Keep Quiet (36 page)

He got out of his car and slammed the door behind him, which echoed in the woods. He stalked up a flagstone path, bordered with tiny lights to show the way through the trees. The air smelled fresh and clean, which infuriated him all the more. His enemy even had better oxygen.

He glanced at the floor-to-ceiling window on the left of the house, which looked into a showplace living room, with black leather sofas and chairs. A set of gauzy curtains muted the view, but the living room was empty. He reached the front door, also of glass panels, and he was about to pound on one hard enough to break it when the door opened.

Dr. Dave stood in the threshold, blinking calmly behind his hip graphite glasses, and Jake realized that Pam must have warned him that he was coming, which felt like a body blow.

“Dr. Dave, tell your wife to get lost. She’s not going to like this conversation.”

“She left for the airport. Come in.” Dr. Dave opened the door, standing aside politely. Classical music played in the background, from a crystal-clear sound system. “So what are you going to do, Jake? Punch me in the noggin? Go ahead. You’re bigger than I am. Displace all the anger you want.”

Jake stepped inside. “Hold the jargon. I’m not impressed.”

“I was in the kitchen, having dinner. Would you like something?”

“Are you out of your mind, shrink?”

“Suit yourself.” Dr. Dave turned neatly away on his thin black loafers and sauntered down a short hall to the back of the house.

“Oh I get it. This is the psychology part. You act very cool when the raging husband comes over.” Jake stalked after him into a modern kitchen. Stainless steel appliances lined the back wall, under a large window that was as black as night, reflecting the two men like a dark mirror.

“Not at all, Jake. I’m a therapist, and so I understand the power of a good conversation.” Dr. Dave crossed to an island with tall cherrywood stools and a black granite countertop, which held a complete place setting, a plate with a chicken breast and wild rice, next to a glass of wine and an open bottle. Suddenly a little Siamese cat jumped onto the countertop, but Dr. Dave pushed it roughly to the floor, where it landed on its feet.

“You preyed on my wife and now you’re preying on my son. I want you to leave my family alone.”

“How do you feel about Lambrusco? It’s coming back, you know, and this Lini Vineyard produces such a special grape.” Dr. Dave lifted the bottle of wine, showing off the label.

“Stick your wine up your ass and listen, I’m talking to you.” Jake collected his thoughts. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m not a bully, a thug, or a badass. But I’m not a pushover either.”

“I take it that’s a no on the Lambrusco.” Dr. Dave picked up his glass, swirled the wine around, then took a sip. Meanwhile, the cat walked to the back door, meowed, and sat down, curling its brownish tail around its delicate brown feet.

“I came here to say that I’m trying to save my marriage and my family, and if you can’t respect that, then I don’t know what kind of a man you are.” Jake couldn’t hold back his temper. “Put another way, if I catch you anywhere around my wife or my son again, I will beat you to death with my bare hands.”

“My.” Dr. Dave took another sip of wine, which darkened his teeth. “These are two separate issues, your wife and your son. As for Pam, if your marriage were a happy one, your wife wouldn’t have come to me, and I assure you, she came to me.”

Jake swallowed hard, suppressing a deep stab of sexual jealousy.

“As for Ryan, I’m his shooting coach, whether you think I’m qualified or not, so it would be quite impossible to comply with your demand.”

“Take care of the other kids. Leave him alone.” Jake’s phone rang in his pocket, but he let it go, guessing it was Pam.

“Are you sure you have Ryan’s best interests in mind?” Dr. Dave seemed to be warming up, wanting to spar. He leaned against the counter, palming his glass. “In my professional opinion, Ryan is experiencing situational depression brought on by several factors, such as the conflict between you and Pam, his schoolwork, and the championship. He’s been making statements to his teammates that suggest he’s having suicidal ideation, which is—”

“I know the term, and you’re not qualified to be Ryan’s therapist. You were sleeping with his mother.”

“I know Ryan very well, and we could work together and have a very good outcome. I’m sure that Ryan would love to work with me. We’re very close.” Dr. Dave set down his wine, and the cat meowed again, loudly this time.

“I
said,
leave my son alone.” Jake didn’t tell Dr. Dave that Ryan knew about his affair with Pam, because he didn’t want Dr. Dave to know more about his family than he already did.

