Jake didn’t want to die. Pam and Ryan needed him. Blood drenched the floor. He could barely see as Dr. Dave left the kitchen with the bag, then the front door slammed.
Ring! Jake’s cell phone rang again. It had to be Pam. His heart fluttered with hope. It was his only chance. His cell phone was in his right back pocket. He didn’t have any time to lose. Dr. Dave would return any minute.
Jake moved his arm toward his pocket. He cried out in agony. He froze. He couldn’t move. His body began to shake uncontrollably. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. His phone stopped ringing. It was over.
Jake heard the front door slam, then footsteps returning to the kitchen. He roused, opening his eyes to see Dr. Dave knock his dinner plate to the floor, scattering the chicken and rice.
“The proverbial signs of a struggle,” Dr. Dave said, half to himself. He straight-armed the wineglass and bottle off the counter, and they shattered on the tile. He upended a cherrywood stool, then another. He eyed the kitchen, putting a finger to his mouth, then crossed to the oven, grabbed a metal frying pan from the stovetop and threw it clanging to the floor. He walked over to the toaster and pushed it over, then the coffeemaker. He swept newspapers off one of the stools, then glanced over at Jake.
“What, you’re still alive? Get on with it, man. I have to call 911, but you don’t look dead enough.” Dr. Dave took the gun off the counter and walked to Jake, cocking his head as if he were thinking aloud. “I bet I could get away with another shot.”
“No,” Jake whispered, in terror.
“I could say I was afraid you could get up, in fear for my life.” Dr. Dave aimed the gun at Jake.
Suddenly, there was a noise from the front door.
Dr. Dave turned away, toward the sound.
And all hell broke loose.
Chapter Forty-seven
“NO!” Ryan bellowed, barreling into the kitchen with Pam at his heels.
“No” was all Jake could whisper, horrified they were in harm’s way.
Ryan took a flying leap at Dave and tackled him heavily to the ground. They both yelled and grunted, struggling for the gun. Suddenly a shot fired. Pam screamed.
Tears of fright sprang to Jake’s eyes. He didn’t know whether Ryan or Dave had been shot. He prayed to God for Ryan’s life. Pam burst into tears, covering her head with her hands.
Suddenly Ryan staggered to his feet, supporting himself on the kitchen island. Pam ran to his side, crying with relief. Dr. Dave remained on the floor, moaning and holding his shoulder.
Jake thanked God. He could’ve died a happy man at that moment, but Ryan and Pam rushed together at him.
“Jake, Jake!” Pam sobbed, throwing herself to the floor beside him. “Honey, the police will be here! I worried you got in a fight, when you didn’t answer! An ambulance is on the way! They should be here any minute!”
“Dad, don’t die, please don’t die!” Ryan bent over him, distraught. “I love you, Dad! I love you!”
Jake looked up at them, feeling weaker by the second. He wanted to tell them he loved them. He wanted to tell them to be happy without him, that nothing else mattered to him as much, on the face of the earth. “Pam,” he tried to say, but it came out fainter than a whisper.
“Honey, stay with us!” Pam embraced him, beginning to sob. “The ambulance will be here any minute!”
“Dad, don’t die, please, please!”
Jake could barely hear them. He felt himself slipping away. He flashed on the bag that Dr. Dave had put in the trunk of his car, with Voloshin’s laptop and phone. It contained the only evidence that connected Ryan to the hit-and-run. If Ryan and Pam disposed of it, nobody would ever know what had happened. If they gave it to the police, they would go to jail. He tried to say, “Ryan … trunk…”
“What, Dad?” Ryan bent over him, crying. “The trunk? Of the car?”
Jake managed a smile, closing his eyes. They would figure it out when they opened the trunk. They would decide what to do.
Jake knew what he would do, if he had a second chance. But he couldn’t say, and he’d have to leave the decision to them.
Because he was gone.
Chapter Forty-eight
Jake couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was bathed in light, warm on his face, and for a minute he didn’t know if he was alive or dead. He squinted around him and realized he was lying in a hospital room. Sunshine poured through the window and fell on his bed, in a glowing shaft of gold. He thanked God he was alive.
