Run Away (Harlan Coben)

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsaretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualevents,locales,orpersons,livingordead,iscoincidental.Copyright?2019byHarlanCobenCoverdesignbyJayaMiceliCoverphotographs:(woman)?StephenCarroll/TrevillionImages;(man)?MiguelSobreira/TrevillionImagesCovercopyright?2019byHachetteBookGroup,Inc.HachetteBookGroupsupportstherighttofreeexpressionandthevalueofcopyright.Thepurposeofcopyrightistoencouragewritersandartiststoproducethecreativeworksthatenrichourculture.Thescanning,uploading,anddistributionofthisbookwithoutpermissionisatheftoftheauthor’sintellectualproperty.Ifyouwouldlikepermissiontousematerialfromthebook(otherthanforreviewpurposes),pleasecontactpermissions@hbgusa.com.Thankyouforyoursupportoftheauthor’srights.GrandCentralPublishingHachetteBookGroup1290AvenueoftheAmericas,NewYork,NY10104grandcentralpublishing.comtwitter.com/grandcentralpubFirstebookedition:March2019GrandCentralPublishingisadivisionofHachetteBookGroup,Inc.TheGrandCentralPublishingnameandlogoisatrademarkofHachetteBookGroup,Inc.Thepublisherisnotresponsibleforwebsites(ortheircontent)thatarenotownedbythepublisher.TheHachetteSpeakersBureauprovidesawiderangeofauthorsforspeakingevents.Tofindoutmore,gotowww.hachettespeakersbureau.comorcall(866)376-6591.ISBN:978-15387-4848-0E3-20190930-DA-NF-REFE3-20190220-DA-NF-ORIContents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
ChapterForty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
DiscoverMoreHarlanCoben
AConversationwithHarlanCoben
HarlanCobenReturnsWithANewPage-TurningThrillerTHEBOYFROMTHEWOODS
AbouttheAuthor
PRAISEFORRUNAWAY
AlsobyHarlanCoben
ToLisaErbachVance,agentextraordinaire,withloveandgratitudeExplorebookgiveaways,sneakpeeks,deals,andmore.
Tapheretolearnmore
ChapterOne
SimonsatonabenchinCentralPark—inStrawberryFields,tobemoreprecise—andfelthisheartshatter.Noonecouldtell,ofcourse,atleastnotatfirst,notuntilthepunchesstartedflyingandtwotouristsfromFinlandofallplacesstartedscreamingwhilenineotherparkvisitorsfromawidevarietyofcountriescaughtthewholehorribleincidentonsmartphonevideo.
Butthatwasstillanhouraway.
TherewerenostrawberriesinStrawberryFieldsandyou’dbehard-pressedtocallthetwo-and-a-half-acrelandscapedgroundsafield(singular),letalonemorethanone,butthenamewasderivednotfromanythingliteralbutfromtheeponymousBeatlestrack.StrawberryFieldsisatriangular-shapedareaoffSeventy-SecondStreetandCentralParkWestdedicatedtothememoryofJohnLennon,whowasshotandkilledacrossthestreet.Thecenterpieceofthismemorialisaroundmosaicofinlaidstoneswithasimplecaptioninthemiddle:
IMAGINE
Simonstaredstraightahead,blinking,devastated.Touristsstreamedinandsnappedphotoswiththefamedmosaic—groupshots,soloselfies,somekneelingontheinlaidstone,somelyingdownonit.Today,asitismostdays,someonehaddecoratedthewordIMAGINEwithfreshflowers,formingapeacesignofredrosepetalsthatsomehowdidn’tblowaway.Thevisitors—maybebecausetheplacewasamemorial—werepatientwithoneanother,waitingtheirturntosteptowardthemosaicforthatspecialphotothatthey’dpostontheirSnapchatorInstagramorwhateversocialmediaplatformtheyfavoredwithsomeJohnLennonquote,maybeaBeatleslyricorsomethingfromthesongaboutallthepeoplelivinglifeinpeace.
Simonworeasuitandtie.Hehadn’tbotheredtoloosenthetieafterleavinghisofficeonVeseyStreetintheWorldFinancialCenter.Acrossfromhim,alsosittingnearthefamedmosaic,a—whatdoyoucallthemnow?vagrant?transient?drug-addled?mentallyill?panhandler?what?—playedBeatlessongsfortips.The“streetmusician”—akindernameperhaps—strummedanout-of-tuneguitarandsanginacrackedvoicethroughyellowingteethabouthowPennyLanewasinherearsandinhereyes.