“Jake, you’re making decisions for Ryan that he’s perfectly capable of making for himself. Excuse me, this cat won’t shut up.” Dr. Dave crossed to the back door, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door. The cat slipped outside, and in the next moment, a motion-detector light went on in the backyard, illuminating a fancy two-car garage.

In front of it was parked a gleaming black BMW 535.

And its license plate read HKE-7553.

Chapter Forty-six

Jake almost gasped in shock, looking out the window. It was
the
BMW. It didn’t belong to Dr. Dave, so it must have been his wife’s. They must’ve driven separately to the memorial service.

Jake’s thoughts raced. He didn’t realize Dr. Dave had known Kathleen, but he must have. Dr. Dave must have been the one who had an affair with Kathleen, not Slater. Dr. Dave would’ve known about Dolomite Road because that’s where the athletic teams ran. Dr. Dave must have killed Voloshin.

Jake turned around just in time to see Dr. Dave pull a handgun from a cabinet drawer, aim it at his chest, and start firing.

CRAK! CRAK! CRAK! went the gunshots. Flames burst from the gun barrel.

Jake dove out of the way, too late. He doubled over reflexively and hit the tile floor. His stomach exploded in searing pain, like his gut caught fire. He curled into the fetal position, gripping his belly. Warm red blood spurted from between his fingers. He tried to get up. Intense pain felled him. He couldn’t move for the agony. He tried to scream but could only whisper, “No.”

“Wow, you’re still alive?” Dr. Dave set the gun on the island. “No matter. You won’t be for long.”

“No, no.” Jake felt sheer terror. Blood sprayed from his belly, spattering the tile floor. He tried to stanch the flow, but he couldn’t. He shifted to get up again, but agonizing pain seared through his entire body.

“Sorry, Jake. I’d put you out of your misery, but the trajectory of the bullet would be wrong. It has to be level and face-to-face. I saw on TV.”

Blood gushed everywhere, spattering the tiles, running in rivulets in the grout. Jake watched it leak from him, helpless. He began to lose consciousness.

“I had to shoot you, in self-defense.” Dr. Dave picked up his knife from beside his dinner plate and crossed to him. “You drove here, enraged about Pam and me. She called and said you weren’t the violent type, so I didn’t call 911. You and I were talking it over, apparently reasonably, but suddenly you became angry and tried to kill me.”

Jake felt dizzy and faint. The pain raged in his stomach.

“You grabbed my steak knife and tried to stab me.” Dr. Dave knelt down with the knife beside Jake, picked up his hand, placed the knife in his palm, and wrapped his fingers around the handle. “I managed to get to my gun and protect myself. Unfortunately, by the time 911 arrived, you had bled to death.”

Jake pulled his hand away, but the knife clattered to the floor. The pain was so intense it immobilized him. He was going to die.

“Are your keys in your pocket?” Dr. Dave plunged his hand into Jake’s pocket, fished around, and pulled out his car keys. “Perfect. The police will find Voloshin’s laptop and phone in the trunk of your car. They’ll figure that you killed him because he was blackmailing you. After all, he had proof that you and Ryan killed Kathleen in the hit-and-run.”

Jake looked around wildly. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t get away. Dr. Dave was framing him for Voloshin’s murder.

“Kathleen was one of my favorite clients, and she was incredible in bed. Trust me, the ones with father issues are the best.” Dr. Dave straightened up, hurried to a base cabinet, and took out a Whole Foods bag. A gray computer cord hung out of its open mouth. It had to be Voloshin’s laptop and phone.

Jake didn’t want to die. Pam and Ryan needed him. Blood drenched the floor. He could barely see as Dr. Dave left the kitchen with the bag, then the front door slammed.

Ring!
Jake’s cell phone rang again. It had to be Pam. His heart fluttered with hope. It was his only chance. His cell phone was in his right back pocket. He didn’t have any time to lose. Dr. Dave would return any minute.

Jake moved his arm toward his pocket. He cried out in agony. He froze. He couldn’t move. His body began to shake uncontrollably. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. His phone stopped ringing. It was over.

Jake heard the front door slam, then footsteps returning to the kitchen. He roused, opening his eyes to see Dr. Dave knock his dinner plate to the floor, scattering the chicken and rice.

