The apartment was small. White walls, beige wall-to-wall carpet that looked new and smelled of harsh chemicals. The furniture was a mix of garage-sale finds and items she’d probably managed to cadge from home. Two mismatched chairs, both upholstered in the same fake leopard print, flanked a red-plaid couch, with a coffee table filling the space between. A small wooden dinette table and four chairs were arranged at the far end of the room with a pass-through to the kitchen off to the right. Checking the magazines on the coffee table, I had my choice of back issues of Glamour or Cosmopolitan. I picked Cosmopolitan, turning to an article about what men like in bed. What men? What bed? I hadn’t had a close encounter with a guy since Cheney left my life. I was about to calculate the exact number of weeks, but the idea depressed me before I even started to count.
Five minutes later Lisa reappeared, trotting down the stairs in jeans and a sweatshirt with the University of California Santa Teresa logo on the front. She took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs.
I set the magazine aside. “Is that where you went to school?” I asked, indicating her shirt.
She glanced down. “This is my roommate’s. She’s a secretary in the math department out there. I’m at City College part-time, working on an AA degree in radiography. St. Terry’s has been great about my hours, pretty much letting me work when I want,” she said. “Have you talked to the insurance company?”
“Briefly,” I said. “As it happens, I used to be associated with California Fidelity, so I know the adjuster, Mary Bellflower. I chatted with her a few days ago and she gave me the basics.”
“She’s nice. I like her, though we’re in total disagreement about this lawsuit.”
“I gathered as much. I know you’ve been over this half a dozen times, but could you tell me what happened?”
“Sure. I don’t mind. This was Thursday, right before the Memorial Day weekend. I didn’t have classes that day, but I’d gone up to the college to do a review in the computer lab. After I finished, I picked up my car in the parking lot. I pulled up as far as the exit, intending to take a left onto Palisade Drive. There wasn’t a ton of traffic, but I had my signal on, waiting for a few cars to pass. I saw the Fredricksons’ van approaching from maybe two hundred yards away. He was driving and he’d activated the right-turn signal and reduced his speed, so I figured he was turning into the same lot I was pulling out of. I glanced right and checked to make sure I was clear in that direction before I accelerated. I was partway through the turn when I realized he was going faster than I thought. I tried speeding up, hoping to get out of the way, but he caught me broadside. It’s a wonder I’m not dead. The driver’s-side door was caved in and the center post was bent. The impact knocked my car sideways about fifteen feet. My head snapped right and then hit the window so hard it cracked the glass. I’m still seeing a chiropractor for that.”
“According to the file, you declined medical attention.”
“Well, sure. Bizarre as it sounds, I felt fine at the time. Maybe I was in shock. Of course, I was upset, but I didn’t have any actual medical complaints. Nothing broken or bleeding. I knew I’d have a big old bruise on my head. The paramedics thought I should be seen in the ER, but basically, they said it was my choice. They ran me through a couple of quick tests, making sure I wasn’t suffering memory loss or double vision-whatever else they’re concerned about when your brain’s at stake. They urged me to see my own physician if anything developed. It wasn’t until the next day my neck seized up. I tell you my weekend plans were really screwed. I lay around at my mom’s house all day, icing my neck and popping expired pain pills from some dental work she’d had done a couple of years ago.”
“What about Gladys?”
“She was hysterical. By the time I managed to wrench open my door, her husband was already out of the van in his wheelchair, screaming at me. She was shrieking and crying like she was on the verge of death. I thought it was a put-on myself. I walked around some, taking a look at both cars so I could get a sense of the damage, but I started shaking so hard I thought I was going to pass out. I went back to my car and sat with my head down between my knees. That’s when this old guy showed up and came over to see how I was doing. He was nice. He just kept patting my arm and telling me everything was fine and not to worry, it wasn’t my fault, and stuff like that. I know Gladys heard him because all the sudden, she went into this big theatrical slump, moaning and doing this fake boo-hoo stuff. I could see her getting herself all worked up, like my three-year-old niece, who barfs at will if things don’t go her way. The old guy went over and helped Gladys to the curb. By then, she was having fits. I don’t mean that literally, of course, but I know she was faking.”
“Not according to the ER report.”
“Oh, please. I’m sure she was banged up, but she’s milking the situation for all it’s worth. Have you talked to her?”
“Not yet. I’ll call and see if she’ll agree to it. She isn’t required to.”
“No sweat on that score. She won’t pass up the chance to tell her side of it. You should have heard her with the cop.”
“Back up a minute. Who called the police?”
“I don’t know. I guess somebody must have heard the crash and dialed 9-1-1. The police and paramedics showed up about the same time. A couple of other motorists had pulled over by then and a woman came out of her house across the street. Gladys was moaning like she was in all this pain, so the paramedics started on her first, you know, doing vital signs and stuff like that, trying to calm her down. The cop came over and asked me what happened. That’s when I realized the old guy who helped me was gone. Next thing I knew, Gladys was being rolled into the back of the ambulance strapped to a board with her head immobilized. I should’ve figured out right then how much trouble I was in. I felt terrible about the whole thing because I wouldn’t wish pain and suffering on anyone. At the same time, I thought her behavior was bullshit, pure showmanship.”
“According to the police report, you were at fault.”
“I know that’s what it says, but that’s ridiculous. The way the law’s written, they had the right-of-way so I’m technically the guilty one. When I first saw the van it was creeping along. I swear he wasn’t going more than three miles an hour. He must have floored it when he realized he could catch me before I finished the turn.”
“You’re saying he hit you deliberately?”
“Why not? He had the opportunity of a lifetime staring him in the face.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“To collect the insurance money,” she said impatiently. “Check it out for yourself. She’s essentially self-employed. She works as an independent contractor, so she probably doesn’t have long-term medical coverage and no disability insurance. What a great way to support themselves in their retirement years, suing the shit out of me.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“What, her having no disability insurance? No, I don’t know it for a fact, but I’d be willing to bet.”
“I can’t picture it. How could Millard be sure she’d survive the crash?”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t going that fast. Relatively speaking. I mean, he wasn’t driving sixty miles an hour. He must have known neither one of us would die.”
“Risky nonetheless.”
“Maybe that depends on the stakes.”
“True, but auto insurance fraud is usually highly organized and involves more than one person. The ‘mark’ might be maneuvered into rear-ending another vehicle, but it’s all a setup. The ‘victim,’ the lawyer, and the doctor are in cahoots on the claim. I can’t believe Gladys or Millard are part of anything like that.”
“They don’t have to be. He might have read about it in a book. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure how to set it up. He saw a chance for big bucks and acted on the spur of the moment.”