The room was empty, and he lay there, feeling horrible, exhausted and weak. His stomach throbbed with pain. He could think only slowly, as if his brain didn’t work. His throat felt raw and dry, it was hard to swallow. An IV shunt was taped to his hand, a plastic clip covered his index finger. Monitors glowed next to his bed, and the door to the room was open. He became aware that the hallway outside sounded busy. People were talking and carts rattled, a metallic sound. He could smell the faint aroma of coffee and eggs, mingling with institutional disinfectants. He wasn’t hungry.
He closed his eyes against the sun. He tried to remember how he had gotten here. He must be snowed under with painkillers. It must’ve been last night. Dave had shot him in the gut. He’d been bleeding, lying on the floor. He remembered Dave pointing the gun down at him, about to fire again. Then Ryan, rushing in. And Pam, crying at his side. His wife and son had saved his life.
Jake thought of something else. The bag of evidence in the trunk of his car. He wondered what Pam and Ryan had done with it, whether they had shown it to the police or gotten rid of it forever. They weren’t around, nobody was, so he figured they must have come clean to the cops and gone to prison.
His heart lurched at the thought, but they had done the right thing, in the end. He prayed that Ryan had been charged as a juvenile, not an adult, so Jake would bear the brunt of their punishment. He could accept going to prison, and he understood why it was necessary. He had lived why it was necessary. He had to take responsibility for Kathleen’s death, and he’d rather live with honesty in prison than live on the outside, in guilt and shame.
Suddenly, there was a commotion at the doorway, and Pam, Ryan, and Detective Zwerling entered the room. Pam closed the curtains against the sunshine, then looked at Jake and did a double-take.
“Babe, are you awake? Thank God!” Pam crossed to his bedside, with Ryan next to her, breaking into a broad grin.
“Dad, how are you?”
“Fine,” Jake answered, hoarse. He assumed Pam and Ryan must have been out on bail. They were wearing the same clothes as yesterday, so they hadn’t even gone home. Or maybe they were released on Detective Zwerling’s recognizance, waiting to see what happened to him. Jake didn’t want to jump to the last possibility, which was that Pam and Ryan had hidden the evidence and hadn’t told the police, and they were all back at square one.
“Good to see you.” Pam smiled down at him, her expression soft, but not completely unguarded.
“You, too,” Jake croaked out, but he knew it didn’t begin to communicate the power of the emotion he felt for her. He thanked God he was still alive and prayed that Pam would stay married to him, but that was a conversation for another time.
Detective Zwerling was almost smiling. “Buckman, you’re tougher than I thought.”
Pam took his hand and held it lightly. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.”
“Honey, do you want some water, or juice? Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“The doctor said you’re going to be fine, in time. They did an ex lap, an exploratory laparotomy, and they removed the bullets from your stomach. There was a lot of internal bleeding, because one went through a major blood vessel, the—”
“Wait, first tell me what’s going on with…” Jake didn’t want to finish the sentence in front of Detective Zwerling, but Pam nodded, reading his mind.
“We told the police about the laptop and phone. They found them in the trunk of your car. Ryan and I agreed to go forward, and we figured th
at’s what you’d want to do, too.”
“I did, but how did you know?” Jake felt the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, but he was still confused about what was going on.
“I know you.” Pam’s expression grew grave. “As for what happened next, I’ll leave that to the authorities to explain. Bill?”
“Sure.” Detective Zwerling edged closer to the bed, looking down at Jake, and the folds of his face fell into deep lines. “Pam and Ryan gave us a statement about what happened last Friday night. You’ll have to give us one, too, when you’re feeling well enough. But neither you nor Ryan are being charged with vehicular homicide.”
“Why not?” Jake asked, dumbfounded.
“The autopsy determined that the injuries Kathleen sustained as a result of being hit by your car were postmortem.”
“What?” Jake didn’t understand, struggling through a pharmaceutical fog to think.
