Darkness the Color of Snow (7 page)

He nods, not in comprehension, but in submission.

She leans in and kisses him. “I'll tell you what. I can't stay. I really can't, but how about I give you something to help you sleep tonight? Go get ready for bed. I'll be right in. Don't argue. Doctor's orders.”

When he is in bed, she comes in and leans over the bed, kissing him. He puts up his arm to embrace her, and she gently but firmly pushes it down. As they kiss, she slips her hand under the cover and fondles his erection, then pulls down the cover and his boxer shorts, and takes it in her mouth.

She works slowly at first, lots of licking, then moving her mouth up and down along it. His hand is brushing at her sweater, and she reaches back under her sweater and pulls up her bra and guides his hand to her breasts. His body is tensing and relaxing rhythmically and she quickens the pace, urging him on. His hand comes away from her breasts and goes to the back of her head, where he tries to slow her, working to make himself last. She reaches up and moves his hand back to her breast and quickens the pace again. She is in full control now, pulling him on. He can do nothing but go where she is taking him, and she puts her hand flat on his belly as she feels his body start to spasm and the first jet of semen comes into her mouth and she rubs his belly, holding him, gentling him to the end of the orgasm as she would gentle a horse.

“Feel better?” she asks.

He nods and laughs a weak laugh as he languishes on the pillow and says, “Yeah. I feel pretty good.”

“That's good. You go to sleep now. Tomorrow things will be better. Tomorrow I'll be over in the afternoon. We can have dinner and other good things.

“I'll let myself out.”

 

CHAPTER 4

(DAY TWO)

R
ONNY WAKES WHILE
it is still dark. He's sweating and disoriented. He gets out of bed. It's three thirty, and he makes his way into the living room, turns on the light, and goes to the thermostat. He never turned it back the night before. He sets the temperature down to sixty, then pads back to bed.

He stays awake in the dark, replaying the accident in his head. He will have to write his report in the morning, and he wants to get it right. This was not his fault.

W
HEN HE GETS
up, he wants to go to Edna's and get breakfast. This is not a good idea. He knows that, but he can't stay in the apartment where he has no food other than bread and peanut butter, and no one to talk to. He turns on the TV, then goes to the kitchen and makes a peanut butter sandwich. Back in the living room, he clicks the remote until he gets to Channel Eight.

“Brian Semple, Channel Eight Weather. We're in for a few days of frigid weather here, with temperatures staying in the high teens and low twenties, going down to zero and below at night. But no real snow. There may be some scattered snow showers, but nothing to be concerned about. You can put the shovels away for a little while. I say ‘a little while,' because way up in Canada, there's a storm forming that may be headed our way at the end of the week. Too early to tell, but I'll keep an eye on it for you.”

Ronny finishes his sandwich only to realize that now he's really hungry. He hasn't eaten a full meal since yesterday morning. He grabs his coat, hat, and gloves and goes out the door. When he walks out to the truck, there is a thin layer of snow—­a dusting. Sitting in the truck, waiting for the heater to blow hot, he feels a sense of comfort and pleasure in the one thing that is truly his.

B
UT ALONG WITH
the comfort and pleasure he feels, there is an undertone of unease. He owes $487 a month on the truck. Being suspended for five days will make that amount harder to raise. Worse, it reminds him of just how vulnerable he is. If he were to get fired, he wouldn't be able to keep up those payments, and the truck would be gone. He doesn't want to think about this. Gordy has told him that he won't be fired, and he believes that. He has to believe that.

When he pulls into Edna's, the parking lot is nearly full and he has to park at the very end of the lot and walk back. There are a few swirls of snow, but when he looks up he realizes that it's not snowing. The wind is just blowing the earlier snow off the roof of the diner.

Inside, the tables are pretty well taken, but there is room at the counter. He is halfway to the counter when he realizes that the noise level, which is always high in the mornings at Edna's, has dropped off. He is aware that he is an object of interest this morning. He continues on to the counter smiling and nodding as he passes the tables.

Diane greets him with a smile, a “Hello, Officer,” and a pot of coffee and a mug. She greets him the same way every morning. He drinks the coffee while he waits for his order. He likes Edna's coffee better than the Starbucks he keeps at home for Nessa. He guesses it would be considered weak by ­people who didn't drink it all the time, but it suits him fine. He doesn't really like coffee very much.

He can feel ­people watching him as he waits. He wishes he had bought a paper from the machine outside, then remembers that there is always a stack of abandoned papers at the end of the counter. He walks down and picks up a ­couple of sections. He's got Sports Monday from the
New York Times,
and he thumbs through it, pausing to read the scores from yesterday's games. When he finishes, he couldn't pass a simple quiz on who won and who lost, who still has a chance at the play-­offs and who doesn't. He goes back and starts the section over, trying to retain the information so he will have something to talk about at the station.

