I tried to laugh, but it came out sort of hoarse. ''I think it looks worse than it is.'' But I wasn't sure about that. I didn't want to pull the towel off and see the damage.
He left me at the desk, where I gave them all my insurance information and wondered if I had to sign a contract offering up my first-born child as well. It didn't take him long to park the SUV before he was back, sitting next to me as we waited.
And waited. And waited.
''This was a bad idea,'' I said after two hours. Two hours of being very aware of the pain in my hand. Too aware to really concentrate on anything except the fact that I was still sitting there. Every seat was filled with sick and injured people. What the hell did everyone do on weekends to end up here? ''Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I can put one of those, you know, butterfly bandages on it.'' I started peeling back the fabric, but it was stuck to the wound and as I pulled on it, it started to bleed again. It was only about an inch long, but even I could see it was deep. My head suddenly became rather light; I felt Vinny's hand on the back of my neck, pushing so I found myself with my head between my knees, the floor swirling in front of my eyes.
Somewhere in the distance I heard Vinny's voice calling out that I needed help, that I was passing out, and within seconds I was in a wheelchair behind a white curtain, a doctor about twelve years old flashing a light into my eyes.
I shoved it away. ''Jesus, it's not my eyes, it's my hand. I cut it,'' I growled, holding out the bloody mess so he could see it.
He didn't seem to care that it hurt like a son of a bitch when he probed it. ''Stitches,'' he said. ''You need stitches.''
Now I'd gotten through almost forty years without a fucking stitch anywhere. And here I was, in a bright yellow beacon of a rain slicker in a wheelchair with Doogie Howser preparing to stick a needle and thread into my hand. What was wrong with this picture?
Oh, yeah, Vinny wasn't here. ''Where's my friend?'' I asked as a nurse washed my wound, searching it for any stray shards before they sewed me up.
''He can't come in here,'' she said grimly, pulling something out of my hand and dropping it in a metal dish.
I must have worked through the pain, or it was the Novocain shot they gave me, because by the time the third stitch went into my hand, I was watching the whole thing like I was on the goddamn Discovery Channel.
The nurse put a big Band-Aid over the wound, trying to shape it a little over the joint. I figured it would last maybe half an hour, if that.
''When was your last tetanus shot?'' she asked.
''Beats the hell out of me,'' I said.
She seemed to take a lot of pleasure in sticking that needle in my arm.
Vinny was waiting for me in the same chair he was in an hour ago. He stood up as I came out, and I could see the relief on his face. He smiled, and I nodded.
''I'm okay,'' I said as I approached. I held out my hand, twisting it a little so he could see the bandage. ''Just call me Frankenstein.''
He chuckled and put his arm around me. ''Come on. I'll take you home.''
I stopped. ''What about my car?''
''I'll get Rocco, and we'll go pick it up and bring it around. Don't worry about it.''
''I need to pick up a prescription.'' I waved it in his face. ''Percocet. For the pain.''
''All you need is a brandy and bed,'' he said, his eyes lingering on mine as he said ''bed.''
''Jesus, Vinny, I've been wounded. I'm not sure I'm in the mood.'' But even as I said it, I knew I'd be able to muster up the energy. It had been a long time, and his five o'clock Don Johnson shadow was looking mighty fine.
He grinned, but didn't say anything. He just leaned over and whispered, ''I'm just glad you're okay.'' And he kissed me, on the sidewalk, and I didn't even give a shit that my hood was down and my hair was getting soaked again.
My phone was ringing as I opened the door to my apartment. I wasn't inclined to answer it, since Vinny already had my slicker off and was working on pulling my fleece over my head. Gently, of course, so it wouldn't hurt my hand.
But when the machine kicked in, Tom's voice made us freeze.
''Annie, if you're there, pick up. Please.'' His voice was unfamiliar in worry. It threw me off guard, and I picked up the phone, shrugging back into my pullover.
''Yeah, Tom? I just got in.'' I ignored Vinny's frown.
''Jesus, Annie, what's going on?'' The relief was evident.
''What do you mean?''
''We just found your car in a lot on Ferry Street. There's blood everywhere.''
I took a deep breath. ''I was over there. I fell and cut myself. I've got stitches in my hand, but I'm okay.'' I didn't tell him it was only three stitches; somehow I thought he might have more sympathy if he thought it was more. ''I'm really okay,'' I repeated.
''No, no, you're not,'' he insisted.
I hesitated, then, ''Why not?''
''Annie, there's a body in the trunk of your car.''
Chapter 18
The cops were coming to get me. I paced my apartment, Vinny on my heels.
''Do I need a lawyer?'' I asked, stopping on the kitchen side of the divider that split my living area in two.
Vinny stopped behind me, and I felt his hands creep around my waist. ''Where's your mother?'' he asked softly.
