Leo Driscoll bought a crashed 2012 sedan at a county auto auction for $850 to salvage its engine.
The civil demand letter felt like a brick in my gut, but Maya was already chasing down a different thread. She had spent the morning on the phone, navigating bureaucratic pathways.
“I finally got through to the county coroner’s office,” she announced, walking into the garage with a stack of printouts. “They sent me the public file for Julian Brody’s fatal crash.”
Carla, still stressed from the $150,000 lawsuit threat, looked up. “Did they say anything about the body?”
Maya spread the papers on a clean section of the workbench. My eyes scanned the official headings: “Case File: Brody, Julian. Cause of Death: Thermal Trauma.”
“The report states the body was burned beyond recognition,” Maya said, her finger tracing a line on the page. “That’s why they relied on dental records for identification.”
I leaned closer, my gaze fixed on the detail she pointed out. “Dental records… provided by whom?”
Maya’s finger landed on a specific line. “Submitted by Marcus Brody, the victim’s brother. Witness identification.”
My blood ran cold. “He identified his own brother purely through dental records?”
“And here’s the kicker,” Maya continued, her voice grim. “No DNA matching was performed. Standard procedure for heavily burned remains, they said. Dental records are considered sufficient in such cases.”
Carla gasped softly. “So, Marcus gives them some dental records, says they’re Julian’s, and they just… take his word for it?”
“Essentially,” Maya confirmed. “No independent verification. Just Marcus Brody’s assurance.”
A horrifying possibility clicked into place. If Marcus was willing to forge a signature, if he was threatening a lawsuit over the car… what else was he capable of?
“He could have given them anyone’s dental records,” I said, the words heavy in the silent garage. “A John Doe from another morgue. Someone else entirely.”
Maya nodded slowly. “It’s not proof, but it’s a massive hole in the official story. If Julian’s body was never properly identified, then… maybe Julian isn’t actually dead.”
The thought sent a jolt through me. If Julian wasn’t dead, then Marcus wasn’t a murderer. But that didn’t explain the texts, or Marcus’s frantic attempts to get the car back. This was getting more complicated, and far more dangerous.
“This changes everything,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Marcus didn’t kill his brother. He framed him. Or someone else did, and Marcus is cleaning up a much bigger mess.”
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