and taken statements from the law enforcement officer who first responded to the scene, a Mr. Bill Fallon, chief of the Wharton P.D. There were no witnesses. As the case proceeds we’ll work with your attorney regarding the settlement of the bodily injury claims. That’s all I can tell you at this time.”
“Did you take photos at the accident site? Did you examine the engine?”
“I determined the level of damage and coverage pertinence. This is a run-of-the-mill, single-car loss. There was no need for more.”
“Run-of-the-mill? My father is dead, my sister in a coma.”
There was a pause while he inhaled. “I simply meant that the circumstances are clear. We’re not disputing coverage, as there are no SLIs—Suspicious Loss Indicators—signs that the driver, policyholder or car owner committed fraud related to the policy.”
“There is plenty that’s suspicious about this accident. We believe there’s evidence the car was struck from behind and possibly that the engine was tampered with. The emergency brake was engaged, but there were no skid marks. Something malfunctioned.”
“There was a collision? Chief Fallon did not mention this.”
“No, because he’s actively covering up some aspects of the accident.”
“We haven’t yet received his report.”
“Which won’t tell you a thing. What we need is for you to release the car to us so we can have the engine fully examined.”
“Hmm,” he said. “With a settlement of this size, we, of course, are interested in correctly assessing responsibility...”
“So you’ll release the car to our mechanic?”
“No, but I will submit the case to our SIU—Special Investigation Unit. You’ll need to email me a narrative description of the evidence, along with any photographs. If there was malfeasance, we’ll want to subrogate the perpetrator.”
“What does that mean?”
“Seek to recover our settlement costs from the person who committed the fraud. If the SIU deems it worthy, an investigator will do in-person interviews, compare statements, take pictures, contract with a collision reconstructionist and anything else we need to resolve the case.”
This was exactly what she was after. Excited, she said, “How soon before we see the investigator?”
“That depends on backlog, the significance of the settlement, the cost of the investigation compared with the likelihood that we’ll prove our case.”
Tara did her best to convince him that urgent action was needed and when she hung up, she sent him the narrative and photos. Just in case, Tara Google-searched collision reconstructionist, then called a company in L.A. she found online. The Wharton name, famous in engineering circles, snagged the expert’s interest, and once he’d charged $500 to her credit card, he promised he’d get back to her in a day or two with his Level I analysis, which wouldn’t hold up in court, but might impress the insurance company’s investigators.
After that, adrenalized from the conversations, she did more online research, finding no reports of acceleration errors or brake failures for the Tesla, which also had great safety ratings. Finished, she shut the lid of her laptop. As far as the car went, all she could do now was wait.
She called Dylan to fill him in, trying to ignore the way her heart lifted when he answered, how his voice in her ear sent goose bumps of pleasure down her arms, how they both seemed to scramble for any topic to prolong the conversation, the intimacy of their laughter, the pauses when they just breathed at each other, how good it felt to be connected to him, how smart he was, how kind, how supportive, and how delighted he seemed by every word she spoke.
They were friends. They’d decided. They’d been certain. But they were talking to each other like a couple just falling in love. And she couldn’t wait to see him Monday night when she would talk to Candee.
After that, Tara got busy with her mother’s calls. She would double the donations from the previous year easily. It was almost laughable, the fact that CEOs trusted Tara to help them with decisions controlling the lives of thousands of employees, yet her mother didn’t believe her capable of asking for a few measly donations from small-town businesses. It boggled the mind. She refused to let it get to her. She was bigger than that.
Tara sighed. It wore her out how much she had to be bigger than since she’d returned to her family, Dylan and this town.
No child is a mistake. There had been a flash of fire in her mother’s eyes, a set of her jaw that still moved Tara.