I whirled around to face him. ''So you do think I need a lawyer?''
''Call your mother.'' He handed me the phone.
''I don't know if she's back yet,'' I whispered. But a glance at the clock told me she probably was. She'd been due back two hours ago, while I was sitting in the emergency room with my cell phone shut off.
As I listened to her phone ring on the other end, I pondered what Tom had told me, or, rather, what he hadn't told me.
He wouldn't tell me whose body it was in my car. He wanted to talk to me at the station, officially and all that, and since I didn't have a car, he said he was coming to pick me up. It took me so much by surprise that I'd hung up without telling him I could have Vinny take me over there.
''Hello, Anne.'' My mother's voice was still full of those tropical breezes and sunshine. I could hear it, really. ''The door looks fantastic. I would never have guessed that anyone broke in. You called your father, didn't you?''
''Yeah, Mom, and I really do want to chat about your vacation and all, but, well, I'm in sort of a bind and need you to meet me at the police station.''
She didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, then, ''Why?''
I knew I didn't have much time before Tom showed up, so I gave it to her in a nutshell: my stupid decision to go over to Fair Haven, the guy at the warehouse, the broken bottle, Vinny rescuing me, and abandoning my car to get to the emergency room for the stitches. Then getting home and Tom's call.
''Do you think you'll have a scar?'' she asked.
''Jesus, Mother, do you think I'm worried about that now?''
''All right, I'll meet you over there. But don't say anything to Tom until I'm there.''
''You do know that I didn't put a body in my car, right?'' She was acting like I was guilty of something heinous.
She made a sort of twittery sound. ''Of course you didn't put a body in your car, Annie, and your detective knows that. But you were right to call me. I'll see you there in half an hour.''
Vinny started massaging my shoulders, and my thumb started throbbing. Wouldn't you know the Novocain would wear off now, just when I needed it the most. And we hadn't bothered to stop to pick up the pain medication because we were too hot and bothered for each other. I was seriously fucked. And not in a good way.
The buzzer made me jump. I looked at Vinny, and he went to the door and pressed the button to let Tom up.
It was pretty obvious from the look he gave me that Tom was pissed to see I had company. But I was pissed because he'd brought along a uniform, like I really was some sort of criminal type who would stuff bodies into my car.
''You're not going to handcuff me, are you?'' I growled.
He glared back at me,
one eye on Vinny. ''Why is he here?''
I held up my hand to show him the bandage. ''He took me to the emergency room.'' I was reluctant to tell him the details until we were safely under my mother's watch.
Tom's face softened. ''What the hell did you do you do to yourself?''
''Fell on a broken bottle.'' I picked my slicker up off the floor where I'd dropped it when we'd come in. ''Are we ready?''
Vinny made like he was coming with us, but Tom stopped him by holding up his hand. ''Where are you going?''
''I'm her alibi,'' Vinny said. ''I picked her up at the lot, saw her car. Didn't see any blood except what was on her hand. I want to give a statement.''
Tom's lips tightened into a grim line. He knew he was going to have to take Vinny's statement, too, since he was there. And he didn't like that. But he just shrugged, nodded, put his hand on the small of my back, and led me down the stairs. I heard Vinny pull the door shut behind us.
My mother had gotten there before we did and was waiting for us. She handed me a Dunkin' Donuts latte. I took it, sort of wishing that she'd give me a hug or something, but she was all business. She'd dressed for the occasion—I didn't think she'd worn the gray blazer and skirt on the plane—and probably didn't want to get rumpled. I was lucky to get the coffee.
We went up in the elevator, got off, and Tom ushered me, my mother, and Vinny into an interrogation room, and even I began to wonder if I'd put a body in my car to deserve this sort of treatment.
The dirty, rain-soaked windows overlooked the train station. The table, just a step up from a folding table, was wobbly, as was the chair I sat in.
Tom turned on a tape recorder and had a pad and pen in front of him. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the door opened and Sam O'Neill came in, apologizing for being late.
Hell, I'd be late for this party if I could.
''Annie''—Tom looked me straight in the eye— ''you'd better start at the beginning. Tell us why your car was there, what happened today.''
I glanced at my mother, who closed her eyes briefly and then nodded serenely. Maybe she was still drunk from the cocktails on the plane.
I thought for a second and started from Vinny's office. Tom didn't care what I'd had for breakfast or that I'd spent time alone in the newsroom.
When I was done, I leaned back in my chair and took a sip of the latte. It was still fairly warm, but I could barely taste it.
''Well, you see, Detective, this has all been a terrible mistake.'' My mother's voice was stern; I recognized it as her official lawyer voice. And then it hit me: My mother had never met Tom before. She knew about him, of course, but she'd never met him.
It was a good thing we broke up. We never would've survived this.
