The Accident

FORTY-EIGHT

Sommer brought the Chrysler to a stop half a block down from Belinda Morton’s house, turned off the headlights and killed the engine.

Slocum, in the passenger seat, said, “I gotta ask you something.”

Sommer looked at him.

“Tell me you weren’t trying to kill Garber’s kid? When you shot out her window?”

Sommer shook his head tiredly. “It was kids doing a drive-by. They went past when I was parked there. After that, it wasn’t safe to hang around, so I went to see Garber the next morning.”

“Jesus, you couldn’t have just told me that? Here I’d been thinking you’d nearly killed my daughter’s best friend.”

“And yet here you are, still doing business with me,” Sommer said.

“What about Twain? Did you-”

Sommer held up a hand. “Enough. Are you coming in with me?”

“No,” Slocum said. “So long as you give me my share, I don’t need to.”

Sommer got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. The warning bell chimed briefly as the overhead light came on. Slocum watched as Sommer walked purposefully toward the Morton house. Silhouetted by the streetlights, Sommer looked like Death, Slocum mused.

George Morton was sitting in the family room, watching Judge Judy on the forty-two-inch plasma. “Honey, come in here and watch this,” he said. “Judy’s really going to town on this woman.”

Tonight, it was some mother who was making a million excuses for her dumbass son, who’d taken the family car without permission to a party where lots of underage kids were drinking. One of the son’s drunk friends had taken the car for a spin and totaled it, and now this mother wanted the parents of the other kid to pay for the damages, ignoring the fact that if her own son hadn’t taken the car and let a drunk friend drive off with it, none of this would have happened.

“Are you coming in here or not? You’re not still mad, are you? Listen, honey, I want to talk to you about something.”

Belinda was in the kitchen, standing at the counter, looking over various real estate documents, unable to concentrate at all. Mad? He thought she was mad? More like homicidal. Sommer was expecting his money and that asshole husband of hers was still stubbornly holding on to it, keeping it locked up in his study safe, refusing to hand it over until Belinda told him what it was for. Totally improper, George kept saying, these large cash transactions. After all, he said, you’re not in business with criminals.

When he was in the bathroom, she’d tried to open the safe using numbers from his Social Security card, his license plate, his birthday, even his mother’s birthday, which he never failed to remember, even in years when he forgot Belinda’s. But she hadn’t stumbled upon the right sequence yet.

So now she was back in the kitchen, working on a new strategy. Something more dramatic. She would go down to the basement, get a hammer from her husband’s toolbox, then invite him into his study. There he’d find her standing next to that model galleon he’d spent about two hundred hours building several years ago, threatening to smash it into a million pieces if he didn’t open that goddamn safe right this second and give her the envelope stuffed with cash. There was no way he’d allow her to destroy that model. And she’d do it, there was no doubt in her mind. She’d smash it until it was nothing more than a pile of toothpicks.

George called out, “Did you hear me, hon? I want to talk to you about something.”

She came into the room. George picked up the remote, extended his arm and muted the judge. This must be something really important, she thought. She also wondered, What did George do to his wrist? It was the first she’d noticed it. He’d been so modest the last few days, not letting her see him naked, wearing long-sleeved shirts.

“I’ve been thinking about this lawsuit that Wilkinson woman has launched against Glen,” he said.

Belinda waited. It was her experience that George was never that interested in what she had to say, so she might as well see where this was going.

“It’s a terrible thing,” he said. “It could wipe Glen out. And there he is, trying to raise a child alone. He’ll never be able to send her to college. It’ll set him back for years and years if the Wilkinson woman wins.”

“You’re the one who was all high and mighty about doing what was right.”

“I’m a little less sure now what, exactly, is right. I mean, just because Sheila might have experimented with marijuana, it doesn’t mean she was smoking it the night of her accident. And from what I hear, it wasn’t drugs they found in her bloodstream but alcohol.”

“What’s going on, George? You never change your mind about anything.”

“All I’m saying is, next time you meet with the lawyers, you should say that maybe you were wrong about these things. That since you first spoke, you remember these events more clearly, that Sheila really didn’t do anything that wrong.”

