Whitewash (23 page)

Sabrina waited for the car to stop rocking and her head to stop pounding. The headlights shot at an awkward angle, illuminating the tops of the pine trees. Out of her side window she could see grass and water. The air bag hadn’t deployed, but her shoulder belt trapped her against the seat. She reached to unbuckle it. As soon as she heard the click, her body slid to the driver’s door, igniting a pain in her shoulder and sending the car rocking again.

She tried to be still, listening for the sound of a car engine, straining to hear over the cicadas. Certainly the driver of the sedan had turned around when he saw what happened.

Instead, all Sabrina heard, other than the twilight insects, was the hissing and sputtering from her own car.

She examined her predicament. Maybe in his hurry he hadn’t noticed her going into the ditch. How could he have not noticed? His car had rammed against hers.

Despite the pain in her shoulder—she knew it was bruised—nothing broken, she strained and reached for the tote bag that now hung from the gas pedal. After a gentle tug-of-war trying to free it, she stretched and rummaged inside. Her fingers found the cell phone just as she noticed the scent of gasoline. She had filled the tank just before leaving. Until now she had been calm.

Suddenly the panic rushed into her like an injection, making her nauseated. A chill accompanied the panic as soon as she noticed how quickly darkness swallowed up the last shadows of twilight. She needed to get out of the car and
she needed to get out now.

Sabrina twisted her legs out from under the steering column. From what she could see, the car had gotten caught on the splintered remains of a fence. For now it kept the car from rolling over completely into the rain-filled ditch. Maybe she should try and force it to roll into the ditch? Would the water keep the car from igniting? Probably not. She tried the driver’s door, not surprised to find it trapped against the slope of grass and dirt. She’d need to climb up and out the other window. Halfway into her gentle maneuver, the vehicle groaned. She stopped, but it was too late. The shift in balance sent the car into a slow-motion roll, screeching metal silencing even the cicadas.

This time Sabrina didn’t wait for the rocking to stop. On hands and knees she crawled across the car roof that was now her floor. She pulled and pushed at the door, relieved to feel it give without much struggle. She half crawled, half fell into the wet grass and mud. She didn’t stop. She was breathing in gulps, driven by the burning in her lungs and the taste of gasoline in her mouth.

She reached the road and was able to get to her feet. That’s when she remembered her tote bag still stuck on the gas pedal and suddenly her mind tried to retrieve the list of contents: credit cards, driver’s license, condo keys. This was ridiculous. She need to get a safe distance away. But only when she realized she was still clutching the cell phone—though it was now encrusted in mud and grass—did she allow herself to hurry farther up the road into the dark.

She didn’t look back when she heard the strange sizzle and the faint pops like a skillet full of bacon. The explosion blew her off her feet. Sabrina scrambled again on hands and knees into the wet grass as the fiery debris filled the night sky.

Everything would be okay, she tried to tell herself in a useless attempt to stay calm. Her fingers were shaking so badly it took three tries before she could successfully punch in 911.

Sabrina waited for the car to stop rocking and her head to stop pounding. The headlights shot at an awkward angle, illuminating the tops of the pine trees. Out of her side window she could see grass and water. The air bag hadn’t deployed, but her shoulder belt trapped her against the seat. She reached to unbuckle it. As soon as she heard the click, her body slid to the driver’s door, igniting a pain in her shoulder and sending the car rocking again.

She tried to be still, listening for the sound of a car engine, straining to hear over the cicadas. Certainly the driver of the sedan had turned around when he saw what happened.

Instead, all Sabrina heard, other than the twilight insects, was the hissing and sputtering from her own car.

She examined her predicament. Maybe in his hurry he hadn’t noticed her going into the ditch. How could he have not noticed? His car had rammed against hers.

Despite the pain in her shoulder—she knew it was bruised—nothing broken, she strained and reached for the tote bag that now hung from the gas pedal. After a gentle tug-of-war trying to free it, she stretched and rummaged inside. Her fingers found the cell phone just as she noticed the scent of gasoline. She had filled the tank just before leaving. Until now she had been calm.

