Keep Quiet(75)

“Well, yes, I suppose we’re done.” Detective Zwerling flipped his pad closed. “For now.”

For now. Jake fled for the door, glancing at his phone screen. The text wasn’t from Harold or Marie, but from Pam, and it read:

Don’t worry. I took care of Voloshin.





Chapter Thirty-five


Jake pressed in Pam’s cell-phone number, hurrying back through the reception area to his office. He’d been expecting to hear from Harold, not his wife. What did she have to do with Voloshin? And last night? It struck him suddenly that Pam could be the brunette that the detectives were talking about, who had been spotted at Voloshin’s apartment complex.

Oh my God.

Jake hustled down the hall and caught Amy’s eye. Pam wouldn’t have killed Voloshin, would she? It was almost unthinkable, but she was the best mother on the planet. Would she have killed Voloshin to protect Ryan?

Jake waited for the call to connect while he motioned to Amy that he was finished with the detectives and she should see them out. He slipped into his office and closed the door behind him. “Babe?” he said, as soon as Pam picked up. “What did you—”

“I told you not to call me.” Pam’s voice sounded thick with frost. “If I wanted to speak with you, I would’ve called you. I spent last night and this morning cleaning up after your mess. Plus I stopped by the mall, bought Ryan a new phone, then dropped it off at school. Now I have to get to work and I can’t take the time—”

“Pam, what did you mean by that text?” Jake hurried across his office to his window, so that he could see when the police left the building. His heart was pounding in his chest. His shirt was damp with flop sweat. “We have to talk—”

“The hell we do, and I’m driving. The traffic is terrible and I’m not about to get killed because you want to kiss and make up—”

“It’s not about us, it’s about your text. What did you do to Voloshin?”

“I handled the situation. I don’t think it’s wise to talk about it over the phone.”

“Why not? Pam, what did you do?”

“Trust me. Not over the phone and not now.” Suddenly Pam gasped. “Damn you! I almost hit that truck! Haven’t you caused enough trouble? I’m hanging up—”

“No, don’t! Pam, the police were just here.” Jake was about to explain when he heard his phone signal that another call was coming in. He prayed it was Harold or Marie. He glanced at the screen, which showed Harold’s cell-phone number. He had to find out whether the transfer had been stopped. “Pam, where are you?”

“In Fraser, about to get onto 202.”

“Meet me at the quarry, there won’t be anyone around. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“The quarry? What quarry?”

“Where we used to go, you know, when Ryan was little. Go in the entrance we used to use.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“See you there. Good-bye.” Jake pressed END and picked up Harold’s call, breathless. “Harold, did you stop the transfer?”

“Yes, but what the hell is going on—”

“Thank God!” Jake almost shouted with relief. He leaned for support against the large glass window, leaving a sweaty handprint. Outside, the police hadn’t yet appeared, leaving the building. “Harold, you’re sure you were able to stop the transfer?”

“I’m positive.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“It’s done.”

“Does it leave any trace that it was attempted, electronically?”

“No, but this isn’t like you. First it’s top priority that it goes through, then it’s top priority that it doesn’t? Are you okay?” Harold’s tone softened. “I’m asking you as your friend, not as your banker. We’ve known each other ten years, through thick and thin, you remember. We go back.”

Jake remembered. “No, I’m fine,” he answered, firmly. “Thanks.”

“So where do we go from here? What do you want me to do?”

“Forget the whole thing. I’m fine, and I appreciate your jumping on it when I needed you to.”

“No problem.” Harold’s voice snapped back to business. “Then I’d better go. I left the meeting to call you.”

“Thanks again. See you.” Jake pressed END just as the two detectives emerged from the building entrance below. He couldn’t leave the building until they were out of sight, so he watched them walk toward the front row of parking, reserved for Gardenia visitors. Two of the spaces were filled by a Volvo and a Jaguar, which Jake figured belonged to the Janoviches and the Warners, but next to them was a Crown Victoria, an older model in a dull navy blue. He assumed it belonged to the detectives, confirmed when they made a beeline for the sedan. But then they stopped suddenly, turned around in unison, and looked back at the building.

Detective Zwerling shielded his eyes, and they both squinted up at the building’s fa?ade, their heads together in conversation. Evidently, they were trying to locate his office window.

Jake edged away from view, shuddering. He didn’t know why they were looking back at him, if they didn’t suspect him of something. He realized that they hadn’t asked him where he was last night, to see if he had an alibi, so maybe they didn’t suspect him at all. Or maybe they didn’t want to tip him off. Maybe they were playing games with him, doling out their questions as they continued their investigation. What was it that Detective Zwerling had said?