She was careful with Emily.
Not soft.
Careful.
“Emily,” she said, “we found the driver.”
At first, Emily felt nothing.
Then her hands started shaking so hard the blanket moved.
Her mother sat up in the chair.
“Who?” Emily asked.
“Cole Whitaker,” Detective Ward said. “Forty-two. Former commercial driver. No steady employment for the last year.”
“Was he drunk?”
Detective Ward paused.
“No.”
“High?”
“No.”
Emily stared at her.
The machines beside the bed kept making their small, steady sounds.
“Then why did he do it?”
Detective Ward looked toward the closed door.
Then she lowered her voice.
“He refused to talk at first. But this morning, he asked for a deal.”
Something cold opened behind Emily’s ribs.
“A deal for what?”
“For telling us who hired him.”
The room tilted.
Hired him.
Not an accident.
Not bad weather.
Not one reckless stranger on a wet road.
Paperwork had names.
