much I can see without a cutting torch and major equipment.”
“Really?” Tara asked, disappointed.
“The radiator’s been shoved into the block,” Tony said, banging on the metal with a wrench, “so I can’t get at the pistons.” He tapped the lid of a crunched-up black box behind the battery. She saw the edge of a label as bright as the nail polish she’d used on Faye. “The controls are electronic. I’d need to check the programming to see if it fouled up or shorted out.”
“We’re looking for anything that might have malfunctioned or been tampered with,” Tara said, finding it hard to speak.
“Brakes, drive train, steering,” Dylan said.
“I’ll do what I can,” Tony said. He turned to look through his toolbox. Tara and Dylan stepped back and surveyed the car. What remained of the windshield was a mosaic of shattered safety glass. The other windows had only pebbled chunks remaining. The dented driver’s door hung from its hinges. “How could anyone have survived?” she said. She felt dizzy and inhaled quickly, but oxygen seemed to elude her.
“You sure you want to be here?” Dylan asked.
She nodded, but she couldn’t face the interior yet. “Let’s check the back bumper for dents.” If she kept moving, she’d do better.
They found part of the bumper missing, the rest crushed. Both taillights were broken. “They must have been hit from behind. Something tore that bumper apart. And look at the dent.”
“The damage could have happened when it tumbled downhill.”
“But a collision would explain the speed when the car hit the barrier.” She knelt to look closer and saw scrapes of pale-blue paint. “Take pictures of this,” she said, excited by the find. “This could be from the car that hit them.”
Dylan dropped to a crouch and snapped shots. “It could be the primer under the Tesla’s topcoat, too.”
“We need to see the missing piece of bumper. It would have more paint scrapes. I hope it didn’t fall off when the car got towed. If it was at the crash site, Fallon should have it in evidence.”
“I’ll see what he’s got,” Dylan said.
“He parks at town hall, right? Could you check his car for dents or scrapes? I know you don’t think he did anything, but he was at the scene....”
“He drives his cruiser for personal use. Police cars get pretty beat-up.” He looked at her face. “I’ll check,” he said finally.
“Thanks.” He’d meant it when he said he’d help, even when he didn’t agree with her. She felt a surge of gratitude.
The trunk latch had been sprung. Dylan helped her try to lift it. With a shriek of metal against metal, it rose. She smelled sweet pickles. Then she saw the trunk was scattered with the contents of a plastic sack from Crowley’s. Cans, tortilla chips, a jar of olives, a broken jar of salsa and two broken bottles. She turned over a piece with a label. Pinch. Her father’s brand of scotch. “This is why the car smelled of liquor,” she said. “No one was drunk. He bought whiskey at the store.”
“It’s a possibility, certainly,” Dylan said. Dylan kept holding back on agreeing with any of her conclusions. She knew he thought she was overstating things and assuming the worst. He was helping her. That was enough.
They checked the photos Dylan had taken, making sure they were in focus and well lit. Their gazes met and held.
“We need to look at the interior,” she said shakily.
“I can do it. You can take a walk.”
“I need to see for myself,” she said.
“Right.” He braced her with a hand to her back and they headed for the driver’s side of the car. She locked her mind into fact-finding mode, not allowing horror or panic to interfere with the examination of the car.
Inside, side and front airbags sagged and a white dust coated every surface. “The powder’s from the airbags,” Dylan explained. There was no blood visible. Whew.
She noticed the placement of the seats. “The driver’s seat is too far back for Faye’s short legs. Dad must have been driving.”
“The EMTs might have moved the seat to get the driver out.”
“But both of them were outside the car, according to Fallon.” She pictured the ragged pool of dark soil where her father’s blood must have mingled with Faye’s, and where she’d found Faye’s missing shoe. Her vision swirled.
“Tara?” Dylan reached for her.
“I’m all right.” She shifted her gaze to the passenger seat. “Less foot room there. See.” Then she caught sight of a few strands of fiber