Don't Tell Anyone (5 page)

Two officers searched the street where the accident had happened. A third directed traffic around the site. A woman carrying a large camera took pictures of the scene.

Another police officer walked toward the squad car.

Megan laid her bike down and hurried toward him. “This dog was in the wrecked van,” she said. “After the accident, he jumped out and ran away. I went after him and caught him.”

The woman immediately took a picture of Megan and the dog. Then she started scribbling in a notebook.

The officer introduced himself as Officer Rupp. He asked Megan questions about the dog. When he discovered that Megan had actually witnessed the accident, he wrote
down her name, address, and phone number, then questioned her even more.

She told him everything she remembered. Yes, she had seen the car that drove away. Yes, she had seen the driver. No, she did not get a license number. Officer Rupp wrote her answers down.

The woman listened, too, making frequent notes.

“I may need to question you again,” Officer Rupp said. “I'll call you if I do.”

“All right.”

“You can untie the dog now,” Officer Rupp said. “I'll take him.” He looked at the tag that hung from the dog's collar. “Dinkle?” he said. “What kind of crazy name is that?”

The dog wagged his tail.

“Hi, Dinkle,” Officer Rupp said.

Dinkle wiggled all over and licked Officer Rupp's pant leg.

“What will you do with him?” Megan asked. “Do you know where he lives?” She knew it really wasn't her business, but she felt connected to the dog after chasing him and petting him and bringing him back to the field. She felt as if Dinkle was her friend.

“The driver was not able to talk,” Officer Rupp said. “There was a name in her purse of who to call in an emergency, but no one answered. As soon as we can, we'll contact a family member or friend and tell them where to pick up the dog.”

“Will you keep him with you until then?”

“He'll go to the county animal shelter.”

“The shelter where the dog catcher takes strays?” Megan asked.

“We can't watch him at the police station, and we can't have him riding along in a squad car.”

Megan looked down at Dinkle. She didn't want him to be locked in a cage at the animal shelter. He had been through enough.

“Could I keep him until you find out where he should go?” Megan asked. “He's getting used to me, and my mom won't care if I bring him home.”

The policeman hesitated. “You're sure your mother will let you take him?”

Megan wasn't sure at all, but she thought she could talk Mom into it, especially since it would probably be for only a few hours. “Yes,” she said. “He can stay in my room.”

The officer reached down to pet the dog. “He'd be a lot better off with you,” he said. “A day at the shelter and he'd be even more traumatized than he already is.”

“Then I can take him home?”

Officer Rupp nodded. “I'll call as soon as I've talked to his owner or her family. Someone may come to pick him up yet today.”

The woman handed Megan a business card. “I'm Amy Gleason from the
Daily Tribune
,” she said. “Your picture will probably be in tomorrow morning's paper.”

Megan grinned. She would call Chelsea tomorrow morning and tell her to be sure to read the newspaper.

When Megan got home, Kylie was drawing with chalk on the sidewalk in front of the house—and singing about it.

Megan interrupted the song. “Where's Mom?”

Kylie did not look up. “She's making dinner,” she said, “and you're in trouble for being gone a long time and not telling her where you went.”

“I'm a hero,” Megan said. “My picture might be in the paper tomorrow morning.”

Kylie quit drawing and looked at Megan. “Hey! Where did you get the dog? Do we get to keep him? What's his name? Why are you a hero?”

With Kylie chattering at full speed, Megan led the dog inside.

“Mom!” she called. “You won't believe what happened to me.”

Mrs. Perk came out of the kitchen.

“Megan found a dog,” Kylie said. “She's going to—”

“Hush, Kylie,” Mrs. Perk said. “Let Megan tell it.”

Megan did. She told about the screeching brakes and the crash and the injured driver. She told about the nurse who stopped to help, and about chasing the dog, and how she tied her windbreaker around Dinkle's collar. She told about the police and the journalist and how Dinkle was going to go to the county animal shelter unless Megan brought him home.

