The silver Car

Chapter 18:

"Jax."

"On it, Prez."

Jax is already walking. Not running. Walking, like a man going to get his mail, straight across the lot toward the trees. But his hand's inside his jacket and he's not looking at the bus anymore.

"Elara," Kael says, without turning around. "Get back on the bus."

"Kael—"

"Get on the bus."

And I go. I don't want to, but I go, and Dave's hand comes out and I climb back up the steps.

"You stay right here," Dave says. "Right here up front, and you duck if I say duck."

"Okay."

"Right here."

"Okay."

Kael's walking now. Across the lot, past the parked bikes, toward the trees where the silver car is sitting. Jax is ahead of him, off to the side, flanking.

And the silver car doesn't move.

That's what gets me. It just sits there. No engine, no lights, no move to run. If it were a man who was scared, he'd be gone the second he saw two men coming. If it were a professional, he'd have gone before the bus even pulled out.

So he wants to be seen.

Kael reaches the car.

He stops about ten feet away. He doesn't go closer. He stands there in the rain with his hands loose and says something. I can't hear it.

The car door opens.

A woman gets out.

Not a detective. Not a lawyer. A woman. Older than me, maybe forty, in a dark coat and a scarf and low shoes that are going to be ruined by the gravel. She's got a folder under her arm and her hair's pulled back so tight it looks painful.

She walks toward Kael with her hand out.

And he shakes it.

I stare at them through the bus window. Two people shaking hands in the rain like it's a business meeting.

"Dave," I say. "Dave, what's happening?"

"I don't know," Dave says. "But I know that woman."

"You do?"

"Seen her around the county. She's a lawyer. Not a Sterling lawyer." He squints. "Different one."

Kael's turning around.

He's coming back across the lot. And the woman's walking with him. Side by side, like they came together.

I get off the bus before Dave can stop me.

"Elara—" Dave says.

I'm already on the gravel.

Kael doesn't look happy to see me. But he doesn't wave me back, either. He stops in the middle of the lot with the woman and says, "This is Miss Okonkwo. She's a lawyer."

"I can see she's a lawyer." She's wearing the shoes. "What's she doing here?"

Miss Okonkwo looks at me. She's got a look about her that's like the sheriff's, but sharper. Somebody who's been doing this for a while and has stopped being surprised by anything.

"Mrs. Sterling," she says. "I've been looking for you for three days."

"Who do you work for?"

"Nobody."

"Everybody works for somebody."

"Yes." She almost smiles. "But I don't take retainers. I take cases. There's a difference."

"And what case are you taking?"

She opens her folder.

And there it is. My wedding photo. My picture from the newspaper. My picture from the garden. And under those, a whole stack of pages that I don't recognize at all.

"Can we go inside?" she says. "It's raining and these shoes cost more than the bus."

We go inside.

Miss Okonkwo takes her shoes off in the bar and puts them by the door, and Kael pours three coffees without asking, and we sit at a table in the corner with the folder open between us.

"I'm not gonna lie to you," she says. "I was looking for you because of the reward."

My stomach drops.

"But not for the two hundred fifty thousand," she says. "I don't want your husband's money. I want you. Because I've had a case sitting on my desk for five years that I couldn't file. And three days ago, a photograph of you showed up in it."

She turns a page.

It's my mama's house. The old one. The picture's from before the fire.

"Your mother," Miss Okonkwo says, "had a meeting with my firm four weeks before the fire. She wanted to file a complaint. She was told she'd have to come back with documentation. She never came back."

I can't breathe.

"She was going to file a complaint about what?"

"About the Sterling family."

Nobody says anything.

And then Miss Okonkwo says, very gently, "Mrs. Sterling. Do you know how many fires there were in this county that year?"

"No."

"Eleven. Eleven house fires in a county of six thousand people. That's not a lot." She turns the page. "But three of them were on land the Sterling family wanted. And all three of those houses were owned by people who'd been bothering the Sterlings. One of them was your mother's."

Kael sits back.

"She knew," I say.

"She was trying to tell somebody." Miss Okonkwo closes the folder. "And four weeks later, she was dead."

The room is very quiet.

"The fire marshal's report said it was the wiring," I say, and my voice is barely a whisper.

"The fire marshal's report was written by a man whose brother works for Sterling Holdings." Miss Okonkwo looks at me. "I'm sorry. I should have told you that part first."

Kael says, "What do you need?"

"I need her to sign an affidavit. I need her to tell me everything she knows about that fire. And I need it in the next four hours, before the Sterling family's lawyers get the county to issue an order of protection that puts her back in his house."

"Order of protection?"

"For him." Miss Okonkwo's mouth goes thin. "His lawyer filed a motion this morning. Says his wife is being held against her will by a violent motorcycle gang. Says she's confused. Says he's worried about her." She looks at me. "They've got a hearing this afternoon. If we don't have an affidavit by then, the judge might sign it. And then a deputy comes to Blackpine with a piece of paper and takes you home."

I'm standing up. I don't remember deciding to.

"I need a pen," I say.

Miss Okonkwo takes one out of her bag and lays it on the table.

"You understand what this means," she says. "If you sign this, you're accusing the Sterling family of a crime. If it doesn't work, it's not just your husband you have to worry about. It's every lawyer his mother can hire."

"I know."

"And there's something else." She looks at Kael, then at me. "The affidavit is a statement of your own knowledge. The judge is going to ask what happened to you in that house. All of it. In front of your husband."

Kael's hand comes down on the table. Not a bang. Just flat.

"She doesn't go to a hearing," he says.

"Mr. Vance—"

"No. She signs the affidavit, she does it here, in this bar, and you take it to that judge. She doesn't set foot in a courthouse. Not with him in the room."

"Mr. Vance, I can't promise that."

"You better promise it."

"Kael," I say.

He looks at me.

"I'll go," I say.

"Elara—"

"I'll go," I say again. "I'll sign it. I'll say it in front of him. All of it." My hands are shaking. "Because I spent two years in that house and I never said one word out loud. Nobody ever believed me. If I don't say it now, I never will. And my mama died because she was trying to say it."

Kael doesn't say anything for a long time.

Then he says, "I'll be in the room."

"You can't be in the room, you're not a party—"

"I'll be in the room," he says, "or she doesn't sign."

Miss Okonkwo looks at him. Then at me. Then at the pen on the table.

"Sign it," Kael says. "Sign it now."

And there's a knock on the door.

Chapter 18 Ends.