"U" is for Undertow (18 page)

“That’s not right. That can’t be.”

“There were three other witnesses—two joggers and a guy in a pickup truck you barely missed. He ended up going off the road. He’s lucky he didn’t end up dead as well.”

“I’m drawing a blank.”

“That’s called an alcoholic blackout in case you haven’t figured it out. Forget what went on and you absolve yourself of blame. What better way to sidestep guilt than to blot it out of your mind?”

“You think I did this on purpose? You know me better than that. When have I ever—”

Carolyn rode right over him. “You know what’s odd? We saw her—the girl you killed. The kids and I must have left San Francisco the same time she did. I didn’t realize who she was until I came across her picture in this morning’s paper. We’d stopped at that Applebee’s near Floral Beach. The kids were cranky and hungry and needed a break. She was sitting in the first booth eating a burger and fries as we walked in. We sat in the booth next to hers and the kids were being silly, peeping at her over the top of the banquette. You know how they do. She started making faces at them, which delighted them no end. She finished her meal before ours arrived and she waved from the door as she went out. She was so fresh and so pretty. I remember hoping Linnie would be as sweet to little kids when she was the same age . . .”

Carolyn’s face crumpled and she put a hand over her mouth, sobbing like a child, rocking back and forth. She held herself at the waist, as though she had a stomachache.

He wanted to reach out, but he was aware that any gesture he made would seem woefully inadequate. Had someone really died because of him? Carolyn’s anguish was contagious and he felt tears spill from his own eyes, his weeping as automatic as yawning in the presence of someone who’s just yawned. At the same time, in the most detached and clinical part of his brain, he was hoping she’d catch sight of his tears and feel sorry for him. She was capable of mood swings and emotional shifts, being outraged one minute and forgiving the next. He needed her on his side; not an enemy, but his ally.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I had no idea,” he whispered. His voice cracked and he could feel the tension in his chest as he choked back a sound. “I can’t believe it. I’m sick about it.”

Her face snapped up, her tone incredulous. “You’re sick about it?
You’re sick?
You were drunk on your ass. How could you do that? How COULD you?”

“Carolyn, please. You have every right to be furious, but I didn’t mean to do it. You have to believe me.” He knew he was sounding too rational. This wasn’t a time to try persuading her. She was too upset. But how could he survive if she turned on him? All their friends loved Carolyn. They’d take their cue from her. Everyone said she was an angel; considerate, warm, loyal, kind. Her compassion was boundless—unless or until she felt betrayed. Then she was merciless. She’d often accused him of being cold, but at the core of her being, she was the one with a stony heart, not him.

He said, “I’m not asking for sympathy. This is something I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.” Inwardly, he winced because the tone was off. He sounded petulant when he meant to sound remorseful.

She took a tissue from her handbag and wiped her eyes, pausing then to blow her nose. She made a sound that was an audible sigh and he wondered if the worst of the storm had passed. She was shaking her head with a small sad smile. “Do you want to know what I came home to? You’ve probably forgotten this along with everything else. I found an empty vodka bottle and six empty beer cans tossed in the trash. There was whiskey all over the patio where you’d knocked over the Maker’s Mark. You must have fallen against the table because it was tipped up on its side and there was broken glass everywhere. It’s a wonder you didn’t cut your own throat.”

She paused and pressed the tissue against her mouth. She shook her head again, saying, “I don’t know you, Walker. I have no idea who you are or what you’re about. I’m serious.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I’ll never have another drink again as long as I live. I give you my word.”

“Oh, for god’s sake. Spare me. Look at you. You’ve been drunk for days and now an innocent girl is dead.”

He knew better than to go on defending himself. He’d just have to ride it out, let her get it all out of her system, and then maybe she’d relent. He held his hand out, palm up, in a mute plea for contact.

She leaned forward. “I’m filing for divorce.”

“Carolyn, don’t say that. I’ll quit. I promise you.”

