The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [90]
“Betsy said that Blythe had the second-floor apartment there on the right.” Dina looked up at the windows. “She said that back in the day, this was quite the place to live.”
Dina turned toward the street and stared. “It’s hard to imagine someone running down a pedestrian here— then reversing the vehicle to run over their victim a second time—without anyone seeing the accident.” Dina frowned. “It’s such a busy street.”
“Well, it was, what, almost two in the morning, and there was a witness, according to the police report,” Simon reminded her. “Albeit a somewhat intoxicated one . . .”
“I’ll bet if they had looked harder, they’d have found someone who was looking out a window. Look at all the apartment buildings on both sides of the street.” She turned back to Simon and said, “I don’t understand why the police weren’t able to find a more credible witness to the accident. Maybe they could have gotten a better description of the vehicle.”
“I don’t know that they spent much time looking for one,” he told her. “We’ve already figured out that the investigation was brought to a premature halt by someone who had enough pull to get such a thing done.”
Dina looked from one building to another, noting the number of windows that faced Connecticut Avenue.
“I don’t believe for a minute that no one saw the accident.”
“I agree, but thirty years later, what are the odds of finding that someone?”
“Slim to none,” Dina muttered. “Slim to none . . .”
She stood on the curb and watched the cars zoom by, taxis changing lanes and out-of-state vehicles moving faster than the posted speed limit. When the light at the corner changed, stopping traffic, she stepped into the street.
“She would have been right here,” Dina said, looking back at Simon, her eyes clouded. “The police report said she was struck at a point fifty-four feet from the intersection. She would have been right about here. . . .”
Dina stared at the street, as if envisioning the scene. “The police report said she had stepped into the street on this side, that she was crossing the street.” She turned to Simon, her head tilted slightly. “Why would she be crossing the street—headed away from her apartment building—at two in the morning? Where would she have been going at that hour?”
“That’s a question that probably could have been answered thirty years ago, had it been asked.”
Dina took another few steps forward into the street as if counting her steps.
“Twelve feet from the curb.” Dina looked back at Simon. “Right here. This is where she was struck. This is where Blythe died. . . .”
“Dina, for God’s sake.” Simon stepped into the street and pulled her back as the light changed and a car sped through the intersection. “Could we not have history repeat itself?”
Dina seemed oblivious to the danger. “Don’t you just feel so sad here, knowing what happened to her?” Her voice trembled. “She had everything in the world to live for. A new baby, a man she adored who loved her deeply, even though the circumstances weren’t the best. How must she have felt, when she realized that the car wasn’t going to stop? How must she have felt, when she realized that just that quickly, she was losing it all . . .”
Simon put an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the car, their hips bumping occasionally as they walked. Simon opened the door for her, tucked her into her seat.
“Maybe we could come back again sometime, maybe visit Dumbarton Oaks,” Simon said as he slid behind the wheel, pausing to study the tension in her face.
“That would be nice, Simon. Thank you.”
Simon tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “It’ll give me an excuse to spend another day with you.”
He started the engine and checked the rearview mirror.
“Simon?” she said as he pulled from the parking spot.
“What?”
“You don’t need an excuse.” Her fingers touched