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“Lithium.”
“Have you had other problems since the accident?”
“Poor sleep and I can’t hardly work a lick. He said I might not ever be able to work again. Not even permanent part-time.”
“I understand you do the bookkeeping for a number of small businesses.”
“The past forty-two years. Talk about a job that gets old. I’ve about had it with that stuff.”
“You have an office in your home?”
She nodded toward the hall. “Second bedroom back there. Thing is, I can’t sit for long on account of my hip gives me fits. You oughtta seen the big old bruise I had, all up and down this side. Purple as a eggplant. I still got a patch of yellow as big as the moon. And hurt? Oh my stars. I had tape on these here ribs and then, like I said, I have this problem with my neck. Whiplash and all and a concussion of the head. I call that ‘confusion contusions,’” she said, and barked out a laugh.
I smiled politely. “What kind of car do you drive?”
“Nineteen seventy-six Ford van. Dark green in case you mean to ask that next.”
“Thank you,” I said, and made a note. “Let’s go back to the accident. Would you tell me what happened?”
“Be happy to, though it was a terrible, terrible thing for me as you might imagine.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped a finger against her lips, looking into the middle distance as though reciting a poem. By the time she was halfway through the second sentence, it was clear she’d told the story so often that the details wouldn’t vary. “Millard and me were driving along Palisade Drive up by the City College. This was Thursday of Memorial Day weekend. What is that, six or eight months back?”
“About that. What time of day was this?”
“Middle of the afternoon.”
“What about weather conditions?”
She frowned slightly, forced to think about her answer instead of offering up her usual rote response. “Fine as near as I remember. We’d had rains off and on all last spring, but a dry spell come along and the papers was saying the weekend would be nice.”
“And which direction were you heading?”
“Toward downtown. He couldn’t have been driving more than five or six miles an hour. Might have been a bit more, but it was way under the posted limit. I’m positive about that.”
“And that’s twenty-five miles an hour?”
“Something along those lines.”
“Can you remember how far away Ms. Ray’s vehicle was when you first noticed it?”
“I remember she was over to my right in that entrance to the parking lot up at the City College. Millard was just about passing when she come flying out in front of me. Boom! He slammed on the brakes, but not near quick enough. I was never so surprised in my life and that’s the truth!”
“Was her left turn signal blinking?”
“I don’t believe it was. I’m sure not.”
“What about your turn signal?”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t intend to turn. We were fixing to continue on down the hill to Castle.”
“I believe there was some question about your seat belt?”
She shook her head emphatically. “I never ride in a car without a seat belt. It might’ve come loose on impact, but I was wearing one for sure.”
I took a moment to review my notes, wondering if there was any way to throw her off her stride. The well-rehearsed data was getting old. “Where were you going?”
That stumped her. She blinked and said, “Where?”
“I’m wondering where the two of you were going when the accident occurred. I’m filling in the blanks.” I held up my clipboard as though that explained everything.
“I forget.”
“You don’t remember where you were going?”
“I just said that. You told me to say so if I couldn’t remember and I can’t.”
“Fine. That’s exactly right.” I stared at my clipboard and made a mark. “If it would help refresh your memory, could you have been heading for the freeway? From Castle, you can take the north-or southbound on-ramps.”
Gladys shook her head. “Ever since the accident my memory’s shot.”
“Were you ru
“Must have been errands. I’d say errands. You know, I might have amnesia. Doctor says it’s not uncommon in accidents of this type. I can’t hardly concentrate. That’s why I can’t work. I can’t sit and I can’t think. Work I do, that’s all it is, except for add and subtract and stamping envelopes.”
I looked down at my notes. “You mentioned a concussion.”
“Oh, I banged my head good.”
“On what?”
“Windshield, I guess. Might have been the windshield. I still got me a knot,” she said, placing a hand briefly on the side of her head.
I placed my hand on the left side of my head as she had. “On the left side up here or in back?”
“Both. I got bumped ever which way. Here, feel this.”
I reached forward. She clasped my hand and pressed it against a hard knot about the size of a fist. “My goodness.”
“You better make a note of it,” she said, pointing at my clipboard.
“Absolutely,” I said, scribbling on the page. “What happened after that?”
“Millard was shook up as you might well imagine. He soon discerned he wasn’t hurt, but he could see I was out like a light, knocked completely unconscious. As soon as I regained my senses, he helped me out of the van. Wasn’t easy for him since he had to get situated in his chair and lever himself down to the pavement. I couldn’t hardly tell where I was at. I was all dizzy and discombobulated and shaking like a leaf.”
“You must have been upset.”
“Why wouldn’t I be when she pulled out in front of us?”
“Of course. Let’s just see now.” I paused to check my notes. “Aside from you and your husband and Ms. Ray, was there anyone else at the scene?”
“Oh, my yes. Someone called the police and they come pretty quick, along with the fellers in the amulance.”
“I’m talking about prior to their arrival. Did anyone stop to help?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe so. Not that I recall.”
“I understood that a gentleman was giving aid and assistance before the traffic officer showed up.”
She stared at me, blinking. “Well, yes, now you mention it. I’d forgot about that. While Millard was checking the van, this feller helped me over to the curb. He set me down and put his arm acrost my shoulders, worried I’d go into shock. That flew right out of my head until just now.”
“This was another motorist?”
“I believe this was someone come off the street.”
“Can you describe the man?”
She seemed to hesitate. “Why do you want to know?”
“Ms. Ray was hoping to find him so she could send a thank-you note.”
“Well.” She was silent for a full fifteen seconds. I could see her computing the possibilities in her head. She was wily enough to realize that anyone who showed up that quickly might well have been a witness to the accident.
“Mrs. Fredrickson?”
“What?”
“Nothing about the man sticks in your mind?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. Millard might recall better than me. By then, this right hip was giving me so much pain I’m surprised I was able to stand. If you had the X-ray here, I could point out the injured ribs. Dr. Goldfarb said I was lucky the crack in my hip wasn’t more severe or I’ve been laid up for good.”
“What about his race?”
“He’s white. I wouldn’t go to any other kind.”
“I mean the man who helped.”
She shook her head with a fleeting a
“What age would you say?”
“Now I can’t be answering questions like that. I’m getting all flustered and upset and Dr. Goldfarb says that’s not good. Not a bit good he said.”
I continued to look at her, noting her gaze flick away from mine and back. I returned to my list of questions and chose a few that seemed neutral and noninflammatory. In the main, she was cooperative, but I could see her patience was wearing thin. I tucked my pen in the clamp of the clipboard and reached for my shoulder bag as I got to my feet. “Well, I think that’s all for now. I appreciate your time. Once I type up my notes, I’ll stop by and have you read the statement for accuracy. You can make any necessary corrections, and once you’re satisfied it’s a faithful rendering, you can give me a signature and I’ll be out of your hair.”