The Accident

TWENTY-FOUR

Madden Sommer sat in his car across the street, and three houses down, from the Garber house.

He had his hand on the door when another car pulled up. A black GM sedan. A well-dressed man got out. Soft looking. The rounded stomach hanging over his belt. The way he carried himself. When the front door opened, the man flashed some ID to Garber.

Interesting, Sommer thought, taking his hand off the door. He didn’t get the sense the man was a cop, but anything was possible. He took note of the car’s license plate, then placed a call on his cell.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. I need you to run a plate for me.”

“I’m not exactly at work right now,” Slocum said. “I’m with family. My wife’s sister is here.”

“Write this down.”

“I just said-”

“F, seven-”

“Hang on, hang on.” Sommer could hear Slocum scrambling to find paper and a pencil.

“Christ’s sake, go ahead.”

Sommer read off the rest of the plate. “How soon?”

“I don’t know. It depends who’s on.”

“I’ll call you back in an hour or so. Have it for me by then.”

“I told you, I don’t know if I can get it right away. Where are you? Where’s this car you-”

Sommer slipped the phone back into his jacket.

Garber had let the man inside his home. Sommer could see shadows in the living room. He’d also been watching the other windows of the house. There was a light on upstairs. Occasionally, a shadow crossed the curtains, and at one point, someone had peeked through them to take a look at the street.

A child. A young girl.