“I don’t give a shit about your promises. You said you could quit anytime you wanted, but you meant as long as I kept an eye on you. The minute my back was turned, you were at it again and look at the result. I’m not your keeper. That’s not my job. You’re in charge of yourself and you blew it.”

“I know. I understand. I have no defense. I’m begging you not to do this. We’re a family, Carolyn. I love you. I love my kids. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

“There’s no way to make it right. That poor girl died because of you.”

“Don’t keep saying that. I get it and you have no idea how horrible I feel. I deserve the worst. I deserve anything you want to throw at me—hatred, blame, recriminations, you name it—only please not right now. I need you. I can’t get through this without you.”

Her smile was mocking and she rolled her eyes. “You are such a horse’s ass.”

“Maybe so, but I’m an honorable man. I’ll take full responsibility. You can’t condemn me for one lapse in judgment—”

“
One
lapse? Perhaps along with everything else, you’re forgetting your previous DUI.”

“That was years ago. The whole thing was dumb and you know it. The cop pulled me over because the tag on my license plate was expired. The guy was a moron. You said so yourself.”

“Not so much of a moron he didn’t smell whiskey on your breath and haul you off to jail. I was the one who bailed you out. Because of you, the social worker nearly tossed out our application to adopt—”

“Fine. All right. I did that, Your Honor. I’m guilty as charged. I’ve apologized a hundred times, but you keep bringing it up. The point is, nothing came of it. No harm, no foul . . .”

She got up and reached for her coat. “Tell the judge ‘No harm, no foul’ at your arraignment. That ought to be good for a laugh.”

 

 

 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. He feigned more pain than he felt, just to get more medication. God bless Percocet, his new best friend. He picked at his supper tray, then flipped from channel to channel on the TV set, too restless to focus. He ran through the confrontation with Carolyn a hundred times. What he hadn’t dared confess, for fear of her heaping even more venom on him, was that he actually felt nothing one way or the other. How could he regret consequences when the before and the after and the in-between were gone?

At 9:00 P.M. he woke with a start, unaware that he’d fallen asleep. He heard footsteps in the hall and turned to the door expecting to catch sight of Blake Barrigan. He’d never had much use for the guy, but their wives were friends and he was sorely in need of a friend himself just now. Barrigan, like most doctors, was capable of keeping judgment at bay, appearing sympathetic whether he felt that way or not.

When Herschel Rhodes appeared in the doorway, Walker thought he was hallucinating. Herschel Rhodes? Why was he stepping into his hospital room? Walker had known him at Santa Teresa High School, where the two had occasional classes together. Herschel was a homely teen, awkward and overweight, with bad skin and no social skills. To compensate for his failings he was earnest and studious, the poor schmuck. Teachers fawned over him because he paid attention in class and actually participated. That’s how out of it he was. The boy was hell on raising his hand and the answers he gave were usually right. He turned in his class assignments on time, even going so far as to
type
his term papers, including the copious footnotes. What a little kiss-ass. Herschel was one of those kids shunned and ignored by the popular kids. No one was ever outright rude to him and if he was aware of the smirks and eye rolling that went on behind his back, he gave no indication of it.

He was now in his late thirties, still round-faced, with his dark hair slicked back in a style Walker hadn’t seen since the early 1960s. He’d been a merit scholar and graduated from Santa Teresa High third in his class. Walker had heard he’d graduated from Princeton and had then gone on to Harvard Law. He’d passed the bar the first time around. His specialty was criminal defense. Walker had seen his full-page ad in the yellow pages—murder, domestic violence, DUI, and drug offenses. It seemed like a sleazy way to make a living, but he must have done well at it because Walker’d seen his house in Montebello and the guy lived well. He’d become better-looking with age, and the traits that were deficits in his teens now stood him in good stead. He was reputed to be a ruthless competitor at anything he undertook—golf, tennis, bridge. “Cutthroat” was the word they used. He played hard, he played to win, and no one got in his way.

Herschel seemed startled at the sight of him. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

Walker said, “Herschel Rhodes, of all people. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Hello, Walker. Carolyn asked me to stop by.”

“As an attorney or a friend?”