The second section, which he starts after his eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast have arrived, is the front page of the
Warrentown Clarion
. It seems an odd combination, the sports section from the huge city and the front page from the small town that's bigger than the town he lives in.

He's on page two.

Fatal Hit and Run on Route 417.
A driver pulled over for speeding in Lydell was struck and killed by a hit-­and-­run driver Sunday night. Matthew Laferiere, 21, was pronounced dead on arrival at Warrentown General Hospital. Mr. Laferiere was being placed under arrest at the scene by Lydell patrolman Ronald Forbert. A struggle ensued and Mr. Laferiere slipped on road ice and was hit by a ­vehicle described as a white late-­1990s, early-­2000s Toyota or Honda. Passengers in Mr. Lafe­riere's ­vehicle, Paul Stablein, 22, Robert Cabella, 21, and Samuel Colvington, 17, were unhurt. Patrolman Forbert has been suspended pending the results of an investigation. ­Arrangements for Mr. Laferiere are listed in the death notices, section B.

He folds the paper up and places it beside him. He's now more self-­conscious than he was when he first came into Edna's. He's aware that someone is standing to his right. He turns to find a smiling face and an extended hand. “I believe we've met before. Martin Glendenning, president of the town council.”

Ronny, who knows exactly who he is, nods and extends his hand.

“I just wanted to say hello and extend my condolences on the loss of your friend, Matthew. He was your friend, wasn't he?”

“Back in the day. Yeah. We knew each other for a pretty long time.”

“Well, I'm sorry for your loss. And you? Are you doing all right? I understand you were sent to the hospital Sunday night.”

Ronny shakes his head. “Nothing. It's really nothing, just some scrapes on my arm and leg. I'm fine.”

“Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that,” Martin says. “And you're doing all right, otherwise?”

“Yeah. Fine. I'm fine.”

“That's good. That's great to hear. If there's anything that I can do to help you through this trying time, please let me know. I'll do whatever I can. I want you to know that I'm on your side, so if you have any problems, let me know.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“No. Thank you. For the job you're doing for our town.” Martin smiles a big smile. “You might be underpaid, but you're not underappreciated.” He claps Ronny on the shoulder. “Remember. Anytime. Keep me posted.”

“Thank you.”

Ronny goes back to his eggs as Martin Glendenning wanders around the diner stopping to chat and laugh, when it occurs to Ronny. My side? Who's on the other side?

W
HEN
R
ONNY WALKS
into the office, everyone is there—­Gordy, Pete, Steve, and John. There must have been a meeting this morning, or an important football game last night. He can't tell because the talking stops when he walks in. There is a pause, long enough to be noticeable, then they greet him, ask about his health. When that's done, things lapse back into silence again.

“I'm here to write my report,” he says.

Gordy gets up. “You feel ready to do that?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I do. I haven't really remembered anything more about what happened that I haven't already told you. I'll just have to write about that.”

“That's fine,” Gordy says. “Write it just as you remember it. You call your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Vanessa?”

“Yeah, her too.”

“And you're feeling OK?”

“Yeah. I am. A little bored, but I'm OK.”

“Good. Good. Sorry about the bored part. Maybe you could start
War and Peace
.”

“I don't really read.”

“Well, watch movies. Take long drives, go to the gym. Whatever eats up the time. You'll be back to work in no time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. I told you, you're suspended, not fired. You've already got one day down. Come on. Let's get that report done.”

Gordy takes him over to the desk Ronny shares with John North and says, “Excuse us.” John gets up and pulls out the chair for Ronny in an exaggerated impression of a waiter. Ronny sits, taps the computer back from sleep mode, and pulls up the template for reports.

REPORT LYDELL POLICE DEPARTMENT

Case Number

“I don't know the case number.”

“Seventy-­three twenty-­one,” Pete says.

Case Number 7321

Date: December 18, 2010

Reporting Officer Ptl. Ronald Forbert

Preparer Ptl. Ronald Forbert

Incident: Death of Matthew Laferiere by hit and run driver on Route 417, Lydell, during traffic stop for speeding.

Detail of Event

At approximately 24:30, December 16, 2010, I was on patrol on Route 417, specifically clocking traffic for speeding vehicles. Lit approaching vehicle, a 2001 Jeep Cherokee with only one headlight, traveling at 68 mph, per radar. I pursued vehicle and stopped approximately half a mile from spot of first sighting. The driver was Matthew Laferiere, age 21. There were three passengers, Paul Stablein, age 22, Robert Cabella, age 21, and Samuel Colvington, age 17. I observed a strong smell of alcohol, and located a nearly empty 30 can case of Natural Light beer in the backseat. I also detected the presence of marijuana by smell.

