Page 51 of All the Little Truths

“The car wash is out of business now. Torn down to make room for a strip mall.”

“Who owned it?” She knew before he answered, and the fact that he’d held out on her made her more annoyed than it should have. This seemed to be the way of her relationships with the men in her life—except for Matt.

She took a mental step back and reminded herself that Houser was a cop; she was part of the defense team for a potential suspect. Of course he held out on her to some degree. Just because they were friends didn’t change the rules of the game. She should have expected there would be something.

“I’ll just wait over here,” Taylor said as he backed away from the table. “Let me know if you need me.”

“Johnson Development built it,” Houser explained with audible reluctance, “along with two others. This is the only one that has been torn down—ironically not even a week after the murder. A strip mall quickly popped up in its place.”

Now she was just straight-up angry. She had no illusions her client was an innocent victim in this, but the possibility that Johnson had torn down a car wash just because Lucy patronized it once was taking a hell of a leap, in her opinion. “Are you suggesting more evidence was hidden there? Obviously, there wasn’t a body buried under the concrete.”

“All the car washes had cameras. It kept the employees in line and protected the owner from customers saying any damage to their vehicle happened at the car wash.” Houser held up both hands when she would have interrupted. “Tear it down and you get to remove the cameras without drawing the wrong attention.”

Finley’s jaw dropped, and her anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. So maybe he had a valid point. “Okay.” She was the one flashing her palms in surrender now. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“But you’re wrong,” Houser went on. “Lucy’s body was found, yes, but there is one body we haven’t found.” At her expectant look, he said, “Ian Johnson’s.”

Well, hell. He made another damned good point.

Finley decided not to comment or to mention her interview with Ray Johnson’s ex just yet. After all, Johnson had said his ex wouldn’t be repeating her story. Instead Finley studied the items on display once more. The purse was monogrammed with the designer’s distinctive initials. Fairly new at the time the victim carried it. The lip gloss was a brand Finley remembered being popular in those days.

Her frustration flared again, this time at their damned client. Johnson was keeping things from her. No real surprise there, but for him to keep something this blatant—considering he had to have known Houser would likely note the timing of the teardown—made her furious. When high-profile cases like this one were reopened, the new detective always searched for the little things previous detectives had overlooked. Like changes in property ownership or major renovations. The car wash receipt alone wasn’t proof of anything, but it placed Lucy on Johnson property. Add her presence to the subsequent teardown, and a red flag went up. Putting her frustration aside for the moment, she moved on to the cigarette butts. The distinctive green lettering on the butts signified a once-popular menthol brand.

“Do you have DNA back on the cigarette butts?” An idea was taking shape, and she wasn’t sure she should make the suggestion to Houser—the enemy, basically. She thought of the car wash and how cocky Ray Johnson was, and she decided just maybe she would go for it.

“DNA came back this afternoon,” he confirmed. “All we need is Johnson’s to rule him out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest. We both know you don’t want to rule him out.”

“We also,” Houser pointed out, “both want the same thing—the truth.”

She couldn’t deny this, but she also had an obligation to protect her client as long as he wasn’t a threat to anyone else.

A plan formed in Finley’s mind. She loved it when inspiration struck so quickly. “I need to make a call.”

Houser nodded to Taylor. “Thanks, man. We’ll get out of your way now.”

Finley waved to her new fan and decided it would be smart to remember his name.

Houser escorted Finley from the room, retracing their steps to the employee entrance. They said nothing as they moved through the quiet building. When they’d exited into the dark evening, he said, “Make your call.” He jerked his head toward the picnic tables under a group of trees. “I’ll wait over there.”

Finley waited until he’d settled at one of the tables, his feet on the bench. She turned her back on him and walked to the corner of the building as she put through a call to Jack. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, kid, what’s up?”

“So I just had a look at the evidence,” she said without preamble.

“Anything interesting?”

“There was a stub from a car wash.”

Jack grunted. “Okay.”

She explained the car wash connection to the Johnsons and the subsequent teardown. “We need to know why he closed and tore down that particular one when he did.”

“I’ll pay him another visit first thing in the morning. This is the sort of thing best done in person.”

“Agreed.” After a moment’s consideration, she said, “The DNA is back on the cigarette butts. I actually don’t believe it’s relevant. Thinkabout it, the purse is found on the top shelf in a mop closet. Also found are a couple of cigarette butts—not on the top shelf. Way in the back under the bottom shelf. Come on. It’s been thirteen years. Who was doing the sweeping in that warehouse?”

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