“The proverbial signs of a struggle,” Dr. Dave said, half to himself. He straight-armed the wineglass and bottle off the counter, and they shattered on the tile. He upended a cherrywood stool, then another. He eyed the kitchen, putting a finger to his mouth, then crossed to the oven, grabbed a metal frying pan from the stovetop and threw it clanging to the floor. He walked over to the toaster and pushed it over, then the coffeemaker. He swept newspapers off one of the stools, then glanced over at Jake.

“What, you’re still alive? Get on with it, man. I have to call 911, but you don’t look dead enough.” Dr. Dave took the gun off the counter and walked to Jake, cocking his head as if he were thinking aloud. “I bet I could get away with another shot.”

“No,” Jake whispered, in terror.

“I could say I was afraid you could get up, in fear for my life.” Dr. Dave aimed the gun at Jake.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the front door.

Dr. Dave turned away, toward the sound.

And all hell broke loose.

Chapter Forty-seven

“NO!” Ryan bellowed, barreling into the kitchen with Pam at his heels.

“No” was all Jake could whisper, horrified they were in harm’s way.

Ryan took a flying leap at Dave and tackled him heavily to the ground. They both yelled and grunted, struggling for the gun. Suddenly a shot fired. Pam screamed.

Tears of fright sprang to Jake’s eyes. He didn’t know whether Ryan or Dave had been shot. He prayed to God for Ryan’s life. Pam burst into tears, covering her head with her hands.

Suddenly Ryan staggered to his feet, supporting himself on the kitchen island. Pam ran to his side, crying with relief. Dr. Dave remained on the floor, moaning and holding his shoulder.

Jake thanked God. He could’ve died a happy man at that moment, but Ryan and Pam rushed together at him.

“Jake, Jake!” Pam sobbed, throwing herself to the floor beside him. “Honey, the police will be here! I worried you got in a fight, when you didn’t answer! An ambulance is on the way! They should be here any minute!”

“Dad, don’t die, please don’t die!” Ryan bent over him, distraught. “I love you, Dad! I love you!”

Jake looked up at them, feeling weaker by the second. He wanted to tell them he loved them. He wanted to tell them to be happy without him, that nothing else mattered to him as much, on the face of the earth. “Pam,” he tried to say, but it came out fainter than a whisper.

“Honey, stay with us!” Pam embraced him, beginning to sob. “The ambulance will be here any minute!”

“Dad, don’t die, please, please!”

Jake could barely hear them. He felt himself slipping away. He flashed on the bag that Dr. Dave had put in the trunk of his car, with Voloshin’s laptop and phone. It contained the only evidence that connected Ryan to the hit-and-run. If Ryan and Pam disposed of it, nobody would ever know what had happened. If they gave it to the police, they would go to jail. He tried to say, “Ryan … trunk…”

“What, Dad?” Ryan bent over him, crying. “The
trunk
? Of the
car
?”

Jake managed a smile, closing his eyes. They would figure it out when they opened the trunk. They would decide what to do.

Jake knew what he would do, if he had a second chance. But he couldn’t say, and he’d have to leave the decision to them.

Because he was gone.

Chapter Forty-eight

Jake couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was bathed in light, warm on his face, and for a minute he didn’t know if he was alive or dead. He squinted around him and realized he was lying in a hospital room. Sunshine poured through the window and fell on his bed, in a glowing shaft of gold. He thanked God he was alive.

The room was empty, and he lay there, feeling horrible, exhausted and weak. His stomach throbbed with pain. He could think only slowly, as if his brain didn’t work. His throat felt raw and dry, it was hard to swallow. An IV shunt was taped to his hand, a plastic clip covered his index finger. Monitors glowed next to his bed, and the door to the room was open. He became aware that the hallway outside sounded busy. People were talking and carts rattled, a metallic sound. He could smell the faint aroma of coffee and eggs, mingling with institutional disinfectants. He wasn’t hungry.

He closed his eyes against the sun. He tried to remember how he had gotten here. He must be snowed under with painkillers. It must’ve been last night. Dave had shot him in the gut. He’d been bleeding, lying on the floor. He remembered Dave pointing the gun down at him, about to fire again. Then Ryan, rushing in. And Pam, crying at his side. His wife and son had saved his life.

Jake thought of something else. The bag of evidence in the trunk of his car. He wondered what Pam and Ryan had done with it, whether they had shown it to the police or gotten rid of it forever. They weren’t around, nobody was, so he figured they must have come clean to the cops and gone to prison.