“Mr. Hubbard, what if I went to the police, and let’s say, like, I told them that I borrowed my dad’s car and took it out by myself? In other words, like, that I was alone in the car, and I hit Kathleen. My dad wasn’t in the picture at all. What would they do?”
Jake recoiled, looking over at Ryan. “I wouldn’t let you do that in a million years.”
Hubbard glanced from father to son. “Ryan, your father would have to support the story, and it looks as if he wouldn’t support your story, just as you wouldn’t support his—”
“I absolutely wouldn’t,” Jake shot back. “It wouldn’t work anyway, not with the facts.”
Ryan groaned. “Why not, Dad?”
“Son, the timing wouldn’t work, and the police would be able to figure that out. The accident happened after I picked you up from the movie, which you went to with your friends. The police could figure out that there wasn’t enough time for us to get home and for you to go back out again.”
“But how would the police even know I was with my friends?”
“They’d investigate, Ryan—”
“Even after I go in and tell them what happened?”
“Of course, they don’t just take your word for it.”
Ryan turned to Hubbard for verification. “Is that right? Would the police go talk to my friends, even after I say what happened?”
“Yes, they would.”
“Ugh!” Ryan smacked the table, in frustration.
Jake had a final question, so he addressed Hubbard. “One last thing, of a more practical nature.”
“Certainly.” Hubbard nodded.
“If we didn’t turn ourselves in, what are the odds?”
“What are the odds that you’d get away with it?”
Jake winced at his bluntness. “Yes.”
“I can’t counsel wrongdoing, and I’m not, and I cannot advise you or help you make a decision. I’ll tell you the relevant facts so you can make your own decision. Do you understand the distinction?”
“Yes.”
“The police in this county investigate thoroughly. They have accident-reconstruction specialists work up the scene, check for debris and tire marks, and physical evidence, like DNA.”
Jake felt relieved that Hubbard didn’t go into gory detail, because he could see Ryan fidget in his chair.
“They also knock on doors, talk to the local businesses, check local body shops and auto parts stores. I don’t know if you read the case, but a man was arrested in Upper Darby last week for a hit-and-run, eight months after the fact. Delaware County police tracked him down via a headlamp he ordered to repair the Toyota 4Runner he was driving when he struck the victim.”
Jake didn’t interrupt him, running over a grim checklist in his mind. Burned parka, check. Crashed car, check.
“They also visit local hospitals and doctors. They examine red-light and convenience-store tapes. They post it online and solicit tips. Tips are a major factor in hit-and-runs. In all crime, really. People have a tendency to tell their friends.”
Jake didn’t dare look over at Ryan.
“These things happen rarely in this township, and the local police have expertise, but not experience, unlike places like Coatesville.”
Hubbard paused, in thought. “In addition, it was raining last night, and water on the road prevents skidmarks from forming. Also the accident scene is out of the way. There are no street cameras in its vicinity, only in the corporate center.”
Jake hadn’t told Hubbard that the accident happened on Pike Road, but nobody was kidding anybody at this point.
“By the way, the statute of limitations on leaving the scene is seven years.”