Oddoratleastfunnymemory:Simonusedtowalkpastthismosaicallthetimewhenhischildrenwereyoung.WhenPaigewasmaybenine,Samsix,Anyathree,theywouldheadfromtheirapartmentonlyfiveblockssouthofhere,onSixty-SeventhStreetbetweenColumbusandCentralParkWest,andstrollacrossStrawberryFieldsontheirwaytotheAliceinWonderlandstatuebythemodel-boatpondontheeastsideofthepark.Unlikeprettymucheveryotherstatueintheworld,herechildrenwereallowedtoclimbandcrawlallovertheeleven-foot-tallbronzefiguresofAliceandtheMadHatterandtheWhiteRabbitandabunchofseeminglyinappropriategiantmushrooms.SamandAnyalovedtodojustthat,swarmingthefigures,thoughSamatsomepointalwaysstucktwofingersupAlice’sbronzenostrilsandscreamedatSimon,“Dad!Dad,look!I’mpickingAlice’snose!”towhichSam’smother,Ingrid,wouldinevitablysighandmutter,“Boys,”underherbreath.
ButPaige,theirfirstborn,hadbeenquieter,eventhen.Shewouldsitonabenchwithacoloringbookandintactcrayons—shedidn’tlikeitwhenacrayonbrokeorthewrappercameoff—andalways,inanironicmetaphor,stayedwithinthelines.Asshegrewolder—fifteen,sixteen,seventeen—Paigewouldsitonabench,justasSimonwasdoingnow,andwritestoriesandsonglyricsinanotebookherfatherhadboughtheratthePapyrusonColumbusAvenue.ButPaigewouldn’tsitonjustanybench.SomethinglikefourthousandCentralParkbencheshadbeen“adopted”viabig-moneydonations.Personalizedplaqueswereinstalledonthebenches,mostofthemsimplememorialsliketheoneSimonnowsaton,whichread:
INMEMORYOFCARLANDCORKY
Others,theonesPaigegravitatedtoward,toldlittlestories:
ForC&B—whosurvivedtheHolocaustandbeganalifeinthiscity…TomysweetieAnne—Iloveyou,Iadoreyou,Icherishyou.Willyoumarryme?…ThisspotiswhereourlovestorybeganonApril12,1942…
ThebenchthatPaigemostpreferred,theoneshe’dsitonforhoursonendwithherlatestnotebook—andmaybethiswasanearlyindicator?—memorializedamysterioustragedy:
ThebeautifulMeryl,age19.Youdeservedsomuchbetter&diedsoyoung.Iwould’vedoneanythingtosaveyou.
Paigewouldmovefrombenchtobench,readtheinscriptions,findonetouseasastoryprompt.Simon,inanattempttobond,triedtodothattoo,buthedidn’thavehisdaughter’simagination.Still,hesatwithhisnewspaperorfiddledwithhisphone,checkingthemarketsorreadingthebusinessnews,asPaige’spenmovedinaflurry.
Whathappenedtothoseoldnotebooks?Whereweretheynow?
Simonhadnoidea.
“PennyLane”mercifullycametoanend,andthesinger/panhandlerseguedrightinto“AllYouNeedIsLove.”AyoungcouplesatonthebenchnexttoSimon.Theyoungmanstage-whispered,“CanIgivehermoneytoshutup?”towhichhisfemalecompanionsnickered,“It’slikeJohnLennonisbeingkilledalloveragain.”Afewpeopledroppedsomecoinsintothewoman’sguitarcase,butmostpeoplestayedclearorbackedawaymakingafacethatindicatedtheyhadgottenawhiffofsomethingofwhichtheywantednopart.
ButSimonlistenedandlistenedhard,hopingtofindsomesemblanceofbeautyinthemelody,inthesong,inthelyrics,intheperformance.Hebarelynoticedthetouristsortheirtourguidesorthemanwhoworenoshirt(butshould)sellingwaterbottlesforadollarortheskinnyguywiththesoulpatchwhotoldajokeforadollar(“Special:6Jokesfor$5!”)ortheoldAsianwomanburningincensetohonorJohnLennoninsomevaguewayorthejoggers,thedogwalkers,thesunbathers.
Buttherewasnobeautyinthemusic.None.
