The Last Thing She Ever Did(82)

She worked it out in her head, line by line:

Dear Carole and David,

God will never forgive me for what I’ve done. You won’t, either. I want you to know that what happened to Charlie was a terrible accident. It was my fault. I didn’t see him. I swear I didn’t. I was backing out of the garage on the way to my test that morning and I felt a bump. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to do. He was gone. I must have hit him so hard. I don’t know how to explain what happened next. I panicked. I put him in the garage. I was in shock. I don’t even know who I was when I did it. I was a stranger to myself. Later I put his body out under the stars off the highway. I thought that someone would find him and that you would know he was gone. I loved Charlie so much. I love you so much. I never told Owen what I’d done. I should have gone to the police but I just couldn’t. As I write this I know you will hate me forever. I am sorry. I really am.

Liz

She took the pill bottle and the idea for the note and went back out to the kitchen.

Carole was in tears. “I know you don’t feel well,” she said. “I just need someone to talk to. I can’t get through this without you. Without someone.”

Liz put the pills in her pocket. She put her arms around her friend.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

In a way, she was saying the words for what she’d done. The pills could wait. So could the note. She held her friend and they both cried.





CHAPTER FIFTY

MISSING: TWENTY DAYS

Esther found Jake in his cubicle typing something on Facebook.

He did that a lot.

“If I can tear you away from that, we need to get going.”

Jake jumped up. “Sorry. Just checking my feed.”

Facebook. Twitter. Instagram and Snapchat. She didn’t get the attraction of any of it.

“Dr. Cortez called,” she said. “Brad Collins is conscious.”

“Wow,” Jake said. “I thought he was going to die.”

“Me too. He might still. She says it’s touch and go. This is our window to find out if he knows who attacked him.”



Dr. Cortez intercepted the detectives just outside of ICU.

“We’re taking him in for surgery. You have five minutes.”

“That’s fine. Appreciate it,” Esther said. “Did he say anything to you? The staff?”

“When he opened his eyes—and honestly they’re still so swollen and bruised that I don’t think he can even see much; maybe some light—he said something about how he wanted to see his mother.”

“She’s on her way,” Jake said. “She had affairs to settle, then needed to take the bus from Ohio.”

“That’s good,” the doctor said. “Too bad she couldn’t be here before the surgery.”

“Is he going to make it?” Jake asked.

The doctor didn’t know. “That he can even speak is a minor miracle. And, to tell the truth, we don’t deal much in miracles around here. Go in. Five minutes.”



The sounds of the machines keeping Brad Collins alive filled the space around his bed. The bruises on his face had shifted from red and blue to a mosaic of purple and yellow. A no-nonsense ICU nurse hovered nearby.

Esther identified herself and Jake, telling the patient that they were there to help find out who had done this to him. She asked Brad if he could hear what she was saying, and he nodded slightly.

“Mr. Collins,” she said, leaning a little closer to where he lay, “your mother is coming from Ohio. She wanted you to know that. She’s on her way.”

The man in the hospital bed gestured for Esther to come closer.

She bent down, turning her head so that she could hear him better. He whispered in her ear.

“Charlie Franklin’s father.”

“Are you sure?”

He gave a slight nod and then closed the slits of his swollen eyes.

“I think he’s had enough,” the nurse said.

Jake looked at Esther. “What did he say?”

She told him.

“Holy shit.”

“You can say that again.”

Two minutes later they were in the car for the drive to David Franklin’s restaurant.

“What a mess,” Jake said. “Successful businessman. Seemed like he had his shit together.”

“You say shit too much,” Esther said. “But, yes, you would think.”

Jake cracked the window. “He must have gone berserk.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Losing your kid—that’s pretty heavy,” Jake went on. “But Collins isn’t our guy. We told Franklin that.”

“Right,” she said. “But for whatever reason he decided that we were wrong. He’s not thinking clearly.”

“Who could? You know, given the circumstances. I thought about what I would do if my little sister had been taken and if I knew who did it.”

“And?”

“And I thought that I just might want to beat the shit out of him.”

“That word. We going to have to set up a swear jar for you?”

Jake laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “My point is I’d want to get him to tell me everything he knew.”