Chat (3 page)

Lonely:
any hot girl wanna chat ??

Hottie:
yea

Shez:
add me

Dislove:
dude

Gangsta:
ron how tall r u??

Shez:
n u can hav a look

Hottie:
what is it

Lonely:
any hot girl wanna chat ??

Hottie:
kk

Dislove:
bored

Hottie:
so u gonna talk me something about yourself

Boss:
hey all Im Back Whats good?

Hottie:
yourself

Dislove:
any guys? . . .

Gangsta:
ron r u there??

Hottie:
shez u there

Shez:
em wot u wna no

Ron:
back yes I am

Lonely:
boss

Lonely:
can we chat ??

Hottie:
I don’t know that is for u 2 tell me

Ron:
im 6’1”

Doo:
uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Doo:
hi

Shez:
well iv got an 11inch touge n breath frew ma ears

Hottie:
oh I c

Chapter 3

J
oe positioned his chair in the corner, by the window, where he had a clear view of both the bed and the door and where he could stretch out his legs if need be. It was a strategic decision, based on the chance that he’d be spending a lot of time here, which, sadly, was what he was anticipating. Unless things deteriorated even more.

He looked across at his mother, lying peacefully in bed. At least he had that to hold on to. There were no tubes stuck down her throat at the moment, and only a single IV dangling from a metal pole beside her. She just looked asleep, aside from the ugly bruise extending from her left temple. Soon, he’d been told, if she stayed this way beyond some short-term deadline, a feeding tube and oxygen would be introduced. Maybe more. But, right now, her vitals were stable, her breathing deep and regular, her heartbeat strong, and her brain waves energetic.

He had been led to believe that among the overall patient population at the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center, his mother was actually in pretty good shape. She just wasn’t waking up.

Leo, typically, wasn’t quite as enigmatic. Like the man himself, his injuries were prominent, visible, and easily diagnosed, if not so simply set right. Leo had been Joe’s first stop in the hospital, once both patients’ conditions had been made clear on the phone. For all Leo’s much publicized joviality, he was a worrier, always nervously hovering over the target of his attention. It was one of the reasons he was so popular as a butcher, fussing over every customer. Joe knew from the moment he’d heard of his brother’s broken ribs, collapsed lung, fractured shoulder, and concussion, that Leo’s biggest problem was going to be his inability to get to their mother’s bedside. To Joe’s mind, regardless of who was in worse shape physically, Leo was going to be needing the most care.

And that wasn’t even factoring in the man’s guilt.

Fortunately for Joe, his brother was so beaten up that he couldn’t give much voice to his concerns. When Joe visited him in ICU, in fact, picking his way through all the monitoring equipment circling the bed, all Leo managed was a halfhearted smile.

Joe wasn’t even sure he could talk. “You okay, Leo?”

Leo winced, as if at some joke Joe couldn’t fathom. “Top of the world,” his brother whispered, adding, “How’s Ma?”

Joe slipped his hand into Leo’s and gave it a squeeze. He made his voice sound upbeat. “Haven’t seen her yet, but you’re in much worse shape. They told me she’s fast asleep—breathing fine, though, and everything else looks okay. No breaks, no messed-up major organs. The doc on the phone told me not to be overly concerned—that sometimes the body just needs to rest awhile. Sounds pretty good.”

Leo closed his eyes, and Joe realized he was fighting back tears.

“Leo,” he told him, “it was an accident.”

Leo took a ragged breath, reopened his eyes, and murmured, “It was the car, not the road.”

He coughed once then, not forcefully, but the effect was telling. His face contorted, and one of the monitors began chirping. A nurse gently moved Joe out of the way in order to adjust something.

“I’ll look into it, Leo, and I’ll take care of Mom. Just get better, okay? I’ll be back in a bit and give you an update.”

Now, in the stillness of his mother’s room, Joe thought of the deeper meaning behind Leo’s parting words. In Leo’s world, there were really only four areas to which he paid any attention—Mom, the butcher shop, his short-term girlfriends, and cars. The barn their father had once filled with farming equipment, livestock, and hay now housed a mismatched, dust-covered, much tinkered-with collection of automotive relics. Leo never worked on the Subaru he used to chauffeur their mother—she’d made it very clear that she wanted a professional doing that—but Joe trusted his brother’s mechanical instincts and knowledge. If Leo thought the car had somehow been the root cause of this accident, Joe was ready to believe him.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

“VBI Dispatch.”