“Kathleen was already dead when you hit her. The cause of her death was blunt force trauma to her head. The District Attorney charged Dr. David Tolliver for her murder and the murder of Andrew Voloshin.”
“Are you saying that Dr. Dave killed Kathleen?” Jake couldn’t process it fast enough. All this time, he had thought that he and Ryan were responsible for Kathleen’s death.
“Yes, we believe so.”
“How? Why?”
“This is confidential, but in the circumstances, I’ll fill you in. Kathleen was a patient of Tolliver’s, sent by her mother to help cope with the divorce and custody case. Her parents had no knowledge of any relationship between them, outside the client-doctor. Kathleen’s friend Janine Mae told us that Kathleen had fallen in love with an older man, in secret. Kathleen didn’t tell Janine Mae that the man was Tolliver. She told Janine Mae it was someone she met online.”
Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His stomach was killing him, but he didn’t want to interrupt Detective Zwerling to get more painkillers.
“Janine Mae knew they met sometimes on Dolomite Road, at night. Tolliver probably used his wife’s car because the school teams could have recognized his car.”
Jake realized he’d been right about that much, but he was too astounded to feel any satisfaction.
“We think that Tolliver wanted to break off the relationship, but Kathleen didn’t. We believe that Kathleen threatened to tell her parents if he called it quits, so Tolliver killed her.” Detective Zwerling pursed his thin lips. “Tolliver lawyered up and isn’t talking, but we have hard evidence against him. Again, confidential, but we have his hair and fiber on Kathleen’s body and clothing. We also have her blood in the BMW. We collected DNA and expect it will be corroborative, but the results aren’t back yet. The forensics show that he killed her in the BMW, by slamming her head into the dashboard.”
Jake felt a wave of disgust.
“He left her body by the side of Pike Road. He probably thought she’d look like a victim of a hit-and-run, given the blind curve. You and Ryan came by shortly thereafter, maybe even within ten minutes, according to the best estimate of the pathologist.”
“Pathologists can figure that out? How?”
“By the location and type of her injuries, during the autopsy. It’s about blood loss and so forth.”
Jake tried to understand the implications. “Did you know all along that whoever was guilty of the hit-and-run didn’t actually kill Kathleen?”
“No, we weren’t sure, and the pathologist couldn’t be a hundred percent certain. If there had been more time between the time she was actually killed and when her body was hit, he would have been more sure. But it was our theory, and we liked you.”
Jake blinked, surprised. “I like you, too, Detective Zwerling.”
Pam snorted, with a sly smile. “Jake, in police talk, ‘like’ means ‘suspect.’ The police suspected you.”
Detective Zwerling permitted himself a tight smile. “We didn’t release that information to the newspapers. We were still investigating. Your actions flushed Tolliver out, but we don’t sanction citizen involvement. Law enforcement is for professionals, Jake.” Detective Zwerling’s smile faded, and his jowls deepened with disapproval. “You almost lost your life. You would have, if not for your wife and son.”
“I know. Thank God for them.” Jake felt a surge of love for his family, and Pam squeezed his hand.
Detective Zwerling straightened up, as if he were becoming official again. “The D.A. will be in to see you, later today. He’ll tell you that you’ll be charged with leaving the scene of an accident and failing to give information. Those are misdemeanors in the first degree, or M1s. They involve fines and such, but no prison time.”
“I’ll take whatever punishment I have coming. But what about Ryan?”
“The D.A. exercised his discretion not to charge Ryan as an adult, in view of your efforts in the case. He’ll be charged with the same offenses as you, but as a juvenile. He’ll get probation and have to perform community service. He’ll have no criminal record when he comes of age.”
“Thank you, that’s wonderful. We’re very grateful.” Jake felt relief wash over him, momentarily forgetting about his pain.
Ryan said, “Yes, Detective Zwerling, thank you again.”
Pam looked from Ryan to Jake with a worried frown. “Even so, there’s going to be other repercussions, for all of us. I’m stepping down from the bench.”
“Babe, really?” Jake sighed. He could tell from Ryan’s resigned expression that it wasn’t news to him. “Do you really have to?”
