Keep Quiet(43)

Pam slowed as they approached the blind curve, and Jake mulled over the possibility that Deaner could have seen the accident from his apartment and could identify the Audi. Still, how could Deaner have identified Jake, much less found him? Had he seen the Audi’s license plate? How? Or if Deaner was an undercover cop, maybe someone else had seen it and called it in as a tip.

Pam reached the blind curve, and Jake reached for the door handle, reflexively bracing himself for a collision that had happened days ago. A forlorn memorial had been set up by the roadside—a motley clump of plush teddy bears, grocery-store flowers, thick Yankee candles, and sympathy cards, next to a maroon singlet from the track team and a handmade sign that read Chasers Pride! We miss you, Kathleen! Xoxoxo

Pam cleared her throat. “I guess this is where the hit-and-run was.”

Jake didn’t say anything, and neither did Ryan.

“It’s a dangerous curve, so I could see how it could happen. But how could he not stop?” Pam tsked-tsked.

Jake didn’t answer, and he prayed Ryan stayed quiet.

Pam steered around the curve, staying in her lane. “Sorry we came this way,” she said softly.

“S’okay.” Jake felt his anger ebb away, if not his shame. The SUV powered forward as Pam accelerated, and he scanned the dirt shoulder of the road, checking. There was no shard of glass, no piece of heavy plastic, not even a skidmark to incriminate them.

Dad … I killed … that lady … I killed … that lady.

Jake found himself sending up a silent prayer, asking forgiveness for himself and Ryan. And yet, at the same time, he watched the apartment buildings recede in the distance, wondering what Deaner really knew about the accident, who Deaner was, and what he wanted. If Deaner was a cop, then he wanted Jake and Ryan, truth and justice. But if he wasn’t, Jake had a good guess what he wanted. He’d find out tomorrow, for sure.





Chapter Twenty


Jake stood in the doorway to Pam’s home office, where she was at her desk on the cell phone. She motioned him inside, and he entered and sat down in the pink flowered chair opposite her. They had achieved an uneasy truce during dinnertime, then Ryan had gone to his bedroom to do homework and she had retreated to her home office to make calls to the powers-that-be about her judicial nomination. He’d come in to see her to find out any details about the FBI interviews, so he could prepare Ryan. Lewis Deaner had to settle for the backburner, for now.

Pam held up an index finger, flashing him the one minute sign, and Jake looked idly around her office. It was smaller than his, but it had a cozy feel, which was why she always called it her nest. The two windows on the wall had a sunny southern exposure, but they were dark now, and red oriental-type lamps gave off a soft, homey glow. He liked her office, but it was very feminine, with pink walls, a maroon, red, and pink Heriz rug, and pink-and-red curtains in a pattern that had colonial people standing in front of thatched huts.

Toile, Pam had said, of the curtain pattern. It’s called toile.

How do you spell that?

T-O-I-L-E.

Like toilet?

Pam had laughed. You’re useless, completely useless.

Jake tried to relax in the chair, but couldn’t. He was facing an entire wall of her framed diplomas, admission certificates to the Pennsylvania and New Jersey bars, and documents that admitted her to practice law in the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania and the Third Circuit Court of Appeals. They stared him in the face, setting into stark relief the paradox of their different positions. His wife was sitting behind a cluttered desk, trying to become a federal judge, one of the highest positions in the country in which to make and to enforce civil and criminal law. He sat opposite her, as if diametrically opposed, having committed the worst crime imaginable and concealed it from her and the authorities, in a conspiracy with her own son.

“Sorry if I was testy today.” Pam hung up the phone, excited and happy.

“No worries. I’m sorry too. How’s it going? Anything new?”

“Actually, yes.” Pam leaned excitedly over the messy papers. “This is really happening fast. They’re going to make it public later I think. My name is definitely going up the ladder to the White House, to be nominated.”

“Honey, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“I know! Isn’t it so great?” Pam’s eyes lit up, then she seemed to check herself. “But I can’t count my chickens before they’re hatched. There’s a lot that has to happen between now and then, and you know these vacancies can be open for years.”

Jake liked the sound of that. Ryan needed a few years to get past the accident. “So then they’re not going to investigate you for a few years?”

“No, you misunderstand me. They do the investigation now and the nomination happens, then there’s the Senate hearings, but you have to wait to be confirmed. That’s the part that takes years.”

“Oh, too bad.” Jake hid his alarm.

“Patty Shwartz still hasn’t gotten on the Third Circuit and she was nominated over two years ago, for a seat that was vacated two years prior. She had her hearing and she still hasn’t been confirmed.” Pam shook her head. “It’s classic hurry-up-and-wait.”

“So when does the investigation start?”

“Right now.”

“But your nomination isn’t public yet—”