Getting Away Is Deadly

by Sara Rosett

  “What?”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned across the table. In a quiet tone she said, “They think he was pushed. They’ve got photos from the security cameras and they’re talking to everyone who was on the platform.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you can prove you were at the Archers’ house. Believe me, I’ve dealt with the police before and you don’t want to get…” I trailed off as I realized Summer’s face had a slightly pinched look. “What? You can’t prove it?”

  “No. I called you early in the day yesterday and I didn’t make any phone calls from the Archers’ house. And no one saw me yesterday afternoon either. Well, Emma saw me, but I doubt they’re going to take the word of a four-year-old. And she slept most of the afternoon anyway.”

  “Still. That’s no reason to worry. Surely, the video will show what happened—show who pushed him.”

  “Apparently not.” Summer shifted and kept her eyes on the table. “They weren’t telling me much, but Tony, that’s Ms. Archer’s assistant, he found out from Ms. Archer that the video ‘isn’t conclusive.’ There’s a crowd of people around Jorge and they can’t tell who pushed him.”

  “But then how are they sure it wasn’t an accident?” I pressed.

  “They isolated one shot from the camera seconds before he went over the edge. There’s a hand on the man’s back, shoving him. They’re just not sure who the hand belongs to. It’s too far away to get any details about the hand—no rings or nail polish. Of course, they were able to eliminate Ms. Archer and Tony.”

  “Wait. You said a name—Jorge?” It wasn’t just the fact that she’d said the name that caught my attention. It was the way she’d said it, casually, like she’d said it before.

  Summer studied the table more intently. “Jorge, the man who died.”

  “But how do you know who he was? His name wasn’t in the paper. Did the police tell you?”

  “No,” Summer said.

  “You knew him?”

  Summer shrugged and said, “It’s nothing. He was the Archers’ yardman. He was around their house.”

  “So the police know that you knew him.”

  “I didn’t tell them.”

  There was something about the way she was determinedly not looking at me that worried me. Having a kid taught you all sorts of suspicious body language. “How well did you know him?”

  “Not that well.”

  “Summer.”

  “Okay.” She looked up at me and said, “I knew him. He asked me out. He was good-looking, but there was something…I don’t know…cold about him. You know me, I don’t care what people do. It didn’t matter to me that he was a landscaper or that some people would think he was a little too old for me. Anyway, I turned him down politely. Then he got—persistent. It was kind of scary, so I went to the police to see if I could get a restraining order.”

  “So the police know all this?” I put down my glass.

  “No,” she said disdainfully. “I talked to the police on campus. They don’t have any connection with the people who questioned me today.”

  “They’ll find out, though, if you filed a report or a complaint. They’ll make the connection eventually. You should call them and tell them. It’s not going to look good if they find out later. They’ll think you’re hiding something.”

  Summer leaned in again, bracing her forearms on the table. “But I didn’t file a report. I only asked some questions.” She must have been able to see that I wasn’t convinced. “Ellie, do you have any idea how many people die in this city every year? Hundreds. It isn’t called the ‘Murder Capital’ for nothing. Then there’s the other crimes—rape, robbery, carjackings. Pretty soon Jorge’s death will be buried under the avalanche of other crimes.”

  An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip

  Travel guides

  A good travel guide can be your most valuable resource on the road. Find the one that best suits your type of trip. Some travel guides focus on bringing the place alive visually with lots of color photos and maps. Others are heavy on text. Some guides specialize in off-the-beaten-track locales, while others spotlight traditional stops that are usually on the most popular tourist itineraries. There are even guides for traveling with kids and pets. Your local library will probably have a wide variety of guides that you can browse before purchasing some for your trip.

