Lying With Strangers

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “In a minute. I’ve got a few questions first.”

  “Can’t they wait?”

  “Not really.”

  Diana glanced toward the elevators. Knowles didn’t have the right to stop her. The hospital was a public building.

  Except Diana had no idea where to go. And she had questions of her own. Maybe more questions than Knowles.

  “He’s in intensive care,” the detective said. “His condition is critical but stable. One of our officers is standing guard.” Maybe his mouth hadn’t smiled in years, but his eyes were kind.

  Diana let herself be led to a cluster of chairs at one side of the lobby. She hadn’t taken time to comb her hair or apply lipstick, and she was still dressed in her Sunday sweats. She probably looked more like a bag lady than the wife of an assistant DA.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said, trying for a calm she didn’t feel. “Who shot him? How did it happen?”

  “We don’t know who shot him. It appears he walked in on an armed robbery at a convenience store in the Bayview district.”

  “Bayview?” One of the San Francisco’s high-crime neighborhoods. “What was he doing there?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.” Diana felt a new sense of urgency. Nothing this detective was telling her made any sense at all.

  “When I called you earlier, you said your husband was playing golf.”

  She nodded. “Please, can’t we do this later? I need to see my husband.”

  “The sooner we get some answers—”

  “I don’t have any answers,” Diana said tearfully. “Please, let me see him.”

  Knowles ran a hand along his jaw. “Fine. Follow me.”

  They rode the elevator to the fourth floor in silence. All the while Diana was surrounded by a sense of the surreal. This couldn’t really be happening. It had to be a bad dream. She just needed to hold on until she woke up.

  But after they’d entered the wide double doors of the ICU and signed in at the nurse’s station, and Diana finally saw her husband, she knew she wasn’t dreaming.

  Roy was a healthy, athletic man. A vibrant man. Yet here he was, still as a corpse. Lying in the narrow hospital bed with tubes and drips and beeping monitors, he looked frail and old. And half his normal size.

  “I’ll wait for you in the hallway,” Knowles said quietly.

  Diana stepped closer. A nurse was adjusting the flow of the IV into Roy’s arm.

  “How is he?” Diana asked.

  “Hanging on.”

  The answer was hardly reassuring. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “You’ll have to ask the doctor.” The nurse checked the flickering graph lines on the machine to Roy’s right and wrote something on his chart. “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.”

  “Alone” was a relative term in an ICU with twenty or so beds and almost as many nurses. Although no one was looking her way, Diana felt self-conscious when her eyes teared up. She brushed the tears away and touched Roy’s arm above where the IV went into his vein.

  “Hi, honey,” she whispered.

  Nothing, not even a change in the pattern of bleeps recorded by the bedside monitor.

  “Oh, Roy. What happened?” Diana swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I need you to be okay. You have to stay strong. You have to get better. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

  She leaned over the bed and touched her lips to Roy’s cool forehead, the only area of skin free of wires and tubes. “I love you, Roy. You’re going to be fine, you hear me? Jeremy and I are counting on you.”

  The nurse reappeared. “Visits in the ICU are limited to a few minutes. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “There’s a family lounge down the hall, but it’s a far cry from home. My advice is to make sure the front desk nurse has your contact numbers, then get some rest. You’ll need it in the days ahead.”

  *****

  Inspector Knowles waited for her outside the ICU.

  “I know you’re upset,” he said. “But I really need to ask you a few more questions. It’s important to get some answers if we’re going to catch whoever did this.”

  Diana pulled a tissue from her purse and blew her nose. “I don’t think I know anything that can help you.”

  “You told me your husband was playing golf,” Knowles said.

  “That’s what he told me, but he obviously wasn’t, was he?” The inspector probably thought she was some pathetic, clueless housewife whose husband strung her along with lies. Maybe she was.

  “What time was his game?” Knowles asked.

  “He didn’t have a scheduled tee time. He sometimes goes out to the club and either practices at the driving range or gets picked up as part of a foursome. He left the house about noon.”

  “And told you he was going to be playing in Oakland?”

  “Yes. Redwood Heights Country Club in the Oakland hills. He has a membership there.”

  “So you have no idea what he was doing in San Francisco?”

  “No idea whatsoever.” And that troubled Diana more than she wanted to admit.

  “Your husband’s an Alameda County DA, right? Maybe his trip to San Francisco had something to do with his job?”

  “If it was work related, he’d have told me. There was no need to lie about it.”

  Diana had worked in the DA’s office at one time. Administrative assistant, a fancy word for secretary, but she was no stranger to the kind of work Roy did.

  She gripped the wadded-up tissue in her fist. “Was anyone else hurt in the holdup?”

  “The store clerk. He died at the scene.”

  Diana pressed her knuckles to her mouth. This was the sort of thing you read about in the paper. It didn’t happen to people like her and Roy.

  “If anything comes to you,” Knowles said, handing her his card, “be sure to get in touch. That’s got my direct line as well as my cell. You can get word to me any time.”

  *****

  Diana remained at the hospital for another hour. She found the doctor on duty. He explained that while they’d stabilized Roy’s vital signs and stopped the bleeding, it was still too risky to go after the bullet. There was, he told her, quite a bit of internal damage.

