Sue Grafton - T Is For Trespass

“And that’s twenty-five miles an hour?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Can you remember how far away Ms. Ray’s vehicle was when you first noticed it?”

“I remember she was over to my right in that entrance to the parking lot up at the City College. Millard was just about passing when she come flying out in front of me. Boom! He slammed on the brakes, but not near quick enough. I was never so surprised in my life and that’s the truth!”

“Was her left turn signal blinking?”

“I don’t believe it was. I’m sure not.”

“What about your turn signal?”

“No, ma’am. He didn’t intend to turn. We were fixing to continue on down the hill to Castle.”

“I believe there was some question about your seat belt?”

She shook her head emphatically. “I never ride in a car without a seat belt. It might’ve come loose on impact, but I was wearing one for sure.”

I took a moment to review my notes, wondering if there was any way to throw her off her stride. The well-rehearsed data was getting old. “Where were you going?”

That stumped her. She blinked and said, “Where?”

“I’m wondering where the two of you were going when the accident occurred. I’m filling in the blanks.” I held up my clipboard as though that explained everything.

“I forget.”

“You don’t remember where you were going?”

“I just said that. You told me to say so if I couldn’t remember and I can’t.”

“Fine. That’s exactly right.” I stared at my clipboard and made a mark. “If it would help refresh your memory, could you have been heading for the freeway? From Castle, you can take the north-or southbound on-ramps.”

Gladys shook her head. “Ever since the accident my memory’s shot.”

“Were you running errands? Grocery shopping? Something for dinner perhaps?”

“Must have been errands. I’d say errands. You know, I might have amnesia. Doctor says it’s not uncommon in accidents of this type. I can’t hardly concentrate. That’s why I can’t work. I can’t sit and I can’t think. Work I do, that’s all it is, except for add and subtract and stamping envelopes.”

I looked down at my notes. “You mentioned a concussion.”

“Oh, I banged my head good.”

“On what?”

“Windshield, I guess. Might have been the windshield. I still got me a knot,” she said, placing a hand briefly on the side of her head.

I placed my hand on the left side of my head as she had. “On the left side up here or in back?”

“Both. I got bumped ever which way. Here, feel this.”

I reached forward. She clasped my hand and pressed it against a hard knot about the size of a fist. “My goodness.”

“You better make a note of it,” she said, pointing at my clipboard.

“Absolutely,” I said, scribbling on the page. “What happened after that?”

“Millard was shook up as you might well imagine. He soon discerned he wasn’t hurt, but he could see I was out like a light, knocked completely unconscious. As soon as I regained my senses, he helped me out of the van. Wasn’t easy for him since he had to get situated in his chair and lever himself down to the pavement. I couldn’t hardly tell where I was at. I was all dizzy and discombobulated and shaking like a leaf.”

“You must have been upset.”

“Why wouldn’t I be when she pulled out in front of us?”

“Of course. Let’s just see now.” I paused to check my notes. “Aside from you and your husband and Ms. Ray, was there anyone else at the scene?”

“Oh, my yes. Someone called the police and they come pretty quick, along with the fellers in the amulance.”

“I’m talking about prior to their arrival. Did anyone stop to help?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe so. Not that I recall.”

“I understood that a gentleman was giving aid and assistance before the traffic officer showed up.”

She stared at me, blinking. “Well, yes, now you mention it. I’d forgot about that. While Millard was checking the van, this feller helped me over to the curb. He set me down and put his arm acrost my shoulders, worried I’d go into shock. That flew right out of my head until just now.”

“This was another motorist?”

“I believe this was someone come off the street.”

“Can you describe the man?”

She seemed to hesitate. “Why do you want to know?”

“Ms. Ray was hoping to find him so she could send a thank-you note.”

“Well.” She was silent for a full fifteen seconds. I could see her computing the possibilities in her head. She was wily enough to realize that anyone who showed up that quickly might well have been a witness to the accident.

“Mrs. Fredrickson?”

“What?”

“Nothing about the man sticks in your mind?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. Millard might recall better than me. By then, this right hip was giving me so much pain I’m surprised I was able to stand. If you had the X-ray here, I could point out the injured ribs. Dr. Goldfarb said I was lucky the crack in my hip wasn’t more severe or I’ve been laid up for good.”

“What about his race?”

“He’s white. I wouldn’t go to any other kind.”

“I mean the man who helped.”

She shook her head with a fleeting annoyance. “I wasn’t paying attention to much except I was glad my leg wasn’t broke. You’d have been glad, too, in my place.”

“What age would you say?”

“Now I can’t be answering questions like that. I’m getting all flustered and upset and Dr. Goldfarb says that’s not good. Not a bit good he said.”

I continued to look at her, noting her gaze flick away from mine and back. I returned to my list of questions and chose a few that seemed neutral and noninflammatory. In the main, she was cooperative, but I could see her patience was wearing thin. I tucked my pen in the clamp of the clipboard and reached for my shoulder bag as I got to my feet. “Well, I think that’s all for now. I appreciate your time. Once I type up my notes, I’ll stop by and have you read the statement for accuracy. You can make any necessary corrections, and once you’re satisfied it’s a faithful rendering, you can give me a signature and I’ll be out of your hair.”

As I clicked off the tape recorder, she said, “I’m happy to help. All we want is what’s fair, given the fault was entirely hers.”

“Ms. Ray is interested in that as well.”

From the Fredricksons’ house, I swung up to Palisade Drive and turned right, taking the same route Gladys had taken the day of the accident. I passed City College, eyes flicking to the entrance to the parking lot. I followed the road as it curved down the hill. Where Palisade intersected Castle, I took a left and followed it as far as Capillo, where I turned right. Street traffic was moving freely and it took me less than five minutes to reach the office. The sky was cloudy and there was talk of isolated thunderstorms, which I thought unlikely. For reasons I’ve never wholly understood, Santa Teresa has a rainy season but seldom any thunderstorms. Lightning is a phenomenon I’ve witnessed largely by way of black-and-white photographs, showing white threads lying flat against the night sky like irregular cracks in glass.

Once I was back in the office, I set up a file and then typed my notes. I put Lana Sherman’s résumé in the folder with Solana Rojas’s application. I could have tossed it, but why not hang on to it since I had it in hand?

Wednesday morning, when Melanie called, I gave her the Reader’s Digest condensed version of my findings, at the end of which, she said, “So she’s fine.”

“Looks that way,” I said. “Of course, I didn’t turn over every rock in the garden.”