Sam leaned over and whispered something in Tom's ear, and they both stood up. ''Excuse us for a moment,'' Tom said, and they went out into the hall. We could see them through the little window high up in the door. Sam was talking, Tom was nodding, but we couldn't hear them. We tried.
''They have to let you go,'' Vinny said, but I could tell my mother wasn't convinced. She hadn't looked at me since I'd finished talking.
I started getting worried.
But then Tom and Sam were back, sitting down, looking like they were getting comfortable. Shit.
''Annie, you said you thought you knew who the guy was outside the warehouse.'' Tom leaned toward me, his elbows on the table between us.
I nodded. I told them about seeing the guy outside my mother's house in the Honda.
''You're sure it was the same guy?'' Sam asked.
''Yeah. Looked sort of like Marlon Brando.''
Vinny tried to muffle a chuckle, and Tom looked at him like he had forgotten he was there. ''Do you know this guy, Vinny?''
Vinny shrugged. ''I didn't see him. When I got to the lot, Annie was alone.''
''It wasn't him, was it?'' I asked.
Sam frowned. ''Who?''
''The body in my car. Was it that guy?''
Sam and Tom exchanged a look, then Tom shook his head. ''No, Annie.''
''Then who was it?''
Another look between Sam and Tom, and it started to piss me off.
''Listen, don't you think I have a right to know who it is?''
Tom nodded. ''Yeah, I guess you do. But we don't have an ID yet.''
''Detective,'' my mother interrupted, ''you must realize by now that Annie has been terribly cooperative through the whole harrowing ordeal. She's been injured today, and I would like to take her home. She obviously does not know how a body ended up in her trunk. She was gone for several hours, during which time someone could've used the car as a coffin without her knowledge. We all know that neighborhood; that is not out of the realm of possibility.''
Tom looked at Sam, and for the first time I saw that this had been Sam's idea all along. Tom knew I wasn't capable of killing anyone, much less disposing of a body, but for some reason Sam wanted him to go through this charade.
I remembered my conversation with Sam the day before. He'd warned me off the Rodriguez story and said I shouldn't talk to Tom. Was this his way of trying to keep me quiet even longer?
Christ, I was cynical.
But before I could say anything, Tom was shaking my mother's hand and thanking her for coming in. He even shook Vinny's hand before turning to me, his blue eyes kind as he leaned over and gently squeezed my hand. ''Sorry about this,'' he whispered in my ear, his breath warm.
Sam was scowling, but he didn't say anything as the three of us left.
My mother was driving. This was not a good thing. My mother is the worst driver in the world. She's gotten into more fender benders than I can count on two hands, because she just doesn't pay attention to what's going on in the road.
I was up front, next to her, and Vinny was in the back. He'd agreed to the ride to Wooster Square before I could warn him. I'd rather have walked than accept the ride, but he didn't know.
He did now. My mother skidded to a stop just as the light on State Street turned red, barely missing a pedestrian about to cross the street.
''So, Annie, is there anything else you need to tell me?'' she asked in her best ''mother'' voice. The lawyer was gone, at least for the moment.
''No, Mom, I told Tom everything.'' Well, I may have left out the part about why I was in the lot in the first place. I had just said I was following Vinny. I had said nothing about Marisol or the body she'd seen. Maybe I should've, but I couldn't make the connection between what happened with me and what happened with them. Well, maybe one thing. Hector was Marisol's brother.
But Hector couldn't be the one she'd seen with the body, because she said she didn't know that guy.
The light turned green, and my mother stepped on the accelerator. It was a good thing we were strapped in; I felt my butt leave the seat as she flew over the small incline down Water Street, then careened left onto Olive. Thank God we weren't far now. I just wanted to get home alive.
But as she pulled the Mercedes up in front of my brownstone, it dawned on me: I didn't have a car.
How the hell was I going to do my job without a car?
New Haven isn't exactly New York City or Boston or San Francisco. We don't have a subway system that will cart us all over the city. We do have buses, but hell if I knew any schedules, or even where the bus stops were, not to mention the routes. Only people without cars take the bus, and people without cars were poor, or losers.
Like me.
I pulled my phone out of my bag and dialed. When Tom picked up, I said, ''Where the fuck's my car?'' Now that I was safely home, or just about, I had a lot more confidence.
My mother and Vinny just stared at me, but I shrugged at them as I waited for Tom's answer. Which I knew I wouldn't like.
''Annie, a body was found in the trunk. Your car's evidence in a homicide. You're going to have to find another way to get around.'' And then he hung up.
I stared at the phone.
''Annie, you can rent a car,'' my mot
her was saying.
''With what, my good looks?'' Although I always pretended that I didn't have much money, I had more than anyone knew. I lived fairly frugally and socked as much cash away in the bank as I could. You never knew when that rainy day would come.
Dead of the Day (2007) Page 13
