five on Long Legs in the fifth at Yonkers Raceway?”
He didn’t smile at what I thought was a pretty funny joke. “Breaking and entering carries a minimum five- to ten-year jail sentence, and that’s if nothing was taken. And the definition of breaking and entering includes lifting up screens and going into dorm rooms.” His face turned hard. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, but I kept silent.
He took me by the elbow. “Now, where is it you’d like to go?” he asked, steering me toward his brown Crown Victoria sedan, which was parked right behind the space where Max’s car had been.
I managed to get out, “Train station.” I waited for him to push my head down into the car like I had seen the cops do to “perps” on TV, but he just opened the door and waited for me to get in. I looked out the window and clutched my purse to my stomach. If there was a cranky cop smell, this car had it. He got into the driver’s side and sighed, saying, “Put your seat belt on,” rather crankily. Now I knew where the smell came from.
He refused to pull away from the curb until I did so, so I obliged. We drove to the train station in silence, me looking out the window and blinking back tears and him breathing heavily in exasperation. When we arrived at the station, he pulled the car over and threw it into PARK . He turned to me, his face and tone softer. “Please stop crying,” he said, and pulled a clean, folded handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his blazer.
I took it and blew my nose, then tried to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it back,” he said, giving me a slight smile.
“Thanks,” I said, and put it into my purse.
He leaned down and looked at my leg. “Make sure you put some antiseptic on that when you get home. And keep it covered.”
“Thanks,” I said again.
He put his left arm over the steering wheel and turned his body to face me. “Listen. If you think we should be exploring any other angles, just call me and talk to me about it. Don’t take matters into your own hands.”
I nodded.
“Don’t you think it occurred to us to look at Vince as a suspect? And at his dorm room? We’ve been all over that place,” he said.
“So, why does he still have a bong in there?” I asked, regretting asking that as soon as it was out of my mouth.
He chuckled. “Must be a replacement bong. All the other stuff was bagged as evidence.”
I cried some more.
“Would you please stop crying?” he asked again, running his hand over his face. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I undid the seat belt. “Thanks for the ride.” I got out of the car and tiptoed across the gravel parking lot to the platform, not looking back. I sat on a bench facing the river and cried some more, using his handkerchief to blow my nose again and wipe my eyes. The train arrived five minutes later; I stood and waited for it to stop, turning around to look back at the parking lot.
Crawford was still there, in the car, watching me as I got on the train.
Six
I woke up at six-thirty the next morning to the sound of a car idling in front of my house. I got up and looked out the window, but didn’t see anyone. At that point, I was fully awake, so despite the early hour, I decided to stay up.
After a quick shower, I got dressed and went downstairs to make coffee. I opened the refrigerator to find that not only did I not have any coffee but also that the milk in the container was ten days past its sell-by date and now a solid rather than a liquid. Plan B was put into effect as I left the house and began my walk into the village to Starbucks.
I was still upset about the events of the previous day—especially the scolding from Crawford. Nothing like a good dorm break-in to make you seem really guilty.
I was also upset that I seemed to be falling apart. I had always thought of myself as a relatively strong person: I had weathered the deaths
He didn’t smile at what I thought was a pretty funny joke. “Breaking and entering carries a minimum five- to ten-year jail sentence, and that’s if nothing was taken. And the definition of breaking and entering includes lifting up screens and going into dorm rooms.” His face turned hard. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, but I kept silent.
He took me by the elbow. “Now, where is it you’d like to go?” he asked, steering me toward his brown Crown Victoria sedan, which was parked right behind the space where Max’s car had been.
I managed to get out, “Train station.” I waited for him to push my head down into the car like I had seen the cops do to “perps” on TV, but he just opened the door and waited for me to get in. I looked out the window and clutched my purse to my stomach. If there was a cranky cop smell, this car had it. He got into the driver’s side and sighed, saying, “Put your seat belt on,” rather crankily. Now I knew where the smell came from.
He refused to pull away from the curb until I did so, so I obliged. We drove to the train station in silence, me looking out the window and blinking back tears and him breathing heavily in exasperation. When we arrived at the station, he pulled the car over and threw it into PARK . He turned to me, his face and tone softer. “Please stop crying,” he said, and pulled a clean, folded handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his blazer.
I took it and blew my nose, then tried to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it back,” he said, giving me a slight smile.
“Thanks,” I said, and put it into my purse.
He leaned down and looked at my leg. “Make sure you put some antiseptic on that when you get home. And keep it covered.”
“Thanks,” I said again.
He put his left arm over the steering wheel and turned his body to face me. “Listen. If you think we should be exploring any other angles, just call me and talk to me about it. Don’t take matters into your own hands.”
I nodded.
“Don’t you think it occurred to us to look at Vince as a suspect? And at his dorm room? We’ve been all over that place,” he said.
“So, why does he still have a bong in there?” I asked, regretting asking that as soon as it was out of my mouth.
He chuckled. “Must be a replacement bong. All the other stuff was bagged as evidence.”
I cried some more.
“Would you please stop crying?” he asked again, running his hand over his face. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I undid the seat belt. “Thanks for the ride.” I got out of the car and tiptoed across the gravel parking lot to the platform, not looking back. I sat on a bench facing the river and cried some more, using his handkerchief to blow my nose again and wipe my eyes. The train arrived five minutes later; I stood and waited for it to stop, turning around to look back at the parking lot.
Crawford was still there, in the car, watching me as I got on the train.
Six
I woke up at six-thirty the next morning to the sound of a car idling in front of my house. I got up and looked out the window, but didn’t see anyone. At that point, I was fully awake, so despite the early hour, I decided to stay up.
After a quick shower, I got dressed and went downstairs to make coffee. I opened the refrigerator to find that not only did I not have any coffee but also that the milk in the container was ten days past its sell-by date and now a solid rather than a liquid. Plan B was put into effect as I left the house and began my walk into the village to Starbucks.
I was still upset about the events of the previous day—especially the scolding from Crawford. Nothing like a good dorm break-in to make you seem really guilty.
I was also upset that I seemed to be falling apart. I had always thought of myself as a relatively strong person: I had weathered the deaths
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