laughed, realizing he no longer thought her car was odd, but he quickly explained, “It fits her, but I’d lose my man-card if I showed up at Jack’s in that!”
Right then, as though she had been looking for him, Angel opened the bakery door and bounded out toward the driver’s side of the SUV as Monty came around the front.
“I brought these for you, Agent Evans,” she said, handing a white box tied with colorful ribbons to him. “They’re some of my cupcakes. I thought you might enjoy them.”
Staring at the gorgeous woman at his window, her blonde hair with its pink, purple, and teal stripes blowing in the breeze and her blue eyes sparkling, he accepted her gift. Before he was able to thank her properly, Monty had reached Angel, pulling her into a hug while admonishing her for being out in the cold without a coat.
She gave Monty a quick kiss and, with a wave goodbye, she jogged back into the bakery. Mitch looked from the bakery to the box in his lap to the man standing by his SUV with a goofy grin on his face. “You are so fucked,” he said to Monty. “That woman is so not like what you used to date and yet everything you ever needed! I think she finally pulled that stick outta your ass that your parents have had there for-fuckin’-ever.” Before Monty could retort, Mitch said, “Call me if you get anything,” and drove down the street.
Monty stood for a moment on the sidewalk, watching his friend drive away and pondering his words. Not what you are used to but everything you need. His instinct was to deny what Mitch had said, but as he turned around to see the swirling words on the front of the bakery knowing who was inside waiting…Fuck, yeah. Everything I need.
*
Once more under the cloak of darkness, Bart and Cam made their way easily into Daly’s Automotives. The lax security allowed the pair to get inside with no trouble. Moving through the garage area first, they discovered nothing more than what appeared to be a well-run, organized mechanic’s garage. The swept, oil-stained floor was free of tools, which were on the tables and tool chests on the back wall. A search of the drawers provided nothing other than the implements of the trade.
Moving to the reception lobby, it was easy to note the receptionist’s duties did not extend to cleaning the area. While the waiting room magazines were neatly stacked on the table by the plastic chairs, the shelves underneath the counter were filled with more magazines haphazardly tossed around, a few empty fast food bags crumpled, a coffee mug filled with moldy dregs from long ago. Gross…but nothing suspicious, just a lazy receptionist.
Bart and Cam moved into the office last. “Does he have his receptionist work in here as well?” Bart commented at the mess.
“Monty said that Daly made the inference that Theresa may have helped in here or, at least, it was better when she was alive.”
The two men worked silently, pouring over the files and receipts scattered over the desk and what was actually in the filing cabinet.
“Looks like there was a connection between his garage and Colonial Financial Group,” Cam said, looking at papers in his hands. “We’ll have Luke go through his emails to see if we can find what they were doing but, from this, here is a receipt for financial planning services paid by the garage to CFG.”
Finding nothing else of interest, they left the office the way they had found it. Driving by the bar they knew Daly frequented and seeing his truck still there, they visited his house next. Once more, entering was easy and they moved stealthily through the home. Finding the rooms to be neater than his office, Cam looked around with his hands on his hips. Walking to the kitchen, he looked through the cabinets and drawers while Bart searched the bedroom.
“There’s still a few women’s items in the bathroom in the bottom drawer, but all other evidence of Theresa is gone. No clothes in the closet but there are a couple of women’s t-shirts in his chest, as well as a necklace on top of the dresser.”
“Don’t know how unusual that is. Some people keep all the deceased’s personal items and others get rid of them immediately,” Bart commented.
Investigating a few more rooms and finding nothing interesting, they moved to the garage. Cam squatted on the floor and searched the concrete. Looking closely, he rubbed his finger through the oil and antifreeze stains.
“You got something?” Bart queried.
“Could be a bit of brake fluid here mixed in with the other normal stains that come from a vehicle.”
“You thinking that if her brakes were tampered with here, it would leave residue on the floor?”
Nodding, Cam said, “We need to get Mitch to get a warrant to scrape this floor and see if it matches the brake fluid in her car.”
Having finished, the two friends slipped back out into the night, unnoticed. The natural high from investigating was mixed with the frustration that they were no closer to finding Marcia’s murderer…nor Theresa’s.