Page 73 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

SEVENTY-ONE

three weeks before the funeral

Johnny never told me the plan. Despite his Chinese fortune-cookie philosophy that the more you know, the better off you are, he decided that the less I knew, the less likely I was to tip off Alex.

So his call came out of the blue that Monday evening after the kids and I had dinner. “Hey, Maggie. It’s Johnny. I think I may have left my bandanna in your car,” he said.

Johnny had set down a rule back in our high school days. Never call, text, or page him with a message that said I needed help. “Just say you left your bandanna in my car. When I ask what color, you can say green, yellow, or red, and I’ll know how fast you need me to get there and bail you out.”

We hadn’t used that code to communicate for more than twenty-five years, but when he called that night, I didn’t hesitate. “Your bandanna? What color was it?”

“Red.”

“I’ll look for it,” I said.

“Thanks. I’m working the night shift.”

Red. I jumped in the car and raced toward the hospital.

Alex had called me an hour ago and said he should be wrapping up work “soonish.” But that didn’t mean he’d come straight home. He never left without stopping at the construction site to check on the progress of the new trauma center. He was like a kid with a multimillion-dollar new toy and hundreds of hard-hatted friends to play with.

My phone rang as soon as I pulled into the hospital parking lot. Johnny had seen me arrive.

“Stay where you are,” he said.

Two minutes later he slid into the passenger seat of my car. “Don’t ask questions. Just do what I tell you, and hurry—we’ve got to do this fast.”

He handed me a key fob. “I want you to drive Alex’s car to the boat. I’ll follow in your car. Go! Now! Don’t let anyone see you and turn off your cell phone so you can’t be tracked.”

Alex’s Lexus was in his reserved space. I scrambled in, and I drove off unnoticed. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the marina with Johnny right behind me. It was dark, and the place was quiet.

“Strip down to your bra and panties and put these on,” he said, passing me a pair of latex gloves. “It’s 8:21. I’m on a lunch break, and I’ve got to be back on the platform by nine.”

I did as I was told, and he shoved my clothes into a plastic bag.

“Take these,” he said, handing me Alex’s hospital badge, his cell phone, and his wallet. “Now I’m going to give you a set of instructions. Listen carefully, repeat them, and then follow them to the letter. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Within minutes, I had set sail, and the Dunn Deal was making its way upriver. Mindlessly I put Alex’s keys, wallet, phone, and his hospital ID badge exactly where Johnny told me to put them. And then I stopped. Alex was a creature of habit, and nobody knew his quirks better than I did. I picked up his ID from the captain’s chair and hung it from the throttle. I waited till we drifted about a hundred yards out, then I dove into the water and swam to shore.

Johnny was waiting for me with towels and my dry clothes. I got dressed, and as he drove us back to the hospital parking lot, he told me what to expect over the course of the next several days.

We got back to the hospital parking lot at 8:52 p.m.

“Go straight home,” he said. “And get some sleep. It’s over, Maggie. You never again have to worry about Alex hurting you or the kids.”

“Johnny, I’m numb. I don’t know what to say.”

“You were numb the last time we did this shit,” he said. “But you still managed to come up with a few choice words. Do you remember what you said?”

“I think it was probably thank you. I owe you one.”

“You see that?” he said, a wide smile on his face. “You do remember.”

How could I forget? It was November 27, 1997. I got a message to Johnny’s pager and told him that I’d left my red bandanna in his car.

“This better be good,” he said when he showed up to meet me an hour later. “I’m missing the end of the Jets-Bills game. What’s your problem this time, little girl?”

“Connie Gilchrist is dead,” I said. “I just killed her.”