  Chapter Four

  Later that night, Summer swung her RAV4 into the hotel’s drop-off lane and hopped out. I’d suggested Italian instead of Thai, since I was avoiding spicy food. We’d gorged ourselves on bread-sticks and pasta. When Mitch asked what delayed her, she’d dismissed the police questioning as a routine interview. “They talked to everyone in the office because they were all in the Metro that day.” She’d jumped to another topic and kept the conversation away from Jorge’s death. After dinner, she’d driven us around on a night tour of the capital. The monuments were majestic and imposing as they glowed against the black sky.

  As she hugged me, she whispered, “Please don’t tell Mitch about Jorge. He’ll overreact.” She released me and looked at me with raised eyebrows. I didn’t want to keep anything from Mitch, but this was her brother and I’d let her tell him about the investigation in her own time. Maybe she was right and the investigation would peter out on its own and that would be the end of it. “All right,” I said.

  She grinned. “It was so good to see you all. Have a great time on the rest of your trip. Call me if you have more free time, Ellie.”

  She hugged Mitch and he said, “Good to see you, too.” We turned to walk into the hotel, but Mitch swiveled around and rapped on the passenger window. Summer rolled it down and he leaned an arm on the top of the car. “Hey, stay in school. You’re not going to drop out before the semester is over, right? You’re not thinking of, I don’t know, going to cooking school or heading off to walk the Great Wall of China, are you?”

  Summer scowled at him. “No. Bye.” She rolled the window up before he could tease her anymore and roared into the traffic.

  Mitch cringed as a truck slammed on its brakes to avoid the RAV4’s bumper.

  I said, “You know she’s only driving like that to get back at you for teasing her. She was a great driver the rest of the night.”

  “I couldn’t help it. She’s always been so erratic that I have a hard time believing she’s not going to do something crazy like drop out.”

  “Hey, did you get a chance to call the squadron today?” I asked.

  “No news.”

  “Oh.” I tried to be philosophical. We’d find out soon and it wasn’t like there was anything we could do about getting ready for a move while we were on vacation, but I just wanted to know.

  We were almost to the elevators when a man stepped in front of me and said, “Ellie Avery?”

  He didn’t look like anyone from Mitch’s training class. Everything about him was long and thin, from his sheer blond hair that drooped over his forehead to his skinny nose that parted his elongated face. Even his extended hand had long slender fingers.

  “Yes, I’m Ellie,” I said as I shook his hand.

  “Detective Mansfield from the Metropolitan Police.” He showed us his badge and shook hands with Mitch after he introduced himself.

  “If you’ll just step over here, I need to ask you a few questions.” He led the way to a set of four square ottomans. I picked the orange one and plopped down. My jean-clad knees popped up above my waist. There’s really no elegant way to sit on an orange ottoman when you’re pregnant and tired. I shifted around a bit, but I still felt like I was sitting on a beanbag. Mitch sat down beside me and Detective Mansfield took the yellow ottoman across from us. “Did you talk to Jay MacInally today?”

  I’d braced myself for questions about Summer and the man in the Metro, so it took me a few seconds to place the name. “Jay? Oh. MacInally. I think of him as Mr. MacInally. Um…no, I didn’t talk to him today. In fact, he was supposed to meet me here this morning
, but he didn’t show up.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. MacInally was involved in an accident. He’s in the hospital.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “You know how doctors are. They don’t like to give any info anymore.” He hadn’t really answered my question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “How do you know Mr. MacInally?”

  I scooted around on the ottoman, trying to find a place that didn’t make me sink down several inches. “I don’t really. My cousin tracked him down and wanted to talk to him because he knew her dad, my uncle. They were stationed together in Korea. Her dad died over there and she wanted to talk to MacInally about it.”

  “So you’ve never met him?”

  “No. Debbie, that’s my cousin…” I noticed he was jotting her name down in a notebook, so I slowed down and said, “Debbie Corder. She lives in Texas, I can give you her phone number. She talked to him several times. At first, I think she contacted him by e-mail, but I know that they talked on the phone when she had to cancel her trip. That’s why I was going to meet with him. Debbie couldn’t come and she asked me to talk to him.”

  “And he knew you were coming in her place?”

