Lisa Gardner - The Next Accident

"About the seat belt?" As long as they were being co-conspirators, Rainie lowered her voice, too.

"I didn't like the fact that lack of seat belt made it a fatality," Amity said, "and it just so happened that the seat belt was broken. So I called the garage that serviced the Explorer. Seems that the broken seat belt wasn't new; it happened a month before. The driver called about having it replaced. Even made an appointment. But she never came in."

"When was the appointment?"

"A week before the crash."

"Did the garage know why she canceled?"

"She called to say something had come up, she'd reschedule shortly." He shrugged. "So now we got a driver running around for four weeks without a proper harness system. Then she crawls behind the wheel dead drunk. I don't know about suspicious, ma'am, but in my book the accident is looking stupider all the time."

Rainie chewed her bottom lip. "I still don't like the nonoperative seat belt."

"Makes Daddy nervous," Officer Amity shrewdly guessed.

"Something like that. What about the pedestrian victim, the old man?"

"Oliver Jenkins. Lived one mile from the crash site. According to his wife, he always walked his dog along the road and she always told him it was dangerous."

"Any chance this had something to do with him?"

"Mr. Jenkins was a retired Korean War vet. He lived on a small pension from the state and loved butter pecan ice cream. No, I don't think he did anything to deserve being run over by a Ford Explorer. The dog, on the other hand, had a long history of eating shoes."

Big Boy's face remained so impassive; Rainie almost missed the sarcasm again. Were all Southern boys so charming, or was she just in for a special treat?

"No sign of braking," she tried, still working the suspicious angle.

"Never met a drunk who did."

"Could've gotten tapped by a second vehicle," she rallied.

"No fresh scratches, dents, or paint chips on the SUV. No marks on the tire walls. No additional sets of tire tracks. Look at your photos, ma'am."

Rainie scowled. Competent policemen could be such a pain in the ass. "What about a second person in the vehicle? A passenger?"

"I didn't see one."

"Did you look?"

"I looked in the passenger's seat. There was no one there."

"Did you dust for prints?"

Amity rolled his eyes. "What the hell would you gain by printing a car? First off, the dashboards and most side panels are too rough to yield a print. Second, the smooth surfaces that would work, such as seat belt clasps, door handles, or steering wheels, have been handled by so many Tom, Dick, and Harrys, you'd never get clean ridges. Again, I refer you to standard investigative procedures – "

"I get the point. You're the greatest police officer that ever lived and there is no evidence of a second person at the scene."

"Why, yes ma'am, I think we're finally in agreement."

Rainie smiled thinly at him. Then she leaned forward. "Did you happen to try the passenger-side door?"

Amity's eyes narrowed. She knew he followed her train of thought, because he started to nod. "As a matter offact…"

"The door was operable, wasn't it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And you looked down for footprints?"

"Too much undergrowth. Couldn't get a sign of anything."

"But you were looking. Officer. Why were you looking?"

Officer Amity grew silent. He said finally, "I don't know."

"Off the record."

"I don't know."

"Way off the record. You followed up on this case, Officer, even after you knew the driver was dying. As you kindly pointed out, you state boys are much too overworked to randomly do such a thing. Something bothered you. Something's still bothering you. I'm even willing to bet that you're not that surprised I'm here."

Officer Amity remained silent. Just when she thought he was going to continue to play hard to get, he said suddenly, "I didn't think I was alone."

"What?"

His lips thinned. He continued in a rush. "I was standing at the vehicle staring at that poor, poor girl and this guy is puking out his guts behind me and I swore… I swore to God I heard someone laughing."

"What?"

"Maybe it was all in my head. Jesus, the sun wasn't all the way up yet and it gets kind of hinky on those rural routes. All the trees and brush, half of it hasn't been cleared in the last fifty years. Million and a half places for someone to hide, if they had the mind to. I looked around, checked things out. Never saw a thing. Probably was all in my head. The puking Samaritan didn't help much either. He almost got my leg."

"I want to see the car."

"Good luck."

"Come on, just a quick peek in the impound lot."

Amity shook his head. "It's been fourteen months. Sure the vehicle started in our lot, but only until the insurance company settled. They took it away months ago, probably towed it to some salvage yard where it's already been broken down for parts."

"Shit," Rainie muttered. She worried her lower lip again, not expecting this and trying to think of more options. "I thought there was some rule that seat belts from a wrecked vehicle couldn't be resold as parts. They're no longer guaranteed after the first accident."

"Yes, ma'am."

"So in theory, the salvage yard should at least still have the seat belts."

He shrugged. "If they haven't tossed them into a dumpster by now."

"I'll take my chances. Name of the salvage yard?"

"Hell if I know. The insurance company handles all that."

"Officer…"

She gave him an intent look. He sighed heavily. "I suppose I could make a call…"

Rainie summoned her charming smile again. Officer Amity was a smart boy, though, because this time he merely grunted and shook his head.

"You should've opened with that, you know," he told her.

"With what?"

"That you used to be a cop."

"I was just a local. I'm surprised you could even tell."

"I got a good head for these things."

She nodded grimly. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."

Society Hill, Philadelphia

Bethie was nervous.She shouldn't be doing this. She liked her solitary lifestyle; she was comfortable spending her evenings alone. What had she been thinking? And did these earrings go with this dress? Maybe the earrings were too nice. Maybe the dress was too nice. Oh God, she was going to have to start over again and she was already five minutes late.

She changed from her little black dress to a below-the-knees black skirt with an electric blue satin top. More coverage; she liked that. But she kept the same tall, strappy heels. At her age she was proud of her calves and figured it didn't hurt to show them off. God knows she had a few extra pounds tucked in other locations, let alone what gravity had done to her butt. She had aged well, but on the eve of her first date in over two years, she still felt bitter about Father Time. How is it that men fill out with age, while women fall down?

Earrings. Which pair of earrings? Come on, Bethie, it's just a date. She grabbed the first gold pair she came to, told herself firmly that they were perfect and headed for the door.

She had not expected to have dinner with Mr. Shandling. It had started out as coffee yesterday evening. He felt so bad at having upset her, and she was too topsyturvy to resist. So he took her to one of South Street 's little cafes, plied her with cappuccino, and told her stories until the tears dried on her cheeks and she began to smile.

She stopped looking at his side so much. She started listening to his words more. Tales of travel to Ireland, England, Austria. Scuba diving off the coral reefs of Australia, shopping for precious gems in Hong Kong. He had a rich baritone voice, perfect for spinning fabulous tales and in the end, while she wasn't sure if one man could have really done all those things, she found that she didn't care. She liked listening to him talk. She liked watching the corner of his sparkling blue eyes crinkle every time he grinned. She liked the way he looked at her, as if his sole purpose in life was to make her happy.