by Davis Bunn
The car flipped over entirely.
The roof crashed into the river running alongside the road. The rain-thickened waters beat through Peter’s shattered window. The car began to settle.
Water hissed in a frigid murky jet straight into Adam’s face. He untangled Kayla from his chest. She had gone completely still. It took forever to undo his seat belt. Kayla was not moving. Adam took a breath and submerged down to where his face was within inches of her seat belt’s clip. He tugged and wrenched and finally managed to free her.
Only when he came up gasping did he feel the cold slice his face.
“Kayla!”
She might have spoken a word. But it came out disjointed and tainted by her moan.
“Kayla, I need you!” He gripped her arms and shook her harder than he intended, because her head bounced on the seat cushion, which was now the roof. Her eyes came fully open, though. Adam moved in close enough to fill her field of vision. “Your father needs help.”
“Daddy?”
“Focus, Kayla. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“What happened . . . Daddy?”
Adam scrambled around so that his knees rested on the steering wheel. “See if you can crank the window open.”
He pushed himself back through the frigid murk. Peter sprawled across the rear, his head wedged between the ledge and the rear window. Which meant he had remained clear of the inrushing water. “Peter!”
Blood washed in a dirty pink stream from a cut above his temple. It was the only color to his features. His eyelids flickered. “Peter, you’ve got to wake up!”
Behind him he heard rhythmic thumps as Kayla worked on a door. “It’s stuck partway!”
Adam felt the car shift upon the riverbed and sink another six inches. “Can you make it out?”
“It’s very narrow . . . What about Daddy?”
“Get to the bank and be ready to take him!” If the opening was narrow, Adam would not be able to manhandle Peter through it. He braced himself on the opposite door and began kicking at the broken side window. The Mercedes had settled at an angle that left the smashed window at a slight upward angle. Adam fought against the inrushing water and carefully kicked away all the remnants of glass that he could find. He gripped Peter’s jacket with one hand, and with the other clenched the carpet covering the drive train directly overhead. He wedged himself through the open window as far as he could go and still keep his face and Peter’s clear of the water. Then a deep breath. Another. Adam ducked under the water and pried him-self through the window, dragging Peter along with him.
Peter’s shoulders jammed tight. Adam shouted into the rushing stream, mashed one shoulder back, and pulled the other forward. Peter shot through the window as though ejected.
A branch raked the back of his neck. Adam heard his shirt rip. Furiously he fought off the limb and pulled Peter up to where his face cleared the water.
Adam came up gasping. The torrent clutched at him as he dragged Peter toward the shore. Falling snow and ice pelted him. Kayla appeared alongside him and helped drag Peter up the muddy, slippery embankment.
Only when they hit the level grass verge at the top did Adam give in to the tremors.
Kayla cradled her father’s head and blew into his mouth. Adam pushed himself to his feet. It was a dreadfully long process. His legs felt as though they belonged to someone else, a man without the brain function to instruct them properly.
He looked down. Kayla shivered and pushed at her father’s chest and then breathed into his mouth. She pushed again. And breathed once more.
Peter coughed. Sputtered. Coughed again.
Adam tried to say, “I’m going for help.” The words were so mangled he did not understand them himself. But Kayla looked up at him, blinked through the snow flaking her eye-lashes, and nodded.
Adam stumbled down the road. He looked back at the curve. The snow already obliterated Kayla, her father, and the river.
The walk took forever. He almost went down twice.
Only when he reached the highway did Adam realize he was shouting at the storm. A wordless barrage, willing his body to fight through.
He was yelling so loud he did not hear the truck until it was almost on top of him. The driver frantically mashed on the brakes as the rear end slewed slightly. Adam stumbled out of the way and went down. The behemoth shuddered to a halt just as he managed to make his feet again. The cab’s door opened and a voice shouted through the storm, “If that ain’t your blood, mate, it will be soon enough!”
chapter 32
Adam found it somehow fitting to have Officer Walton enter the hospital waiting room the same moment as Joshua. The company financial officer looked weak and insubstantial next to the uniformed policewoman.
The local Oxford constable who had been interviewing Adam asked, “Is Scotland Yard taking an interest in this case?”
“In a manner of speaking.” She offered Adam her hand. “How are you?”
Bruised. Sore. Still cold at some level far below his now-dry skin. Even so, Adam was glad enough to be there to answer, “Fine.”
“And your mates?”
“The doctors say Peter probably suffered a concussion, but the scan didn’t show any internal bleeding or abnormal swelling. Twenty stitches in his forehead and a possible dislocated shoulder. But he’s resting well.”
“And your lady friend?”
“Kayla is in with her father.”
“Sounds like you came out the hero.”
The local Oxford policeman cleared his throat. “We were in the process of establishing that.”
Officer Walton nodded in Adam’s direction. “Take it from me. This is one of the good guys.”
“You’re certain about that, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” She pulled over a chair. “Appreciate the call.”
“Glad you were there to take it.”
The trucker had proven to be a good guy, once he was certain Adam’s plight was real. He pulled his rig down the lane, settled Peter between the seats and bundled Kayla into the crawl space behind them. He turned the cab’s heater up to toasty and made record time back to Oxford. He even let Adam use his phone, first to call ahead to the hospital, and then Honor. The only time the trucker had shown a hint of alarm was when Adam asked information to pass him through to Scotland Yard.
