CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jake pressed a fat, calloused thumb to the doorbell gingerly, afraid even the slightest pressure might level this house. Strips of paint hung from weather-beaten shingles, shivering in the cold breeze. One half of the façade was painted a mossy green, the rest a dull white, as if the house had been carelessly tossed in the wash with the wrong color load.

A lock slid away and, with some effort, the door opened. Lydia Marsh smiled and said, “Good afternoon, Detective Hawksworth. Won’t you come in?”

Jake stepped out of the chilly November air. The interior was no great shakes but, unlike the exterior, it was immaculate. Lydia Marsh guided him to a bright floral sofa. “Coffee?” she asked.

“No thank you, Ma’am,” Jake said. “I’ll try to be quick. I’m sorry to put you out as it is.”

Lydia disappeared into a threadbare armchair. “It’s no bother, really. I’m just not sure how I can be of any more help to you, Detective,” she said. She looked older than her fortyish years, as if someone had carelessly scribbled on her face with an indelible wrinkle-making pen.

“Sometimes people recall things later,” Jake said. “I know we’ve been through this before, but I was wondering if you could take me through the scenario one more time.” He’d spoken with every witness to Sheila’s death two or three times. And not one new lead had surfaced.

Lydia sighed. “I’ll try.”

The doorbell chimed. Jake thought he saw the house shudder.

“If you’ll excuse me, that will be my son,” Lydia said politely and hurried off.

Jake surveyed the room. A dog’s breakfast of furniture was further offset by gaudy drapes. All the elbow grease in the world couldn’t mask the water stains that marred a highly polished coffee table. A truckload of games, puzzles, and books teetered precariously in two of the room’s four corners.

Muffled voices exchanged goodbyes, then Lydia reappeared. An impish boy with ears that looked ready for flight hid behind his mother. He reminded Jake of a deaf child Sheila had once worked with.

“Alex, you remember Detective Hawksworth, don’t you?” Lydia asked. Her breakable hands moved in unison with her voice. The boy peered around his mother’s waist, studied Jake. Alex Marsh furrowed his brow. He moved his fingers feverishly. The mother and son conversed silently, then Lydia turned to Jake and smiled. “Alex says he remembers your shiny badge.”

“Would he like to see it again?” Jake wished he could ask the boy himself but he couldn’t even sign hello . He flashed his badge.

The boy’s hands spoke again. “Alex says he wants to be a detective one day.”

“Tell him I’ll bet he’ll make a good one.”

“I’ll do that, Detective,” Lydia said. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll get Alex set up in front of the TV so we can talk. He’s very good at reading lips. Sometimes he even shuts off the Closed Captioning.”

“He seems like a very bright boy, Mrs. Marsh,” Jake said.

“Yes, I’m very proud of him. He’s my man of the house now.” Sadness interrupted the woman’s determined eyes. Alex Marsh waved to Jake and his mother hustled him out of the room.

At last she returned. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective. Now, what can I do to help?”

“Just tell me everything you remember leading up to the accident.”

Lydia closed her eyes. They snapped open. “I remember seeing your wife standing on the curb beneath a lamppost. She was hard to miss. She looked like a movie star.”

“It was our anniversary,” Jake said. You can’t do this. “Go on.”

Lydia squirmed in her chair. “Alex and I had just come from our support group and were waiting for a cab. I was admiring your wife’s outfit when I heard a squealing sound and turned. The car took the turn much too fast for such a busy intersection. The next thing I know, people are running and screaming. My son and I became separated. I panicked.”

Jake fought back the demons clawing their way to the surface. “Then what?”

Lydia sighed. “I looked up in time to see the car racing away. Then somebody said a woman had been hit. That was when I saw your wife.” Lydia’s eyes welled up. Her chin dropped to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Jake glanced down at his notes. “You said the car was a dark blue sedan, maybe a Toyota Camry?”

Lydia wiped her eyes. “Dark blue, yes. It was either a Toyota or a Honda. They all look the same to me.”

“I know I’ve asked you this before,” Jake said, “but can you remember a license plate number? Digits, letters?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. I’ve racked my brain trying to visualize it but everything happened so fast. And being separated from my son, well, that made me crazy.” Then she added: “If there’s one good thing I can say about Alex being deaf, it’s that he was lucky enough to not have to hear that sickening sound I heard when the car…” Her hand shot up to her mouth as if trying to stuff the words right back in. But it was too late. They’d spilled out and made one hell of a mess.

Jake excused himself and followed Lydia Marsh’s shaky finger to the bathroom. The reflection in the medicine cabinet begged for help. Pull yourself together, Jakey old boy. At last, he gave up the battle. He wept for Sheila. He wept for Nikki. He wept for what might have been. But mostly he wept for himself.