“I managed to get hold of the chief of police of Clarion,” Justine said. “He was the officer on duty the night Karl Parker’s parents died. I’ve got him on the line now.”
“Patch him through,” I said.
“Hold on.”
The line went dead, and a moment later I heard a voice.
“Mr. Morgan?” a man said.
“Yes.”
“This is Chief Wilson. Your colleague, Miss Smith, left a message for me to call yesterday,” he said. “I got tied up with one thing or another, so my apologies. You’re first on my list today.”
“Thanks for phoning, chief,” I said. “Must be early.”
“Six a.m.,” he replied. “But you know what they say about a man being early to rise. Apparently it should make me wise as a hooting owl. How can I help you, Mr. Morgan?”
“I want to ask you about an accident that happened thirty-five years ago,” I said. “The Parkers.”
“Your colleague mentioned something about it in her message. I remember it vividly. It was the first fatal accident I attended as a rookie. You never forget your first fatality.”
“Was there any evidence of foul play?” I asked.
“No. None. The other driver was drunk. He overtook a truck out on the thirty-five and hit the Parkers head-on. There were no survivors,” Chief Wilson replied. “What’s this about?”
“We’re investigating the death of Karl Parker,” I said.
“The New York Stock Exchange shooting? I saw that,” Chief Wilson remarked. “That’s odd. Is he related to them?”
I felt the hairs on my neck rise. That wasn’t a question I’d expected. Something wasn’t right.
“He’s their child,” I said. “His parents were Ken and Delores Parker.”
“That’s impossible,” Chief Wilson replied. “Their son was in the back of the car when it was hit. Karl Parker died at the scene of the crash with his parents.”
CHAPTER 75
I STAGGERED INTO the dining hall, stunned by my conversation with Chief Wilson. I clutched the childhood photos of Karl Parker tightly, as though holding them might keep me connected to a past I now knew to be a lie. Nothing about my old friend’s life was real. Everything he’d ever told me about his time before the Marines was false.
I found myself at Leonid and Dinara’s table, and dropped the photos, which scattered like leaves falling from a tree.
“What’s the matter?” Dinara asked.
“I just spoke to the chief of police of Karl Parker’s home town,” I replied. “The real Karl Parker died in a car crash with his parents. It seems the man I knew stole the dead child’s identity.”
Saying it out loud somehow made it even more real. I sat down, propped my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Dinara offered.
I glanced at her and Leonid, who offered a sympathetic nod.
“I thought I knew Karl,” I said. “The guy trained me. We were friends.”
“You think his wife knew??
? Leonid asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t think so.”