Keep Quiet(87)

Pam snorted. “I can’t believe TV people are here. They’re vultures. Have they no shame? Does the world really need another man-on-the-street interview?”

Jake felt his heart sink, on Ryan’s behalf. He could see for himself that Kathleen’s death shocked the entire school community, and he had underestimated how difficult this would be for Ryan. His son lived in this world and he’d have to deal with it, every day, all day at school. Jake glanced back to check on him again, but Ryan was looking pointedly away from the TV cameras.

Sabrina leaned forward. “Mrs. Buckman, the guy they’re interviewing is Kathleen’s dad. I saw his picture online, asking if the community could help him find who killed Kathleen.”

“Poor man,” Pam said quietly, and Jake realized that the only thing they shared tonight was guilt. He eyed Kathleen’s father talking in the klieglights and realized he was just another father like him. Jake had taken that man’s child, in trade for his own.

Pam drove along the road, which continued between the school on the right and the main parking lot on the left. She seemed distracted by something in the parking lot, and Jake craned his neck to see. It was Dr. Dave, getting out of a white Prius and chirping it locked. A woman in a black down coat stood with him, presumably his wife.

Jake gritted his teeth. She had a pretty face and a sweet smile, and her short brown hair ruffled in the wind. He wondered if she knew that she had been cheated on, or if she was as na?ve as he had been. The couple left the parking lot and crossed the road with the crowd, right in front of their headlights.

Jake itched to get out and beat Dr. Dave to a pulp, but Dr. Dave walked straight ahead, acting as if he didn’t recognize Pam’s car. Jake looked over to see Pam’s reaction, but she stared straight ahead, too. Just then he noticed a car in the parking lot, sitting a few rows back, to the right—it was a black BMW sedan, with an HKE license plate.

My God. “Pam, hold on, be right back,” Jake blurted out, reaching for the door handle.

“No, Jake, please don’t.” Pam turned to him in alarm.

“It’s not what you think.” Jake flung open the door. “I see a client I need to talk to. See you inside.”

“Wait a sec, there’s a space,” Pam said, but Jake was out the door, hitting the ground running.





Chapter Forty-two


Jake hurried through the parking lot, going against the crowd heading toward the school entrance. One of the mothers looked over at him curiously, so he slowed his pace as he made a beeline for the BMW. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He hadn’t thought about the possibility he’d see the BMW here, but he’d been focused on Ryan and Pam.

Jake threaded his way through the crowd, squeezed sideways between parked cars, and finally reached the BMW. It was the correct model, a 535, and its Pennsylvania plate read HKE-7553. It had to be the same car as the one in the photograph. His heartbeat quickened. So Voloshin’s killer was at Kathleen’s memorial service. It seemed risky, unless the killer was someone who would have been conspicuous by his absence, the way Ryan would have been if he hadn’t come.

Jake glanced around and ascertained that no one was watching him, so he walked to the driver’s side of the car and tried the door handle, but it was locked. He peeked inside the front seat. The car had a black interior and it was hard to see in the dark, but it looked empty and gave no clue as to the driver’s identity. He peered in the backseat, but it was also empty. He walked around the trunk and checked for the car dealership, or anything to give him more information about the driver, but there wasn’t one listed. The license plate had a chrome surround, but it read BMW, with no dealership.

Jake slipped his hand in his pocket, took out his phone, and snapped a picture of the car’s license plate, then turned away and hurried back to the school entrance, adrenalized. So the BMW driver would be at the service tonight, and the more Jake thought about it, the more credibility it lent to his theory. The driver had known Kathleen, maybe even loved her, and he could have killed Voloshin because Voloshin was blackmailing him about their relationship—or maybe in a fit of rage, when he went to Voloshin’s apartment and saw that Voloshin was stalking her.

Jake joined the crowd going into the entrance, turning his head away from the TV cameras and scrutinizing the people around him. The killer could be any one of the dads, who looked just like him—a moving mass of crow’s-feet, expensive haircuts, and Patagonia jackets slipped over shirts and ties, because nobody had time to change after work. They tossed away forbidden cigarettes, checked their email, or talked on the phone, making their last calls.

Jake caught snippets of their conversations—you have to be kidding me, Tom, you didn’t file it yet?—or with their wives—I don’t have time to call the roofer, can you?—or their kids—so how was school, buddy? None of them sounded or seemed like a killer, which made Jake suspect all of them, everyone around him. Then he realized he wouldn’t have to play guessing games anymore. He could leave the memorial service, stake-out the BMW, and see whoever came to claim the car.

Jake’s heartbeat picked up, and he thought of a new plan. He would confront the killer and warn him to stay away from Ryan and Pam—or risk exposure to the police. It would be piling one corrupt bargain on top of another, but it would keep Pam and Ryan safe. He reached the entrance doors, went through, and crossed the threshold into a large, tiled entrance area leading to the administrative offices and the auditorium.