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“Thank you, Boomer,” Becca said. “Really.”
“No, thank you. Now, talk to your sister. I’m sure my son will wait patiently for the opportunity to escort you out.”
8
It was just like something out of the movies.
Becca sat in a small concrete room, with the lights dimmed, facing a wide pane of glass. On the other side of the glass, five men were lined up toward her, with lines drawn on the wall behind them so she could tell how tall they were.
“And you’re sure they can’t see me?” she said, aware it was a cliché even as she said it.
“One way glass,” the police officer with her said. “All they see is a mirror.”
“Right, right,” Becca said.
It was the eighth time they’d told her the same thing, but looking at the characters on the other side of the glass, she still felt like she’d like to ask again to be sure. It was a motley assortment of men in various shapes and sizes, none of which were appealing, all of which gave her creepy vibes on looking at them.
And there, at the number Two spot, was the driver. Mr. Litterbug. Mr. Drive-by. Mr. Hit and Run. He looked like a human version of a defiant hyena, sneering at the glass as if he could sneer through it and somehow puncture Becca’s heart with his look.
It hadn’t taken long for the police to find him. Once they had a license plate number and a description of the driver to go with the description of the vehicle, Philly local PD had picked him up within hours and sent him up here for this line-up.
He wasn’t under arrest, not yet, but the police had made it clear that the line-up was going to happen with or without his cooperation. Becca supposed that the driver was counting on nobody having had seen him properly that night, and that would get him out of this line-up unscathed.
“Do you see him, Miss?” the police officer with her said. “Take your time.”
It was Mackenzie, the same cop who had arrived on the scene after the hit and run. Becca wasn’t sure if that made her feel more or less secure; yes, he was a cop, but ever since her experience with Linda, Wyatt’s crazy corrupt cop ex-wife, Becca had learned to trust the badge a lot less.
“Miss?” he said again.
She saw him, all right. Number Two. There he was. Clear as day. But saying the words felt like lifting a heavy weight; she knew that once she did, there was no going back, that she was all in on this mess until the driver was finally behind bars.
“You don’t have to, Becca,” Kate said, standing next to her.
That was what Becca had needed to hear. Now she was ready.
“That’s him,” she said, pointing to the driver. “Number Two.”
“Number Two, step forward,” Mackenzie said into a microphone.
Inside the room, Number Two took a step forward. He was still glaring at her, or seemed to be, even though the police had told Becca eight times now that he couldn’t see anything past that glass.
“Are you sure?” Mackenzie said.
The edges of Number Two’s lips curled up in a savage sneer. That sneer was saying shut up, whoever you are, shut up now or things are going to get ugly for you.
Becca felt that sneer all the way down into her spine, and almost caved. This was not her thing. She just wanted to go home.
But then, something happened. Something about that sneer made her think of Ryan, and the partners at her old firm.Just keep your head down, and maybe it won’t be too bad, Ryan had said.
Just be a good little girl. A quiet little girl. And go away without a peep. Don’t cause us any trouble.
And just like in that boardroom, Becca started to get angry. Who was this guy to sneer at her like he owned her? He was the one in a line-up, surrounded by police. He was the one who’d shot up a busy street and hit a pregnant lady in his haste to flee.
Screw this guy. Screw him and his cocky attitude. He’d thought he could just come out here, make some faces at the glass, and she would fold and let him go?
Just like Ryan and the partners, this driver had missed his guess.
Straightening up in her chair, Becca announced in a clear voice, “I’m sure. It’s Number Two.”
