Keep Quiet (26 page)

He pulled over to the side of the street, braked, and plugged his home address in the GPS, then pressed
START
.
Calibrating Route
, said the GPS, with an arrow pointing behind him. He hit the gas, pulled away from the curb, and started to head home, his mind running free. He wanted to go home, talk to Pam, and work everything out, even if it took all night. He wanted her to know that he was sorry she felt abandoned by him; that he hadn’t realized it had gotten so bad. He would tell her that he was sorry, and he flashed-forward to a heart-to-heart in their bedroom, that ended with her coming into his arms, crying and asking him to forgive her.

He wound his way through the quiet suburban streets; the GPS had been set on the shortest route, not the fastest, but he didn’t bother to reset it. The lighted blue GPS screen showed a right turn, but he’d been too preoccupied and missed it, so he went straight and the GPS screen switched to
Recalibrating Route
. Jake read the screen, realizing that’s exactly what he was doing too, in his life. He would be recalibrating a new route, for himself, Pam, and Ryan, too.

He stopped at a traffic light, which bathed the car’s interior in a blood-red glow. He flashed on Friday night after the crash, wiping the blood from his hands, then finding it etched in the lines of his palm. He tried to push it from his mind, to recalibrate again. He reminded himself that he was going to go home and try to move forward, with Pam and him putting their marriage back together for their own sakes, and for Ryan’s. They wouldn’t be able to get through this together unless they acted as a family. Their house, divided, could not stand. He hoped she’d be happy that he still loved her and was willing to forgive her.

So it came as a shock to Jake when he finally got home and pulled into the garage, only to find that Pam’s car was gone. Pasted on the garage door was a sheet of legal pad that read:

I will not be back tonight. Don’t call or text me. Ryan is asleep. Tomorrow, go to work your usual time. I will come home and take him to school. Leave me alone. Goodnight.

Chapter Thirty-two

The next morning, Jake was in his office as early as usual, showered, shaved, and stiff in a cutaway collar and fresh suit. He looked out his window into the dawn of a new day, another frigid one under a cloudy pewter sky. He ignored the overseas markets, his voicemail, email, a stack of tri-fold correspondence, and pink phone messages on his desk. He wouldn’t think of working until the wire transfer went through this morning, and maybe not even then.

Last night he’d hardly slept for thinking of Pam, though he’d followed her directions, not texting or calling her and leaving the house early, so they hadn’t run into each other. He prayed she hadn’t run to Dr. Dave. He’d thought of calling him, but she would be too angry. He did call the Marriott Courtyard Suites near the house, but they wouldn’t tell him if she was there. He’d even called the local hospital, in case she had an accident.

Jake racked his brain, thinking where Pam would have slept. Her best friend had moved to Singapore last year, and though she was close to all of the Chasers’ moms, she wouldn’t confide in them, given Dr. Dave’s status with the team. She was in a book club, but she wouldn’t want them to know, and as a judge, she wasn’t close with anyone in the bar. She had a secretary, Christine, who was a stodgy sort, and otherwise in her chambers, there were her three law clerks, in their twenties. Pam had no one else but him and Dr. Dave, which worried him.

Jake heard noises beyond his closed door as Gardenia came to life, but he kept his eyes to the window, idly watching as his employees filled in the spaces in the parking lot. Amy parked her car next to his rental, and he took his receiver off the hook, so she’d think he was on the phone and wouldn’t interrupt him. She knew him well enough to know that something was really wrong.

Jake’s cell phone rang. The screen read
Harold
, and he grabbed it, knowing it would be about the wire transfer. “Hey, everything okay? I was just about to call you.”

“Not exactly. We have a glitch, but I trust it won’t be a problem.”

“What glitch?” Jake asked, his gut churning. “There can be no glitches.”

“The woman who usually does our wires, Barbara, called in sick this morning. I just found out. I’m out of the office and I won’t be in until later.”

“So what does this mean? You can still transfer the money by eleven, can’t you?”

“No. I can do it by noon, but not eleven.”

“
What?
” Jake exploded. If the money wasn’t there on time, Voloshin would go to the police.

“I won’t be in. I’m out of the office at a meeting. I stepped out to call you.”

