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He slid a folder across the desk to me. “The report on Josh’s crash.”
I took the folder and opened it. “What’s the conclusion about the accident?”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
That stopped me cold. I looked up. “What does that mean?”
“It means the crash wasn’t Josh’s fault. Keep reading.”
I read down the page. Most of it was physical descriptions of the location, a diagram, and most importantly Josh’s blood alcohol, which thankfully was a quarter of the legal limit. It would have been terrible if this had been caused by his drinking at Dad’s fundraiser.
The second page contained the kicker. “Two bullet entry holes were located on the right rear quarter panel of the subject vehicle and one in the passenger side door.”
My jaw dropped. “Three bullet holes?”
Dad nodded. “Keep going.”
The next paragraph had another surprise. “Subject vehicle’s right rear tire was deflated, and additional holes consistent with bullet entry and exit were located on the outer and inner sidewalls of that tire. Two bullets were recovered from the vehicle interior.”
The report concluded that the rollover of the car down the embankment was due to the loss of air in the rear tire and subsequent loss of control.
I looked up after finishing. “It was deliberate?”
“Not much doubt about that. You don’t fire multiple shots at a car by accident.”
“Do they have any leads?”
“Not yet. Josh couldn’t be much help. All he knew was he had just passed a black car when it happened.”
I ventured a guess. “Road rage?”
“That is possible, but there are other theories.”
“Who would want to hurt Josh?”
It didn’t make sense. Josh was mild mannered compared to me, and he hadn’t been in much of a position to piss anybody off.
“Nobody comes to mind.” Dad rubbed at his goatee. The zinger was coming. “He drives the same car as you.”
His implication floored me. “You think the bullets were meant for me?”
“You have had a rather nasty public fight with that Cartwright fellow.”
I’d called Carson Cartwright a few choice names, but that was all.
I shook my head. “That’s a financial spat. Resorting to violence doesn’t seem his style. He’s a boardroom bully, not a street fighter.”
“How can you be certain? The man is a snake.”
Dad had expressed his opinion of Cartwright before. The man called himself an activist investor, but he didn’t care about any investors beyond himself.Extortionistfit better as his title.
I just couldn’t be sure. “Is that what you think?”
Dad shrugged. “Do you have a better suspect? I’m here because it makes more sense than Josh being targeted, and I want you to promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.”
This was the first time since college I could remember my father asking me to promise anything, and saying yes was a no-brainer. Later I’d have to figure out what being more careful entailed. Carrying a gun seemed extreme.
