Keep Quiet(76)

I suppose we’re done … for now.

But it was Pam he was worried about. Had she killed Voloshin? It seemed unthinkable. She was a sitting judge. Jake knew Pam to the marrow and he never would have believed her capable of murder. But then again, he never would have believed she would cheat on him, either. Or that she would keep the secret about the hit-and-run. Or give up a federal judgeship that she had wanted forever. What other sacrifices would she make for Ryan? Where did she draw the line?

Still, he couldn’t wait to see her.

The simple fact was, Jake loved his wife.

No matter what.





Chapter Thirty-six


Jake arrived at the quarry, the gravel popping under his tires. He cut the ignition and parked, but he didn’t see Pam. He got out of the car and checked around to make sure, but she wasn’t there. The only activity was on the far side of the immense quarry, at the construction site. Workers walked this way and that, backhoes toed the ground, and oversized trucks dumped loads of soil. The rumble of the equipment echoed off the rock walls of the crater.

Jake found himself worrying briefly if the construction workers could see him and checked around for security cameras. He knew he was being paranoid but he couldn’t help himself. He’d driven here with an eye on the rearview mirror, checking to make sure that the detectives weren’t following him.

Jake breathed in deeply, trying to relax. The air carried the familiar grit he remembered from his childhood, making it hard to breathe, but that could have been his memories. He glanced inside the enormous crater at the greenish brown water below, slightly choppy in the wind off the surface of the deep cliffs. A jagged vein of darker rock ran around the circumference of the quarry, a high watermark like the dirty rim of a bathtub, and his gaze traveled upward, over the strata of the limestone, its streaks of gray, tan, and brown formed over centuries.

It struck him that he was looking at a cross-section of time itself, if not his own personal history. His childhood would’ve started somewhere in the grayish streaks near the top, forty-odd years ago, and his father’s and mother’s would have started an inch below that, almost a century into the past, as if the layers of the limestone were the pencil lines they used to draw on the kitchen doorjamb when he was growing up, to chart his height. He and Pam drew the same lines on their kitchen doorjamb to mark Ryan’s height, the only tradition of his family’s worth keeping.

Jake realized with a deep pang that his mother would weep if she knew that her son had just been questioned by the police, after he’d left a young girl dead on the road. He also knew what his father would say.

Just my luck.

Jake swallowed hard, eyeing the strata of rock in the sun, which spilled into the countless crevices on the face of the cliff, illuminating even the tiniest of crevices, indentations, and faults, making shadows everywhere. The quarry kept no secrets, hiding nothing, but lay bare every buried sin, exposing it to light and air. Jake sensed he was looking at his own history, in which his decision on the night of the hit-and-run would become the blackest vein, a fault line that would render him and his family unstable, forever.

Story of my life.

There was a noise behind him, and Jake turned to see Pam driving up, on the phone. He wondered if she was talking to Dr. Dave, which brought him a stab of pain. He couldn’t read her expression because she had designer sunglasses on and she was dressed for work in one of those jackets-over-a-dress combinations that she favored. She turned off the engine, hanging up, then threw open the car door, jumped out, and let it slam behind her.

“Pam.” Jake walked toward her, raising his arms to embrace her, but she stiffed-armed him.

“Why am I here?”

“What happened with Voloshin last night?”

“I told you, I took care of it.” Pam slipped the phone into her blazer pocket and folded her arms. Her tone was cold, and her hair blew in the wind off the quarry. “I cleaned up your mess.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Jake had thought of nothing but that question on the drive here.

“What?”

“Andrew Voloshin is dead. He was found stabbed in his apartment last night. Two detectives were just at my office questioning me. They said one of the tenants saw a brunette leaving the complex last night. He was also heard arguing with a woman. Kathleen’s mother is brunette, but so are you. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“Are you serious?” Pam asked, sounding for the first time like herself. She tore off her sunglasses, revealing a horrified expression.

“You would never kill anybody, even for Ryan, would you?”

“Of course not.” Pam’s eyes flared in disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Voloshin’s not dead, he can’t be. I just saw him.”

“He is dead. Murdered.” Jake’s thoughts raced ahead. “If you didn’t kill him, who did? And why?”

“I just saw him,” Pam repeated, shaking her head.

“What time? Where did you see him?”

“Around ten o’clock, at his apartment.”

“You went to his apartment?” Jake asked, dumbfounded. “Why? What were you doing? How do you even know where he lives—”

“If you let me explain, I will,” Pam snapped, her eyelids fluttering briefly. “I looked him up online, like you did, and I found his address. I decided to go over there.”