Authors: Andrew Gross
I
spent that first night in the Lexus in the empty lot of a large office park.
I also did what that bastard told me to do. I stopped in an Office Max and picked up a couple of disposable phones. I texted the number to Hallie's phone.
Then I waited. I waited until I couldn't hold my eyes open anymore.
No reply.
Earlier, I'd found a tool set in the car's emergency kit and drove around a movie complex until I came across a Honda with Tennessee plates and switched the front plate onto mine. With luck, the owners might not even know it was missing for a while, and even if they did, a stolen, out-of-state plate wasn't exactly the biggest story of the day with everything else going on. And Lexus SUVs were a dime a dozen on the roads.
I hoped this would buy me some time.
I had my first meal of the day from a Wendy's take-out window, chomping down the double burger in maybe three large bites along with a box of chicken tenders and a Coke. I normally watched what I ate and would rather die than stuff down a meal like that, but the day's events had left me empty and ravenous, and, showing up at Ruth's Chris going,
“Table for one, please!”
wasn't exactly an option tonight.
The only plan I had was to assert my innocence and focus on that blue car.
My thoughts drifted back to Hallie and Mike. I tried to think of every possible way he and Martinez might somehow have been connected. Mike was a prominent real estate attorney in town. He would have known police. Then there was the gamecock thing. South Carolina.
But the only real connection between them was
me
.
I turned on the news, basically just to keep me company, until my eyes finally got heavy and I started drifting off to sleep.
What I heard almost sent my heart through my chest.
“The Jacksonville Murder Spree suspect,”
the commentator said.
“This is not the first time. He's done it before.”
T
he news report said that a television station in New England was claiming that as a student at Amherst, I'd been involved in a fraternity hazing accident in which someone had mysteriously drowned.
“No,”
I shot up in the car and shouted.
“No, no, no, no. . . .”
I pulled out my iPad and clicked on Google news until I found the link. It was from the website of a WNME in Portland, Maine.
How did
they
know what had happened back then?
The article read,
The Palm Beach surgeon wanted in connection with the murders today of a Jacksonville Florida policeman and a successful businessman has apparently done it before.
My eyes almost bugged out of my head.
A college classmate of Dr. Henry Steadman, a person of interest sought in connection with the cold-blooded killings today, claims that while a student at Amherst College in the 1980s, Steadman and a fraternity brother were involved in the unexplained drowning of a fellow student in a fraternity hazing ritual gone tragically wrong.
Thomas E. Boothby of Bangor, Maine, claims he was a member of a student judiciary board at Amherst called to investigate Steadman's role in the mishap, which occurred at a local swimming hole known as the Quarry.
As Boothby recounted, a freshman pledge at the Chi Psi fraternity, Terrence Gifford, plunged into the lake from a fifty-foot height in the dead of night, struggled in the icy water, with Steadman near him, and drowned. The incident was ultimately deemed to be “accidental,” and while Boothby claims, “No one can be sure what actually happened in the waters that night,” no charges were ever filed.
“This poor freshman from Minnesota was dragged out at night and ordered to jump into the freezing pond,” Boothby, an EPA administrator in Bangor recalled, “which was about fifty feet down. All anyone knew is that three students went up there and only two came back. While there was never any firm evidence to warrant an arrest or expulsion, there was significant drinking going on; other people nearby heard arguing and thrashing in the water.” He recalled that although Steadman was ultimately dismissed from the fraternity, he was not asked to leave school.
I felt the blood rush in anger into my face. Who the hell was this guy?
Boothby
. I'd never even heard of him. Whoever he was, he'd twisted the entire thing around. The article also provided details about the events in Jacksonville today and how
the suspect's successful and likable veneer
and
his stature in the medical community
seemed at odds with the heinous nature of the crimes.
“I know everyone feels that way,” Boothby went on to say, “but when I heard who it was, it immediately took me back. All I can say is, I always felt something suspicious took place up on those rocks, a lot more than ever came out. So this doesn't surprise me.”
