The Black Witch of Mexico by Colin Falconer Read Free Book Online Page B

he was the most cynical man she had ever met, and he took it as a compliment, a testament to his masculinity.
    So why could he not let Elena go?
     
    * * *
     
    At Sagamore he changed his mind about driving all the way to Cape Cod. He turned off the Pilgrim Highway and headed down Scusset Beach Road. Fatigue hit him hard, too many long hours in the ER, too many nights without sleep, and too many calming swigs of rye on the way down. Suddenly the car was bumping over the hard track at the side of the road and into a stand of beech. He slammed on the brakes, swerved to miss a tree and the tyres lost traction in the dirt and the rear-end swung around and hit side-on and stove in the passenger side.
    He sat there for a long time, listening to the water steaming out of the radiator. Finally he turned off the engine and got out. Christ, what a mess. He wouldn’t be going anywhere in that tonight.
    He remembered the bottle of Templeton, found it on the floor well on the passenger side. He hurled it as far as he could into the gathering dark.
    If the cops found him like this he’d end up in jail. He left the car and trudged back toward the road.
     
     
     

Chapter 17 
     
    He woke to the insistent clamour of the buzzer downstairs. Adam jerked awake, found himself still on the sofa. He hadn’t even made it as far as the bed last night.
    He looked at his watch. Fuck, he’d overslept.
    Whoever was downstairs, they were just about leaning on the buzzer.
    “Yes?”
    “Is that Adam Prescott?”
    “Yes.”
    “Patrolman O’Brien, from the BPD. I need to have a word with you, sir, regarding your vehicle.”
    That was fast. He buzzed him up.
    He waited by the door rehearsing his story in his head.
     
    * * *
     
    Patrolman O’Brien was a typical Boston cop: Irish ginger and shoulders like a meat packer. Adam opened the door in his t-shirt and shorts and asked him if he’d like coffee. He said “no thank you, sir, this shouldn’t take that long,” he was there to follow up on a call from his colleagues down in Plymouth. They’d found a BMW X-5 in a ditch and towed it. It was registered in his name.
    “It’s mine. I had an accident.”
    “You didn’t report it?”
    “I must have blacked out. I guess I just wandered off. I vaguely remember getting a cab. It’s all pretty hazy. I think I hit my head on the steering wheel.” He pulled back his hair to show the cop the cut on his hairline.
    “Yeah, you should get a doctor to look at that.”
    “I am a doctor.”
    “That a fact? Then you should know to take better care of yourself. You been to the hospital?”
    “I was headed there now. Like I said, I think I must have had a concussion. I don’t remember much of anything.”
    “Well, the guys down in Sandwich wrote out this infringement notice here, for abandoning a vehicle and failing to report. You can talk to your lawyer or you can just pay it if you want.” He handed him the infringement notice and had him sign the paperwork. “It’s going to cost you to get the car back, too.”
    “Okay.”
    The cop looked him up and down. He was young but he wasn’t stupid. “You have anything to drink last night?”
    “A couple of beers after work.”
    “That all?”
    “That’s all.”
    “What kind of doctor did you say you were?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “Yeah, memory’s working good right now.”
    “I work in the emergency room at Saint Mary’s.”
    “So you know about saving lives.”
    “I do it every day.”
    “Here’s a tip then, Doctor Prescott. You want to save even more lives, never get behind the wheel of a car if you’ve been drinking. Next time you run off the road there may be someone standing in the way. You have a good day.”
     
    * * *
     
    Adam looked up at the clock: 7:43 a.m. His relief would be there in a quarter hour. If he could coast and do nothing for the next five minutes he would have made it through another night shift. There had not been a lull all night; his feet hurt and his back