Ed McBain - Driving Lessons

She hung up and looked at the clock.

‘On my way,’ she said aloud.

Rebecca Patton’s dark-brown eyes were shining with tears. Behind her, the high windows of the room framed trees bursting with leaves of red, orange, yellow and brown. They were sitting in what the local precinct had labeled the ‘interrogation room’, after those in big-city police departments, though normally the cops at Raleigh Station didn’t put on airs. Katie hadn’t yet told her that the woman she’d hit was in a critical condition at Gardner General Hospital. She hadn’t yet told her that so far the woman hadn’t been able to speak to anyone. Still anonymous, the hospital had admitted her as Jane Doe.

‘Rebecca,’ Katie said, ‘your father just got here. If you’d like him to come in while we talk...’

‘Yes, I would, please,’ Rebecca said.

‘And if your mother would like to join us...’

‘My mother’s in California.’

A sudden sharpness of voice which startled Katie.

‘They’re divorced.’

‘I see.’

‘I hope no one called her.’

‘I really don’t know. I’m assuming the-’

She almost said ‘arresting officers’.

She caught herself.

‘— responding officers called whoever...’

‘I didn’t give them her name. I don’t want her to know about this.’

‘If that’s your wish.’

‘It’s my wish.’

‘Let me get your father, then.’

Dr Ralph Patton was sitting on a bench in the corridor just outside the squadroom. He got to his feet the moment he saw Katie approaching. A tall spare man wearing blue jeans, a denim shirt, loafers and a suede vest, he looked more like a wrangler than a physician — but Wednesday was his day off. His dark-brown eyes were the color of his daughter’s. They checked out the ID tag clipped to the pocket of Katie’s gray tailored suit, and immediately clouded with suspicion.

‘Where’s Rebecca?’ he asked.

‘Waiting for us,’ Katie said. ‘She’s fine, would you come with me, please?’

‘What’s she doing in a police station?’

‘I thought you’d been informed...’

‘Yes, the officer who called told me Rebecca was involved in an automobile accident. I repeat. What’s she doing here?’

‘Well, there are questions we have to ask, Dr Patton, I’m sure you realize that. About the incident.’

‘Why? Since when is an accident a crime?’

‘We haven’t charged her with any crime,’ Katie said.

Which was true.

But a young woman lay critically injured in the hospital, knocked down by the automobile Rebecca Patton had been driving. And the only licensed driver in the subject vehicle had been under the influence of something, they still didn’t know what. If the woman died, Katie figured Andrew Newell was looking at either vehicular homicide or reckless manslaughter. But whereas the law considered the licensed driver to be primary, if the learner behind the wheel knew that he wasn’t in complete control of all his faculties, they might both be culpable.

‘Are we going to need a lawyer here?’ Dr Patton asked, brown eyes narrowing suspiciously again.

‘That’s entirely up to you,’ Katie said.

‘Yes, I want one,’ he said.

Technically, the girl was in police custody.

And in keeping with the guidelines, as a juvenile she was being questioned separately and apart from any criminals who might be on the premises, of whom there were none, at the moment, unless Andrew Newell in the lieutenant’s office down the hall could be considered a criminal for having abused whatever substance was in his body when he’d climbed into that Ford.

The Patton lawyer was here now, straight out of Charles Dickens, wearing mutton chops and a tweedy jacket and a bow tie and gold-rimmed spectacles and sporting a checkered vest and a little pot belly and calling himself Alexander Wickett.

‘How long have you been driving?’ Katie asked.

‘Since the beginning of August,’ Rebecca said.

‘Does she have to answer these questions?’ her father asked.

Wickett cleared his throat and looked startled.

‘Why, no,’ he said. ‘Not if she doesn’t wish to. You heard Miss Logan repeating Miranda in my presence.’

‘Then why don’t you advise her to remain silent?’

‘Well, do you wish to remain silent, Miss Patton?’

‘Did I hurt that woman?’ Rebecca asked.

‘Yes, you hurt her,’ Katie said. ‘Very badly.’

‘Oh God.’

‘She’s in critical condition at Gardner General.’

‘God, dear God.’

‘Do you want to answer questions or don’t you?’ Dr Patton said.

‘I want to help.’

‘Answering questions won’t—’

‘However I can help, I want to. I didn’t mean to hit her. She stepped right off the curb. There was no way I could avoid her. I saw this flash of red and... and...’

‘Becky, I think you should—’

‘No. I want to help. Please.’ She turned to Katie and said, ‘Ask whatever you like, Miss Logan.’

Katie nodded.

‘Do you consider yourself a good driver, Rebecca?’

‘Yes. I was planning to take my test next week, in fact.’

‘How fast were you going at the time of the accident?’

‘Thirty miles an hour. That’s the speed limit in that area.’

‘You’ve been there before?’

‘Yes. Many times. We drive all over the city. Main roads, back roads, all over. Mr Newell’s a very good teacher. He exposes his students to all sorts of conditions. His theory is that good driving is knowing how to react instantly to any given circumstance.’

‘So you’ve been on that street before?’

‘Yes.’

‘When did you first see the woman?’

‘I told you. She stepped off the curb just as I was approaching the corner.’

‘Did you slow down at the corner?’

‘No. There are full stop signs on the cross street. Both sides of Grove. But Third is the through street. I wasn’t supposed to slow down.’

‘Did Mr Newell advise you to use caution at that particular corner?’

‘No. Why would he?’

‘Did he see the woman before you did?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, did he say anything in warning?’

‘No. What his system is, he asks his students to tell him everything they see. He’ll say, “What do you see?” And you’ll answer, “A milk truck pulling in,” or “A girl on a bike,” or “A red light,” or “A car passing on my left,” like that. He doesn’t comment unless you don’t see something. Then he’ll say again, “What do you see now?” Emphasizing it. This way he knows everything going through our heads.’

‘When you approached that corner, did he ask you what you were seeing?’

‘No. In fact, he’d been very quiet. I thought I must have been driving exceptionally well. But it was a pretty quiet afternoon, anyway. No video games.’

‘No what?’

‘Video games. That’s what he called unexpected situations. When everything erupts as if you’re driving one of those cars in a video arcade? Six nuns on bicycles, a truck spinning out of control, a drunk staggering across the road. Video games.’

‘Did you at any time suspect that Mr Newell might be drunk? Or under the influence of drugs?’

‘Not until he got out of the car. After the accident.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Well, first off, he almost fell down. He grabbed the car for support and then started to walk towards the police officer, but he was weaving and... and stumbling... acting just like a drunk, you know, but I knew he couldn’t be drunk.’

‘How’d you know that?’

‘Well, he wasn’t drunk when we started the lesson, and he didn’t have anything to drink while we were driving, so how could he be drunk?’