by J W Becton
Carla laughed. “A shiner does tend to take a bit away from the feminine mystique, but you wear it surprisingly well. Was it a result of the accident?”
“Yes,” I affirmed. “When the air bag deployed.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate!” she said, looking me over carefully, presumably for other signs of injury. “Your poor eye. You’re not injured anywhere else, are you?”
“No,” I said. “The paramedics said my eye was nothing major, but it does make me feel a bit conspicuous in public. People are always staring. Honestly, though, the air bag has been a bigger problem than the eye. It’s difficult to drive with it hanging out like that.”
“And air bags are so expensive to replace,” Carla commiserated.
I grimaced accordingly. “Well, I just want it fixed and soon.”
“We’ll do what we can, Miss Aliff,” Carla said as she whipped open the compartment of her clipboard, produced a form, and began filling it in with barely a glance at it. The movement was so practiced that I was sure she could have done it in her sleep. She paused to grin at me briefly and then began to circle the car as she spoke, idle prattle probably meant to ease my tension.
“It’s my job to facilitate matters between you and your insurer. As a bonus, I get to be outside all day, and I meet so many interesting people.”
For the next ten minutes, I watched as Carla alternated between the form on her clipboard and the digital camera that hung around her neck—all the while keeping up her I-love-my-work stage patter—and I wondered if this woman weren’t on some kind of mood-enhancing drug. I couldn’t imagine anyone would actually love a job on a day that brought them out into the cold and damp to deal with grumpy people like me.
“I got most of the details from Assurance’s claims rep, but I like to hear it firsthand. How did this happen?” Carla asked as she squatted to get a closer picture of the damage to my headlight.
“I was driving on Polk Highway and another car cut me off,” I said, beginning my own version of stage patter, only mine was definitely fabricated and not as pleasant as hers.
Carla worked as she listened to my tale, and when we were both done, she leaned against the one good section of fender left on the sedan and said, “My goodness gracious! And you were cited for the accident?”
“Yes, that’s correct, but that other driver cut me off and slammed on the brakes. It wasn’t actually my fault.”
Carla clucked her tongue in response. “I declare! That’s sorry as a two-dollar watch.”
I couldn’t disagree.
“Well, it’s not up to me to say, but the damage on your vehicle seems to indicate that you did at least try to stop in time.”
“I did,” I confirmed.
Carla checked her notes.
“The claims rep says you have pictures from the scene, but apparently, he forgot to forward them on to me.”
I nodded and pulled out my phone to show them to her.
I watched as she flipped through them.
“Mmm,” she said. “Could you email these to me?”
“Sure,” I said. “Anything to make this all go away as quickly as possible.”
“I understand,” Carla said, leading me on a lap around the car. “Auto repairs can be stressful. I can tell you that you’ll need a new fender, and you’ll have to have the air bag replaced.”
I rolled my eyes in response. “It’s ridiculous that it activated at all. I was practically stopped when it came out and punched me in the face.”
“Well, accidents happen, even to the best of us,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’ll have the estimate ready in the next few days. I try to get them done within twenty-four hours. Of course, that doesn’t always work out, but I’ll email it to you as soon as it’s complete.”
Carla cocked her head sideways and squinted at my eye again.
“Did you have that checked at the hospital?” she asked, preparing to record my response.
“No, the paramedics took a look at the scene. They said I wasn’t showing signs of concussion, but I have an appointment at the Accident Care Clinic to follow up. Seems I’m fine.”
Mostly.
“Better safe than sorry, I always say,” Carla said, recording the information and then taking a last look over the form before returning it to the case on her clipboard. “Good to cover your bases insurance-wise too.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “but that’s where my good news ends. I don’t have a mechanic or auto body person or whatever, and God knows how much my insurance rates will go up.”
“I can’t speak to your rate increase,” Carla explained. “I’m an independent adjuster. Don’t work for one insurer in particular, so I have nothing to do with rates and deductibles and all that. I just come out, take some pictures, and write a report. They do the rest.”
I nodded, reaching into my pocket and taking out the list of shops Assurance had emailed me earlier.
“Assurance emailed me this list. Are any of these places any good?” I asked, passing her the paper.
She studied it for a moment and then shrugged.
“According to your insurance company they are. And,” she added, “I’ve dealt with more than a few of them, and they’re all decent. Some better than others.”
“Thanks,” I said, folding the paper and tucking it into my jacket pocket. I made a pretense of mulling over that information.
“A mechanic who happened to be at the accident scene gave me his card,” I said. “He seemed really helpful. I think I have it somewhere in my purse. Can you hang on? I’d like your opinion on them.” I went into the car to fish out the info from Allred Racing and Repair.
She followed me to the passenger side, and I handed it to her, waiting for her to render a verdict.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve heard of them. I’ve never used them personally, but I’ve had clients who seemed pleased with their results.”
I placed the card back in my purse.
“So what next?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“You wait for my report, and in the meantime, you can call auto body shops for estimates, or you can sit back and wait.”