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “Is he going to get better?”

  “I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.” The doctor looked down at his feet when he spoke, then raised his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry.”

  She returned to the ICU twice. Each time she was granted a short couple of minutes with her husband, who seemed less like the man she knew with each visit. He remained expressionless and unresponsive. Finally, Diana realized the nurse had been right. There was nothing she could do by staying there.

  Nothing but pray and cry. She did plenty of both on the long drive home.

  Chapter 3

  It was close to ten when Diana pulled up in front of Allison Miller’s compact, split-level home in the Oakland hills. She’d first met Allison when Emily and Allison’s daughter, Becca, had become best friends in second grade. Their daughters’ friendship had faded over the years, but Diana’s and Allison’s had grown deeper. Allison was not only Diana’s best friend, she was her only real friend. The kind you could speak your heart to and know your confidences wouldn’t be betrayed, or thrown back in your face at some later date.

  Allison’s fiancé, Len Phillips, answered the door when she rang. “How’s Roy? Is he okay?”

  “No, he’s not okay. I mean, he’s alive, but . . .” Diana’s voice caught.

  Len put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  Although he was a bit soft around the middle and the jowls, Len had the kind of sandy-haired good looks many women were attracted to. He’d moved in with Allison late last spring, after four months of dating, which Diana thought was way too soon. But Allison said she was tired of being alone, and besides, hadn’t Diana done pretty much the same th
ing? In fact, Diana had known Roy for seven months before getting married, but Allison said she was splitting hairs.

  Len worked for himself—something to do with property management that Diana never could quite understand. He was outgoing and amiable, if sometimes a bit too brash for her liking. Len was different in temperament and style from Roy, who tended to be more reserved and pensive. In fact, the two of them had taken an almost instant dislike to one another, an antipathy neither Allison nor Diana could understand. The men gamely made a show of putting feelings aside for the sake of the women, but the tension when they were all four together was palpable enough that those occasions were few and far between.

  Allison came into the hallway and gave Diana a warm hug. “How is he? How are you?” She pulled Diana into the den. “Have you eaten? Do you want a drink?”

  “Thanks but no. I just came to pick up Jeremy. How did he do?”

  “A little subdued, but basically he did fine. He’s upstairs now, asleep.” Allison took a seat next to Len on their honey-colored leather sofa. “So tell us. What in the world happened?”

  “Roy was shot,” Diana said, dropping into the matching leather armchair.

  “Shot?” Allison’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God.”

  The color drained from Len’s face. “How could he be shot?”

  “He’s in intensive care,” Diana said, “connected to more monitors and medical stuff than I’ve ever seen.” Her voice broke and she took a breath before continuing. “He’s unconscious. He didn’t respond at all to my being there.”

  Allison sucked in a breath. “How awful.”

  “What happened?” Len asked.

  “He apparently walked in on an armed robbery at a convenience store in the Bayview district of San Francisco.” Diana started crying in earnest. She’d kept it together most of the evening, but now it was all too much.

  Allison reached over and squeezed Diana’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What was he doing there?” Diana lamented “He told me he was going to play golf. He lied to me.”

  “I’m sure there’s a reason.”

  “Well, it can’t have been another woman,” Len said with a stab at levity. “Not in that part of town.”

  Allison shot him a nasty look.

  “Hey,” Len said, holding up his hands, “I was only trying to be helpful.”

  Allison turned her attention back to Diana. “Do they have any suspects? Any leads?”

  “No. And the detective didn’t sound particularly optimistic about it, either.”

  “Oh, Diana. I am so sorry. Something is bound to break. They’ll find whoever did this. You shouldn’t worry about that now. Roy needs all your attention.”

  Diana pulled a tissue from her purse and blew her nose. “You sure Jeremy was okay? He wasn’t too upset?”

  “I don’t think he really understands what’s happened. I fed him dinner and gave him a bath. He loves our Jacuzzi, if you remember. He fell asleep about half an hour ago while Len was reading to him.”

  “Thank you so much, both of you, for helping out on such short notice. I don’t know what I would have done—”

  “Don’t think twice about it,” Len said. “I just wish there was more—”

  “I know.”

  “Any time,” Allison said. “You know you can call us any time.”

  *****

  Diana carried Jeremy to the car, buckled him in and drove home, where she tucked him into bed. He stirred only once, opening his eyes to ask sleepily, “Is Daddy back yet?”

  “Not yet, honey. He’s sleeping at the hospital tonight.”

  Diana watched until Jeremy’s eyes closed again. He curled into a ball, breathing peacefully. She wished she could crawl into bed and fall into an equally mind-numbing and innocent sleep. But that wasn’t going to happen. Although her body ached with exhaustion, her mind was pounding a treadmill.

  She poured herself a glass of wine and made a fried egg sandwich.

  What was Roy doing at a convenience store in San Francisco? And why had he lied to her about his plans for the afternoon?

