Page 71 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Nobody. I was listening to my messages from overnight. Clients call me when they have accidents. I call them back and we go over details. I glanced down for a second. Then I looked up and he was there. I almost hit him.”

Another new detail. “Did you see his face?”

“I couldn’t see through his windshield. It happened fast. But I remember thinking that the truck was like the guy’s truck. Anthony, I think. Something like that.”

“Good.” Emmy was careful not to say the name back to him so it didn’t imprint. “Tell me about the driver.”

Elijah gave another frustrated sigh. “It was four months ago, okay? I don’t remember the details. I was getting the mail and he pulled up, told me he’d been working on the street. I don’t know whose house. But he said he had some leftover pine straw from another job and he could spread it around the flower beds if I wanted.”

“Okay.” Emmy assumed the man had been driving aroundwith bales of straw hoping to snag some cash. “Did he get out of the truck to talk to you?”

“No, he was leaning his arm on the window.”

“Was he at eye-level? Was he higher or lower than you?”

“Eye-level, I guess.”

Emmy guessed that meant the truck was mid-sized, which eliminated Adam’s 1982 Chevy. “Do you remember how much he charged?”

“Do you know how many people I pay during the year?”

She tried another tack. “You’re at the office during the week, right? You never work from home.”

Elijah looked surprised, like maybe she knew what she was doing. “Right, so it would’ve been a Saturday or Sunday.”

Emmy nodded to keep him going. “Can you try again to remember what he looked like?”

“I told you, he looked Mexican. Dark hair. Dark skin.”

Emmy could hear the pejorative in his tone, like he was using the word as a slur rather than a place of birth. “Do you mean actually from Mexico or—”

“I didn’t ask him where he was from.”

“Did he have an accent?”

“I think so.” He thought about it for another second. “Yes, but easy to understand.”

“Was he wearing a watch or sunglasses or a hat?”

He shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “I can’t remember.”

“No tattoos?”

More head-shaking and shrugging. He was getting frustrated again. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s all right. Let’s just take it slowly.” Emmy pressed her hand on her leg, tried to stop it from jiggling up and down. She was getting a cramp in the arch of her foot. “How was he dressed?”

“Like a landscaper. I didn’t look at what he was wearing. What does that even mean? Clothes. He was wearing clothes.”

“Boots?”

“Probably?”

Emmy waited another beat, then asked, “Was your wife home?”

“No, Carol put on a few pounds over the holidays. She wasat her spinning class.” Another revelation. He snapped his fingers, pointed at Emmy. “That means it was Saturday. Her class is at ten, then she gets her nails done, then she has lunch with her Bible Study group, then she goes to the grocery store. She’s usually home by two or three at the latest.”

“Are you sure about that?”

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