When she had finished, Mrs. Perk said, “Gracious, Megan, you are a one-person animal rescue society. First a bunch of cats, and now a dog. All in one week.”

“The policeman said Dinkle would be better off here than at the animal shelter,” Megan said. “Can I take care of him? It will only be for a short time.”

“All right. I'll probably regret this, but we'll keep him here until his family comes to get him.”

“Hooray!” Kylie shouted. “We get to keep Dinkle!”

“Only until his owner comes for him,” Mrs. Perk said.

“Can he stay in my room?” Megan asked.

“No. We'll block off the kitchen and keep him in there where there's no carpet. He might not be house-trained.”

Kylie threw her arms around the dog and began kissing his fur.

“Thanks, Mom,” Megan said.

“I really should be angry with you,” Mrs. Perk said. “You didn't leave a note; I had no idea where you were.”

“I'm sorry. I only expected to be gone a few minutes. You see, I saw this sign about new apartments and I—”

Kylie began to sing.

“He's staying in the kitchen,” Mrs. Perk said.

Dinkle walked away from her, toward the living room.

“Get the card table and block the doorway so he can't get on the carpet,” Mrs. Perk said.

Megan did.

Dinkle whined.

“He's hungry,” Kylie said. “He wants mashed potatoes and applesauce and chocolate pudding.”

Megan knew those were Kylie's favorite foods.

“He's probably thirsty, after running so far,” Mrs. Perk said.

Megan filled a bowl with water and put it on the floor. Dinkle lapped it eagerly, splashing water all around the bowl. Megan got a paper towel and wiped the floor. “What can I feed him?” she asked.

“He can have my green beans,” Kylie offered.

“We'll go buy some dog food after we eat,” Mrs. Perk said. “Get washed now; dinner's ready.”

They had just finished eating when the telephone rang. Mrs. Perk answered. “Yes, officer,” she said. “I can bring her to the station. When do you want us to come?”

Megan whispered to Kylie, “It's the police. They must want to talk to me some more.”

But why? she wondered. I already told them everything I saw.

Mrs. Perk hung up and said, “The police want to talk to you again, Megan. I said I'd drive you to the station.”

“Can I come?” Kylie asked. “Can we take Dinkle along?”

“Dinkle will stay here. We'll buy food for him on the way home.” She picked up the phone again and asked the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Faber, if Kylie could come over for a visit, briefly explaining why.

Kylie howled in protest. “I want to go to the police station! It isn't fair!”

“I'm sorry, Kylie,” Mrs. Perk said. “I don't know how long this will take. It's best for you to stay with Mrs. Faber.”

Still protesting, Kylie went next door while Megan and her mother got in the car. As they drove off, they heard a mournful howl from the kitchen.

Officer Rupp met Megan and her mother at the police station.

After shaking hands with Mrs. Perk, Officer Rupp said, “I want you to tell me again, Megan, exactly what you saw.”

Once more Megan told about the accident.

“What make of car was the tan car?” Officer Rupp asked.

“I don't know,” Megan said.

“Was it new? Shiny?”

“It was old. The finish was dull, and there were some
dents in it.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember more details, but all she could recall was the sound of the crash and the shocking sight of the tan car speeding away.

“Did it have four doors or two?” Officer Rupp asked.

“Four, I think.”

“Was there anyone in it, other than the driver?”

“I only saw the driver.”

Officer Rupp gave Megan a sheet of paper that had a map of the accident area drawn on it. It showed the streets, the sidewalk, the freeway on-ramp, and the field.

“Please sketch for me where the cars were and where you were when you saw the accident,” he said, handing Megan a pencil.

“I'm not very good at drawing,” she said.

“Just use an X for one car and an O for the other. Show me which way they were going and where they were when they collided.”

Megan drew the accident as well as she could. While she worked, her mother looked at the sheet of paper. “Exactly where did this accident take place?” Mrs. Perk asked.

