Drive Time by Hank Phillippi Ryan

Author:Hank Phillippi Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2010-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

My latte is too hot to drink, especially in a moving car, but some things I can’t resist. The morning newspaper is propped on the dashboard. My cell phone is clamped to my ear. I’m reading the story on page two of the “Metro and Region” section out loud to Josh, since he can’t read while he drives. Franklin’s following along with the story from his house, silent on the other end of the line.

Carjacking Goes Wrong: Ends in Flames and Death, the headline says.

Underneath that, smaller print: South End Resident Murdered?

And there’s a photo of Michael Borum.

Keeping the newspaper in place with my knee and elbow, I balance the plastic-topped coffee cup in one hand and my cell phone between my cheek and shoulder.

I risk a tentative sip of coffee, wince and continue reading out loud.

“‘Neighborhood residents, who did not wish to be identified, report they heard what could have been shots. Police report receiving one anonymous call that initially brought them to the scene. They also confirm the car in the East Boston parking-lot fire did belong to the victim.’”

It’s just another murder to the Boston Globe. Not even front page. But to Franklin and me? It could be the linchpin of our story. I briefly wonder if they’re running the valet scheme in New York. Maybe that could be my first blockbuster for Kevin’s network. Millions of viewers. National attention. It would be hard work. Total commitment. But fame, and even fortune. If I take the job.

“So you think he confronted the valet people at Zelda?” Franklin is asking.

“Yes, I think he confronted the valet people at Zelda.” I repeat what Franklin says so Josh doesn’t feel left out of the conversation. “Remember, because of what I told him, he knew they were taking cars for joyrides.”

“And maybe stealing air bags,” Josh says.

“And maybe stealing air bags,” I repeat for Franklin. “I never told him what we suspected about the VIN scheme. But then, he got that toll-violation ticket. So he goes in there and—”

“Lets them have it,” Franklin interrupts.

“Lets them have it,” I agree. “But once he says his name, he’s in trouble. He doesn’t know they know exactly who he is. And exactly where his car is.”

We make the turn into the Bexter parking lot. Josh pulls his Volvo into the space marked Professor J. Gelston. The Head’s car is already in his spot. There are also cars parked in the ones labeled Bursar Pratt and Dean of Boys. The Dev Consultant’s space is empty. Alethia’s space is empty. What used to be Dorothy’s space is empty. Her nameplate has been taken down.

“They not only have to shut him up, they have to get rid of his car,” I say. “Listen, Franko, we’re here. See if you can get the police reports. On the murder, and on the car fire. See if you can get the Mustang info from Wixie. See if—”

“Do you think we should tell Kevin?” Franklin says.

“Don’t you think you should tell the police?” Josh says.

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