“Good,” I said, nodding. “It will be even better if my insurance will cover everything.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Carla agreed.
Thirteen
The DOI felt strangely barren and ominously silent when I returned after my meeting with Carla, and I checked my watch out of paranoia.
Nope, it was not yet five, and that meant I was still on the clock.
But where was everyone?
Finding the front desk vacant, I headed toward my own office but then changed course and slipped into Vincent’s instead, disappointed to find it empty as well.
Matilda, the office administrator, passed behind me in the hallway carrying a large sheaf of papers, probably en route to the recycle box or shredder.
“He’s meeting the adjuster from Southeastern, baby. Said he probably wouldn’t be back for the rest of the day,” Matilda said, taking in my disheveled appearance. “You feeling any better?”
“I’ll survive,” I said, leaning dramatically against the doorframe.
“You really should have that eye checked,” Matilda said, shifting the papers to a hip and leaning in for a better look at my face.
“Well, you know Vincent and I are undercover at the moment, and I have an appointment at the Accident Care Clinic downtown tomorrow morning.”
“Is that the facility that Dr. Keller runs?” Matilda asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “and we’re starting to suspect that the good doctor wasn’t as forthcoming with his fraud confessions as Ted thinks.”
Matilda sighed. “Ted will be so disappointed to hear it. He’s been having lunch pretty regular with the doctor. They’ve become friends, I think.”
I filed that tidbit of information away. If Ted had become personally involved with a source, I would have to tread more carefully.
Still, no matter how much
Ted trusted Dr. Keller, something didn’t sit right with me about the doctor’s reason for coming to the DOI in the first place.
“Lucky for you,” Matilda said, shifting her burden to her opposite hip. “Ted’s in Atlanta for the rest of the week for training and meetings with the bigwigs.”
I shuddered at the thought of meeting the higher-ups in a skyscraper in Atlanta. And for a whole week. Nothing sounded less appealing to me, but I knew Ted was in his element. He’d be touting our potential fraud ring bust, and that only meant more pressure on Vincent and me to close this one without incident.
Meanwhile, his star source might be holding out on us, and along with attempting to figure out Mary Fallsworthy’s involvement in the fraud ring, discovering Dr. Keller’s potentially untold secrets was part of my mission when I went to my appointment at his clinic.
But that wasn’t until tomorrow.
“Well, I guess I should get to work,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ve got these documents to shred,” Matilda agreed. “Ain’t life glamorous?”
Laughing, I entered my office and plunked down on my chair. I swiveled a bit. Looked out the window into the gray afternoon.
I was avoiding my responsibilities. I needed to record my meeting with Carla Sumler and take a quick peek at her records.
It turns out Carla Sumler was not only employed by Mercer Loss Consultants, a small independent adjusting firm located in a strip mall just outside of town; she owned it. A check of her police records revealed nothing more than a few speeding tickets, and a perusal of the list of adjusters associated with other car accidents that occurred on Polk Highway did not reveal any significant overlap. She had been called out to adjust a few of the claims, but her name was no more prominent than any other adjusters on the list.
My report on Carla indicated that her involvement in the fraud seemed unlikely given our current knowledge. Her name was associated with a relatively small percentage of the Polk Highway accidents; in fact, the names of two adjusters from Southeastern Insurance, a Mercer-based company, turned up twice as often. Carla had not reacted at all to my references to the Accident Care Clinic or Allred Racing and Repair, and she hadn’t tried to direct me anywhere.
I could not remove Carla from my suspect list until I received her estimate, but even then, I wasn’t sure what she stood to gain. She wouldn’t earn any additional money from padding the estimate, and she didn’t appear to be getting much business associated with the ring’s known activities. While paranoia told me that anyone I encountered while posing as Janet Aliff could be involved to some degree, frankly, I had my money on other suspects.
Mary Fallsworthy, for instance. Her financial records revealed that she had accumulated an average amount of debt for someone in her late thirties. She had a car loan, rent, and student loans. Not a shocking amount of debt, but her payments of those bills had been fairly erratic until she began her employment at the Accident Care Clinic. Since then, she’d been paying on time.
So Mary had not been on the verge of financial collapse, but she was definitely more comfortable now that she was allegedly involved with the fraud ring. Of course, steady employment alone could have caused this financial stability.
I wouldn’t be able to confirm her involvement in the fraud until we got a better peek inside the Accident Care Clinic, and my appointment wasn’t until the following day.
It looked like there was not much more I could do to move the case along, so I swiveled some more. I might not be able to uncover more details about the fraud ring, but there was something else I could do. I picked up the phone and called Tripp Carver.
“I found him,” I said when he answered. “I found Slidell, or at least I found a suspect who matches his exact description living with a woman named Margaret—may be called Marnie for short—Jacobs and her teenage daughter.”
I emphasized those last words, hoping Tripp would latch onto them instead of onto my unapproved surveillance of Slidell’s house. That girl’s safety, after all, was in question.