He recognized the woman’s voice. It was that kind of state, where people joked about there being only a few dozen residents, grand total. It was more like six hundred thousand really, but that still made it the second least populous state in the country. The number inside the law enforcement community was even more minute by comparison.

“Hey, Gloria. It’s Joe.”

Her voice instantly slipped into maternal mode. “Oh, my God. I just heard about your family. I am
so
sorry. How’re they doing?”

He wasn’t surprised. Vermont was a small town in some ways, spread thinly across a hilly map. It didn’t take long for everyone to know your business. Fortunately, that was one of the aspects of living here that he cherished. He had no wife, no children, not even a significant other at the moment. The fact that virtual strangers—even a disembodied voice on the phone—knew his life’s latest news actually came as a comfort.

“They’re hanging in there, thanks. I’m at the hospital now. Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a big favor in connection with that.”

“Anything at all.”

“Could you find out who was working the car crash that banged them up? I’d love to talk to him or her.”

Gloria couldn’t keep the keenness from her voice. “You suspect something?”

Joe made an effort to laugh easily. “Whoa. You need to cut back on the cop shows, Gloria. I just want to find out who’s on the job.”

She laughed in return, but he could almost hear her cataloging his request for future in-house gossiping. “It’s the company I keep, Joe. You guys have made me paranoid. I don’t even
watch
cop shows anymore. Give me about five minutes and I’ll call you back.”

Joe made sure the phone was set to vibrate, and returned it to his belt. He went back to gazing at his mother’s pale profile, propped on a white pillow, uncomfortably reminiscent of a carved tomb lid in a medieval church.

She was certainly deserving of a monument of some sort, he thought, though a much more upbeat one. In all his experience, he’d never known a person with more considerate sanity. Just as he’d always looked to his quieter, utterly dependable father for his own reliability, so he blessed his mother for whatever sagacity he could claim. She’d always been thoughtful, patient, and encouraging, though never shy to speak her mind. She had taught her boys to do as little harm as possible, to be considerate of the less fortunate, to be slow to judge, and to maintain a sense of humor. She’d been the only girl in a family of a dozen kids, where the mother had finally died in childbirth, so she’d had good practice. Still, Joe had sometimes wondered how she would have fared with two daughters.

In any case, he’d lucked out, and he knew that his brother felt the same way. It was going to be a huge threshold to cross when they lost this woman.

The cell phone began vibrating at his belt, and he yanked it free to answer.

“Gunther.”

“Joe, it’s Gloria. The Windsor County sheriff’s got your case. A Deputy Rob Barrows is investigating. If you have a pen, I’ve got his cell number.”

Joe pulled out a black notepad and scribbled down the number she gave him, thankful that he was where cell coverage was better than most places. As with many things technological, Vermont tended to lag toward the back of the innovation herd.

“Thanks, Gloria. You’re a peach.”

“You just take care of that family,” she said, hanging up.

Joe dialed the number she’d given him.

“Barrows.” The voice sounded young but confident.

“Deputy, my name is Joe Gunther. We’ve never met, but—”

“I’ve heard about you, Agent Gunther. This is a real pleasure. Sorry about the circumstances, though. How’s your brother and mom?”

Joe was happy not to have to break the ice, go into a whole song and dance about who and what he was, or, worse, ingratiate himself with someone who had a beef against the VBI.

“They’re in good hands,” he answered vaguely, becoming aware of how often he was going to have to respond to that inquiry. “I was wondering if you’d figured out what happened yet.”

Perhaps instinctively, Barrows came back with “What did your brother say?”

Joe was pleased by the reaction. It made him feel he might be talking with someone who truly understood his job.

“Not much, given the shape he’s in, but he said it was the car, not the road, and I’ll give the man his due—he does know cars.”

Barrows didn’t argue. “The road looked good to me. They weren’t on much of a curve, and I didn’t find any signs of ice or snow on the surface—road crew had done a good job. Course, I was there after the fact. What did he say about the car?”

