Death at the Wheel (30 page)

"Thea? It's Andre...."

"Couldn't wait till you got home, sweetie?"

"Listen, what are you doing right now?"

"I just got out of the shower." I waited for him to comment on that. His response surprised me.

"Is your door locked? Your front door? The deadbolt and the chain? And the patio door?"

"I think so. Let me check. What's up?" I carried the cordless phone with me while I checked. Everything was secure. I reported this to Andre.

"Good."

"Good why? Why good? Why am I suddenly supposed to be worrying about locked doors?"

"I've been thinking," he said, "about how many loose ends there still are. Like how someone's still going to want those papers. Maybe more than ever, now that Cal Bass isn't dead. Do you still have them there? With you?"

I tried to remember. Had I left them at the office? No, because I hadn't gone back after my meeting with Delayne. No, they were back in my car. "They're in the car," I said.

"I know this is awkward," he said, "but I'd feel a whole lot better if you didn't have them at all. If you turned them over to the police. I could call Harris, have him come by and get them."

I pictured myself being led into the cell beside Julie. I have a slightly warped view of women's prisons, formed from too many of those C-movies, the ones where they have long scenes of the women showering naked together under the malevolent eyes of sadistic matrons. "And the next thing they'll do is arrest me, Andre. It's not so simple. I'll be in a terrible mess if anyone finds out I've got those papers... that I took them out of Julie's house...." I shook the phone in frustration. "Dammit, Andre, I was having such a wonderful day, thinking this mess was over and I was free."

"I wish that were the case," he said. "But just because you've decided you're out of it doesn't mean everyone else knows you're out of it."

"Look, I'm not some Disney character, you know that. I don't believe wishing will make it so," I said. "But I've done my bit. What more does all this have to do with me?"

"There's still a killer out there." There was something in his voice. A hesitation.

"There's something more, isn't there? Something you're not telling me." I was getting scared now, my spirits plummeting in direct proportion to the amount they'd risen earlier.

"Yes," he said reluctantly.

"Are you going to tell me or do we play twenty questions?"

"I'm sorry," he said, "I wasn't trying to play games. I was just thinking about the best way to put this."

"In simple words. One after the other. Come on, Andre, you're making me a nervous wreck."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's about Duncan Donahue. I got a call from Roland Profitt a few minutes ago. The police went to question Donahue today about his confrontation with Bass down in Connecticut and..."

"...and he's gone missing," I guessed. "But what does that have to do with me? If he's after anyone, he's after Bass."

"That's the logical thing to think. But we don't know if the guy thinks logically. I mean, look what happened to you before. If he still believes you're one of us.... You'd assume he'll go straight for Bass, especially if he's the one who tampered with the car, but what if he decides you're the one who can lead him to Bass?"

"Isn't Bass locked up somewhere?" I asked.

Andre made a funny noise, kind of a verbal shrug. "They didn't really have anything to hold him on."

"What about perjury? Obstruction of justice? Misappropriation of bank papers? What about causing excessive pain and suffering? What about being an asshole generally?"

"Naturally, if I had my way," Andre said. He didn't have to say more. We were both familiar with the irritating vagaries of the legal system. "The thing is—please don't hate me for this, Thea—I would just feel a lot safer if you didn't stay there tonight. If Julie knows where you live, her brother probably does, too."

He had a hard time spitting it out. He didn't want to break the spell of the day any more than I did, and he knows how I react to being told what to do. I overreact. Negatively. But this time I was in no mood for trouble. I didn't feel brave and I wasn't interested in being pushed around or shot at any more. I just didn't know where to go.

"I can't stay at my mother's, Andre, I just can't. I'd rather go to a homeless shelter. And Suzanne has the baby. It wouldn't be fair to bring any danger near her. And I couldn't face a motel. Not after last night. Not alone."

"But you would stay someplace if it was the right place?"

"Like where? Damn. Oh S-word!" I was trying to dress as we talked and I'd just put my thumb through my panty hose.

"Are you all right?"

"Just a run in my hose, dahlin'. You were saying?"

"You could go stay with your second favorite policeman."

