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KIM SAID NOTHING FOR quite a while, and neither did we. It was so quiet I could almost hear the air moving through the room. A slight wind had kicked up outside, and we sat there watching the trees waving back and forth like ballet dancers.
Finally she spoke. “I agree that we shouldn’t turn this over to the police, but I am positive we should run this past Nathan before we go any farther. If what she said is supported by the documents on the other flash drive, and this person or persons are a front for a mob or cartel trying to pull off buying a bank, it’s possible that they are already under Federal surveillance. If they are, and we jump in, it could blow anything that they have already done. Plus, this flash drive might have information that will push it over the edge.”
Silence prevailed again as Kate and I mulled over what she said. Kim was always the logical one, and what she said did make sense. They could be under surveillance by the FBI, the DEA or even Homeland Security and the AFT or the Border Patrol if guns were involved. We would never be forgiven if we messed up something that any of those agencies were tracking. In fact, it might even result in charges of obstruction of justice or whatever they call interference in an active case. Not only that, but with his wife involved, Nathan could bear the brunt of our foul up. We could be jumping into something we might not be able to climb out of.
Kate spoke first. “Let’s look at that second drive. I’m leaning toward agreeing with you and—“
I interrupted. “So am I. Sorry for breaking in, Kate. Finish what you were saying.”
“—and, it’s entirely possible that what Marjory Newfield gave her life for is really important evidence. If it helps bring down the purchase of a bank, most likely for the sole purpose of laundering money, there could be a reward for this evidence. I don’t know if she had family, but we could find out and maybe make sure they receive whatever reward there is.”
“Hold that thought,” I said, then went into the kitchen to get the chocolate cherry cheesecake. A decision this important had to be discussed over something delicious. That strategy always worked for us before.
Kate was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace when I came back into the living room carrying a platter with the cheesecake, four plates, forks and napkins. Kim sat on the sofa with her legs curled up beneath her. Both of my friends wore serious expressions.
When I set the platter down on the coffee table, Kate stopped pacing and said, “Maybe we need some coffee to go with this. Would that be too much trouble?”
“No trouble at all, but I think we have to decide what we’re going to do about this before it’s too late to call Nate. Whatever we do, we’ll have to act on it right away. After all, you do make valid points, Kate. Let’s see if there is anything on the news about what happened at the observatory. The cheesecake and coffee can wait a few minutes.”
Before I bought this house I never liked having a TV in my living room, but I loved this room so much I wanted to spend as much time in it as possible. Besides, with flat screen TVs that hang on the wall, a TV isn’t an intrusion like the old huge big screen models. Mine was a seventy inch Smart TV. Sometimes when I read or sat there just looking at my wonderful view, I tuned to YouTube and put on a video that looked exactly like an aquarium with exotic tropical fish swimming around.
I tuned to the 5 O’Clock local news.
Sure enough, after a predictable report about tension in the Middle East, a few local shootings and a Hollywood wacko wandering around Hollywood Boulevard attempting to anoint people because he was convinced he was Jesus Christ, the reporter’s expression grew solemn. She didn’t flash a false smile like some did when reporting awful news.
A video shot earlier played with her reporting live from Griffith Observatory, a cordon of police cars and throng of bystanders in the background.
“This is Deborah Rashid reporting from Griffith Observatory where a young woman’s life came to a tragic end today in an apparent hit and run accident.” She turned and swept the tableau behind her with her right arm. “It happened right here. From the driver’s license in her handbag, the victim has been identified as Marjory Newfield of Los Angeles. I have been informed she died before the ambulance arrived. Witnesses say the car appeared to speed up, aiming right for her. No further details are available at this time, but maybe it was not an accident.”
She turned and walked over to a small group of people, one woman and two men. “I’m going to get first-hand accounts from three of the witnesses. She approached a short young man who looked very scholarly. He wore dark framed glasses, had neatly combed dirty blond hair, and his light blue shirt with the button-down collar was open at the neck. He carried a case that probably held a laptop.
“What can you tell us about this tragic event?”
After clearing his throat a few times, he said, “I was walking toward the lot when I noticed her. I guess I noticed because from a distance I thought she was attractive. She seemed to be in a real hurry, though. All of a sudden this car shot out of one of the parking lanes and headed right for her. The next thing I saw—”
He covered his eyes as though not wanting to see the moment she was hit. When he opened them, tears rested on his lower lids. “I—I saw it hit her and her body flew up into the air. I don’t know if I’ll ever get that image out of my mind.” He gulped, then said, “Sorry.”
“Did you happen to be close enough to recognize the model of the car or see the driver?”
The poor young man appeared close to meltdown. “Um, no. It was such a shock I think my mind blanked out everything but the poor woman flying through the air.”
“Thank you Mr., er—“
Higgenbottom, Horace Higgenbottom.” He moved away into the parking area.
She held the mic up to a woman who seemed nervous to be on camera. “What is your name?”
“Uh, Sarah Qualpepper. I’m just visitin’ here from Oklahoma City. I heard it was dangerous in Los Angeles, but never thought I would see someone killed.” She stifled a sob.
“Well, sometimes the reports of dangers in LA are a bit exaggerated, but I’m so sorry you had to witness this. I understand you were closer to the accident than Mr. Higgenbottom. Can you tell me what you saw?”
Sarah Qualpepper patted her chest, then fanned her face. “I thought I was about to faint when I saw it. This white car, not very different than so many in this area, went straight for that poor girl.” She reached into her large orange tote bag and pulled out a handkerchief. “Sorry, I’m just all aflutter.”
Sarah was a large woman who appeared to weigh about two hundred fifty pounds or more. Despite her Bermuda shorts and sleeveless flowered top she was sweating profusely. She swiped the handkerchief across her forehead, took a deep breath and continued. “I couldn’t see no face or anything, but it was a man drivin’. I’m sure of that. I just caught a glimpse of his dark hair, sort of longish it was, but definitely a man.”
She paused again and used the handkerchief to wipe tears from her eyes.
“I like to look at license plates to see where they are from. You know, in a town like this, people are from lots of places. This one was definitely California. Seen enough of them since I’ve been on vacation here. I remembered seeing an R and a P. That’s all. Told those cops over there what I saw.”
She moved away from the reporter. “Sorry, I gotta go now.”
The last person, a handsome black man dressed in a business suit, white shirt and tie shied away when the mic was thrust in his face. “Sorry, Ma’am. With all due respect, I really don’t wish to make a comment. All I can say is it was an awful thing to see.” Then he moved away, too.
I clicked off the TV and we all said the same thing at the same time.
Marjory was only trying to be a good citizen, and now she was a dead good citizen. We all sat there silently for a moment, and I had no doubt my friends were thinking the same thing I was. We had to do something. But what?