  Not another woman, Len had said. As inappropriate as Allison seemed to feel the comment was, Diana had found herself thinking the same thing. But if Roy was having an affair, it would be with some slender, young, high-achiever. They certainly wouldn’t rendezvous in a dangerous, violence-torn part of San Francisco.

  She mentally reviewed the events of that morning. Roy had been casual and chipper. Almost too cheerful now that she thought of it, as if his sudden decision to find a game of golf had been rehearsed rather than spontaneous. Yet she hadn’t made note of it at the time, so maybe she was imagining it now. He’d snarled at her only when she’d suggested he spend the afternoon with Jeremy instead of golfing. Of course, he hadn’t planned to be golfing at all.

  But Roy had been tenser than usual these past few weeks. She’d noticed that. Even mentioned the fact to Allison, who’d dismissed it as the fallout from a heavy workload and a high-pressure job. And just maybe the routine of an established marriage.

  Allison didn’t read much into nuance, but Diana did, and she was pretty well attuned to the shadows and overtones of her marriage. Something had been on Roy’s mind. He’d been absorbed of late, snapping at her and even at Jeremy, which was something he almost never did. And their lovemaking had become infrequent and mechanical. These were observations Diana had made to herself over the weeks, but until now she hadn’t really put them all together. In light of what had happened today, they painted a picture that left her feeling more than a little uneasy.

  *****

  At midnight, Diana called the hospital once more to check on Roy, and then climbed into bed. She slept in her clothes so that she could leave on a moment’s notice. Not that she expected to sleep. But she did.

  And it wasn’t until she awoke to go to the bathroom at four in morning that she remembered she hadn’t called Emily.

  Chapter 4

  Trace moaned and took a series of rapid, shallow breaths. “Jesus fucking Christ. It feels like my arm is on fire.”

  Chloe wiped his forehead. “The Vicodin should kick in before long,” she soothed. As soon as they’d struggled up the stairs to their tiny third-floor apartment, with Chloe acting like a living crutch and Trace dragging himself a step at a time, she’d given him one of the two remaining pills she’d been prescribed for an abscessed tooth last year.

  “It better work soon,” Trace said with a grimace. His skin was pale and clammy, his gaze unfocused. The bleeding had mostly stopped but Trace wouldn’t let her look at the wound, much less clean it. Maybe later, he’d told her, when the drugs had taken the edge off.

  “What’s in the canvas bag?” he asked.

  “Nothing valuable. Just some clothes and papers.” She didn’t mention the gun she’d found there.

  “Shit. Stupid guy ruined everything.”

  Chloe thought of the dark-haired man lying in a pool of his own blood. She again felt the rise of nausea in her throat. What had been ruined, she thought, was his life. And theirs. Not to mention the clerk’s.

  “It was all worked out,” Trace said. “Now we got nothing.”

  “What do you mean? What was all worked out?”

  “Hector and me, we had a plan.”

  “Hector?”

  “The guy behind the counter. It was all set. Him and me, we were going split the take.”

  An air bubble rose uncomfortably in Chloe’s chest. “The clerk was in on it?”

  Trace nodded and then winced as he shifted position. “Sunday’s a big day. The whole weekend’s worth of cash was in the till.”

  Chloe picked at her cuticles, a habit she’d broken years ago. “The clerk,” she said softly. “You knew him?”

  “Yeah. Well, sort of.”

  She clasped her hand to her mouth, afraid she really was going to be sick. “But you shot him! I think you killed him.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You hope so? Ho
w could you shoot a friend?”

  “I didn’t say he was a friend, I said I knew him.”

  “It’s the same—”

  “What? After the whole thing blew up you think he was going to keep his mouth shut? ‘Oh, no, Mr. Cop, I don’t have any idea who held me up and shot that dude who walked through the door. No, I can’t describe the shooter. I didn’t see nothing.’ You think that’s the way it would have gone down?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then you’re dumber than I thought. Let me tell you something, Chloe. It was him or me. You trust someone in a situation like that and you might as well put the gun to your own head.”

  *****

  Chloe bit her lip, hard. She wanted desperately to rewind the day to that morning when Trace had gently spread his fingers over the swell of her abdomen and teased her about names for the baby. She’d felt so full of hope, so much at peace. All she felt now was a brittle, cold fear.

  “We could have—”

  “Could have what? We can barely make it as it is. Having a fucking baby costs money.”

  Chloe shook her head. “But look what happened. What are we going to do now?”

  “Maybe if you’d stayed in the car like I told you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “You didn’t say—”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t gotten pregnant in the first place. Ever think about that, huh?”

  Chloe felt the sting of tears. It wasn’t the only time he’d said something like that, but it was the first time he sounded like he really meant it. “You dragged me into this, Trace. I could go to the cops right now and tell them what happened. I wasn’t part of it.”

  “Like hell you weren’t. You drove the getaway car. You’re an accomplice, Chloe. The law says you’re as much a part of this as I am.”

  “But I didn’t know—”

  “No one’s going to believe that.”

  An angry fear gnawed at Chloe’s gut. “How could you do this? How could—”

  “You think I liked shooting two guys? You think that makes me feel good? ’Cuz it doesn’t. It wasn’t like I planned it that way.”