Keep Quiet(48)

“Hmph!” Guinevere said, striding past the desk. “Just as I suspected. You double-booked the appointment. You’re worse than my gynecologist!”





Chapter Twenty-two


“What the hell is this about?” Jake folded his arms, standing against the windows while Deaner’s light blue eyes flitted around, taking in the glass desktops, watercolors pressed between glass panes, and crystal awards. It struck Jake for the first time that almost everything in his office was breakable.

“Jake, you should ask me to sit down.” Deaner met his gaze coolly. “Isn’t that what you do with clients?”

“You’re not a client. Tell me why you’re here.”

“Then what am I? Or more accurately, what are we going to tell your employees I am?” Deaner spoke quietly, and his tone was reasonable. He had several fine lines in his forehead, so he must have been older than Jake had thought at the game, maybe in his fifties. “Because if Amy doesn’t think I’m a client, you’re going to have to explain who I am and why I’m here. Unless you want me to.”

“Sit down, then.” Jake hated that Deaner knew Amy’s name. He must have gotten it off the website.

“You should sit opposite me, shouldn’t you? Play your part, Mr. Financial Planner.” Deaner unzipped his parka, and lowered himself into the chair.

“Tell me what’s this all about.” Jake stood his ground, behind the chair.

“Shouldn’t I look like I’m taking notes? That’s what clients do when you talk, isn’t it, Jake? They write down what you say?” Deaner slid a pad and pen from the center of the table, wrote something, and flipped it around to show it to Jake. It read, Go, Ryan, go!

Jake’s heart thudded in his chest. “Why are you here? Who are you? What’s your real name?”

Deaner didn’t reply, but set down the pad and picked up the Gardenia promotional folder. He slid out a brochure, which had a photo of Jake in shirtsleeves, smiling confidently. “Nice tie.”

“Answer my question.”

“Slick materials. Very upmarket.” Deaner waved the brochure. “No one would ever guess where you and Ryan were Friday night.”

Jake froze. He forced himself to stay in control. Not to confirm or deny. Deaner could be bluffing, or he could be an undercover cop or a private investigator, even wearing a wire.

“Now, sit down. You’ll need to.”

Jake lowered himself into the chair. His chest tight, his mouth dry.

“I figure you make almost a million bucks a year.” Deaner set the Gardenia folder aside. “Your house is probably worth about $550K, and I bet it’s paid off. You’re not a flashy guy. You live below your means. You’re cheap, which means you have a ton of dough in savings, pension plan, 401(k), college fund for Ryan. I’m guessing almost a million, and you trade your own account. You’re trying to grow it. How’m I doing?”

“Get to the point.”

“Fine. I know what happened Friday night.” Deaner pushed up his glasses with a finger that had a bitten-off nail. “Ryan was driving your car and he hit the jogger. You both got out of the car. You switched seats with him and drove away.”

Jake felt his world explode around him. The glass tops, the crystal awards, the massive windows. Shards of glass flew everywhere. He didn’t know how he could put it back together again. It was all gone, falling away, shooting through space.

“Yes, I know it all. I saw it. You threw yourself on the sword for your son, good for you. Dad.”

Jake struggled for self-control. The worst-case scenario had just gotten worse.

“What was it that Ryan had in his hand? You were about to call the cops, after all. I heard you yelling.”

Jake reeled. He had no idea how Deaner had seen or heard them. The apartment complex, the corporate center. Somewhere, somehow.

“You gave her CPR. Was she dead when you left her, or did you leave her to die?” Deaner shook his head. “You’re not a monster, right? You’re basically a decent guy, but you slipped up. Hey, it happens.”

Jake didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Emotion churned in his gut. Inwardly he raged at Deaner, then at himself. It was his own actions that brought him to this point. But he had to shift into damage control or all was lost.

“You’re wondering if I have proof, and I do. Take a look-see.” Deaner reached inside his parka, pulled out an iPhone, hit a few buttons, and showed the screen.

Jake almost gasped. The photo was an enlargement of Ryan and him at the accident scene, in front of the headlights, their faces grainy but visible. The photo was dark, but Deaner must have enhanced it somehow.

“But wait, there’s more, as they say.” Deaner took the phone back, then swiped the screen a few times. “Let me show you the video. The parting shot, as it were. Here.” Deaner held the phone up, and the video started.

Jake watched himself kneeling in front of the body, then running to Ryan and saying something, and the both of them hustling to the car.

Deaner half-smiled. “The audio isn’t great but I can fix that, and I will, if I have to. So can the cops. Wait for the last shot. It’s priceless.”

Jake watched the last shot, which was a close-up of his own license plate, taken as the Audi receded down Pike Road. The video ended, the screen froze, and a white arrow ghosted over the darkness of night.