I ordered the passengers out of the vehicle and they complied. I ordered the driver, Matthew Laferiere, out of the vehicle and he did not respond. He appeared to be intoxicated. I ordered him out a second time, and he pushed the driver side door open, striking me on my right side and knocking me to the ground. I got up and ordered him to place his hands on top of the vehicle and notified him that I was placing him under arrest for Driving Under the Influence. I placed a handcuff on his right wrist and pulled his right arm down, behind his back, and attempted to place the other cuff on his left wrist. He resisted and there was a short struggle. Mr. Lafe­riere slipped on a patch of ice, stumbled, and fell out onto Route 417. A west bound vehicle, white in color, a sedan, came over the rise at high speed and struck Mr. Laferiere and knocked him into the parked Jeep Cherokee. The white vehicle spun, slowed, then continued westward on Route 417 at great speed. I recorded only a partial license plate number J 6 New York.

Mr. Laferiere was observed to have sustained acute head trauma and was unresponsive. I immediately called for backup and an ambulance. He was deceased before the ambulance arrived and pronounced dead at the scene.

Actions Taken

I immediately called for backup and an ambulance. He was deceased before the ambulance arrived. The three passengers in the Jeep Cherokee were Breathalyzed and released into the custody of their parents. All three were over the legal limit.

Summary

Matthew Laferiere was struck and killed by a hit and run driver at approximately 24:30 on Route 417 at mile marker . . .

He looks over to Pete. “What was the mile marker?”

Pete did not even look up. “Three eighty-­one.”

Mile marker 381. Mr. Laferiere was struggling with arresting officer before stumbling and falling into road and being struck. Hit and run vehicle continued traveling west bound on Route 417.

Ronny sits back, looks over what he's written, and calls Pete over to look at it. “Anything else I need to put in?”

Pete scrolls the screen up and reads over it. “I don't think so. We have the Breathalyzer results to back up the observation of intoxication on the other three, and we'll be getting a tox report on Laferiere. Save it and send it to Gordy. Let him look it over before you go.”

“Should I put the Breathalyzer results in?”

“Yeah, that's a good idea. Hang on a sec. OK. Here they are. Robert Cabella, .11, Samuel Colvington, .14, Paul Stablein .093. All legally over the limit. Put that in that paragraph, or better yet just type it at the bottom of the report as an addendum.”

Ronny does that then checks over the report. He puts in a comma, then takes it back out. He reads it over until Pete tells him to stop. He prints it out, and starts to read again, then hands it to Pete who is now standing at his back with his hand out.

“Anything else I need to do today?”

Pete shakes his head. “Hang around for a bit until Gordy says you can go. Then you're back on your own.”

Ronny nods.

“It ain't no fun being on suspension, is it? Everybody hears ‘five days off,' and it sounds good to them, but it's a bitch.”

“Yesterday was all right. I've just got to get through with today, tomorrow, the next day, and the next day.”

“Stretches out before you like a bad cold, doesn't it? Well, like a bad cold, it goes away, too. This time next week, you'll barely remember how bored you were.”

Gordy comes out of the office. “That looks OK for our purposes. Print out a copy for yourself. Maybe a ­couple. You may need to write a deposition at some point. It will be helpful to have this handy.”

“A deposition?”

Gordy shrugs. “There could be some legal proceedings farther on down the road. Maybe. Maybe not. But it could happen.”

“I could be charged with something?”

“No. You didn't do anything. You won't be charged with anything. Once you finish your five days, you're good. There might be civil actions, though, from the Laferieres.”

“I'm going to get sued?”

“No. You're not. The town might, though. Might not, either. It doesn't look like there's much here to base a lawsuit on. Don't worry about it. You're sure you're all right?”

“Yeah. I'm fine.”

“Good. Then you need to go home. You're on suspension, and you can't be hanging around here.”

Ronny nods glumly. “See you guys.”

“H
E'S TAKING THIS
hard,” Pete says.

“Of course he is. Seeing someone get killed is a hard thing.”

“And blaming himself?”

“All we can do is assure him that he's not to blame. When we can get the driver, it will be easier. Then there will be someone to blame, and he won't be pulling it onto himself. He's a stand-­up guy, we know that. He's going to go over it and over it. We're going to have to prove to him that it wasn't his fault. I think kids of drunks tend to get pretty good at blaming themselves for things they don't have a lot of control over. But the kid's got a good head and a good heart. We saw that at the fire.”