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I just want to do what’s right.”

“You want to do what’s right? Open that goddamn safe.”

“Well now, Belinda, that’s really a separate matter. I still want you to explain to me what that’s all about, and I want you to know I’m willing to be flexible about this. I’m wondering if maybe, just this once, I overstepped my bounds where-”

“What the hell happened to your wrist?”

“What? Nothing.”

But she had grabbed hold of his arm and tugged the sleeve back. “What did you do to yourself? This didn’t just happen. It looks like it’s already healing. When’d this happen? You’ve been covering this up for days. Is this why you’ve been so weird lately? Not letting me see you naked, not sleeping with me, not-it’s both wrists?”

“It’s a rash,” he said. “Don’t touch it or you’ll catch it. It’s very contagious.”

“What, is it poison ivy?”

“Something like that. I was just trying to protect-”

The doorbell rang. That stopped both of them.

“Well, there’s someone here,” George said. “You want to go see?”

Belinda glowered at George as he hit the button to restore Judge Judy’s lecturing. She headed for the front door, swung it open without even thinking, because she wasn’t expecting Sommer. She’d told him to call and they’d arrange a meeting tomorrow, by which time she was counting on finding a way to persuade George to unlock the safe.

It looked as though there had been a change in plan.

“Oh God,” she said. “I thought we said tomorrow. I need another-”

“No more time,” Sommer said, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

“Who is it?” George called out.

“My husband’s home,” Belinda whispered.

Sommer gave her a “So what?” look. “You do have the money.”

She tipped her head in the direction of her husband’s voice. “He found the cash, thought there was something fishy about it, and he won’t take it out of his safe until I tell him what it’s for.”

“So tell him.”

“I told him it was a down payment for a property. But he doesn’t believe me. George is a stickler for proper paperwork and receipts and documentation.”

Sommer sighed, looked off toward the family room. “I’ll show him some documentation,” he said.

And Belinda thought, What the hell, I’ve tried everything else.

Slocum got out his cell phone, hit a button, put the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Daddy,” Emily Slocum said.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Did you want to talk to Aunt Janice?”

“No, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Darren Slocum kept his eyes on the house up the street, hoping Sommer would return shortly. These situations made him very uncomfortable. He had no illusions about what kind of person Sommer was. He knew full well what he was capable of. Ann had told him what had happened on Canal Street, what she’d seen him do. Sitting out here in the car, wondering just how far Sommer might take things, it worried him.

But if Sommer got his money, if this went without incident, this could be the end. You’re all paid up, he’d tell him. Go find someone else to sell your stuff out here. With Ann dead, Slocum wanted out. No more purse parties, no more bringing in prescription drugs for Belinda to sell. No more home construction stuff for Theo Stamos.

Slocum wanted out. Out of this business. And out of Milford.

He figured his days as a cop were numbered. His bosses were still looking into that stolen drug money, the cash he’d used as start-up money for their business. Even if his bosses couldn’t nail him for it, the stench around him was only going to get worse. Maybe he’d hand in his badge. If he walked away, odds were they’d deep-six the investigation. Getting him off the force would satisfy them. He’d move. Maybe upstate New York. Pittsburgh. Get a job in security or something.

In those moments when Slocum felt shame about the path he’d decided to take, the choices he’d made, the people with whom he’d aligned himself, he phoned his daughter. A man who loves his daughter, he told himself, can’t be all bad.

I am a good man. My little girl means more than anything to me.

So, waiting for Sommer to show, he placed the call.

“Where are you, Daddy?” Emily asked.

“I’m sitting in a car waiting for someone,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You must be doing something,” he said.

“Aunt Janice and I were on the computer. I was showing her how many friends I’ve got and what their favorite things are. I wish you’d come home.” Her voice was so sad.

“I will, soon. Once I wrap up a few things.”

“I miss Mom.”

“I know. I do, too.”

“Aunt Janice said we should go on a vacation. Me and you.”

“That’s a good idea. Where would you like to go?”

“Boston?”

“Why Boston?”

“That’s where Kelly says she might go.”

“Kelly Garber’s in Boston?”

“Not right now. She’s at her grandma’s.”

