Linwood Barclay - Parting Shot

“That’s quite a theory,” I said.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know what to think.”

“If you don’t know what to think, why’d you have to bring it all up in the first place?”

I sighed. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“That’s what bodyguards do? Mess with people’s heads?”

“I’m not a bodyguard, Jeremy. I’m a detective.”

“Well, you haven’t really been doing any detecting. You’ve just been looking out for me and driving me all over the place. It’s kind of like you’re taking me on a vacation, is all.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I hope you’ll give me a good review on TripAdvisor. I’m trying to up my five-star ratings.”

“I’m just sayin’, you’re messing with my head with all these crazy questions, but you don’t have any answers.”

“I’m hoping maybe you do.”

“Well I don’t, okay?” Jeremy shook his head with disgust and frustration. I certainly felt the latter. The feeling was disrupted by the ringing of my cell phone, which I had left on the small table next to me. I snatched it up, looked at the caller.

“I’m gonna take this inside.” I got out of the chair, slid open the sliding glass door, and took a seat on the couch. I put the phone to my ear. “Weaver.”

“It’s Bob.”

Bob Butler.

“Hi, Bob.”

“Glad I was able to catch you. I know you must be on the road somewhere.”

“Yeah,” I said. If he didn’t know where I was, then Madeline Plimpton clearly had not told him. And I was even more certain that she had not told Jeremy’s mother, Gloria.

“How’s Jeremy?” Bob asked.

“He’s good,” I said. I thought back to when he was pounding his fist into his leg, how I’d wondered whether the kid needed some kind of help, but decided this was not the time to get into that. “How are things at your end? How’s Gloria?”

“Well, she’s Gloria. But she’s okay.”

“You’re still at Madeline’s, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What can I do for you, Bob?”

He hesitated a moment, then said, “I had the strangest call from Grant Finch.”

“Okay.”

“He said you called him speculating that maybe Jeremy wasn’t driving the car that night.”

“That’s right,” I said evenly.

“Like, tell me about that.”

I told him, briefly, about our experiences in my Honda earlier that day.

“Jesus,” Bob said. “I mean, I don’t know what the hell to make of that.”

“Grant was rather dismissive,” I said. “But he clearly thought it was important enough to call and tell you.”

“Well, yeah. And he was still a bit dismissive about it, but he thought we needed to know you’d raised the point. The thing is...” His voice trailed off.

“The thing is what?” I asked.

“I’m not as inclined to discount it the way Grant did.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, what do you make of it?”

“At the very least, I think it should have been mentioned at the trial. Would have raised some reasonable doubt.”

“Reasonable doubt of what?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate. “Reasonable doubt about whether Jeremy was in the car to begin with.”

“That’s what I thought,” Bob said. “But we were there, we saw him get out.”

“But I haven’t heard of anyone who saw him get in.”

“God, Weaver, what are you saying?” When I didn’t answer right away, he said, “Are you thinking someone could have put him in the car? That someone else took the car, hit that girl, and then put Jeremy behind the wheel?”

“It’s one theory,” I said evenly.

“Do you have another one?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“What do you know about Charlene Wilson?”

“Jeremy’s friend?”

“That’s right. She’s made a point, twice, of seeing Jeremy in the last two days. I’m guessing she’s kept in touch with him before that.”

“Sure, yeah. They’re pretty close friends.”

“How close?”

“Uh, what are you asking?”

“Does Jeremy love her?”

“Love her?” Bob asked. “I mean, who knows what kinds of thoughts are swirling around in a boy’s head? I know he likes her. They’ve known each other a long time.”

“Do you think he loves her enough to take the blame for something she did?”

“Christ, Weaver, what are you getting at?”

“Look, this is just a theory at the moment. Maybe Charlene wasn’t driving that Porsche, but I’m as sure as I can be that Jeremy wasn’t.”

“This is... this is making my head spin.”

“You were at the party. Do you remember seeing Charlene? Was she drinking, too?”

“I just... I just don’t remember. I remember Alicia — that’s her mother — being there, and her husband, too.”

“The thing is, if Galen was dumb enough to leave that key in the car, even after the first time Jeremy tried to start it up, then anyone could have taken it. And whoever that was probably knows how Jeremy ended up behind the wheel.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to do with this speculation. I don’t know whether to tell Gloria. I think it would send her into a tailspin or something. But do you think, I mean, do you think there might be grounds for an appeal? That we could get this whole thing opened up again?”

“Did you ask Finch that question?”

“In a manner of speaking. But he said we as much as acknowledged Jeremy did it when we went with the defense that he didn’t understand the consequences of his actions. So we wouldn’t have much chance taking another run at it.”

“He’s the lawyer,” I said. “He knows this stuff better than I do.” I didn’t know if it was my place to say what I was going to say next, but what the hell. “I’m not sure Finch is acting in Jeremy’s best interests. Maybe you need to find him a different lawyer.”

Nothing at the other end of the call.

“Bob?” I said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. God, what a fucking mess. Look, I want to talk to you more about this, at least before taking it to Gloria. Where are you?”

“Like you said, we’re on the road.” For all I knew, someone might be listening in to Bob’s call, and I didn’t want to give our location away. “But we might be back soon. Why don’t we give it another day? Maybe we’ll be back in Promise Falls by then.”

“Okay, sure, that... that sounds good,” Bob said. “What’s Jeremy say about all this?”

“He’s either entirely baffled or doing a good job pretending to be. But Bob, something is not right about this.”

“I agree,” he said. “Well... keep in touch.”

“Sure thing.”

Bob ended the call.

When I went back out to the deck, Jeremy asked, “Who was that?”

“Bob.”

“You tell him your nutso theory?”

“What’s to tell? Like you said, you must be the first person in history who mastered the art of shifting while impaired.”

Jeremy nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Albert quickly wheeled his car into the driveway, bringing the nose to within an inch of the garage. It was a separate building at the back of the lot, large enough to hold two cars, with two doors.

He leapt from the car, engine running, and twisted the handle in the center of the right door. He hoisted it up, pushed it into the ceiling, then got back in behind the wheel and hit the gas. The car jumped so abruptly that he didn’t have a chance to fully close his door before it hit the frame of the garage opening.

He slammed on the brakes, killed the engine, jumped out and brought the garage door back down. Then he leaned forward and placed his hands atop his knees, struggling to catch his breath.