Page 10 of Nowhere to Hide
Sandra did the same. Curiosities needed satisfying.
FIVE
11:15 AM
Under ideal circumstances, negotiation was a dance of give and take. In this case all Sandra had was the word of the hostage taker that those inside were all right. Based on their cries for help, she could only assume they were uninjured.Assume…A dreaded word in her line of work. There was too much gray area, room for interpretation, which could wind up completely false—and deadly. She was chastising herself about not getting more out of the HT as she read about the fatal crash. Though she assured herself, she hadn’t promised the investigation would be reopened. Not yet. But could they just turn away? The accusation was implied that the police had failed Susan Crawford.
“All right, here we go.” Gibson leaned back in his chair, not bothering to face the rest of them. “The crash report says it took place in January, single vehicle. Crawford was driving a Chevrolet Cavalier sedan. She careened off the road into a pole, and the road conditions were to blame.”
“That’s it? The HT must think there’s more to it,” Neal said. “He’s not going to be happy if we hold our arms up in surrender. Did you spot any connections between Susan Crawford and the Hansons?”
Gibson shook his head, still not bothering to turn around. “Nope. But Susan’s five-year-old son, Ryan, was in the car and sustained critical injuries.”
“If he survived, that would make him the right age for the HT,” Donny said.
“Though he was only five at the time. Why would he turn up now wanting answers about his mother’s crash?” Monica asked.
“We don’t know what his life has been like.” Sandra faced Gibson. “Any other relatives?” She hadn’t gotten that far.
“Uh-huh. Susan had a brother and sister. The sister died three weeks ago.”
“Names, Gibson,” Neal prompted.
“The brother is Russell Crawford, and the sister was Teresa Crawford. Ryan was the son, as I told you, and he survived. He’s thirty-eight, but this is Susan’s brother.” Gibson wheeled to the side. On his screen was a handsome man who certainly didn’t look his age with blond hair and green eyes. “He’s sixty-eight if you can believe it.”
Monica puffed out a breath. “He’s sixty-eight? Wow. He could pass for late thirties, early forties.”
“If we can trust Dorsey’s memory.” Neal shook his head.
“Here’s the son.” Gibson reached over and clicked his mouse, switching out screens.
The face of another handsome man with blond hair and green eyes stared back at them.
“Wait, what about this kid’s father? Susan’s husband, love, or significant other?” Donny asked.
Gibson click-clacked on his keyboard.
“The father is listed as unknown,” Sandra said, speaking up, and stopping the intelligence officer from another search.
“Thanks,” he told her, and she nodded.
“I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing. That the hostage taker doesn’t think the accident was an open-and-shut affair, butthen what? Does he think someone inside killed her? Though how would that make sense? Edward is the oldest one in there, and he would have only been seven years old at the time of the crash,” Donny pointed out.
Sandra stood, pacing the length of the vehicle. Getting the blood going, the oxygen pumping, always helped her mind work better. Thoughts surfaced about the ruse the hostage taker used to access the house. It was connected to Timothy Hanson’s death. She dropped back into her chair and did a search on the man. “Timothy Hanson was seventy-three when he died, so he would have been forty years old when Susan died in her accident.”
“All right, but where does that get us? The man is dead,” Gibson pointed out. “And what are you suggesting? That he’s responsible for Susan’s accident somehow? Even if he is, he’s out of reach for justice or revenge.”
“That might be why this man’s at the house belonging to the next generation,” Neal weighed in.
“But does he want justice, revenge, or both?” Though that was assuming the Hansons were connected to all this and not merely a means to an end. “All we can know for sure is the HT wants the truth to come out. He even said that himself.”
“Why not just tell us what thetruthis?” Gibson put finger quotes aroundtruth.“Why make this into a game and us his puppets?”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Sandra said. “But we’re far more likely to trust our discoveries than accept his word. He must know that.”
Neal pointed at her. “Very true.”
“Lieutenant,” she began, “with your approval, I’d like to call in Detective Birch.” Eric Birch was her boyfriend and a detective within the Criminal Investigation Division of the MPD in the Homicide Branch. He’d still been called out to help during thesituation at Founders Hospital. Maybe he could be pulled away to help today, even if it was to put out preliminary feelers. She hoped so because he was dogged in ferreting out the truth. If there was anything to Susan Crawford’s accident, she trusted he’d find out, even over three decades later.
