Keep Quiet(78)

“No, of course not, but—”

“Nothing’s fine, nothing. You got us into this mess. You ruined our lives. You ruined our son.”

“Honey—”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me. I don’t want to talk about it now. I have to get to work. If I get in any later, people will start asking questions.”

“Can I see the pictures?”

“You can’t see them in the sun, anyway.” Pam waved the iPhone at him. “He keeps a bulletin board over his desk and it has lots of pictures of Kathleen. He was stalking her. You were right, okay? Is that what you need to hear?”

“So you took pictures of his desk.” Jake wondered if her fingerprints would show up anywhere. “Was his computer there?”

“Yes, a laptop. I took a picture.”

“The police said that whoever killed him took his laptop and phone. Did you see a phone anywhere?”

“No, I assume he had it with him. Maybe it will show up in the photos. You can look for yourself.” Pam hit a few buttons on her iPhone. “I’ll email—”

“No, don’t email—”

“Why not? I just did.”

“Pam, think about this.” Jake realized that she hadn’t thought it through, probably because she’d been so upset. “The police are looking for a brunette who had an argument with Voloshin right before he was murdered. They suspect he had a girlfriend, but we know that woman is you, unless another brunette came by later, like maybe Kathleen’s mother, but still, I don’t know why she would—”

“So what?” Pam checked her watch. “Could you speed it up?”

“So after you leave Voloshin’s apartment, sometime during last night, he turns up dead. If the police figure out that you were the brunette, they could suspect you of his murder. They could come question you, like they did me, at your chambers or at home.”

Pam stood stunned, blinking. Behind her, a shadow crossed the quarry from a passing cloud.

“You were the last person to see Voloshin alive, and the photos you took are proof that you were in his apartment last night. Now that you sent them to me, and even if you delete them from your phone, we can’t delete them from the email server.” Jake could see her withdrawing, recoiling as it dawned on her. “Your picture is in the newspaper from time to time, so one of the tenants could have recognized you. Or even if you hadn’t been seen, a security camera or even a traffic-light camera could’ve taken your picture. If the police come to question you, you’re done for, and so are we all.”

Pam’s lips parted, but she still didn’t speak.

“Honey, are you okay?” Jake asked gently, reaching for her arm, but she jerked it away, dropping her sunglasses and iPhone. They both bent down to retrieve the items, but she reached them first and snatched them up from the gravel and dirt, then held them to her chest in an oddly protective way.

“Jake. That’s not possible, what you’re saying.” Pam frowned, shaking her head and backing away, her voice softer. “That’s impossible. Nobody would think that of me. The police would never think that.”

“They could, honey. They came to my office today because I called Voloshin this morning, telling him the transfer would be late. His murder hadn’t hit the news by then, but it probably has now—”

“That’s why the police came to you? What did you tell them?”

“I told them that Voloshin came to me as a prospective client but that I didn’t sign him. I did the best I could, but I couldn’t really explain why he sought me out at the basketball game.” Jake could see she was getting more upset, backing away from him and shaking her head. “If they get his phone records, the police will see that I was the last person to talk to him last night, but I think I explained that. They didn’t ask me if I had an alibi, but they still could. And you, what’s your alibi?” Jake didn’t ask because she was so distraught, but what he wanted to ask was, Is Dr. Dave your alibi?

“Oh no. Oh no.” Pam closed her eyes, still clutching her phone and sunglasses. “I put myself on the hook, didn’t I? I went over there. I argued with him, loudly. I didn’t try to hide. I didn’t wear sunglasses or anything. Anyone could have seen me. Anyone could’ve heard us arguing. Anyone could’ve seen my car or my license plate. I didn’t know someone would kill him. Who would kill him—”

“Honey, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out, together.” Jake took a step toward her.

“No, leave me alone, I have to go.” Pam turned away, hurrying toward her car.

“Pam, please!” Jake hustled after her and caught her arm, but she wrenched it back, tears filling her eyes.

“Don’t touch me! Leave me alone! I hate you! You ruined everything, everything, everything!”

“Pam, no—”

“Stay away from me! Stay away from our house!” Pam reached her car and flung open the door. “I’m going home tonight, not you! You won’t live there, ever again! It’s over, Jake! We’re over!”





Chapter Thirty-seven


Jake sped away from the quarry, as if his guts had been kicked out of him. He turned onto Concordia Boulevard, its four lanes of traffic beginning to congest with the coming noontime rush, and he steered the car toward home. He wasn’t going back to the office and he wanted to look at the pictures from Voloshin’s apartment, then figure out if he could delete them from his email server.