Simon’seyesstayedlockedonthepanhandlinggirlmanglingJohnLennon’slegacy.Herhairwasmattedclumps.Hercheekbonesweresunken.Thegirlwasrail-thin,raggedy,dirty,damaged,homeless,lost.
ShewasalsoSimon’sdaughterPaige.
***
SimonhadnotseenPaigeinsixmonths—notsinceshehaddonetheinexcusable.
IthadbeenthefinalbreakforIngrid.
“Youleaveherbethistime,”IngridhadtoldhimafterPaigeranout.
“Meaning?”
AndthenIngrid,awonderfulmother,acaringpediatricianwhodedicatedherlifetohelpingchildreninneed,said,“Idon’twantherbackinthishouse.”
“Youdon’tmeanthat.”
“Ido,Simon.Godhelpme,Ido.”
Formonths,withoutIngrid’sknowledge,he’dsearchedforPaige.Sometimeshisattemptswerewellorganized,likewhenhehiredtheprivateinvestigator.Moreoften,hiseffortswerehit-and-miss,haphazard,consistingofwalkingthroughdangerousdrug-infestedareas,flashingherphotographtothestonedandunsavory.
He’dcomeupwithnothing.
SimonhadwonderedwhetherPaige,whohadrecentlycelebratedherbirthday(how,Simonwondered—aparty,acake,drugs?Didsheevenknowwhatdayitwas?),hadleftManhattanandgonebacktothatcollegetownwhereitallbegantogowrong.Ontwoseparateweekends,whenIngridwasonshiftatthehospitalandthuswouldn’tbeabletoasktoomanyquestions,SimonhaddrivenupandstayedattheCraftboroInnnexttothecampus.Hewalkedthequad,rememberinghowenthusiasticallyallfiveofthem—Simon,Ingrid,incomingfreshmanPaige,Sam,andAnya—hadarrivedandhelpedsettlePaigein,howheandIngridhadbeensocockeyedoptimisticthatthisplacewouldbeagreatfit,allthiswide-opengreenspaceandwoodlandforthedaughterwhohadgrownupinManhattan,andhow,ofcourse,thatoptimismwitheredanddied.
PartofSimon—aparthecouldnevergivevoicetoorevenadmitexisted—hadwantedtogiveuponfindingher.Lifehad,ifnotimproved,certainlycalmedsincePaigeranaway.Sam,whohadgraduatedfromHoraceManninthespring,barelymentionedhisoldersister.Hisfocushadbeenonfriendsandgraduationandparties—andnowhissoleobsessionwaspreparingforhisfirstyearatAmherstCollege.Anya,well,Simondidn’tknowhowshefeltaboutthings.Shewouldn’ttalktohimaboutPaige—orprettymuchanythingelse.Heranswerstohisattemptsatconversationconsistedofoneword,andrarelymorethanonesyllable.Shewas“fine”or“good”or“’k.”
ThenSimongotastrangelead.
HisupstairsneighborCharlieCrowley,anophthalmologistdowntown,gotintotheelevatorwithSimononemorningthreeweeksback.Afterexchangingtheusualneighborlypleasantries,Charlie,facingtheelevatordooraseveryonedoes,watchingthefloorstickdown,shylyandwithtrueregret,toldSimonthathe“thought”hehadseenPaige.
Simon,alsostaringupatthefloornumbers,askedasnonchalantlyaspossiblefordetails.
“Imighthaveseenher,uh,inthepark,”Charliesaid.
“What,youmeanlikewalkingthrough?”
“No,notexactly.”Theyreachedthegroundfloor.Thedoorsslidopen.Charlietookadeepbreath.“Paige…wasplayingmusicinStrawberryFields.”
CharliemusthaveseenthebewilderedlookonSimon’sface.
“Youknow,um,likefortips.”
Simonfeltsomethinginsidehimrip.“Tips?Likea—”
“Iwasgoingtogivehermoney,but…”
Simonnoddedthatitwasokay,topleasecontinue.
“…butPaigewassooutofit,shedidn’tknowwhoIwas.Iworrieditwouldjustgo…”
Charliedidn’thavetofinishthethought.
“I’msorry,Simon.Truly.”
Thatwasit.
SimondebatedtellingIngridabouttheencounter,buthedidn’twanttodealwiththatparticularfallout.InsteadhestartedhangingaroundStrawberryFieldsinhissparetime.