  “Yes. I called and set up a time to meet.” I looked at Mitch. “It was Sunday, right?”

  He nodded and switched his attention back to the police detective. I tried to read Mitch’s expression, but he kept it neutral. I bet he wasn’t thrilled, though. I can’t say he’d ever been happy when I’d had to talk to the police before.

  “So you talked to him Sunday and didn’t hear from him again?”

  “Right. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Mansfield put the notepad and pencil away in his jacket and rubbed his slender hands down his long legs. I wondered if he played basketball. He had the build for it. “Apparently, MacInally was slugging this morning.” He paused, realizing we didn’t know what he was talking about. “Slugging is like carpooling, except people don’t usually know the people they ride with. Commuters park their car in a commuter lot and catch a ride with any car that’s going into town. Drivers pick up passengers so they can drive in the carpool lane.

  “MacInally’s car is still parked in the commuter lot, so we think he parked and caught a ride with another driver. Whoever picked up MacInally pulled off the interstate about twenty-five miles away from the commuter lot, beat him up, took his wallet and briefcase, and left him. A woman walking her dog behind her condos found him this afternoon. He’d managed to crawl to a gravel access road that wrapped around the back of the condos.

  “We found a paper with your name and this hotel phone number in his pocket. That’s how we found you.”

  I sat there, stunned. “That’s terrible.” Violence, even at a distance, was shocking. Finally, I asked which hospital he was in.

  “St. Simon’s Memorial. He can’t have any visitors now. Here’s my card. Let me know if you remember anything else that might be helpful.”

  I thrashed about for a few seconds and finally managed to stand up from the ottoman. Mitch and I went to the elevators in silence. Once the doors closed I said, “Can you believe that?”

  Mitch shook his head. “No. I thought the crime rate was down in D.C.”

  “Well, if it is, I’d hate to be here when it’s up. And that slugging thing. I wouldn’t get in a car with a stranger.”

  The doors opened and we walked down the hall to our room. “The guy that taught our class today mentioned it. He does it every day—must be pretty common around here.”

  I felt disoriented like I’d spun around a few times and then tried to walk while the room revolved around me. Mitch put his arm around my shoulders. “You okay?”

  I registered that he wasn’t mad about the police visit. His easy smile and manner were back. “That whole conversation has thrown me off. What was it that we were supposed to do when we got to the hotel? Livvy. What time is it?” I asked as I pulled out my phone.

  “Nine-thirty.”

  “That makes it seven-thirty in Texas.” Livvy would probably still be up. I dialed my parents’ number as Mitch slid the key card into our door. My mom answered and I asked, “How’s everything going?”

  “We’re fine. Well…a little tired, but we just got Livvy to bed and she’s already asleep. We took her to the park this afternoon and it really tired her out.”

  “Oh. Well.” I forced some cheerfulness into my tone. “That’s great. I’m glad it’s going so well.”

  I heard my mom stifle a yawn. Keeping up with a preschooler could really wear you out. “Look, I know you’re tired. I’ll call back in the morning.”

  We said good-bye and I tossed the phone back in my purse and flopped onto the bed. “What kind of mother am I? I forgot to call and tell Livvy good night.”

  Mitch came over and sat down. He pulled off one of my shoes and rubbed my foot. “You’re a good mom. You’ve been enjoying yourself and Livvy is fine.”

  “I know she’s fine, but doesn’t she miss us?”

  Mitch said, “I’m sure she misses us. Besides, you wouldn’t want her to be miserable, would you?”

  “No. I’m glad she’s happy, but I wish she missed us—well, okay, me—a little bit. I mean, I’ve taken care of her since birth and she doesn’t miss me at all? And I do feel bad that we forgot to call.”

  “Well, having a police detective show up unexpectedly will throw you off your stride,” Mitch said as he moved to my other foot.

  “I know.”

  “Why are you frowning?” Mitch asked.

  “Summer seemed awfully nonchalant about talking to the police today. I’d have thought she’d been more, I don’t know, worried or bothered by it.”