“Just that, nothing more.”

Joe could almost hear the other man thinking. Generally in an accident like this, with no death resulting and no involvement by anyone else, the physical aspects of the vehicle examination were pretty much limited to the condition of the tire treads. It didn’t make sense to go looking beyond driver error, and it cost a lot more money.

“Could you do me a favor?” Joe therefore asked, to help the man reach a less hasty conclusion.

“What’s that?”

“Could you keep the car where no one can mess with it until I get someone to check it out?”

Barrows hesitated before asking in turn, “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes here, sir, but are you not telling me something?”

“Absolutely not,” Joe reassured him. “I have no reason to think this wasn’t just what it looks like. But given what you and I do for a living, wouldn’t you be curious?”

“I see your point,” Barrows conceded. “I’ll give it a closer look myself—I know cars, too. And I’ll make sure it’s kept under lock and key.”

“Thanks, Deputy. I owe you one. I’ll see you a little later.”

“That would be my pleasure.”

Joe snapped the phone shut and was putting it away when it vibrated in his hand.

“Hello?”

Gail Zigman’s voice was tight with concern. “Joe, I just heard. How are they?”

Joe was startled by his reaction. After something like twenty years, he and Gail were no longer a couple, and hadn’t been for over a year by now. But whether it was his own present vulnerability or simply the preexisting pattern that any couple establishes after so much time together, he was caught between feeling genuine relief and a sense that this was one conversation he just didn’t have the stamina to maintain. One reminder at a time of the price of loss seemed ample.

“Hi,” he muttered stupidly.

“Are they all right?” she repeated.

“They’re alive,” he finally managed. “Leo looks the worse for wear, but he’s conscious. Mom is just asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“That’s what I call it. They’re not saying ‘coma’ yet, but that’s probably just for me. Maybe it’s a kind of twilight until things become clear.”

There was a long pause, followed by “My God, Joe. I am so sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Not yet. All Leo told me was that it was the car, so maybe the brakes went out, or something in the steering. I’ll look into that later.”

He could almost hear her thinking, examining the angles. Gail was a lawyer, a legislator, someone with ambition who knew how to organize things. After ending her relationship with Joe, she’d moved altogether from Brattleboro to Montpelier, the state capital, so she could fully concentrate on her new political career. If Joe were to bet on it, she had the governorship in her sights.

“What are your plans?” she asked.

“I’m on leave until I get a handle on this.”

“Would you like some company?”

He had a split second to respond correctly, and almost inevitably chose poorly. “It would mean a lot to them.”

Her comeback drove home his error. “I know that’s not true for you, too, but I won’t get in your way. I promise. I would just like it if you said it was okay,” she said. “I feel so awful about this.”

He scratched his forehead, thinking a rap with his knuckles might have been more appropriate. “Gail, you’d never be in the way. They both love you, and I could do with the help. I’d really appreciate whatever time you can spare.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll clear it with the hospital, too, in case they have rules or something about visitors.”

Her voice was soft, almost tearful, in response. “Thank you, Joe. I’ll be down as soon as I clear a couple of things up here. Give them my love.”

Despite his fumbled comeback to her offer, it remained true that Gail’s presence would be helpful, even if painful. He hadn’t been the one to end what they’d shared, but it had certainly been his profession, in large part, that had precipitated her decision. He’d been a cop for enough decades to have made a few enemies, and survived enough bullets, knives, and explosions to understand anyone’s desire to gain a little distance from him. But he did miss her, and having her nearby again was going to be tough.

He rose and stood before the window, looking down on the snow-dusted trees that circled the hospital.

It would allow him to be practical, though, and perhaps a little self-preserving. Leo was in good hands, and their mom was out of reach, at least for the time being. There wasn’t much of a role for him here. Gail’s arrival would guarantee that someone he could trust was nearby while he did what he could to find out what had happened.

He didn’t actually suspect much, of course. He was acting more from professional paranoia, or perhaps habit born of witnessing bad things. But it would keep him busy, and perhaps on the edge of the double emotional tar pits represented by Gail and his family’s plight.

Besides, there was always the nagging possibility that this had been more than a simple car accident.