HeneversawPaige.
Heaskedafewofthevagrantswhoplayediftheyrecognizedher,showingaphotooffhisphonerightbeforehetossedacoupleofbillsintotheirguitarcase.AfewsaidyesandwouldoffermoredetailsifSimonmadethatcontributiontothecausesomewhatmoresubstantial.Hedidsoandgotnothinginreturn.Themajorityadmittedthattheydidn’trecognizeher,butnow,seeingPaigeintheflesh,Simonunderstoodwhy.Therewasalmostnophysicaloverlapbetweenhisonce-lovelydaughterandthisstrung-outbagofbones.
ButasSimonsatinStrawberryFields—usuallyinfrontofanalmost-humorouslyignoredsignthatread:
AQUIETZONE—NOAMPLIFIEDSOUNDORMUSICALINSTRUMENTS
—hehadnoticedsomethingodd.Themusicians,allofwhomleanedheavilyonthegrungy-transient-squalidside,neverplayedatthesametimeoroveroneanother.Thetransitionsbetweenonestreetguitaristandthenextwereremarkablysmooth.Theplayerschangedonthehourprettymucheveryhourinanorderlyfashion.
Liketherewasaschedule.
IttookSimonfiftydollarstomeetamannamedDave,oneoftheseedierstreetmusicianswithahugehelmetofgrayhair,facialhairthathadrubberbandsinit,andabraidedponytailstretchingdownthemiddleofhisback.Dave,wholookedtobeeitherabadlyweatheredmidfiftiesoraneasier-livedseventy,explainedhowitallworked.
“Sointheolddays,aguynamedGarydosSantos…youknowhim?”
“Thenameisfamiliar,”Simonsaid.
“Yeah,ifyouwalkedthroughherebackintheday,boy,you’drememberhim.Garywastheself-appointedMayorofStrawberryFields.Bigguy.Spent,what,twentyyearsherekeepingthepeace.Andbykeepingthepeace,Imeanscaringtheshitoutofpeople.Dudewascrazy,youknowwhatI’msaying?”
Simonnodded.
“Thenin,what,2013,Garydies.Leukemia.Onlyforty-nine.Thisplace”—Davegesturedwithhisfingerlessgloves—“goescrazy.Totalanarchywithoutourfascist.YoureadMachiavelli?Likethat.Musiciansstartgettinginfightseveryday.Territory,youknowwhatI’msaying?”
“Iknowwhatyou’resaying.”
“They’dtrytopolicethemselves,butcomeon—halftheseguyscanbarelydressthemselves.See,oneassholewouldplaytoolong,thenanotherassholewouldstartplayingoverhim,they’dstartscreaming,cursing,eveninfrontofthelittlekids.Sometimesthey’dthrowpunches,andthenthecopswouldcome,yougetthedeal,right?”
Simonnoddedthathedid.
“Itwashurtingourimage,nottomentionourwallets.Soweallcameupwithasolution.”
“What’sthat?”
“Aschedule.Anhour-to-hourrotationfromtena.m.tosevenp.m.”
“Forreal?”
“Yes.”
“Andthatworks?”
“Itain’tperfect,butit’sprettyclose.”
Economicself-interest,thoughtSimonthefinancialanalyst.Oneoflife’sconstants.“Howdoyousignupforaslot?”
“Viatext.Wegotfiveregularguys.Theygettheprimetimes.Thenotherpeoplecanfillin.”
“Andyouruntheschedule?”
“Ido.”Davepuffedouthischestinpride.“See,Iknowhowtomakeitwork,youknowwhatI’msaying?LikeIneverputHal’sslotnexttoJulesbecausethosetwohateeachothermorethanmyexeshateme.Ialsotrytomakeitwhatyoumightcalldiverse.”
“Diverse?”
“Blackguys,chicks,spics,fairies,evenacoupleofOrientals.”Hespreadhishands.“Wedon’twanteveryonethinkingallbumsarewhiteguys.It’sabadstereotype,youknowwhatI’msaying?”
Simonknewwhathewassaying.HealsoknewthatifhegaveDavetwoone-hundred-dollarbillstorninhalfandpromisedtogivehimtheotherhalveswhenDavetoldhimwhenhisdaughtersignedupagain,hewouldprobablymakeprogress.
Thismorning,Davehadtextedhim:
11AMtoday.Inevertoldyou.Iain’tasnitch.
