"Yeah, but it seemed kind of rude to just ask to visit so I could gawk, you know?"
"You didn't mind coming over here to pry into my life," said Kris.
"You're different," said Mitch. "You're an anomaly, both professionally and personally." He sat down and they both listened to air whooshing out of the leather-covered easy chair. "So, you said you needed a favor. What's up?"
"I need your opinion on a plot idea," said Kris.
"My opinion?" Mitch sounded surprised. Then he grinned. "Is the woman going to be naked this time?"
"No, I need your opinion as a law enforcement officer," explained Kris.
"Ahhhh," said Mitch. "I give advice for free, but a couple of fingers of good Scotch would most likely get my real opinion."
"All I've got is lemonade," said Kris, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't drink."
"How do you know you don't drink?" asked Mitch curiously.
"Beats me, I just know."
"Well, lemonade will get you a polite determination as to whether your plot will work or not," said Mitch, grinning.
Kris handed him a sheaf of papers, containing fifteen pages.
"You can read that while I get the drinks," he said. "It's an idea for part of a book."
"And you want my opinion on this?" asked Mitch, holding up the pages.
"Yeah," said Kris. "As a friend ... and from your perspective as a cop."
Kris went to the kitchen. He looked longingly at the back door, but he knew he wouldn't get far if Mitch came after him. He was taking a huge chance, but it was probably better to just tough it out and see what happened. He mixed the lemonade, putting four ice cubes in each glass, just killing time. He knew the important part was on page eight. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be in the room when Mitch read that or not. Finally, the feeling of just wanting to get it over with drove him back to the living room. When he handed Mitch the lemonade, the man took it without looking at him, his eyes firmly on the "story outline" in his hand. Kris saw that as Mitch had read each page, he'd put it face down in his lap. He appeared to have four or five pages left. That meant he'd already gotten to the part Kris was concerned with ... the part that this whole charade was designed to deal with ... sort of. Not knowing what else to do, he went and sat down in the other chair.
Mitch put another page face down on top of the others. He took a sip of the lemonade, but didn't stop reading or look at Kris. He set the glass on the end table without looking at it. Five long minutes later, he was holding ... and reading ... the last page.
Mitch reached for the lemonade next to his chair. He took a sip and put it back. Almost carefully, he picked up the sheaf of pages and held them by the sides, tapping them on his knee to straighten them and get them all into a neat pile. He laid them beside the glass of lemonade and looked up at Kris.
"So, you're going to write this story," he said.
"I'm just thinking about it right now," said Kris carefully. "I need to make sure that the plot idea makes sense. It's just a rough outline, right now."
"Reads a lot like your own situation," observed Mitch. His eyes didn't waver. Neither did Kris'.
"I started this when I first got here. It was Lulu's idea, but I didn't get very far because I couldn't remember what happened to me. Now it's based loosely on what happened to me, with some extra stuff thrown in, of course. I mean authors get to take license and all that kind of thing when they write fiction." He took a sip of his own drink. "So, yeah, it's loosely based on my situation," said Kris. "That's why it's just a very rough outline. I don't know how things are going to turn out yet. Does he get his memory back? Are there ... complications? Does he live happily ever after?"
"Complications," said Mitch softly. "Such as the hit and run accident?"
Kris paused a fraction of a second longer than he felt like he should have, but he had to work up the courage to speak.
"Yeah. I mean ... what would happen to a guy in that situation?"
"You mean a guy who can remember that he hit somebody, but can't remember anything else?"
"Yeah," said Kris tightly. "I mean it could be something from his past that is over and done with ... couldn't it?"
Mitch cupped his chin in the web between his right thumb and forefinger.
"You mean it was processed ... investigated ... adjudicated ... and he just can't remember that part?"
"Yes," said Kris.
"Then it wouldn't be a complication, except as a vehicle to insert tension and a sense of fear into the plot. He's running from the law, because he doesn't know the whole thing was dealt with." Mitch reached for the lemonade and took another sip. "Is that what you mean?"
"I guess so," said Kris. "How would a guy in that situation go about finding out if it had been dealt with?"
"Officially or unofficially?" asked Mitch.
"Both, I guess," said Kris. "Which would be more likely to get the needed information?"
Mitch picked up the papers and looked through them again. He put about half of them face down on his lap and reread the page that was left on top. He was quiet for a full minute as he read. Then he looked up.
"Well, obviously, going the official route would be easier. I mean if he had a friend in law enforcement, who could ask some questions without raising suspicion, he could probably find out pretty easily. If there was a prosecution, or even an arrest, it would be in public records."
Kris's eyes opened wider. "I never thought of that," he said.