Officer Rupp said, “At the on-ramp to Interstate 90, near the corner of 148th.”

“At the field where the cats are,” Mrs. Perk said.

Megan finished the drawing and explained it to Officer Rupp.

“Please tell me everything you can remember about the driver,” he said.

“I only caught a glimpse of him.”

“Hair color?”

“I didn't see his hair. He had on a cap.” Megan had already said all this when Officer Rupp questioned her at the field. Why was he asking the same things again?

“Could you guess the driver's age?”

“Kind of young.”

“How young? A teenager? Twenties?”

Megan shook her head. “I didn't see him well enough to be positive, but I think he was a teenager.”

“What about skin color?”

Megan thought hard. “White. I'm sure he was white.”

“Do you think you could describe him for a police artist? We'd like to try to get a drawing that resembles him.”

Megan agreed to try.

The artist came and began questioning her. “Was his face long or round?”

“Sort of long.”

To Megan's surprise, the artist drew on a computer rather than on paper. He showed Megan two sketches. “Did his eyes look like this—or more like this?”

“I saw him from the side, and only for an instant. I'm not sure about his eyes.” Megan knew her answers were not useful, but she couldn't help it. In her mind, she had a faint idea of what the driver had looked like, but trying to put that fleeting glimpse into words was impossible. “His hair was kind of shaggy,” she said, “as if he needed a haircut.”

The artist kept asking questions and making changes in
the sketch until finally Megan said the drawing resembled the person she had seen. She knew the image still wasn't exactly right, but she didn't know what needed to be changed.

Officer Rupp thanked her for her help and then said, “If you remember anything else, no matter how unimportant it might seem, call me.” He gave Mrs. Perk a business card. “This is my pager number. Call any time, day or night.”

“Does the injured woman's family know about the dog yet?” Mrs. Perk asked.

“Not yet. Can you keep him overnight?”

“Yes. How is the woman? Have you talked to her?”

Officer Rupp shook his head. “She died soon after she arrived at the hospital.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Perk said.

Megan got a sick feeling in her stomach. The woman she had tried to help, Dinkle's owner, was dead.

“That's why it's so important to find the other driver,” Officer Rupp said. “This is no longer merely a hit-and-run accident, although that would be bad enough. The charge now could be vehicular homicide.”

Megan stared in disbelief.

“We have not yet notified the victim's family,” Officer Rupp said, “because we can't reach anyone. For now, I'd appreciate it if you did not talk to anyone about this.”

“You do think the crash was accidental, don't you?” Mrs. Perk asked.

“Why do you ask that?”

Mrs. Perk looked sheepish. “I read a lot of detective novels,”
she said. “When an accident victim's spouse can't be found immediately, sometimes it turns out not to be an accident at all, and the spouse is guilty of murder.”

“We're waiting for results of the autopsy to establish the cause of death,” Officer Rupp said. “At this time we're looking into all possibilities.”

On the way home, Megan and her mother stopped at the market. “Pick out some dog food,” Mrs. Perk said. “I need to get a few other things. I'll meet you at the check-out counter.”

Megan looked at the dozens of different kinds of dog food, unsure which one to choose. She finally selected a package with a picture of a dog that looked a little like Dinkle.

When they arrived home, Megan could hear Kylie singing a half block away. Looking toward the sound, she saw Kylie leading Dinkle on a leash. The neighbor, Mrs. Faber, walked with them.

Kylie bellowed, to her usual tune:

Megan couldn't believe her ears. There was her sister, happily carrying a little plastic bag full of dog-doo and singing about it at the top of her lungs. Megan hoped none of the other neighbors were listening.

“Mom!” Kylie shouted. “I took Dinkle for a walk!”

“Hush, Kylie,” Mrs. Perk said. “Keep your voice down.”

“I still had a leash,” Mrs. Faber said, “from when I used to have Pepper. Dinkle was howling at being left by himself, so it seemed a good time to teach Kylie the proper way to walk a dog.”