S Is for Silence

well.”
    Without mentioning Ty by name or detailing the circumstances, I told him what I knew.
    Cramer regarded me with interest. “So you’re saying this fellow would have recognized the truck because his father had the 1948 model.”
    “Right. And it couldn’t have been later than 1953 because the ’54 models wouldn’t have come out as early as July.”
    “You’re correct on that point. So a span of five years. That shouldn’t be too hard. Have a seat and I’ll pull what I have. There’s a tin of chocolate chip cookies on my desk if you want to help yourself. My wife made them. Caroleena. She’s a fabulous cook.”
    The cookies were incredible, so I treated myself to another while I waited for him. Five minutes later he emerged from the room with an armload of files, saying, “I keep these cross-referenced. Customer’s name with the type of vehicle he’s bought from me before. I don’t go so far as to color code, but I can lay hands on the contract for every vehicle I’ve sold. What I have here is the Advance Design Series, 1949 through 1953.”
    He handed me a scratch pad, pen, and two of the files while he took the other three. We sat and went through them contract by contract, checking the color of the pickup, noting down the names of anyone who’d bought a black one. Twenty-five minutes later, we each had a list, though mine wasn’t at all enlightening. He got up and made copies of both lists and gave them to me.
    I ran my eye down the names on his list. “No one I recognize.”
    He shrugged. “The truck might have been repainted.”
    “In that case, we’d have no way to find the owner.”
    “Another possibility, the fella might have borrowed the truck. In those days, nobody locked their doors, and half the time people left their keys in the ignition.”
    “I’ve heard that before and it actually makes sense. You go out to dig a grave, you don’t want use your own truck complete with California plates. Well. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
    “I guess every lead you get isn’t going to pay off.”
    “That’s for sure. Mind if I pick your brain about something else?”
    “I’ll help if I can. It’s not like I have total recall of anything much beyond this dealership.”
    “Understood. I’ve been digging and I’ve come up with something quirky.”
    “That being?”
    “Hairl Tanner’s will.” I went on to tell him what I’d discovered about the terms.
    “I hadn’t heard about that. Sounds like the old man had a mad-on about something. Wonder what it was?”
    “I think Jake and Violet had a fling and he found out.”
    Some of the complacency faded from his eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
    “What, that they had a fling or that Tanner found out?”
    “Violet and Jake. I can’t imagine such a thing.”
    “Why not? Jake must have been handsome. I mean, he’s not bad-looking now, and I can just imagine how he must have looked back then. His wife was dying of uterine cancer so his sex life couldn’t have amounted to much. If he ran into Violet at the Moon, what with all the drinking that went down, it wouldn’t be surprising if the two of them stumbled into a relationship. From what I’ve heard, she went after just about every man she saw.” I was so intent on persuading him that I hadn’t paid attention to his reaction. Now I caught a glimpse of his face and I flashed on the fact that he was married to a bloated Violet Sullivan clone. He had access to any number of pickup trucks and I had no idea what he’d been doing with his time in the days before she died. How dumb could I get? Here I sat, about to lay out the evidence I’d gathered, when for all I knew, he was as capable of killing her as anyone else.
    “Go on,” he said.
    I backpedaled. “That’s about it. I don’t have any proof. I was hoping you might’ve heard a rumor to that effect.”
    “I did not and it would grieve me to learn it was true. Mary Hairl was a lovely woman, and if Jake fooled around on her he should be ashamed.”
    “Well. I trust you’ll keep the notion to yourself. It’s pure speculation on my part and I wouldn’t want him to suffer your ill-opinion if he’s innocent.”
    He straightened up abruptly, dismissing me with a wave. “I best get back to work. I’ve got things to do.”
    “Sure. Sorry to keep you. I appreciate your help.” We shook hands across the desk. As I was leaving his office, I glanced back and noticed he hadn’t moved.
    I went down the big