Linwood Barclay: Parting Shot

But at the last booth, right ahead of the door to the kitchen, I could make out half a body. A leg, part of a shoulder, an arm on the table.

I walked past the other booths, and when I got to the last one, I offered up a smile.

“You still thinking of selling that Porsche?” I asked.

Galen Broadhurst looked too stunned to answer.

Galen Broadhurst’s body language told me he was seriously considering slipping out of the booth and making a run for it.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said, sliding in across from him. “You might be able to outrun me in your Porsche, but on foot, you haven’t got a chance.”

Broadhurst resignedly shifted his butt back to the center of the bench. The table between us was bare.

“You didn’t order anything?” I said. “The coffee’s very good here.” I gave a wave to the waitress, who shuffled down our way. “Hey, Sylvie, how’s it going?”

“Good, Cal,” she said. “You?”

“Just great. Two coffees, I guess.” I glanced at Broadhurst. “Or are you a tea man?”

“Coffee,” he said quietly.

“Anything to eat?” Sylvie asked.

I pursed my lips. “I think we’ll just start with coffee and see where it goes from there.”

Sylvie nodded and slid away.

I turned to look at Broadhurst. “In the movies, this is where you’d say you thought I was dead.”

“I’m not saying a fucking thing,” he said. “You’re probably wired for sound anyway.”

“Would you like to check?” I asked, and held out my arms, inviting him to pat me down.

“Open your shirt,” he said.

I smiled and as I undid the buttons said, “A little musical accompaniment would be nice.”

I opened my shirt wide to reveal my chest and stomach. No wire, no eavesdropping devices.

“Satisfied?” I said.

Broadhurst made a grunting noise. I did up my buttons quickly. Didn’t want to give Sylvie heart palpitations.

“You know who I thought you were going to be?” I said.

Broadhurst waited.

“Grant Finch. Your lawyer friend, who did such a standup job defending Jeremy. Because it was him I raised my concerns with. So I guess then he talked to you to discuss our phone call. And you got very, very scared. Sound about right?”

Broadhurst remained silent.

“You want to know what tipped me first that something just didn’t fit right? And this was even before I found out Jeremy couldn’t drive a stick to save his life. That bullshit story that you left the keys in the car. Even after you found a drunk Jeremy and Sian McFadden sitting in it, trying to start it. That, as they say, beggared belief. You initially left your keys in the ashtray. Okay, I can buy that, since the car was right out front of your house, and the house is set way back from the road, so the risk of theft is minimal. But then Jeremy finds the key, tries to start the beast. You intercede. Then we’re supposed to believe you still left the keys in the car. And you love that car. Who wouldn’t?”

I lowered my voice conspiratorially, leaned in. “I have to be honest here. When I called about the car, like I was interested in buying it? I’m not. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”

I sat back up. “Anyway, I believe you held onto the keys. So, if you had ’em, stands to reason that when that car started up, you were behind the wheel.” I studied his face, looking for a reaction. “Am I boring you?” I asked.

Sylvie showed up with two china mugs of coffee.

“Oh, this is great,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ve needed a coffee more. There you go, Galen.”

We each had our mugs in front of us.

“Cream and sugar’s right there,” Sylvie said, pointing to the far end of the table to the chrome holder that also contained ketchup and mustard, salt and pepper.

“Allow me,” I said, reaching for the glass jar of sugar and a small metal jug of cream.

“Not really thirsty,” Broadhurst said.

“Suit yourself.” I took a sip of coffee and smiled. “Thanks, Sylvie. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”

“You’re so full of it,” she said. “If you boys get hungry, let me know. We got a pancake special.”

“Ooohh, let me think about that,” I said.

Sylvie understood that she was being dismissed, and left.

“So, where were we?” I said to Broadhurst. “You got in the car. You drove it. You ran down Sian McFadden. But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. How’m I doing so far?”

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Ah, he speaks,” I said. “I’ve come to do you a favor. I’ve already done you a solid.”

“What’s that?”

“Your friend Gregor Kiln.”

Broadhurst blinked. “I don’t know—”

I held up a hand. “Please. Don’t embarrass yourself. And you didn’t let me finish. I’ve got good news.”

Broadhurst eyed me like a mouse waiting to hear the cat’s deal. “What?”

“Kiln’s dead. I killed him.”

Broadhurst swallowed.

“So he’s not going to be telling anyone about you hiring him. But I have to say, he wasn’t very good.”

Hesitantly, Broadhurst asked, “What about the kid?”

“Jeremy?” I smiled and shook my head. “He’s alive, but he’s not going to be a problem for you.”

“How do you mean?”

I leaned forward again. “This whole stick-shift thing I raised with Finch? I never brought it up with Jeremy. Far as he knows, he still drove that car. He doesn’t even know it’s got a manual transmission. I don’t know if you and Grant gave that a thought. I guess it never even came up. So, anyway, that problem is no longer on the table. The kid thinks he did it.”

“Okay,” he said slowly.

“And he doesn’t know about Kiln. I caught the son of a bitch setting fire to the beach house. Took him out fast. Bundled him up, weighted him down, took him out into Cape Cod Bay. He’s not going to be coming back up.” I smiled. “I know how to do these things.”

“But... the fire...”

I shrugged. “Arson. Told the cops that all sorts of Internet whackjobs have been trying to get Jeremy. Could have been any one of a thousand nuts. That was the plan, right? That the cops would think it was one of them, not a targeted hit because of what I’d figured out.”

Broadhurst wrapped his hands around the warm mug of coffee.

“So here’s the thing,” I said. “You’re pretty much in the clear. Only one who really knows the score who shouldn’t is me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Let me guess.”

I smiled. “I bet you’re going to get this right.”

“How much?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “But before we talk money, I just want to know what happened after you ran down the girl? Did you even try to save her?”

A long pause. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, I would have tried, if she’d been alive. I would have done the right thing.”

“Of course you would.”

“I... I had an argument with one of the party guests. This woman I’d been seeing. Stupid bitch said I’d been fooling around on her.”

I grinned. “Was she right?”

Broadhurst grimaced. “Kinda. Anyway, I’d had a little too much to drink, and said some things, and I needed to blow off some steam. I slipped out the back door of the house, came around to the front and got in the car. Took off up the road and... You have to understand, I wasn’t drunk. Even though I’d had a few drinks. I wasn’t weaving around or anything.”

He let go of the mug, made two fists and pushed them into his eyes. “It was a total accident. It was the girl ’s fault.”

“Shit happens,” I said offhandedly.

“She... she just came out of nowhere. Ran across the road, right in front of me. I tried to swerve, to miss her, but I still caught her... and then I ran into the tree. I got out, I ran over... Oh Jesus.”