School officials have not yet commented on the twenty-two-year-old incident.
“Screw you!” I shouted in the darkened SUV, my blood hitting a boil. A cold sweat sprang up all over my back.
The story wasn't completely made up, at least not technically, but everything else was twisted. Nothing happened up there. Only a tragic accident. The kid fell. He didn't want to go through with it and he panicked up on the ledge.
I
was actually the one who told him he didn't have to go through with it. And “the argument” this asshole was referring to was actually between me and another Chi Psi dude named Luke Chappelle, who kept insisting that if Giffie didn't jump, he could kiss Chi Psi good-bye. The kid tried to break away from Chappelle and head back down when he tripped and tumbled over the edge. I'm the one who jumped in after him and tried like hell to bring him back up. The incident killed me for a while. I almost left school. But it wasn't because I was guilty. We never pushed him. This Boothby jerk had it all wrong. It was a frat ritual. We'd all made the jump multiple times.
I knew this was bad. It was only going to throw more hot coals onto the fire of my alleged guilt. Worse, anyone who happened to believe me would now have doubts.
And it would make it even harder for anyone to believe me about the blue car.
I'd never told anyone about it before. Well, maybe I told Liz once, years before. I mean, it all happened twenty-two years ago. It didn't have any bearing on who I was. And while the event was tragic, I hadn't done anything wrong.
I lay back and closed my eyes, and I realized how trapped I was. How the person who was doing this to me must be cackling with enjoyment.
I was even burying myself now!
C
ars were already streaming into the office lot the next morning as I woke up in the backseat.
I remembered finally falling asleep, still fuming over that Google post, praying I'd wake up in my own bed and that everything in the past twenty-four hours would have been nothing more than a horrifying dream.
No such luck.
I wiped my eyes, reality colliding into me again. Realizing that I was on the run. That my college buddy Mike was dead. That my daughter had been abducted. Kidnapped by a killer who had turned my life into a living hell.
I looked up at the car owner's evergreen air freshener hanging from the dash. Other than that, everything was just peachy!
Then it hit me. With the sudden clarity that only comes when your mind is completely at rest.
I went over the sequence of events for maybe the hundredth time: how Martinez was writing me out a summons from his car; the blue car pulling up beside him; how I was thinking how the whole barrage of questions had just been some kind of made-up cover; out of nowhere, the two, crisp pops. The blue car lurching away.
But this time I saw it! Coming into focus as if I was once again looking through my side mirror:
ADJ-4.
That was it!
The license plate from South Carolina. There were more numbers, of course, but I was sure it began with those. Not ADF or A4N, or whatever I'd come up with the day before.
ADJ-4 . . .
In the panic of all that happened yesterday, I hadn't been able to fully bring it to mind.
For the first time, I had something to act on. If I could somehow get access to motor-vehicle-department records in South Carolina. I didn't know whom to call. An attorney might be able to get it done. The police, of course.
Fat chance of that!
I could call Liz, but I wanted to keep her out of this as much as I could.
Then I suddenly thought of Marv, my business partner in the walk-in clinics. Marv was the exâVP of Operations in the Lauderdale Hospital system. He knew the world. Police. Government officials. Movers and shakers. When it came to public records on anything, Marv could get it done.
He'd already sent me e-mails, conveying his shock and disbelief at the news reports and begging me to call him.
I picked up one of the disposables and punched in Marv's number; it rang three times before he picked up.
“Marv Weiss . . .” It sounded like he was on a speakerphone.
“Marv, it's me!”
I said, in a hushed voice. “Are you able to talk?”
“
Henry. . . . !
Wait just a minute . . .” I heard him get up, probably to shut the office door. Then I heard the tone come off the speakerphone. “Yes, I can talk. Henry. What the hell's going on? This is all so crazy! I know you. These charges can't be true.”
“Of course they're not true, Marv! And I know it's all crazyâand I wish I could go into it all right now. But listen: if you want to help me, I need something from you.”