“I need it by eleven!” Jake shouted. “I have to have it by eleven! You said you could do it!”

“I know, sorry. It’ll just be an hour later—”

“That’s too late!” Jake checked his watch—9:02. Voloshin would take the photos and video right to the police. It would ruin Ryan and him, and now, even Pam. She’d kept their secret, a judge who kept quiet about her son’s hit-and-run.

“Harold, leave the damn meeting! Where are you, Timbuktu?”

“North Jersey. It’s too important, and if I did, it would raise questions.”

“But this
matters more
! Leave!”

“Jake. I would leave if I could, but I can’t make it back in time anyway.”

“Make somebody else wire the money!”

“No. We have another woman in the wire room but it wouldn’t be prudent to use her.”

“Why not?” Jake heard himself panicking. “All she has to do is push a button!”

“But it’s going to an offshore account.”

“Harold, don’t tell me I’m your only client to wire to an offshore account!” Jake found himself on his feet. “I wasn’t born yesterday!”

“I’m not saying that.” Harold’s voice stiffened. “What I’m saying is that only Barbara handles such transactions. I can’t ask anyone else to do it. I’ll do it myself as soon as I get back to the office.”

“There’s
nobody
else? Not even one of your other bankers?”

“No, not possible.”

“You can’t trust one of your other bankers to send a wire for one of your best clients? Are you kidding? You have all my personal accounts, all of my business accounts, and Gardenia’s!”

“Jake, that would be imprudent. Trust me, I have only your interests at heart. I’ll be in by noon—”

“Can’t
I
go over and do it? I know how to do a wire transfer—”

“Hold on, I got a better idea. Let me go to Plan B. I may have a way to get it done ASAP, but I can’t be sure.”

“What way?”

“Let me hang up and see if I can make it happen. I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.”

“Call me as soon as you fix it!”

“I will. Talk soon.”

Jake pressed
END,
sat down in front of his computer, and got online and plugged in GreenTech. Blood pounded in his temples. His mouth tasted dry. He had to go to his own Plan B. He couldn’t take the risk that Voloshin would go to the cops. The GreenTech site came on the screen, and he clicked to the Contact Us page, found the main number, and pressed the link to make the call.

“GreenTech,” answered a woman. “How can I help you?”

“I’m calling for Andrew Voloshin.”

“I don’t see him. May I tell him you called?”

“Do you know where I can reach him? Is he out of the office?” Jake’s heart throbbed in his chest. Voloshin could be on his way to the Caymans. Or sitting outside the police station.

“I don’t know. Our receptionist isn’t at the desk, and I just happened to be passing by.”

Jake felt frantic. “Is there anyone else there who would know where he is? It’s really important that I speak to him.”

“Why don’t you call him on his cell?”

“I wish I could, but I forgot the number. I have it in my business phone, but I left that in the car. I’m calling you from my personal phone.”

“I don’t have his cell. Hold on a minute. Let me see if anybody knows where he is.”

“Thanks.” Jake checked the clock while he waited—9:35, then 9:36.

“Hello, sir?”

“Yes. Were you able to find where he is?”

“Sorry, nobody knows. Sometimes he comes in late, if he’s been up coding. You can try him at home if you want.”

“Fine, thanks.” Jake hung up, went online for the White Pages, got Voloshin’s home number, and pressed it into his phone.

“Hello?” a man answered, but his voice sounded raspy, unlike Voloshin’s.

“I’m looking for Andrew Voloshin. Is he there?” Jake double-checked to see if he’d dialed the correct number, which he had.

“Who’s calling?”

“I’m an … associate of his.” Jake didn’t know who he was talking to, so he chose his words carefully.

“What’s your name? What’s this in reference to?”

Jake decided to stick with the story. “I’m a financial planner that Mr. Voloshin contacted. I need to speak with him.”

“What did you say your name was?”

Jake hadn’t said. He glanced at the clock—9:42. “Jake Buckman of Gardenia Trust. Is Mr. Voloshin in?”

“Mr. Buckman, I’m Detective Zwerling with the Shakertown police. I’m sorry to inform you, but Mr. Voloshin is dead.”