Suddenly the panic rushed into her like an injection, making her nauseated. A chill accompanied the panic as soon as she noticed how quickly darkness swallowed up the last shadows of twilight. She needed to get out of the car and
she needed to get out now.

Sabrina twisted her legs out from under the steering column. From what she could see, the car had gotten caught on the splintered remains of a fence. For now it kept the car from rolling over completely into the rain-filled ditch. Maybe she should try and force it to roll into the ditch? Would the water keep the car from igniting? Probably not. She tried the driver’s door, not surprised to find it trapped against the slope of grass and dirt. She’d need to climb up and out the other window. Halfway into her gentle maneuver, the vehicle groaned. She stopped, but it was too late. The shift in balance sent the car into a slow-motion roll, screeching metal silencing even the cicadas.

This time Sabrina didn’t wait for the rocking to stop. On hands and knees she crawled across the car roof that was now her floor. She pulled and pushed at the door, relieved to feel it give without much struggle. She half crawled, half fell into the wet grass and mud. She didn’t stop. She was breathing in gulps, driven by the burning in her lungs and the taste of gasoline in her mouth.

She reached the road and was able to get to her feet. That’s when she remembered her tote bag still stuck on the gas pedal and suddenly her mind tried to retrieve the list of contents: credit cards, driver’s license, condo keys. This was ridiculous. She need to get a safe distance away. But only when she realized she was still clutching the cell phone—though it was now encrusted in mud and grass—did she allow herself to hurry farther up the road into the dark.

She didn’t look back when she heard the strange sizzle and the faint pops like a skillet full of bacon. The explosion blew her off her feet. Sabrina scrambled again on hands and knees into the wet grass as the fiery debris filled the night sky.

Everything would be okay, she tried to tell herself in a useless attempt to stay calm. Her fingers were shaking so badly it took three tries before she could successfully punch in 911.

Washington, D.C.

Jason had avoided Lindy’s phone calls all day. He could tell her he was at the office, at the gym, visiting friends. Or just admit that he was an asshole. But damn, he had to hand it to her, she was persistent, leaving three messages for him to call as soon as possible. Last night she hadn’t come across as a hanger-on. But then how would he know? He didn’t know her. He was sure he’d regret the whole thing. He just didn’t think it’d be this soon. He had hoped not to think about it at all.

He paced his studio apartment, not an easy thing to do. The place was one room with a sofa sleeper, flat-panel TV, minifridge and a view of the Dumpster. It wasn’t usually a problem. He spent little time here except to change clothes and sleep. Besides, for Jason an apartment was only as good as its building’s amenities. There was a dry cleaner down on the first floor along with a small deli where he’d pick up a bagel, some fruit and a Red Bull for breakfast, sometimes a sandwich, too, if he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave the office for lunch. A newsstand sat right out front, so he had access to all the headlines of the day before he got to work.

He could pace all night, but it was inevitable. He needed to call Lindy. Otherwise she’d track him down tomorrow at work. Senator Allen would fire him for sure if Lindy kept calling him at the office.

Jesus! What the hell was he thinking?

He flipped open his cell phone and punched through the “missed calls” list, stopping at her last one. He let out a deep breath, punched Talk and waited for it to dial her number.

Three rings—could he be lucky enough to get her voice mail?

“Hello?”

“Lindy, hi, it’s Jason.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Jason caught himself cringing and swallowing hard. Not exactly the reaction he wanted.
Be cool,
he told himself.
You don’t have to apologize.

“I’ve been kinda busy,” he said and before he could stop himself added, “Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner.” He winced and wanted to bite his tongue. He was so preoccupied in gauging his next response that he thought for sure he must have heard her wrong when she said, “Zach’s dead.”

“What?”

“He was murdered.”

“Wait a minute. Who was murdered?”

“Zach Kensor. You know Zach. He was there last night with us at Wally’s.”

“Murdered?”

“Oh, my God, Jason. It gets worse. He was at the Washington Grand Hotel, too. It had to have happened while we were there.”

