Of course, there was one person who could actually explain what happened that night. And he hadn’t yet. I started my car, cursing Jude. I wanted to throw the car into gear and speed over to his place and bang down the door. What the hell were you thinking? I wanted to scream.
But, damn it, first I had to wait for the engine to heat up. I counted to sixty, feeling insane. Fuck you, and the Porsche you rode in on.
It was snowing as I drove to Jude’s neighborhood and parked around the corner from his house, hoping none of my father’s policemen would happen by. It was dark out, though, and I didn’t see a soul. I got out and scurried down the alleyway running behind the Nickel property.
My plan to storm Jude’s room demanding answers remained intact until I skidded to a stop at the bottom of his stairs. The wrecked car was right in front of me. I took a step forward. Then another. I grabbed the tarp and yanked it all the way off.
The fabric crumpled to the ground with a louder thud than I’d been expecting. I braced myself for Jude’s door to pop open. But the sound of radio music was just audible in the nighttime air.
Looking at the car was almost as frightening as viewing a corpse. The front had been crumpled like a soda can. The windshield was gone. But the very top of the car’s hood still gleamed, the dark purple paint shining like oil in the night.
Just then I had another memory of Gavin and not a comfortable one. My brother had actually tried several times to buy this car from Jude. He’d insult Jude to his face and then offer him money for the Porsche.
Naturally, Jude always turned him down. “Thanks, man,” he’d say in a voice that was far more casual than he felt. “I could never sell her. Spent too many hours on this baby.”
My brother hadn’t ever let it drop, though. I used to get tense whenever he brought it up. I could always hear how badly Jude wanted to tell Gavin just to fuck off. But he never lost his temper somehow.
So much of my life swirled around this ruined hunk of metal. The missing windshield was like an open wound. I took a deep breath and eased around to inspect the side.
The driver’s door was just as I’d remembered it—still in perfect shape. The passenger door was entirely missing. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I took a few pictures, praying that the flash of the camera didn’t bring anyone into the alley.
It didn’t.
Gingerly, I reached a hand through the gap until my fingers met the old upholstery of the passenger seat. I’d been happy with Jude. Maybe that made me an idiot. He’d had a terrible problem, and I’d ignored it. But I still ached for my own naiveté and for flying down the road on spring days in this car, our windows open to the breeze.
Talk to me, I inwardly begged the car. What happened here?
But the alley was silent, except for the persistent bark of a dog in the distance. Arf-arf-arf!
I’d come here to rage and threaten. To demand answers. But now all the fight had left me. Lifting my chin, I looked up at Jude’s window, where lamplight shone between the blinds. He was right there—so close. My heart spasmed at the image of Jude lying on his bed with a book alone, when he could be with me instead.
I don’t see a future for us, he’d said.
The snowflakes fluttered down, sticking to my eyelashes, accumulating on the cuffs of my coat.
I didn’t storm up the stairs.
Instead, I grabbed a corner of the tarp off the ground and wrestled it onto the car. It took some work until the thing was covered again.
Then I walked back down the alley again, Jude none the wiser.
I got back into my own car and turned the key. I was counting to sixty when I realized there was someone else who should know what I’d found. I took my phone out again and tapped on a contact’s name.
Officer Nelligan answered on the first ring. “Miss Sophie! What are you up to on this fine evening?”
“Thinking deep thoughts about the police file you gave me.”
“Uh-oh.” He gave a nervous chuckle.
“Uh-oh is right, because I found something weird.” I told him about the missing tox screen, and how I’d dug that up at the hospital.
“Oh my,” he said afterward. “I’m sorry to hear that about your brother. That should have been in the file. But I can see why your father wouldn’t want it publicly known.”
Maybe it’s not the only thing he didn’t want known? The whole thing troubled me. “Can I ask you a question about procedure?”
“Shoot.”
“How is a police report filed? What are the steps? Is there a digital copy of the report you showed me? And if it’s altered, is there a record of that?”
Silence. And more silence.
“Hello?” I asked. “Did I lose you?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking. Why are you asking me this instead of your father?”