Officer Walton examined the surgical scrubs he wore and gave him a cop’s smile, a faint tightening of the eyes. “You look good in blue.”
“At least it’s dry.”
She noticed Joshua hovering in the background and asked, “Are you with this gentleman?”
When Joshua hesitated, Adam said, “Yes. He is.”
Officer Walton turned back and reported, “Derek Steen was apprehended at Heathrow Airport, in the process of boarding a flight to Manila.”
“First long-haul flight out of town.”
“No doubt. I stopped by Heathrow on the way out. The offer to extradite him back to a cozy African cell worked wonders. As they say in your neck of the woods, he sang like a parrot.”
“The correct term,” Adam said, “is canary.”
“It so happens he was fired by his company, what’s it called?”
Adam looked at Joshua. “Madden and Van Pater.”
“That’s the one. Took it hard, our lad did. He seemed delighted with my interest in how they sent him down to that place . . .”
Adam kept his gaze on the tightly clenched accountant. “Dar es Salaam.”
“He’s confessed that he stole your lady friend’s missing funds. At the company’s instructions, apparently. I was hoping you might be able to clear up the issue of motive for me.”
“MVP has been gunning for Peter’s company since he left them fifteen years ago.”
Joshua cleared his throat. “Actually, it was sixteen.”
“MVP is Steen’s former employer?”
“That’s how they’re known in the City.” Adam recounted what they had learned.
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Officer Walton extracted a notebook and pen and took swift notes. “So MVP saw Ms. Austin’s project as another means by which Oxford Ventures was establishing itself within the colleges and their investment capital.”
“Basically.”
“I’ll need to pass this by my colleagues in the Fraud Division. But my guess is, MVP is soon going to be far too busy with their own troubles to mess with you again.” She rose to her feet and said to the Oxford cop, “Why don’t we go have a word with Ms. Austin, see if she corroborates his story.”
Adam asked, “What about Derek?”
“Mr. Steen requested an attorney, which was of course his privilege. He’s been remanded into Her Majesty’s custody and carted downtown. We’ll give the lad a night alone in a cell while I meet with my mates in Fraud. Then the lot of us will all sit down and see what kind of deal we can work out.” She gave him another cop’s smile. “My guess is, the prospect of seeing prison in fine Salaambay will have him hitting the high notes.”
Joshua Dobbins stepped in close enough to reveal a slight tick over his left eye. “I gather you’re expecting me to apologize.”
“Not really, no.”
“I did what I thought was best for the company.”
“My only argument with you,” Adam said, “was that you didn’t back Peter’s play.”
“He’s always been too emotional. Too involved in looking beyond profits.”
“Too determined to make his company into something more than MVP,” Adam finished. “Something greater. A firm with a higher ideal than simply making money.”
Joshua wanted to shut him down. The bitter taste of speaking with Adam at all twisted his mouth and pinched his face. “Peter has regularly allowed his enthusiasms to run away from him. My job was to keep the worst of these crazes from taking us down.”
Adam decided there was nothing to be gained by arguing the point further. “I’ve been preparing a list of possible deals where they’ve skirted the law. The folder is marked ‘Steen.’ There’s a copy in the bottom drawer of Peter’s home office desk.”
Joshua glanced toward the doors. But when they opened to admit Mrs. Drummond and not the police, he turned back and said, “Your friend at Scotland Yard intimated they would not be bothering us again.”
Mrs. Drummond glanced uncertainly around the waiting room, then slipped out the door again. Adam said, “Whether or not the police find enough evidence to make a case, it’s all going to take time. And time is the one thing we can’t afford to give MVP. We need to get them off our back.”
Reluctantly Joshua nodded agreement. “How . . .”
“I hired a detective to scope out MVP. I used my funds and did it independent of the company. What you have comes from one source, not board level. I found nothing directly related to the attack on us. But there are numerous memos related to some project called Serengeti.” Adam related his confrontation with Madden at the luncheon.
Joshua mulled that over. “It must be code for some illegal project.”
Then Kayla entered the waiting room with Mrs. Drummond in tow. “Adam, we need to speak. It’s urgent.”
Joshua rose to his feet, hesitated, then offered Adam his hand. “Will I be seeing you around?”
Adam shook his hand, replied, “Count on it.”
Joshua held his hand a fraction longer than necessary, and said simply, “Good.”
Kayla remained stationed by the exit until she had glared Joshua through the doors. When she moved forward, Adam asked, “How’s your father?”
“Resting.”
“Did you talk to the police?”
“Yes.” She sat down and took his hand. “Adam, something’s happened to your mother. When the hospice couldn’t raise you on your phone or at the boardinghouse, they called the office.” Kayla added her other hand to the mix. “It doesn’t look good.”
chapter 33
At Heathrow’s Terminal Three, Honor embraced first Kayla and then Adam. She wished them a good flight and said she and Peter had decided to put off the birthday celebration and Christmas so the four of them could enjoy it together. She then whispered something to Kayla, who nodded and embraced her once more in reply.
