15 Seconds by Andrew Gross

She’s the world to me. Just like yours, I bet?”
    â€œOf course,” Carrie said, feeling a flutter go through her.
    â€œThen you’ll understand what I’m about to say . . . though you probably won’t believe me. None of you, ” he said, firmer, “since I assume there’s a bunch of you crowded around by now.”
    Carrie didn’t answer, but she smiled.
    â€œBut I swear— on my little girl—’cause I still think of her that way—and right now she needs me more than anything in the world—that whatever it looks like, whatever anyone may think, I had nothing to do with what happened to that policeman today . . . I was back in my car, waiting for him to finish up my ticket, when a blue sedan pulled next to him and someone shot him through the window. It sped away and I went after it—to try and ID it—that’s all—which was the reason I left the scene. You understand what I’m saying, Carrie? This is exactly the way it happened. On my little girl !”
    â€œThat’s bullshit,” Captain Moon said dubiously. “Five different people saw him coming out of Martinez’s car.”
    â€œAnd not to mention that I was the one who called 911 . . . It was a blue sedan. I don’t know the make or the model, but I do know something about it. It had South Carolina plates. You’ve got to find that car.”
    â€œWhat make was it, Dr. Steadman?” Carrie asked, glancing again at the clock. They had been on two minutes now. “The car. Were you able to make out the plates?”
    â€œNo, not the numbers. But they were definitely South Carolina. I’m sure . . .” He stopped himself. “And I have no idea what make,” he said with a sigh of frustration. “I would only put you in the wrong direction . . .”
    â€œJust keep him going, Carrie,” one of the detectives whispered, pointing to his watch.
    â€œI hear you, Dr. Steadman. But all I can say is—and I think I’m giving you pretty sound advice here—whatever you’ve done or haven’t done, you have to turn yourself in. Everything can be sorted out then. I promise you, you’ll be treated—”
    â€œI think you know exactly how I’ll be treated.” He cut her off. “You all know what happened today, as I was trying to head back peacefully to the scene. And at the Hyatt. You want to help me, Carrie, look for that blue sedan. The plate number began with AMD or ADJ . . . There must be security cameras around somewhere that would’ve spotted them. There has to be some way.”
    Two and a half minutes.
    â€œAnd remember what I told you. On my daughter, Carrie. I know you’ll know what I mean. I wish I could turn myself in. I wish . . .” There was a long pause and Carrie almost thought he was about to share something. He finally said, “Just look for that car. I think it’s already clear, whether I turn myself in or they eventually catch me, no one there will look.”
    â€œDr. Steadman . . .” Carrie pressed. “What did you mean by—”
    The line went dead.
    Carrie sat back and blew out a breath for the first time. Almost two and a half minutes. A phone number had come up on the screen, but it wasn’t for Steadman’s; it was for a completely different phone. A White Fence Capital. Steadman had likely stolen the phone from somewhere.
    â€œExcellent work, Carrie,” Chief Hall said. “Certainly a lot of excitement, no, for what I understand is your first day back?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Carrie acknowledged. Though she found herself wanting to ask if they should follow up on the blue car.
    â€œWell”—he squeezed her on the shoulder—“you did just fine . . .”
    Then suddenly someone shouted from the detective’s pool. “There’s been another