Chapter 8: The Witness on Birchwood Lane
His name was Thomas Greer, and he lived in a white bungalow at the end of a lane that smelled of pine and cut grass.
He was seventy-four, broad-shouldered, with the careful movements of a man who had learned not to rush things.
He opened the door before Dana had a chance to knock.
"I wondered when someone would come," he said.
He led us to a sitting room with two armchairs and a sofa and a dog that lifted its head from the rug and then went back to sleep.
He made no offer of tea.
He sat down, folded his hands, and looked at me.
"You're the daughter," he said.
"Granddaughter," I said.
"Claire."
He nodded slowly.
"You have her eyes.
Your mother.
I only saw her for a moment, but." He stopped.
"I'm sorry.
For what it's worth, after all this time."
"Tell me what you saw," I said.
He looked at Dana.
She gave a small nod.
"I was driving home from my brother's place," he said.
"Late.
Maybe ten-thirty.
That stretch of road is straight for about a mile and then it bends.
I came up behind two cars.
The first one — your parents' car — was doing the limit.
The second one was riding close.
Too close." He paused.
"I thought at first it was a young driver, impatient.
I backed off, gave them space.
Then I watched."
"What did you see?"
"The second car accelerated.
Not to pass — just to close the gap.
Then it dropped back.
Then closed again." His jaw tightened.
"It did that three times.
Like it was — testing something.
Or waiting." He looked at me.
"When we reached the bend, the second car went hard into the back of the first one.
One impact.
Clean.
Your parents' car went off the road." He stopped.
"The second car didn't stop.
It was gone before I even pulled over."
The room was very quiet.
"Did you see the vehicle?" Dana said.
"Dark saloon.
Four-door.
I didn't get the plate — it happened fast and the road wasn't well-lit." He paused.
"But I got a partial.
I gave it to the officer at the scene."
"That partial wasn't in the report," Dana said.
He looked at her steadily.
"No.
It wasn't." He reached beside his chair and picked up an old manila envelope.
"I kept a copy of everything I gave them.
In case." He held it out to Dana.
"I've been keeping it for twenty-five years."
Dana took the envelope carefully.
"Mr.
Greer," she said.
"Would you be willing to give a formal statement?"
"That's why I answered the door," he said.
I looked at him.
"Why didn't you push harder at the time?
When the report came back without your partial?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I did push.
I called the station twice.
The second time, the officer told me I had been mistaken about what I saw.
That it was dark and I was tired and accidents happen." He paused.
"Then a week later, someone drove past my house very slowly.
Three nights in a row.
Same car.
Parked at the end of the lane for about twenty minutes each time." He looked at me.
"I had a wife and two young children."
I nodded.
"I'm not proud of it," he said.
"I've thought about it most days since."
"You kept the envelope," I said.
"That matters."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded once, the way someone nods when they've decided something they've been undecided about for a very long time.
Dana spent another forty minutes with him going through the formal statement process.
I sat and listened.
The dog moved from the rug to beside my chair and leaned against my leg.
I put my hand on its back without thinking.
When we left, Dana was quiet until we reached the car.
"The partial plate," she said.
"Combined with the financial records and Calhoun's property transaction, we have enough to take to the financial crimes unit and request a formal investigation." She looked at me.
"This is no longer just a civil matter, Claire.
If the investigation supports what we have, we are talking about charges."
"Against Marsh," I said.
"Against Marsh.
Possibly against Calhoun, though he's elderly and the statute of limitations on some of this is complicated." She paused.
"Marsh is not elderly.
And the fraud charges from your grandfather's records have no statute of limitations issue under the relevant code."
I looked out through the windscreen at the pine lane.
"How long?" I said.
"Weeks before we know if the unit will open a formal file.
Months before anything moves significantly." She started the car.
"But Claire — we are moving.
That's what matters now."
She pulled out of the lane.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Grandma.
*Arthur called.
He says there's something you need to know.
Gerald Marsh filed a property transfer this morning.
He's moving assets.*
I read it twice.
"Dana," I said.
She glanced at me.
I held up the phone.
May you like
Her expression didn't change, but her hands tightened on the wheel.
"He knows someone is looking," she said.