“Of course I want to help.
What . . . ?
”
“Marv, first, I want to give you my wordâwe've known each other a long timeâthat I didn't do one thing they're accusing me of.
Not one thing.
I swear!”
“You don't have to explain that to me. I know you didn't do it, Henry.”
“Including that last bit of nonsense from college that came out last night. It's all a crock of shit. But what I have to do is prove it right now, and for that, I need some help.”
“I understand. I just can't believe you're in this mess. What line are you calling me on? I didn't recognize the phone. You have to be careful . . .”
“Don't even ask, Marv. I'm learning on the run. I think we're safe. For now . . .”
“I know. I know. I can only imagine . . .” He tried to laugh. “Listen, the local police called here yesterday. They wanted to know if you'd been in touch.”
I hesitated a second. “So what's the story on that? What are you going to tell them?” After Jennifer, I guess I was running scared of everyone right now. And I also didn't want to drag Marv into trouble.
He didn't hesitate. “Like you said, Henry, we've known each other a long time. What is it you need?”
Those words were like rain to me in a long drought. The drought of people's trust in me. “That means the world to me, Marv. You've no idea. I've got to locate a car. I saw who did this to that cop. Or at least, I saw his car. I just don't know where to turn.”
“You saw it happen?”
“I was looking through my side mirror. The officer had pulled me over for some kind of a bogus traffic violation. It was a dark blue sedan. I couldn't tell the make, but I did catch part of the plates. They're from South Carolina. I couldn't make them out completely, but I'm positive on the first four characters.
ADJ-4 . . .
You've gotta find that plate for me, Marv. It's my only way out of this. I know you'll know someone who can get it done.”
“
A-D-J
dash four . . . ?” he said, writing it down.
“Yes. I mean, how many plates can possibly begin like that? And registered for a blue sedan?”
“Don't get your hopes up totally. The car could have been stolen.”
“I know. I know. Believe me . . .” I'd taken two cars myself in the past day. “But it's a start. It's all I have as a start, Marv. It has to lead somewhere . . .”
“I'll try, Henry, I'll try . . . Listen . . .” He lowered his voice. “I'm sure I'm not the first one to say this to you, but maybe the best course of action is simply to turn yourself in. Let the police pursue this. We're living in America, Henry, not Syria. If you didn't do this, the truth will come out.”
“The police up here seem to be shooting first and asking questions later. You ever been shot at, Marv?”
“No,” he said. “I can't say that I have. Then how about making your way down here. We'll find you the best representation. Then we can look for your carâ”
“Listen, Marv . . .” Hard as it was, I couldn't find a way to tell him about Hallie; about what had happened to her. “I'm sure if the tables were turned, I'd probably be telling you the very same thing. But I can't. Something's happened and I can't. And I can't even share it with you. I know that sounds crazy. You just have to trust me. Not to mention that even if I couldâtwo murders, one of them of a copâwith my means and ability to flee, I wouldn't be getting bail anytime soon. Half the Jacksonville police force saw me in cuffs in the backseat of Martinez's car. They don't have any doubts it's me.”
“Cuffs . . . ?”
“There's no way to explain it.” And I couldn't now. No time. I just went through it as fast as I could. Just enough so Marv could feel the nightmare I'd been through. “Which brings me back to that car . . .”
“Okay. Let me go. So how do I get in touch with you?”
“I'm going to give you a safe number. Or text me. On my cell. I'll call you back.”
“All right, all right. I'll get on it right now. But, Henry, you have to promise me you'll stay out of sight until I can get back to you. Then we'll figure out a way.”
“I'm not exactly a pro at this, but I'm learning fast. You have no idea what this means to me. I knew I could count on you, Marv. And hey, at least there's one good thing I can think of that's come out of this mess.”
“What's that?” Marv replied dubiously.
“You remember a couple of years ago when we were going back and forth about what to name the clinics?”
“Yeah, I remember . . .”
“Now aren't you glad I convinced you
not
to put my name over the front door?”