Adam waved at the vanishing car and wondered at the ease this family had with farewells and sudden journeys. He asked, “Do you want to tell me what she said?”
Kayla bit her lip, then said, “If at all possible, either she or Peter will be there when your mother’s time comes.”
Adam passed through Heathrow departures in a calm that was maintained only because of his traveling companion. Beside him, Kayla might have been suffering from an over-dose of worry and haste on top of her bruises, but he would never tell from looking at her. She appeared utterly unfazed by the entire process, checking in, passport control, the stepped-up security, the garish duty-free hall, the noise, the crush, the call for their flight. The plane left from Terminal Three’s farthest gate, a long trek down a tunnel enclosed by glass and rain.
He and Kayla slept, her head resting upon his shoulder most of the way across the Atlantic. He listened to the plane drone above the wintry sea, his vision clouded by the veil of her hair. When Adam rose and went to the washroom, he returned to find her awake and waiting for him. She wrapped her arms around him and rocked him as tightly as the seats permitted.
When she released him, it was to give him a look as strong as any he had ever received. One that shaped the words long before she spoke them. Adam was nodding agreement, at least inside himself, before the first hesitant words emerged. Even so, he waited until she was finished to respond with one word. Yes. Then he refitted himself into her arms. And remained like that through the rest of the flight.
They landed at Baltimore/Washington International Airport at midnight according to his body clock. Customs and baggage claim took another hour and a half. They took a taxi to the Days Inn in Crofton. The city was not really a community with definable borders. Washington’s dangerous northeastern sprawl infected it from one side, Annapolis wealth from the other. His mother had used it as a base because it let her take pictures in two markets.
The motel receptionist was a friend named Faye. The motel was equidistant from the cancer clinic where his mother had been treated and the hospice where she now resided. The motel sheltered a lot of people in for treatment, or receiving unwanted news, or relatives waiting out the hard hours. Faye showed him her normal grand smile and took a firm hold of his hand. “Now ain’t this nice. You finally brought a lady to meet your momma.”
“Faye, this is Kayla.”
She offered her other pale-palmed hand. “How you doing, girl?”
“Tired but fine.”
“Faye’s sister is chief nurse at the hospice,” Adam explained.
“Yeah, Yolanda thinks the world of his momma. And this boy here. Did Adam tell you about his momma asking him to fly off to England?”
“He did, yes.”
“Him going because his momma asked takes first prize in my book.” She patted Adam’s hand. “It’s good you and this fine-looking lady of yours made it back.”
“You’ve heard something?”
“Same as what you’ve been ready to hear for some time now.”
“I talked to her . . .” He struggled to sort through the mental timeline. “Day before yesterday. She sounded fine.”
“She is fine.” Her grip was warm as a heart’s fire. “Her Christmas is gonna be spent next to the reason for the season. How much finer can she be?”
The hospice occupied a corner position one street off the main thoroughfare, across a parking lot from Crofton’s largest church. The steeple was lit up with Christmas lights, and a Nativity scene was illuminated on the church’s front lawn. The hospice’s only sign of the season was a tiny tree on the receptionist’s desk. Otherwise the front room was the same as always. The outside clock held no importance here. People came when they wanted and stayed as long as they liked. The visitors in the front room each occupied a pr
ivate space. Their closeness only intensified the respect others showed. The duty nurse hugged Adam as he entered, then gave Kayla the same treatment as soon as they were introduced. One of the hospice’s few rules was people fed on hugs long after they lost their interest in food.
“Faye called and said you were on your way,” the duty nurse told them. “I’ll just go make sure your mother is ready.”
His mother made as if to push herself to a seated position as they entered the room. It was a gesture that took him straight back. He had walked into so many rooms, gauging how she felt by this movement. Today her arms scarcely had the strength to track down the sides of her covers, much less raise her up.
Ellen Wright’s voice was a skeleton of sound. “Now isn’t this nice.”
“I’ll go fetch another chair,” the nurse told them.
“Mom, this is Kayla Austin.”
“So very nice to meet you, Mrs. Wright.”
“Adam has never brought anyone to see me before.” Ellen Wright blinked with the slow cadence of one whose every act was measured. She waited as the nurse set down Adam’s chair and her son took a seat. When the door closed, she said, “You are very beautiful, and you must call me Ellen. I sent my boy away for his own good, and look what happens.”
Adam said, “Faye told us you’ve had a turn.”
“We both knew this was coming.” One hand lifted far enough to brush the air. She did not have the time to waste on such matters. Ellen Wright addressed Kayla. “Even after Adam took his apartment in Washington, he lived here. Do you under-stand what I’m saying?”
Kayla nodded slowly. “You realized Adam had no life except in this room. So you sent him away, hoping he would learn what he needed to in England.”
His mother studied Kayla a long time, before looking at her son and saying, “What a lovely young lady.”
“We brought a gift for you.” Kayla released Adam’s hand and fumbled for the case she had been carrying since insisting that Honor drive her by the office before leaving for Heathrow. The case was large and flat and the color of saddle leather. Kayla opened the flap and gingerly drew out a photograph.