As soon as the line went dead, Ian stood straighter and turned to the folder on the counter. After setting the timer on the oven and stove, he walked over to the counter and skimmed through Logan Vasquez’s case. Having promised to look into it weeks ago, he felt guilty he’d put Olive’s son’s case on the back burner.
With time on his hands and nothing else to do while he waited for dinner and everyone to come home after Christmas shopping, he took the folder into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. Then he went to the fridge, rummaged around, and pulled out a beer. He took a long swig and sat down on the carpeted floor, spreading the papers out in front of him.
He tapped a pen against the side of his head as he skimmed through the information. Unfortunately, given the nature of the crime, and the fact that it happened over twenty years ago, there was very little evidence in the folder. Other than the license plate and model of a car that turned out to be stolen, the police had nothing else to go on.
All these years later, nothing had changed.
Only Olive’s pain and loss remained, haunting her wherever she went.
As much as he wanted to give her some answers and the closure she desperately needed, he was beginning to realize he shouldn’t have promised her anything. High on the hope of his own mother’s case, Ian had imagined a fresh take after years was exactly what Olive needed.
But her son’s case was even more dire than his mom’s.
And as much as Ian hated to admit it, hit-and-runs were notorious for being impossible to solve. Unless the car was found and the driver brought to justice, most of those cases tended to languish and collect dust in the evidence room in the basement. It had taken Ian two dozen donuts and a round of coffee to get the officer in charge to pull up the file.
Ian took another long sip of his beer, and it settled in the pit of his stomach.
He held one of the papers up to the light and squinted.
It felt like the first night he pulled up his mom’s file, like he was failing all over again. Ian pushed away the despair and frustration and rose to his feet. He checked in on the food and wandered back to the living room. With a sigh, he lowered himself onto the floor, tucked his legs underneath him, and pulled out his phone.
Lily answered on the third ring. “Is everything okay? How did it go with the lawyer?”
“As well as can be expected.” Ian took a small sip of his drink and glanced at an unmarked spot on the wall opposite him. “I’m calling about something else. I wanted to ask you a few things about Olive.”
“Ben’s sister?”
“I ran into her the other day, and she looked pretty upset about her son’s case. I’m not sure if offering to look into the case was the right move, but I did it anyway.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate you trying, but from what I understood, there’s nothing to be done. They weren’t able to find the person who did it because the car and license plates were reported stolen.”
“That’s true, and it says here Olive was too distraught to notice anything else about the driver.”
“I’m not sure how much help I can be here, E. I can’t ask Olive because I don’t want to upset her, and I know what Ben told me.”
“So, she hasn’t mentioned anything else?”
“No, I’m sorry. Does the file not have anything else?”
Ian flipped through the paperwork again, a growing sense of impatience rising within him. “No, and it’s very frustrating. I wanted to be able to give her something to hold on to, but I can’t even do that.”
All of his wins for the past few months had been small, too inconsequential to even notice, and it wasn’t lost on Ian. It weighed on him more than he cared to admit, and he had no idea what he was meant to do with the feeling.
“It’s not your fault,” Lily replied, her voice rising toward the end. “You weren’t in charge of the case, and you weren’t the one driving the car. Didn’t you tell me before that hit-and-run cases are harder to solve?”
Ian snapped the folder shut and stood. “Yeah, but I was hoping this one would be different.”
“Have you considered the fact that this is your own frustration with not being able to solve Mom’s case?”
Ian ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I know it is.”
“Olive won’t hold it against you. No one will. Actually, I think it’ll help just knowing that you tried.”
“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“No, Olive’s started therapy at my and Ben’s insistence. It’s going to take some time, but we’re hoping that it’ll help her cometo terms with everything. At the very least, it’ll make sure she has the proper tools to process.”
Ian nodded and dusted himself off. “I hope you’re right.”
