15 Seconds by Andrew Gross Page B

Jaguar, at least until someone discovered the body. Which could be any moment, of course. I tried to think how I could explain this. It would hardly be a secret that I had headed to Mike’s after I left Martinez. There was the cabbie; not to mention my prints and DNA probably all over everything. Gail would tell them how we were supposed to play golf that morning. I’d taken his phone and car. As soon as he was found, everything would be linked to me. I veered off the highway at a random exit, pulled the Jag into the lot of a Winn-Dixie food market, and just sat there.
    I needed someone to help me now. Someone I could trust.
    Amazingly, the person who came to mind was Liz.
    My ex-wife and I had stayed on decent terms since we split up. Decent because she had moved on, even if I hadn’t completely. Whatever had once come between us—our diverging careers; that she could be a total bitch at times; and oh yeah, that she had started up with the lead partner in her firm while we were still married—we still trusted each other, at least when it came to Hallie’s best interests.
    Liz was a terrific immigration lawyer; she dealt mostly with people trying to get a green card for their housekeepers or a visa for their relatives from Cuba. But if there was a better person to call who would know how to get me out of this hole, I didn’t know who.
    I dialed her number at work and her secretary, Joss, came on. “Liz Feldman’s office.”
    “Joss, is she there?” My voice shook with urgency. “It’s important!”
    “I’m afraid she’s in a meeting, Dr. Steadman. Can I have her call you back? It shouldn’t be too long.”
    “No, it can’t wait, Joss. I need to speak with her now. I need you to pull her out of that meeting.”
    “Give me a moment,” Joss said, obviously picking up the anxiety in my tone. “I hope that everything’s okay . . .”
    “Thanks. I really appreciate that, Joss.”
    It took another thirty seconds but finally Liz came on, in her usual bulldog style. “Henry, you just can’t pull me out of a meeting like that. Is—”
    “Liz!” I cut her off. “Listen—this is important. I’m in trouble. Big trouble . I need your help.”
    “What’s happened?” she shot back. Then she gasped. “It’s not—”
    “No, Hallie’s okay,” I said, anticipating her concern. “It’s nothing to do with her. It’s me. I’m in Jacksonville . . .”
    I tried to explain it all as rationally as I could. How a cop had pulled me over for running a light and began to hassle me. “It was weird—it was like he thought I was someone they were looking for. He pulled me out of the car and told me I was being arrested and slapped a set of cuffs on me . . .”
    “Arrested? Well, you know how you can run your mouth off, Henry,” she replied in form.
    “Liz, this isn’t a joke. Just listen! And I didn’t do anything—at least not enough to get pulled out of my car. But that’s not what’s important now. The cop was killed! ”
    “Killed?”
    “Yes, Liz. Right in front of my eyes, Liz. After he let me go, someone pulled their car around next to his and shot him, point-blank, right through his head. I saw the entire thing.”
    “Oh my God, Henry, that’s horrible. Are you all right?”
    “No, I’m not all right! I mean, I’m not injured. But the police believe I did it!” I told her how the other police cars had been called to the scene and all those crazy kinds of questions they were barking at me.
    “But that’s not the issue now! The guy who did it took off and I took off after him. I saw something on the car, but I couldn’t catch up. So, basically, the cops saw that I was in cuffs in the back of this dead patrolman’s car and then I fled the scene.”
    “Well, you have to go back, Henry. That much is clear. Now!”
    “I did go back, Liz. And they opened fire at me!”
    “Opened fire! My God, Henry, are you all right?”
    “Yes, I’m fine. I mean, I wasn’t hit. But my car was