“Well, I think it’d be good for me and you to go someplace, and if you want it to be Boston, that’s okay with me.”

“They have an aquarium.”

“That’d be fun,” Slocum said, watching a set of headlights coming up the street. “See all kinds of fish and sharks and dolphins.”

“When do I have to go back to school?”

“Next week, I guess,” Slocum said.

The car was stopping across from the Morton house, pulling over. The headlights went off.

“Sweetheart,” Slocum said, “Daddy has to go. I’ll call you again later.”

Belinda led Sommer into the family room. George shifted in his leather recliner when he sensed her approach. He grabbed the remote, hit the mute button again.

“Hey,” he said, seeing only Belinda first.

“Someone here to see you,” she said.

George peered up and saw Sommer standing there. “Well, hello. I don’t believe we’ve-”

Sommer grabbed hold of George by the back of the neck, hauled him out of the chair, and propelled his head directly into Judge Judy. The plasma TV shattered.

No one got out of the car right away after the headlights went out. But Slocum thought he could make out the driver looking at the Morton house. Thinking about what to do, maybe.

Slocum thought, Who the hell is this?

The flat-screen TV shattered. George screamed. Belinda screamed.

Sommer dragged George away from the TV. The top of his head was bloodied and he was flailing his arms about wildly, trying to strike out at Sommer, getting in the occasional slap that might have worked with a mosquito but wasn’t going to have much effect here.

“Where is it?” Sommer asked.

“What?” George whimpered. “What do you want?”

“The money.”

“My study,” he said. “It’s in my study.”

“Lead the way,” Sommer said, but held on to George by twisting a fistful of shirt at the back of the neck.

“You didn’t have to do that!” Belinda shouted at Sommer. “He’s bleeding!”

With his free hand, putting his palm directly on her right breast, Sommer shoved her out of the way. Belinda stumbled back against the doorjamb.

“It’s in a safe, is that right?” Sommer asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s in the safe,” George said, steering them into his study and around his desk. “It’s in the wall, behind that picture over there.”

“Open it,” Sommer said, shoving George across the room until his face was forced into the portrait of his father.

Sommer let up on the pressure slightly so George could swing the picture out of the way to reveal the safe with the combination lock.

“So this is the kind of people you’re doing business with,” George spluttered at Belinda.

“You stupid bastard!” she screamed at him. “You brought this on yourself!”

George put his fingers on the dial, but they were shaking. “I… I don’t know if I can do it.”

Sommer sighed. He switched his grip on George from his right to his left hand, then pulled him out of the way so he could twist the dial himself. His hand was rock steady.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Okay, okay, okay, spin it a couple of times around to the right, then left to twenty-four, right to eleven-”

I’ll be damned, Belinda thought. He used my birthday.

Just as George was about to call out the third number, which Belinda was now able to predict, there was a ringing in the room.

A cell phone.

Belinda kept hers on when she was home, but it wasn’t her ring tone. George always turned his off when he wasn’t out somewhere. So it had to be Sommer’s. But with one hand on George and the other still spinning the dial, he didn’t have much choice but to ignore it.

The driver’s door opened. Slocum squinted, trying to get a look at who it was.

The person started crossing the street.

“Get under the light, get under the light,” Slocum whispered through gritted teeth.

It was as though Slocum’s pleadings could be heard. The person stood, just for a moment, under the streetlamp. Still looking at the house. Slocum could now make out who it was.

“Shit, no,” he said, and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He flipped it open, called up Sommer’s number, hit the button.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Sommer spun the dial to the last number, heard the tumbler fall into place, and swung open the safe door. By the time he’d done that, his cell had stopped ringing. He let go of George’s shirt and reached in for the cash-stuffed envelope.

“At last,” he said.

George, sensing an opportunity, started to bolt. But he wasn’t fast enough for Sommer, who dropped the envelope, turned, grabbed George by the arm and threw him into the leather office chair. It pitched over as George fell into it.

Sommer reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. He aimed it straight at George and said, “Don’t be an idiot.”

But Belinda screamed when she saw the weapon, so George barely heard Sommer’s warning.

And none of them heard the doorbell.