The Accident

“Yeah, sure,” he said, looking out over his yard. “And I guess, I guess you wouldn’t want me making any calls.”

That stopped me. “Calls about what?”

“I’ve known you a long time, Glenny. Long enough to know that not every job’s on the books. Long enough to know you’ve got a secret or two yourself.”

I stared at him.

“Tell me you don’t have something tucked away for a rainy day.” His voice was gaining confidence.

“Don’t do this, Doug. It’s beneath you.”

“One anonymous phone call and you’d have the IRS so far up your ass they could count your cavities. But no-you can’t help out a guy when he’s having a few problems. Think about that, why don’t ya, Glenny.”

SEVENTEEN

Darren Slocum, standing out back of his house with cell phone in hand, made another call.

“Yes,” said the man who answered.

“It’s me. It’s Slocum.”

“I know who it is.”

“Have you heard?”

“Have I heard what?”

“About my wife.”

“Suppose you tell me.”

“She’s dead. She died last night. She went off the pier.” Slocum waited for the man to say something. When he didn’t, Slocum said, “You don’t have anything to say? You’re not curious about this? You don’t have a single fucking question?”

“Where should I send flowers?”

“I know you saw Belinda last night. Put the fear of God into her. Did you call Ann? Did you ask her to meet you? Was it you? Did you fucking kill my wife, you fucking son of a bitch?”

“No.” A pause. Then the man asked, “Did you?”

“What? No!”

The man said, “I drove past your place last night, must have been around ten or so. I didn’t see your wife’s car or your truck in the driveway. Maybe you threw her off the pier.”

Slocum blinked. “I was out for just a couple of minutes. When Ann left I tried to follow her, but I didn’t know which way she’d gone and I came home.”

Neither of them spoke for a couple of seconds. Finally, the man said, “Is there anything else?”

“Anything else? Anything else? ”

“Yes. Is there anything else. I’m not a grief counselor. I’m not interested in what happened to your wife. I’m a businessman. You owe me money. When you call me, I expect news on how you’re coming along with that.”

“You’ll get your money.”

“I told your friend she had two days. And that was a day ago. I’m willing to give you a similar deadline.”

“Look, if you could give me some extra time, there’s going to be some money. This wasn’t how I was expecting to pay you back, but Ann… she had life insurance. We just got these policies, so when they pay up, there’ll be more than enough-”

“You owe me money now.”

“Look, it’ll come. And right now, I’m planning a funeral, for Christ’s sake.”

The man at the other end said, “I’m sure your wife told you what she witnessed when she delivered a payment to me down on Canal Street.”

The dead Chinese merchant. The two women in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Yes,” Slocum said.

“He owed money, too.”

“Okay, okay,” Slocum said. “The thing is, in the meantime, I think I may know where the money is.”

“ The money?”

“Garber told Belinda the car didn’t totally burn up. They recovered her purse, and there was no money in it.”

“Go on.”

“I mean, I suppose it could have been somewhere else in the car, like the glove compartment, but I’m thinking, it makes the most sense that if she had the envelope with her, she’d have had it in her purse.”

“Unless,” the man said, “one of the first officers at the scene, one with your sterling ethical code, found it.”

“I’ve worked a lot of accident scenes, and believe me, a cop, rifling through a dead woman’s purse, I don’t see it. I mean, the most you could expect is a few bucks or some credit cards. No one’s expecting to find an envelope with more than sixty grand in it.”

“Then, where is it?”

“Maybe she never intended to deliver it. Maybe she kept it for herself. Her husband’s company’s got financial problems.”

The man was quiet.

“You there?”

“I’m thinking,” the man said. “She called me, earlier that day, left a message. Said she’d run into a problem, was going to be delayed. Maybe the problem was her husband. He saw the money, took it from her.”

“It’s a possibility,” Slocum said.

Several seconds of silence. Then: “I’m going to do you a favor. Consider it a bereavement leave. I’ll see Garber.”

“Okay, but listen, I know you’ll do what you’ve got to do, but just don’t do anything in front of-I mean, the guy’s got a kid.”

“A kid?”

“A daughter, same age as mine. They’re friends.”

“Perfect.”

EIGHTEEN

My father was a good man.