Chapter Thirty-three

“My God!” Jake couldn’t process it quickly enough. It should be good news, but it didn’t feel that way. His blackmailer was dead. His troubles should be over. Relief flooded his system, but it left him shocked. He was stunned. “But he wasn’t old. How did he—”

“Actually, Mr. Buckman, he was murdered. We’ve notified next of kin, and it should be public.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night. Mr. Buckman, what company did you say you were with?”

“Gardenia Trust.” Jake forced his brain to function. The police were at Voloshin’s apartment. Photos of him and Ryan on Pike Road were in Voloshin’s phone and undoubtedly his computer. The police might have seen them. If so, the police had proof that Ryan was guilty of the hit-and-run. Fear crackled through Jake’s body like electricity.

“Gardenia Trust? Is that local?”

“Yes, in Concord Chase.” Jake tried to sound normal. He told himself maybe the cops hadn’t seen the photo and videos yet.

“Where?”

“In the Bates Mill Corporate Center.”

“We’d like to see you, Mr. Buckman. Would you be available in half an hour?”

“Sure, yes,” Jake answered, because anything else would be suspicious. Why would the cops want to meet with him, if they hadn’t found the photos and video? Would they arrest him in the office? Would they take Ryan at school?

“Mr. Buckman, we’ll see you then.”

“Okay, thanks.” Jake hung up, stricken. His heart thudded in his chest. His first thought was of Pam. He had to tell her about Voloshin. He scrolled to her cell number and pressed
CALL
, but it rang, then went to voicemail. He left a message, “Honey, call me as soon as you can. It’s very important. I love you.” He hit
END
and considered calling her chambers, but remembered the court was sitting this week and she would be on the bench.

He rose and began pacing, trying to collect his thoughts. He told himself he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe the police hadn’t collected the phone and laptop for evidence yet. Or maybe Voloshin had password-protected his phone and computer, and the police hadn’t looked through them yet. He didn’t know what time Voloshin’s body had been found or when the police had started investigating.

He paced back and forth. His temples throbbed. He considered calling a lawyer to represent him when the cops came, but it would only make him look guilty. Still it made sense to get some legal advice. He thumbed through his phone log, found Hubbard’s phone number, and pressed
CALL
. The phone rang, then went to voicemail, but Jake hung up, telling himself to remain calm. He had seen enough TV shows to know he shouldn’t volunteer any information.

He resumed pacing. He remembered that he had called Voloshin last night from the house. He’d have to make sure to mention that to the police, before they got Voloshin’s phone records.

Suddenly Jake stopped stock still, his pacing ceased. If the police had found the photos and the video, then discovered the wire transfer, they could figure out that Voloshin was blackmailing Jake. The police might even suspect Jake of murdering Voloshin. His mouth went dry. His thoughts raced, threatening to run away with him. The blackmail gave Jake a perfect motive for wanting Voloshin dead, and Jake’s only alibi was that he was home with Ryan, who was implicated in the same crime. The police could be coming to question him in connection with Voloshin’s
murder
.

Jake realized he had to stop the wire transfer. His gaze flew to the desk clock—9:59. The police would be here in no time. He had to get ahold of Harold and reverse the instructions. He raised his phone and pressed Harold’s cell number. The call rang once, twice, then three times and went to voicemail.

Jake heard the beep and left the message, “Harold! Change of plans.
Don’t
send the money to the account. Do you understand? Call me as soon as you get this message, but in
no
event should you send the money to the account.” Jake wanted to make sure Harold got the message, so he scrolled to the text function and typed:
Harold, Major change of plans. Do NOT send the wire transfer. Call me ASAP.
He hit
SEND,
but still wasn’t satisfied. He pressed the number for Harold’s office at the bank.

The call was answered, “Hello, this is Pennsylvania National’s Wealth Management Group. I’m Marie DiTizio, how can I help you?”

“Hi Marie, it’s Jake, and I have a problem.” Jake knew Marie but he didn’t know if she had been told about the transfer. “I need to reach Harold. He called me this morning, and I know he’s in a meeting. You know where he is?”

“Yes, of course, but our clients are confidential, as you know—”

“I don’t care who the client is. Call him for me. Not on his cell, but at the client. Somebody has to put a note in front of him right away and tell him to call me. It’s very important.”