No such luck.
“What?” Tripp asked, taking in a loud breath and then waiting a beat before continuing. “You found Slidell and didn’t tell me? Didn’t call the Orr County PD? God, you haven’t made contact with him, have you? Jesus Christ, Jules, tell me you’re not that stupid.”
I stood up, rounded the desk, and shut my office door in case I was required to up my volume in order to be heard over Tripp’s righteous anger.
Sure, I may be willing to bend the rules a bit, but I wasn’t an idiot. I knew how foolish it would be to have the sister of the victim directly involved in the suspect’s arrest.
Vendetta, anyone?
“Stop being so melodramatic,” I said, allowing my annoyance to seep into my tone. “I only located him last night. It wasn’t that difficult.”
Tripp made some noises as if he were about to speak, but I cut him off.
“And I didn’t go toddling up to him so I could ask his name and Social Security number. There was no contact, surveillance only. Vincent was with me. You can ask him.”
“Jules,” Tripp said, sounding equally annoyed, causing me to wonder what bothered him more: that I’d looked for Slidell at all or that I’d been with Vincent when I’d done it.
Finally, he asked, his tone softer now, “Why didn’t you call me?”
I heard the pain and confusion in the voice of my oldest and dearest friend and spoke the truth.
“I thought I wanted time to prepare my family before things started happening,” I said, now pacing in front of my desk. “I felt I owed it to them. Besides, I figured that Slidell wasn’t going to disappear. He seems to have a permanent setup happening.”
But then there was the teenage girl. She changed my plan. With her in the picture, I didn’t feel that I had time to prepare my family.
“Where?” Tripp asked. “What’s Slidell’s address?”
I gave it to him, told him about seeing him with my own two eyes.
“You know to stay away from now on, right?” he asked. “No more surveillance. And you definitely can’t be in on the arrest.”
“Of course not,” I said, trying not to be frustrated by his condescending tone. This was Tripp—overly protective, good-hearted Tripp. He couldn’t help it.
“I’m letting you and the Orr County PD handle it,” I reaffirmed.
From now on, anyway. I’d done my part already.
“But you’ll keep me updated, right?” I continued. “You’ll let me know if the prints match, tell me where things stand with the DNA.”
“This will be handled by the book,” he said, “and you’ll be treated like any other person in this situation.”
“I can accept that,” I said.
Yeah, right, I thought.
Silence descended upon us, both lost in our own thoughts.
“How did your family handle the news about Slidell?” he asked into the quiet.
“I haven’t told them yet,” I admitted. “I just couldn’t call up and drop it on them like that, and at the same time, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. He’s living in a house with a teenage girl, Tripp, one who looks a lot like Tricia. All I could think was what if he’s still an active predator. What if he arranged it so he has a victim in his own house? God, I knew I had to tell you, but I can’t tell my family the truth. Not yet. And I honestly have no idea how they’ll react.”
“You’d better tell them soon. You don’t want them to hear it some other way,” Tripp said.
“I know.”
“I’ll hope for the best. And Jules?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing the right thing.”
“I hope so,” I said. “And I’ll hope for the best too.”
But I’d expect the worst.
Tripp was right. I couldn’t hide my investigation any longer. Slidell would be arrested for assault soon, and when it turned out that his fingerprint matched the one in my sister’s file, well, it was out of my hands. My fam
ily deserved to know what I’d been doing so they wouldn’t be blindsided when the MPD contacted them about pressing charges.
But even warning them ahead of time might not prevent them from going into another tailspin. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I knew that I could never foresee and prepare for every possible eventuality.
That’s a fact my job had taught me all too well.
No matter how thoroughly you cover your butt, the possibility exists that something unforeseen will rise up and bite you right in your delicate bits.
Perfect control of all variables is unattainable. Accidents happen. Air bags explode. People try to shoot you for doing your job. It happens to the best of us. I didn’t have a problem applying this maxim to my work life, but when it came to my personal life, my investigation into Tricia’s rape, and my family, well, deep down in the emotional part of my brain, I was in denial as much as anybody else.
No matter what might happen next, I would always view myself as the party at fault.
I had not allowed the investigation to drop, I had pursued the DNA evidence, and I had located the suspect. I was the person who pushed events into being, who propelled the case forward.
And now, at the cusp of my greatest victory, I hesitated.
I wanted to bring Slidell to justice, and yet I also wanted to prevent Tricia and my parents from experiencing any additional pain, but these two goals conflicted.
I couldn’t predict the future, but I knew one thing for certain: it was time to tell everyone the truth.
Starting with my father. He would be the easiest person to tell, and maybe he could give me some advice on how to deal with Mom and Tricia.
The clock on my laptop revealed that it was only four o’clock, but there was no reason to stick around the DOI until the bitter end of the day. After all, I had worked almost the entire weekend, and if I left now, I could be at my father’s house when he got home from work.
I shut down my laptop, gathered my belongings, and headed out to do what needed to be done: tell the truth to my family.