"But then you have the problem of not knowing which name to run," said Mitch. "Your boy here has two names. Who knows if either of those are his real name, if you know what I mean. Running his aliases wouldn't necessarily get you squat." He frowned. "Such as when I ran your name. I didn't find anything like this in your background."
"Oh," said Kris. He sounded disappointed.
"On the unofficial side, there are some things I could think of to do," said Mitch.
Kris perked up.
"It says here that there were a lot of people standing around when this happened ... like maybe it was in a parking lot or something?"
"I guess it could have been," said Kris. He suddenly looked shocked. "I mean I guess it could be written that way."
Mitch acted like he hadn't heard the slip. "A guy could go back to the scene and look around for a business, or workplace or something, where it's likely someone might have seen something. He could ask around, you know? Like he was a reporter, maybe, asking about this accident and whether anyone saw it or not. Then, if he found someone like that ... who saw it, I mean ... he could do an interview to find out all the details."
"Like if the police were there and caught the guy," suggested Kris.
"Or if the guy drove away and was never found," said Mitch.
Kris sat for a minute. "But if he can't remember where it happened ... he couldn't do that. And anyway, if that was the case ... he'd have to turn himself in."
"If you wanted him to be the good guy, in this story of yours," said Mitch, "then yeah, he'd have to resolve it some way. I mean somebody got hurt, right? He'd have to take responsibility for that ... if he was a good guy."
"That's not quite the ending I had in mind," sighed Kris.
"Who says that has to be the ending?" asked Mitch.
Kris looked up in surprise.
"Of course it would be the ending. Hit and run. Guy injured. Book 'em, Danno. Case closed." Kris sighed.
"You're forgetting that he doesn't know all the facts here," said Mitch. "Something like you described in this fictional account here would get a lot of law enforcement attention. I'm guessing that this fictional account you came up with happened in a big city, based on the little details that he can remember. Big cities are full of cops and they all have radios. With all those witnesses around, the first cops on the scene would have a description of the offending vehicle right away. The bolo goes out and the offender is found ... unless he gets the car into a garage right away."
"Why a garage?" asked Kr
is.
"Because the car is damaged. Accidents like this leave all kinds of evidence. Paint, glass, dirt, and that doesn't include the evidence transferred the other direction. Did you know if you hit a human being at forty miles an hour that the pattern of the cloth on the shirt he's wearing can be pressed into the paint of the car that hit him?"
"You're kidding," said Kris.
"Not even a little bit. They can actually match the shirt, or pants, or whatever, with the pattern in the paint and say in court that the car hit someone wearing that shirt."
"Wow," said Kris. He sounded impressed because he was impressed.
"Oh yeah," said Mitch. "There's all sorts of evidence at a scene like that. Every criminal leaves something at the scene and takes something away from the scene. You can take that to the bank."
"So ... having the car that the guy was driving ... that would be very important." Kris's voice sounded hollow.
"It would be very important indeed," said Mitch.
"What if something happened to the car?" asked Kris.
"You mean like ... oh say ... it fell in a river or something?" Mitch didn't bat an eye.
After a pause that was longer than short, Kris said "Yeah ... something like that, maybe."
"Wouldn't matter a whole lot," said Mitch. "The damage would still be there. That pattern I was telling you about would still be there. The paint transfer would still be there. It could all be matched back to an unsolved case."
"So the guy is pretty much toast," said Kris.
"Like I said." Mitch stood up. "There are always mitigating circumstances. And, if the perpetrator got his memory back, and realized he'd done something illegal, and turned himself in ... all that would be to his benefit. It might not do a lot, but every bit helps when a court of law is involved."
"I still don't see how it could possibly have a happy ending," said Kris.
"Well, you're the author. Maybe you need to think about it a little longer. You're writing this other book first, right? The one about the pirate I'd give my left nut to be?"
"I guess so," said Kris.
"And you're going to hang around here until that's done, right?" Mitch's meaning was clear.
"Yes," said Kris firmly. Since Lulu hadn't seen or edited the ending yet, he didn't feel like he was lying by withholding the fact that it already was finished. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Then you have some time to think about your plot idea. I'll think about it, too. If I get any ideas, I'll let you know." He put his coat on. "Meanwhile, I got to go. Got things to do ... people to meet ... that sort of stuff."
"There's one other thing," said Kris. He sounded very tentative.
"What's that?" asked Mitch.
"What if the guy who was hit had something in his hand ... that flashed ... like it was a gun ... maybe?"
"A gun." Mitch's voice was flat.
"What if he was shooting at the man in the car ... as he left the scene of the accident?" Kris shook like he'd suddenly gotten cold.