Herschel’s expression was bland. “We’re hardly friends.”

“Nicely put. If you must know, I’m in the doghouse with her, piece of shit that I am. I can’t believe she’s taking pity on me.”

Herschel smiled slightly. “She figured it was in her best interests. You go down, she goes down with you. None of us wants to see that.”

“Oh, god no,” Walker said. “Have a seat.”

“This is fine. I can’t stay long. I hope you know the kind of trouble you’re in.”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me? I’m not sure if anyone’s mentioned it, but the past four or five days are completely blank as far as I’m concerned.”

“Not surprising. You came into the ER with a blood alcohol of 0.24—three times the legal limit.”

“Says who?”

“They drew blood.”

“I had a concussion. I was out.”

Herschel shrugged.

“They drew blood when I was out? What horseshit. Can they
do
that?”

“Sure, under the implied consent law. When you apply for and receive a driver’s license, you consent to a chemical test on request. Even if you’d been conscious, you wouldn’t have had much choice. If you’d refused, or tried to, you’d have been charged with a refusal and they’d have taken the blood anyway pursuant to
Schmerber Versus California—
a U.S. Supreme Court case about the need to preserve evidence that’s dissipating.”

“Shit. I love it.
Schmerber Versus California
. Is that all? Give me the rest of it. You’re bound to have more.”

“You’ll be charged with Penal Code 191.5—gross vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated. That carries four, six, or ten years, unless you have a prior, in which case it’s fifteen years to life.”

“Fuck.”

“When did you get a DUI?”

“Two years ago. Look it up. The date escapes me.”

“You’ll also be charged with VC-20001, subsection C—felony hit-and-run after a fatal DUI accident—”

“What are you talking about? What hit-and-run?”

“Yours. You left the scene. The cops found you half a mile away, trudging down the pass all by your lonesome. One shoe off and one shoe on. Remember the nursery rhyme?
‘Diddle diddle dumplin’, my son John, went to bed with his trousers on; one shoe off and the other shoe on . . .’ ”

Walker said, “Quit already. I know the one you mean.” He would have denied it, but he suffered a quick flash of himself stepping on a rock. He’d cussed and hopped on one foot, laughing at the pain.

Herschel continued in the same mild tone, his gaze fixed on Walker’s. Walker wondered if it was malevolence he was seeing in his eyes, Herschel Rhodes’s long-awaited and oh-so-delicious revenge for past slights.

“You’ll also be charged with VC-23153 A and B—DUI causing injury. If you’ve been convicted of a DUI within the past ten years, you could be charged with second-degree murder under the
Watson
case—”

“Shit on you, Herschel. I just got done telling you I have a fucking prior so why don’t you stick VC-23153 up your ass?”

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

“Just you and my wife. Believe me, that’s more than enough.”

Herschel leaned closer. “Because I have one piece of advice for you, pal: Keep your mouth shut. Don’t discuss this with anyone. If the subject comes up, you button your lip. You’re a deaf-mute. You no speaka da language. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The doctor’s talking about releasing you tomorrow morning—”

“So soon?”

“They need the bed. I’ll see if I can talk the cops into waiting until you’re home to take you into custody. Otherwise, they’ll arrest you right here, handcuff you to the rail, and post a cop outside the door. Whichever way it goes, remember these two words.
Shut. Up
.”

Walker shook his head, saying “Shit” under his breath.

“In the meantime, you’d be smart to put yourself in rehab, at least make a show of cleaning up your act.”

“I can’t go into
rehab
. I have a family to support.”

“AA, then. Three meetings a week minimum, daily if it comes down to it. I want you to look like a guy renouncing his sins and repenting his evil ways.”

“Are you going to get me out of this mess?”

“Probably not, but I’m the best hope you have,” Herschel said. “If it’s any comfort, you won’t go to trial for another three to six months. Speaking of which, I need a check.”

“How much?”

“Twenty grand for starters. Once we get to court, we’re talking twenty-five hundred dollars a day, plus the cost of expert witnesses.”