Whiplash

He was stone silent for two blocks, then he said in an emotionless voice, "My wife, Bethany, drove into a bridge abutment. They told me she died instantly. She was drunk. Another driver saw the whole thing. He said her car was weaving in and out of her lane, and she just kept accelerating as she neared the bridge. He said she was doing at least seventy when she drove into the abutment. She was an alcoholic. This happened right after Georgie's third birthday."

Erin remembered her brief marriage, remembered how she'd felt lower than a slug since she'd been lied to, her heart stomped. But this? She couldn't begin to imagine such a thing. "I'm very sorry."

"It happened four years ago. All of it's faded now, for which I'm profoundly grateful. Georgie missed her mother for a little while, but then her nanny Glynn came. It was Glynn who told Georgie I loved her mother so much that I'd never marry again." He looked over at her, his dark eyes shadowed. "Glynn called me. She's feeling better every day. She wants to know when I need her back."

Erin said, "No time soon."

44

STONE BRIDGE POLICE STATION

Late Friday morning

Four hours of sleep did wonders for the brain, Bowie decided as he sat down at the conference table in the police station. He felt alert and focused. Erin didn't look bad either, what with a couple of aspirin on board to keep the throbbing down in her back. She'd refused Vicodin, said she wanted to be able to face the two Schiffer Hartwin directors with a clear head. He knew no one was going to like the fact Erin was here-this was an official meeting, after all-but she'd looked at him and said simply, "I've got to come, Bowie. Surely you see I've got to come."

He'd said nothing more, simply touched his fingers to her cheek, then nodded. Where'd she get all this grit, this bravery, in the face of all the bad stuff raining down on her? She'd even managed to keep Georgie in the dark, hard to do at any time, but she had, laughing with her, helping her dress, brushing her hair and French braiding it, something he did well himself. At least he'd put out the Grape-Nuts and made toast, with apricot jam, Georgie's favorite. They'd taken Georgie to school together, hugging her, telling her to have a nice day, and bless her heart, she'd been oblivious to her early morning car ride to a murder scene. They'd come back to Erin's apartment, Georgie never stirring.

It was eleven o'clock Friday morning before the four of them congregated in the conference room to await the arrival of Adler Dieffendorf and Werner Gerlach. Sherlock looked over at Dillon, wondering how he could look so well rested when he'd slept for only an hour after they'd gotten back to their B&B room with its Psycho posters. She'd awakened to hear his beautiful baritone in the shower, recounting the story of a cowboy named Ben who'd lost his horse to a bordello madam.

Bowie's cell played a very nice rendition of "Silver Bells." Bowie felt around in his pants pockets, then his jacket pockets, frowned, tried to track the sound as the song segued into the chorus.

Erin said, "It's under your briefcase."

He pulled it out, stared down at the ID screen, and looked harried. He looked like he was going to ignore it, then realized he couldn't. They heard him say before he turned away, "Dad? Listen, I've got to get back to you. I'm pretty tied up here-"

His dad? Erin watched Bowie's face as he listened. At first he looked utterly blank, then he started shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. Finally, he said, "This is incredible. I'll get there when I can, Dad."

He flipped off his cell, dropped it in the small tray that held pens in the middle of the table, blankly watched it settle in among the three Sharpies, and finally looked at them like he'd been kicked in the head.

Erin was at his side in an instant, her hand on his arm. "What's wrong, Bowie?"

"That was my dad. Alex Valenti-the vice president-he's in the hospital, just went into surgery. Dad doesn't know if he's going to make it."

Erin said, "What? The vice president? As in the United States? What happened? Why is your dad calling you?"

"I've known the Valentis since I was born. No blood relation, but he and my dad have been best friends from grade school. He's been 'Uncle Alex' forever. His son and daughter, they're like my cousins."

Savich said, "None of us has been listening to the news. What happened?"

They heard a shout and ran from Chief Amos's conference room to join the half-dozen cops on their feet in the bullpen, staring at a small TV screen. One of them turned up the volume.