Mitch was silent for a long minute. What he was thinking about furiously was whether there had been any incidents in which law enforcement officers had been run down. He couldn't think of any ... not for several years ... but unless the officer died, the word might not spread as far as Connecticut. Mitch's initial conclusion was that this accident had happened in New York City. He might not have heard about it if the cop had lived. Still, this was a huge leap forward in Farmingham's willingness to talk about what he'd been holding back. This had to be about that. And the way he'd been handling it had kept the man talking so far.
"That would complicate things a lot," he said finally. "It would all depend on who the man with the gun was."
"Why?" asked Kris, his voice barely audible.
"There are basically two kinds of people with guns these days," said Mitch. "Good guys and bad guys. If it was a good guy, it changes the whole dynamic of the ... plot."
"Oh," said Kris. "But a thing like that ... a hit and run where somebody was shooting ... surely that would come to the notice of the police."
"Absolutely," said Mitch, realizing he should have thought of that immediately. Running down a situation like that should be fairly easy, if he could narrow down the target area. "I'd feel pretty confident about being able to find out if something like that had happened and if it was ... unsolved or not."
"I'm not sure about the gun," said Kris. "I don't know if I can ... if the guy in the story can trust his memory or not."
"I understand that perfectly," said Mitch. "You keep thinking about it and I'll keep thinking about it. When you're ready to write some more on this, maybe we can work together."
Kris held out his hand. "Thanks. I mean that. I really want this story to get figured out."
"I can tell," said Mitch. "That's why I suggested you think about that plot as much as you can. And if you can work it out that your protagonist remembers anything else ... well that couldn't hurt, you know?"
* * *
His session with Kris created urgency in Mitch. While Kris didn't trust his memory, the things he had written about had a clarity to them that meant he was either a very good author ... or they had happened to him. The car was even more important now and they couldn't wait until spring to get it out. It would answer too many questions.
He stopped the patrol car in front of a ramshackle looking building that had signs all over it. One said "Bait," another "Tackle". There were three or four logos from different kinds of beer and another sign that said "Gas." Mitch had never understood the one that said "Trinkets," because he'd never seen anything inside that he'd classify as a trinket. Low in one corner of one of the windows, though, was a small sign that said "Underwater Scuba Tours."
The place was owned and operated by Tim Weston, who had taken over running the store from his father when he'd had a heart attack. But before that, they had gone to high school together and been best friends. They had gone on double dates together, drunk their first illicit beer together, hunted together, and had only drifted apart because of Carla, who'd had a tendency to be interested in one of them one week and the other the next week. Mitch hadn't talked to Tim in over two years, though he still saw him occasionally.
He went into the front door, which hit an old fashioned hanging bell as it opened and then closed. No one was behind the counter. Mitch could hear the sound of a TV coming from the back room. The curtain that was the door to that room was pushed to one side. Tim's face appeared in the opening.
"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "It's you."
"I need a favor, Tim," said Mitch, getting right to the point.
"And why would I do you any favors?"
"Call it for old time's sake," said Mitch. "It's a big favor and it's important."
"What is it?"
"You have cold water diving gear, right?"
"Yeah, but not for water that's as cold as it is right now," said Tim.
"Could you survive a dive of five or ten minutes?" asked Mitch.
"Yeah, I could go for as much as twenty minutes, but it wouldn't be any fun," said Tim.
"I think there's a car under the ice on the river, out by Hopkins Lane. I need to know if it's there and get a cable on it."
Tim stared at his former friend. "The ice still has to be four or five inches thick," he said.
"I have a plan for that," said Mitch.
"This has to do with that new guy in town, doesn't it?" asked Tim. "The one that's got Lulu acting all weird."
"Yeah, it's his car we'll be looking for. I think it might have some bullet holes in it."
"Really?" Tim sounded interested for the first time.
"Somebody shot at him. Winged him on the side of the head. That's why he can't remember anything from his past. Well ... couldn't remember anything. He's remembered a couple of things now. He says he ran a man down, and the man was shooting at him. I need that car, Tim, and I can't wait until spring."
"You got any idea where it is?" asked Tim. "The las
t thing I want to do is go under the ice and find nothing. All the diving I've done was in the lake. What about the current in the river?"
"Shouldn't be much," said Mitch. "It's always slow moving in the summer. I'll have a rope on you while you're in the water."
"Damn skippy you will," said Tim. "And I'll need someplace to warm up as soon as I come out of the water. Something hot to drink too."
"Whatever you need," said Mitch. "Will you do it?"
Tim looked at him. "How are things with Carla?"
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