Blunt Darts

now had the rope, down the bank. The other cop ran back to the cruiser to help with the scuba gear. I heard an ambulance siren. It looked pretty crowded down on the bank, so I ran out onto the bridge.
    “Some of the railing was broken away, and you could just see the left front side of the car, from about the middle of the driver’s window up, and the front of the hood pointing at an angle away from the bridge.“
    “How far from the bridge?”
    “Maybe twenty, twenty-five feet. There’s a big rock at that point, and the car was sort of slanting up on it, like the car had tried to drive over the rock and got stuck partway up. Then I—”
    “Just a second,” I said. “From where you were on the bridge, could you tell it was a Mercedes?”
    “No, well, maybe from the hood ornament, but it was raining and blowing so hard, I couldn’t make it out.”
    “Could Blakey have from his angle?”
    “No. I looked as closely as I could. That rain was really coming down, and anyway, Gerry, on the bank, was off to the side. In terms of perspective and line of sight, he was directly behind the trunk.”
    “In those days, cars had license plates on both front and rear. Could Blakey have seen a plate from where he was?”
    “No. Nor could I. Both were below water. You couldn’t even tell what color the car was, the rain was blowing so hard.”
    “Go on.”
    “Let’s see. I tried to take a few pictures with my 35 millimeter, but the conditions were pretty hopeless and none of them came out. I was just putting my camera away when the ambulance pulled up. Right about then, the cop with the scuba gear got into the water, and he swam out with a rope around his waist.”
    “Did he seem to have much trouble with the current?”
    “No. But he was swimming hard and I guess he was a pretty strong swimmer, being a diver and all. When he got to the car, he grabbed hold of the door on the driver’s side. He yanked on it a few times before it opened.”
    “Wait a minute. The driver’s door was closed?“
    “Well, it was hard to tell from where I was. I mean, you really couldn’t see whether it was closed, but he did seem to be trying to pull it open and was having a hard time. And, like you asked me, it didn’t seem like much current. Still, I suppose the door was pushing a lot of water in front of it.”
    “Go on.”
    “After he got the door open, he swung his head and shoulders inside, then he turned to the chief and the others on shore. He took his mouthpiece out and yelled, “No body. Nobody inside.” The chief waved his hand in a circle over his head, and the diver replaced the mouthpiece and went under. Even with the rain, you could follow his progress by watching the roPe. After he zigzagged back and forth on the bridge side of the car a few times, he circled around the car, Kind of jump-roping his line over the top of the car. He finally came up, shaking his head, and the chief waved him in to shore. He swam ashore, and then—“
    “Any trouble with the current this time?”
    “No.” Doucette stopped for a moment. “No. In fact, this time he was swimming pretty slowly.” Doucette blushed a little. “I remember thinking, ‘No rush on the way in. Nobody to save.’ ”
    “What happened then?”
    “When he got to shore, Smollett seemed to ask him a few questions, then motioned everybody back up the bank. I trotted back to the cars. Gerry was the first one back. He waved off the ambulance guys, who waited for the chief to tell them to pack it in. I went up to Gerry as he reached his cruiser, and asked him what happened.
    “He said, ‘The judge’s wife. Mrs. Kinnington. Her car went off the bridge.’
    “I said to him, ‘Did you see it happen?’
    “He said, ‘No. I was driving across the bridge, I saw the railing was broken, and then I saw the car in the water. So I backed up and went down the bank. I couldn’t see anybody, so I came back up just as you pulled up.’ ”
    “Did you ask Blakey about his identification of the car?”
    “Yes,” Doucette grinned. “I asked him how he could tell it was her car, since it was already covered with water. He turned around, looked at the car, turned back, and grabbed my slicker like this”— Doucette clutched and twisted his shirt front—“and slammed me into the side of the cruiser. ‘Don’t you ever say a fuckin’ word about this,’ he said to me. ‘Or print it. Or you’re dead.’ ” Doucette grew still. “He really meant it.”
    “Go