My second favorite policeman, Dom Florio, was a detective on the Sterling police force. We'd met when my friend Eve Paris's mother, Helene Streeter, was brutally knifed on the street near her house. I'd gone to comfort Eve and ended up getting sucked into the investigation. Helene Streeter, feminist psychologist and champion of battered women, had been one of my heroes. Dom was one of the investigating detectives, and he'd bullied and cajoled me into maintaining my role as family confidante to assist with the investigation. In the end, it nearly got me killed, and it cemented our relationship forever.

Dom and his wife, Rosie, disabled after being hit by a drunk driver, had become like a second family to me. Sometimes I thought they were more like parents than my real parents. Dom is the guy I know I can always call if I need him, and he'll just come, no questions asked. As Andre knew, with them I would be both safe and welcome. My motto has always been, if you can't have your favorite cop by your side when you're in trouble, then you'd better have your second favorite.

It was an inspired suggestion. I considered it as I sorted through my closet, the phone clamped between my chin and my shoulder. There was a spot on my green silk blouse. The purple suit was missing a button. I couldn't wear black, it would reveal my true feelings about the union and my mother would have a fit.

"Well," Andre said, after an extended pause, "what do you think?"

"The flowered silk. I'll look like an overgrown ingénue, but it's the only thing that's whole."

"Theadora, are you trying to be annoying?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm trying to get dressed and there's something wrong with everything. And I don't want to go to this stupid party. It's going to be miserable. I want to go to bed and sleep for twelve more hours, not make small talk with a bunch of strangers I know I'm not going to like. You're right. Going to Dom's is a good idea. I'll call them as soon as I—"

"I've already called," Andre said. "They were delighted. They're expecting you after dinner." He said it nervously. He was expecting me to blow up.

But I was the new, reformed, happy, compromising Thea Kozak, a woman who tries to get along with people. "Thanks," I said. "That was very sweet of you." I wish I could have seen the look on his face. "I've got to go now. Got to get dressed and pack a bag. If I can find anything...."

"Your navy-blue silk skirt. The long, swirly one. White satin blouse and that vest with all the embroidery," he said. "And leave your hair down. That's how I'll be thinking of you. The most beautiful woman at the party."

"I'll call you when I get to Dom's."

"You'd better."

"Andre. Wait. What am I looking for? I mean, what should I be watching out for?"

"Nothing, I hope. Just keep an eye out for someone following you... Donahue's van... you know what it looks like."

"And what am I supposed to do if I see it? Pull over and call for help?"

"Drive to the nearest place with lots of people... convenience store, gas station, police station, and then use your phone to call for help. Don't just pull over to the side. If someone threatens you while you're in the car, put on your flashers, lean on the horn, flash your lights, do everything you can to call attention to yourself. And don't stop until you're surrounded by people."

"You're making me paranoid. Should I be on the lookout for Bass, as well? There's no one around with a better reason to hate me."

"I hope not. I would think he'd be trying to minimize his trouble. Just be careful, okay?"

"I'll be careful." I'm always careful, I told the unresponsive silence around me. The bed, the carpet, the curtains, none of them cared. People were always telling me to be careful, and I was, but trouble just seemed to have a way of finding me. Short of retreating to a cave and never coming out again, I didn't see what I could do differently. My hideous stuffed cat, its Velcro feet stuck together so it clung to the back of a chair, grinned at me. I picked it up and hurled it across the room. That's what I keep it around for. It was gift from a guy I dated briefly. A guy even more awful than the cat.

I pulled out the flowered dress, held it up, and looked in the mirror. Ugly. So I followed Andre's suggestion, adding big, clanking earrings and a silver necklace. Put on heels, had second thoughts, took them off, put them on again. So what if I towered over everyone else? I was tall. I asked the mirror, mirror on the wall again, and got a better reaction. Then I threw some stuff in a suitcase, rechecked all the locks, set the alarm, and left.

In the car, I checked the location of the flashers and the horn, things I rarely use. I checked my purse for my alarm and Mace.