“Yes, of course. My oath is to uphold and defend the Constitution and the laws of the Commonwealth, yet I chose to hide illegality. It’s misconduct, and if I stayed, it would damage the reputation of the Court.” Pam pursed her lips, but she didn’t seem angry at Jake, just regretful. “I already emailed the Chief Judge and my colleagues, so they won’t find out from the newspaper. The D.A. plans to hold a press conference at one o’clock. The reporters are already swarming in front of the hospital.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake told her, meaning it.
“Thanks, but it’s not on you, honey.” Pam smiled at him, sadly. “It’s on me. I made my choice, and I’ll take my lumps.”
“So you won’t be a judge anymore?” Jake felt terrible for her.
“That might be a good thing, huh?” Pam winked, with a crooked smile. “No more Judge Mom.”
“But what will you do?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s not talk about it now.” Pam shrugged it off. “Nobody’s getting off scot-free. I’m embarrassed and ashamed, so are we all. There’ll be gossip and headlines. It won’t be easy.”
“I know.” Ryan nodded, his lips flattened to a grim line. “People are already posting about it on Facebook. I’ll lose a lot of friends, I know. Everybody will be talking about it. The big-time recruiters and programs will bounce. Bye-bye, Division I.”
“That might be right.” Jake appreciated that Ryan was being so realistic. “I guess I’ll lose clients. Plus Amy and my employees are going to be disillusioned. But I can deal.”
Pam eyed him, her anxiety plain. “What will happen to Gardenia? Do you lose your certification over this?”
“I don’t think so. Amy will stay, and I have enough cushion to float the payroll for a while. It’s Ryan I’m worried about.” Jake turned to his son. “Buddy, can you take the heat?”
“Totally. We both can. Don’t worry about it, Dad. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?” Ryan looked down at Jake, his gaze grown-up. “Here’s what I think. It’s awful that Kathleen died, the way she died, but I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anybody. I don’t have that on my conscience anymore. I don’t have to lie to anybody or hide anything. I feel, like, so grateful and free. Do you see, Dad? I’m good again.”
Pam’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t say anything, letting Ryan and Jake have their moment.
“Ryan, you always were good,” Jake said, hoarsely, his entire body flooding with peace.
/> “We’ll get through this together.”
“Yes, we will.” Jake reached for Ryan’s hand, and Ryan reached back, and Jake could feel the warmth, strength, and power that flowed between them, palpable in the clasp of their hands, which were large and so much alike.
“I love you, Dad,” Ryan said, with feeling.
“I love you, too, boy,” Jake told him, and at long last, he could feel the beginning of a reconnection between them, one that had less to do with superficial things like cars and girls, and more to do with something important, natural, and even eternal.
Flesh, and blood.
Epilogue
Six months later, Jake and Pam were sitting on the bleachers at a packed basketball game, watching Ryan. The gym thundered with the clamoring of parents, siblings, and students. Kids ran up and down the aisles. Moms cheered, dads clapped, and Jake felt as if everything was the same as before—except that everything was also different.
The gym was smaller and shabbier, in a tougher part of town. Ryan wasn’t playing, but assistant-coaching, and none of the players was very tall, because they were eight-year-old girls. Their ponytails bounced in their matching scrunchies, their purple T-shirts hung to their knobby knees, and their wide-leg shorts flapped when they ran. Jake took a special interest in the kids’ gear because he had bought it all. The team was the Gardenia Guardians, named for what was left of his company.
He nudged Pam, pleased. “They look good, huh?”
“What?” Pam kept watching the game, craning her neck.
“They look good!” Jake said, louder, and Pam looked at him like he was crazy, her blue eyes amused behind her glasses.
“What are you talking about? They’re losing by seven points.”
“The uniforms, I mean.”
Pam rolled her eyes. “It still bugs me they’re purple. Gardenias aren’t purple.”
“White is boring, honey.”
“Gardenias aren’t white, they’re ivory, which is a lovely color.”
“Kids don’t want lovely. They want cool, and purple is cool.”