  “Yeah. That’s Summer. Nothing fazes her. I just hope she stays in school. I can see her dropping out next month to do something insane like become a mime or something.”

  “You’re awful. You know she’s not going to do that. I think she’s grown up a lot more than you give her credit for.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Do me a favor. Set the alarm on your watch so I won’t forget to call Livvy in the morning.”

  “She’ll probably talk your ear off,” Mitch said as he set the alarm, then went back to rubbing my feet. “Now where were we?”

  Wednesday

  The next morning, Livvy still wasn’t interested in talking. I was in a huff when I went down to the lobby. I knew it was silly to feel disgruntled because Livvy wouldn’t say more than two or three words to me, but I couldn’t help it. I was so distracted that I almost collided with a young guy in a gray hooded sweatshirt, who was listening to music on his iPod. I maneuvered around him and went through the breakfast buffet, then joined the tour group at the tables.

  Abby put down a plate heaped with waffles, fresh fruit, and eggs beside me before she sat down. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

  “I’m a little disappointed. And I know it’s ridiculous, but Livvy is having such a good time at my parents’ house that she barely has time to speak to me. This morning she said exactly two sentences. She likes Lucky Charms and she wants to know why we can’t have them at our house every day. Then she dropped the phone because my dad was going to the store and she wanted to ride along. She probably didn’t even brush her teeth.”

  Across the table from us, Gina dumped a pile of pills of all sizes and colors into her palm. “Vitamins,” she explained and downed them with several gulps of juice, then said, “Just be glad she’s eating breakfast. When they get to be teenagers they barely get up in time to get dressed and run out the door. And forget about them brushing their teeth.”

  “How old are your kids?” I asked as I cut my French toast.

  “Stepkids. Seventeen and fifteen. Two boys.”

  Nadia set her camera on the table beside her plate. She looked scandalized. “But breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I can really tell a difference between my students who’ve eaten breakfast and the ones who haven’t. The ones who haven’t always get cranky
before snack time.”

  Gina peeled her banana and said, “Teenagers are always cranky. What grade do you teach, again?”

  “First. I love it. The kids are cute and they’re so excited to be in school.”

  “Teenagers aren’t excited about anything,” Gina said.

  Nadia sat up straighter. “I’m sure it’s an act with them. They’re just trying to be cool.”

  “Of course it’s an act,” Gina said.

  In an obvious effort to keep them from coming to blows, Abby pulled out her itinerary. “So let’s see. What’s on the agenda today? It’s ‘Memorial Day.’ Jefferson, Lincoln, and Washington plus a few war memorials.”

  Wellesley arrived, her corkscrew curls bobbing against the barrettes that held them back. “Good morning, ladies,” she said. In her sleeveless white sundress she looked like she was ready for a garden party. “This is our group today. Irene isn’t feeling well, so she won’t be joining us. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go to the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorial. Then after lunch, we’ll see the Washington Memorial.”

  “Are we taking the Metro today?” Abby asked.

  “Not this morning. It would be quite a hike from the nearest Metro station, especially for our moms-to-be. I was planning on driving us to the Jefferson Memorial first and then up to the Lincoln Memorial. From there, we can walk to the war memorials and the Washington Monument.”

  “That would be great. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go back to the Metro.” Nadia shivered. “It was awful.”

  Gina shrugged. “I don’t think it will bother me. It was just a onetime thing. And we’ll have to ride the Metro again sometime. It’s the easiest way to get around this city.”

  Wellesley nodded. “That’s true, but we can skip it for today.”

  Should I tell them the death wasn’t an accident? I wondered what their reactions would be, especially Wellesley’s. My cell phone rang before I could decide. I was surprised to see Summer’s name on the caller ID. I hadn’t expected to hear from her again while we were in town. “Hi, Ellie,” she said brightly. “You’re probably surprised to hear from me, but I have a favor to ask. You’re not in the middle of a tour or something, are you?”