Mace and bluefish pate. Who said my life wasn't normal? As I drove, I tried to recapture some of my earlier good humor. After all, I was on my way to celebrate my brother's engagement. An occasion for rejoicing. I'd been married once, and it had been joyous. But I didn't feel that way about Michael and Sonia. They brought out the worst in each other. I couldn't help wondering whether there might be someone out there who was better for each of them. And though it gets fainter with time, the prospect of marriage for others brings back memories of my own. And that still hurts. I expected to enjoy the party about as much as I enjoy being sutured, maybe less.

I wasn't paranoid. I just checked the mirrors frequently for an ominous black van.

As I passed the hospital, I stopped, on impulse, to see if Dr. Durren was there, just in case he hadn't gotten his message. Passive and hangdog though he might be, he was about all Julie had, and with the shock she'd had, learning her husband was still alive, and her brother perhaps involved, she would be more in need of support than ever. I worried about her ability to withstand this latest blow. It wouldn't hurt her to have a visit from her doctor.

They paged him for me and reported that he'd be out shortly. I knew what shortly could mean in an emergency room—I've spent way too much of my life in such places—and I idly thumbed through the magazine collection: an ancient
Ladies Home Journal, Reader's Digest, Road and Track,
and
Highlights for Children.
Better than some hospitals had to offer. But nothing that interested me. I tried an article on sport/utility vehicles, but my mind was too full of stuff to concentrate. Still clutching the magazine, I drifted back and made desultory conversation with the bored nurse.

"Is it usually this quiet on Saturdays?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not at all. It's never like this. Last Saturday was busy, but the week before was wild. We were short-handed that day and then there were two auto accidents in a row with personal injury. EMTs rushing about, blood everywhere. People screaming. Dr. Wood just about went out of his mind. He's not as calm as Dr. Durren. But we handled it."

"Oh, Thea. There you are." Thomas Durren came toward me, his hand outstretched, moving as silently and gracefully as a cat. Neither the nurse nor I had heard him coming. I dropped the magazine and took his hand. "Something's happened?" he asked eagerly. I nodded. "Let's go somewhere a bit more private." He steered me into a treatment room, offering me a chair while he leaned against the table. "What is it?"

"Did you get my message?" I asked.

"Message?"

"I left it on your machine. But of course, you've been working. There have been some astonishing developments in Julie's case...." I considered how to tell him, what to tell him, and settled for the simplest version. "Calvin Bass isn't dead. He wasn't driving when the car crashed. His cousin was. They looked a lot alike. When he saw what had happened, he simply pretended to be his own cousin and walked away."

"Walked away?" His voice was faint, like a man in shock. He looked like he was in shock, too. His face was deadly pale. "He's not dead?" He ran a hand slowly through his hair, wincing as if it pained him. "What does this mean for Julie?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask her lawyer. I'm not sure anyone knows what to think, right now. The existing Connecticut charges are no good, of course. But I think they're holding her here on a fugitive warrant or something. Of course, if the car was tampered with, as they assume, then it doesn't matter whether the murderer killed the right person or not. There was an intent to kill and someone was killed." I shook my head. "So I don't know where it goes from here, except it also appears that Julie's brother was there—in Connecticut—he had a fight with Bass in the parking lot."

Durren looked like he wanted to cry. "That would be almost as bad, for Julie. She adores her brother. He's the only family she has."

I should have stayed and comforted him, but I didn't know how and I didn't have time. He seemed so shattered by my news. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to upset you... only you seemed so anxious for any news." I gave up. There was no way to comfort him. The situation was too bizarre. "I wish I could have done more for her but short of getting someone to confess, which no one seems eager to do, I'm afraid I've done everything I could think of." He didn't seem to be listening. "I have to go. Dinner at my mother's. It's an engagement celebration for my brother. I just thought you'd want to know. About Bass, I mean."

He shook off his confusion, walked me back to the nurse's station, and said a rather formal good-bye. I headed for the entrance. When I looked back, he was staring blankly after me, holding the magazine I'd been reading. He sketched a feeble wave, crossed the waiting room, replaced the magazine with the others, and made the small stack neat.