Jason stopped pacing and sat down on the arm of the sofa sleeper.

“Was it some random-violence…thing?”

“He had a room. I know he was meeting someone. They were…” Lindy paused and in almost a whisper added, “You know, like we did.”

There was that automatic cringe again. Jason had spent the better part of the day wishing he could just forget about last night, hoping that Lindy would do the same. Now hearing her whisper it as though it might be something she regretted, he wanted to call her on it. Instead he tried to focus on what she was telling him. Zach had been murdered.

“Any idea who he was meeting?”

“Yeah, sort of. In fact, I’m wondering if maybe I should contact the police.” Her voice suddenly sounded small like a little girl who was asking permission. Definitely not like the Lindy of last night who had been sure and confident. “I mean, I don’t know who it was exactly,” she clarified in a stronger tone. “But Zach told me last night that he was…maybe I shouldn’t say anything. He said he was having an affair with someone high-level. I think it might have been a senator.”

Washington, D.C.

Jason had avoided Lindy’s phone calls all day. He could tell her he was at the office, at the gym, visiting friends. Or just admit that he was an asshole. But damn, he had to hand it to her, she was persistent, leaving three messages for him to call as soon as possible. Last night she hadn’t come across as a hanger-on. But then how would he know? He didn’t know her. He was sure he’d regret the whole thing. He just didn’t think it’d be this soon. He had hoped not to think about it at all.

He paced his studio apartment, not an easy thing to do. The place was one room with a sofa sleeper, flat-panel TV, minifridge and a view of the Dumpster. It wasn’t usually a problem. He spent little time here except to change clothes and sleep. Besides, for Jason an apartment was only as good as its building’s amenities. There was a dry cleaner down on the first floor along with a small deli where he’d pick up a bagel, some fruit and a Red Bull for breakfast, sometimes a sandwich, too, if he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave the office for lunch. A newsstand sat right out front, so he had access to all the headlines of the day before he got to work.

He could pace all night, but it was inevitable. He needed to call Lindy. Otherwise she’d track him down tomorrow at work. Senator Allen would fire him for sure if Lindy kept calling him at the office.

Jesus! What the hell was he thinking?

He flipped open his cell phone and punched through the “missed calls” list, stopping at her last one. He let out a deep breath, punched Talk and waited for it to dial her number.

Three rings—could he be lucky enough to get her voice mail?

“Hello?”

“Lindy, hi, it’s Jason.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Jason caught himself cringing and swallowing hard. Not exactly the reaction he wanted.
Be cool,
he told himself.
You don’t have to apologize.

“I’ve been kinda busy,” he said and before he could stop himself added, “Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner.” He winced and wanted to bite his tongue. He was so preoccupied in gauging his next response that he thought for sure he must have heard her wrong when she said, “Zach’s dead.”

“What?”

“He was murdered.”

“Wait a minute. Who was murdered?”

“Zach Kensor. You know Zach. He was there last night with us at Wally’s.”

“Murdered?”

“Oh, my God, Jason. It gets worse. He was at the Washington Grand Hotel, too. It had to have happened while we were there.”

Jason stopped pacing and sat down on the arm of the sofa sleeper.

“Was it some random-violence…thing?”

“He had a room. I know he was meeting someone. They were…” Lindy paused and in almost a whisper added, “You know, like we did.”

There was that automatic cringe again. Jason had spent the better part of the day wishing he could just forget about last night, hoping that Lindy would do the same. Now hearing her whisper it as though it might be something she regretted, he wanted to call her on it. Instead he tried to focus on what she was telling him. Zach had been murdered.

“Any idea who he was meeting?”

“Yeah, sort of. In fact, I’m wondering if maybe I should contact the police.” Her voice suddenly sounded small like a little girl who was asking permission. Definitely not like the Lindy of last night who had been sure and confident. “I mean, I don’t know who it was exactly,” she clarified in a stronger tone. “But Zach told me last night that he was…maybe I shouldn’t say anything. He said he was having an affair with someone high-level. I think it might have been a senator.”