I get paid whether I crack the case or not.” As usual, there was nothing but a grunt on the other end of the line – but also as usual, a hard copy of the grumbling acceptance just came in on the fax machine. Jack B. reports that he’s got just about every minute of the day accounted for from the time of the first Suburban explosion to the time that Eaton’s wife flipped herself off of Mulholland Drive, and her old man couldn’t have tampered with any of those vehicles. Jack tells me what a dedicated manager the guy is. For the past couple of months he’s been working late and closing the place up. “Jack, do you know anything about his whereabouts after the dealership closes for the day?” “Why, do you think he’s fooling around?” “I don’t know. I’m just curious about where he goes at night.” Jack is a thorough investigator. He realizes that if the dealership’s locked up for the night, there’s no way that Eaton can get to the vehicles waiting there for the next day’s service, but he still asks around about Eaton’s evening activities – and the answers aren’t very promising for our case.
