Eileen Slovak

Chapter Fifty-seven: Case Closed?

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scott

Sean’s unlocked cell phone arrived. I listen to all of the saved voicemails. There are calls to Arkansas numbers I identify as work, local restaurants, his neighbor Brittney. There are calls to his parents, friends I’ve spoken with, plus calls to Scarlet which taper off in October…before one in November. Then there are calls to Trish, intermittently following calls from Trish. The last incoming and outgoing exchanges between them were on January 1^st. 

      The other mail from the apartment confirms my suspicions. There are multiple safety recalls on the vehicle that Sean never received. I haven’t figured out how to deal with the added complication of Trish’s involvement. Due to the relationship between the two families, I have to be careful how I broach the subject. I’m meeting with Mr. Campbell this afternoon.

      For my first solo case I think I did pretty well, personal issues aside. Jeff is pleased with my report and my performance. He adds that the most recent information from the thumb drive I provided, was the nail in the coffin. I knew I’d beat Slumansky at his own game. Jeff wants me to stay tuned for what happens next with the Rhode Island office. I ask if there’s be a possibility of another location. It’s good to have options.

      On the personal side, I’m in a bucket of misery. I call Kelly, telling him what happened.

      “See what happens when you don’t listen to me?” he says.

      “I know. Now what do I do?”

      “You finish your case, then get the hell out of there. When you’re done, come down here to hang out for as long as you need. You always have a room here. The weather’s looking up. I’ll teach you everything I know about women. That ought to take about five minutes.”

      “This one’s under my skin. I can’t explain it.”

      “Yeah, I figured as much. All the more reason to get while the gettin’ is good.”

      “Thanks Kelly.”

      If she won’t talk to me, I need to at least give Scarlet the letter. I owe her that much. Reading it again, I have a familiar knot in my stomach.

      I’m sitting in the formal living room of the Campbell’s home with Mr. Campbell. The furniture is elegant but stiff as if it recently arrived from the showroom. The room appears to have been professionally decorated with custom drapes, plush area rugs, and crystal lamps. An enormous, fresh flower arrangement sits on the credenza. The pungent scent of lily’s is making me nauseous. Although, the temperature in the room isn’t overly warm, I’m sweating. I place my palms on my thighs for fear I’ll defile the furniture.

      Mr. Campbell is pale, drawn, with cavernous circles under his eyes. His clothes hang more loosely than I recall from our previous meetings. I sense we’ll both be glad when this meeting is over. My final report is on the mahogany coffee table between us, but I’m reciting it verbatim.  

      “I’m assuming you can pursue a lawsuit if you’d like. I’m no lawyer, but I’m not sure BMW would be at fault. They sent multiple copies of the necessary recall notices. With the move, mail forwarding and the stolen mail, Sean never received them. If he had known about the recalls for the airbag issues and about the gas pedal sticking at high rates of speed, he wouldn’t have continued driving the car. The car chase brought it all to a head.”

      “I appreciate your thorough research. At least now we know what happened.”

      “The mail, keys, and personal items are another matter, along with the reason for the pursuit in the first place. It’s my firm belief that Patricia was not in her right state of mind when all of this ensued.”

      Mr. Campbell considers this, his expression twisted in anguish. He picks up the report reading it in its entirety. When he finishes reading, he carefully lays the document down back on the coffee table between us.

      “There’s a complicated history there with Patricia. When we moved here twenty-five years ago, Sean and Patricia were just babies. The Iannuccilli’s were our very first friends. We’ve been like family ever since. We vacationed together, we celebrated birthdays and holidays together.”

      He pauses. I nod, remaining silent, allowing him to continue uninterrupted.

      “When the kids were teenagers, they started dating. We were all nervous about it. It was the last thing any of us expected or wanted for them. They were like cousins. We knew if we tried to stand in the way, well, knowing teenagers, they would do the opposite anyway. But Trish was not well. She’s struggled for years with mental illness. She’s gone through countless therapists and psychiatrists. Their son is also troubled. Of course, we all talked about it. We felt awful for them. We actually felt guilty about how easy we had it with Sean. He was the perfect son. People say that about their children, but he really was. I don’t doubt for an instant that he would try to protect Patricia or save her from harm. That is just who he was. Making an issue now…will only ruin the lives of both our families.”

      “I understand, sir.”

       “As for the circumstances leading up to the accident, I expect I’ll relive it every day for the rest of my life. If this hadn’t happened, or if that hadn’t happened, he would still be here. He asked my advice about the new position. I encouraged him to take the job, even though it broke his mother’s heart. You can’t hold your children back for selfish reasons. She may never forgive me, but I have to forgive myself. The reality is, it was a series of events that led up to a horrific accident. Second guessing won’t bring him back, neither will lashing out in anger.”

      I nod again, not sure what to say.

      “I thank you for presenting me with the facts, even though there’s nothing I do can change the outcome.”

      “My condolences again, Mr. Campbell.”

      “Thank you,” he says rising to shake my hand.

      “You’re welcome, sir.”

      “Scott, I have one last request. If you don’t mind sticking around for another week.”

      “I’m happy to.”            

He explains what he needs. I understand. Although under the circumstances, I’m not sure I’d be so gracious.