“Yes,” Tom said. “And he should be in uniform as he is supposed to be on shift.”
“I think he changed that,” Holt told Tom. “I saw he’d swapped shifts with another officer to get today off.”
“What?” Tom bellowed and drew the vehicle to a stop near where Clive had turned to walk toward the harbor.
He noticed them and changed direction to walk toward them. Tom rolled down his window as the young man approached.
“Hello, father,” Clive said, dipping his head. “Director Dillinger.”
“Hello, Clive,” Holt greeted him.
“Why are you at the body shop?” Tom asked casually.
“Someone backed into me at Henderson’s Farm yesterday,” Clive replied without hesitation. “I was there getting fresh vegetables for the chef. When I came out, somebody had hit my front bumper panel and just taken off.”
“Did you file a police report?” Tom inquired.
Warning bells started going off in Holt’s head, but he pushed them aside, not wanting to believe Clive might’ve hit Lacey’s car. But still, he made a mental note to stop by the auto repair shop later.
“It really didn’t seem worth the hassle,” Clive shrugged. “My insurance will cover it.”
“Why aren’t you on shift?” Tom asked.
“I took the day off,” Clive said. “I needed to get my car taken care of.”
“That was not even an hour’s work,” Tom pointed out.
“I just need time off,” Clive’s voice raised slightly, and his eyes flashed. “Can you get off my back? I’m not even sure I want to be a cop anymore. Especially when my own father refuses to promote me.”
“That wasn’t me,” Tom said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to argue with you right now. See that you are at work tomorrow or I will suspend you and cut off your credit card.”
Before Clive could reply, Tom pulled off and drove to the police station.
“Why didn’t you promote Clive?” Holt asked.
“He failed the detective’s exam,” Tom answered. “Three times.” He pulled into his parking space and turned off the engine. ‘What’s worse, I think he did it on purpose.’”
They walked into the police station, and before Holt could ask anything else, Rad returned.
“How did it go?” Tom asked Rad.
“I’ve got photographs of the scene, measurements of the skid marks, and samples of the paint transfer from Lacey’s bumper,” Rad reported to Tom. “I’ll get everything logged into evidence and start the report.”
“Good work,” Tom said. “Make sure we flag this as a possible hit-and-run rather than a simple accident.”
As Rad headed into the police station, Holt found himself thinking about the sequence of incidents that had been plaguing Sandpiper Shores. First, the targeting of emergency personnel, then the fires, and now an attack on Lacey. One thing they all had in common, well, most of them, was that they were all here ten years ago at the last fatal fire. The pattern was becoming clearer, and Holt didn’t like what it suggested about the escalating danger facing the people of Sandpiper Shores, pointing to either a copycat or that the real perpetrator was back to finish what they started. And one vital question burned through Holt’s mind—why now?
23
TOM
Something was eating at Tom, and he couldn’t shake it. There was something he needed to do, something that filled him with dread, but he knew he had no choice. A good police chief couldn’t let personal feelings interfere with justice, even when it involved his own family.
He glanced at his wristwatch and pulled out his phone. But first, he needed to see Lucy. Tom knew that with everything that had happened to Lacey, it probably wasn’t the best time, but Lacey’s accident had shaken him more than he cared to admit. It had shown him how quickly life could change, how fragile happiness could be. If his life was going to end tomorrow, he didn’t want to have any regrets. Especially when it came to Lucy.
He dialed her number, and she answered after the third ring.
“Hello, Tom,” Lucy’s voice was soft but tired.