Then:
Butbringmymoneyat10AM.Igotyogaat11.
Soherehewas.
SimonsatacrossfromPaigeandwonderedwhethershewouldspothimandwhattodoifshebolted.Hewasn’tsure.He’dfiguredthathisbestbetwastoletherfinishup,packuphermeaslytipsandguitar,makehisapproach.
Hecheckedhiswatch.11:58a.m.Paige’shourwascomingtoanend.
Simonhadrehearsedallkindsoflinesinhishead.HehadalreadycalledtheSolemaniclinicupstateandbookedPaigearoom.Thatwashisplan:Saywhatever;promisewhatever;cajole,beg,usewhatevermeansnecessarytogethertogowithhim.
AnotherstreetmusicianinfadedjeansandrippedflannelshirtenteredfromtheeastandsatnexttoPaige.Hisguitarcasewasablackplasticgarbagebag.HetappedPaige’skneeandpointedtoanimaginarywatchonhiswrist.Paigenoddedasshefinished“IAmtheWalrus”withanextended“googoog’joob,”liftedbotharmsintheair,andshouted,“Thankyou!”toacrowdthatwasnotevenpayingattention,letaloneapplauding.Shescoopedthefewpatheticwrinkledsinglesandcoinsupandthenloweredherguitarintothecasewithsurprisingcare.Thatsimplemove—loweringthatguitarintothecase—hithimhard.SimonhadboughtthatTakamineG-SeriesguitarforherattheSamAshonWestForty-EighthStreetforhersixteenthbirthday.Hetriedtoconjureupthefeelingstogowiththememory—Paige’ssmilewhenshepluckeditoffthewall,thewaysheclosedhereyesasshetesteditout,howshethrewherarmsaroundhisneckandshouted,“Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou!”whenhetoldheritwashers.
Butthefeelings,iftheywerereal,wouldn’tcome.
Theawfultruth:Simoncouldn’tevenseethelittlegirlanymore.
Oh,forthepasthourhehadtried.Hetriedagainnowtolookatherandconjureuptheangelicchildhe’dtakentoswimclassesatthe92ndStreetY,theonewhosatonahammockoutintheHamptonswhilehereadhertwofullHarryPotterbooksoverthethree-dayLaborDayweekend,thelittlegirlwhoinsistedonwearingherStatue-of-LibertyHalloweencostumecompletewithgreenfacetwoweeksearly,but—andmaybeitwasadefensemechanism—noneofthoseimageswouldcometohim.
Paigestumbledtoastand.
Timetomakehismove.
Acrossthemosaic,Simonstoodtoo.Hisheartpoundedhardagainsthisribcage.Hecouldfeelaheadachecomingon,likegianthandswerepressinginagainstbothhistemples.Helookedleft,thenright.
Fortheboyfriend.
Simoncouldn’tsayexactlyhowitallstartedspiraling,butheblamedtheboyfriendforthescourgebroughtonhisdaughterandbyextensionhisentirefamily.Yes,Simonhadreadallabouthowanaddicthastotakeresponsibilityforherownactions,thatitwastheaddict’sfaultandtheaddict’sfaultalone,allofthat.Andmostaddicts(andbyextension,theirfamilies)hadataletotell.Maybetheiraddictionstartedwithpainmedicationafteranoperation.Maybetheytraceditbacktopeerpressureorclaimedthatone-timeexperimentationhadsomehowevolvedintosomethingdarker.
Therewasalwaysanexcuse.
ButinPaige’scase—callitaweaknessofcharacterorbadparentingorwhatever—itallseemedsomewhatsimpler:
TherewasPaigebeforeshemetAaron.AndPaigenow.
AaronCorvalwasscum—obvious,unsubtlescum—andwhenyoublendedscumandpurity,thepuritywasforeversullied.Simonnevergottheappeal.Aaronwasthirty-twoyearsold,elevenyearsolderthanhisdaughter.Inamoreinnocenttime,thisagedifferencehadconcernedSimon.Ingridhadshruggeditoff,butshewasusedtosuchthingsfromhermodelingdays.Now,ofcourse,theagedifferencewastheleastofit.
TherewasnosignofAaron.
Asmallbirdofhopetookflight.CouldAaronfinallybeoutofthepicture?Couldthismalignancy,thiscancer,thisparasitewhofedoffhisdaughterhavefinishedhisfeastandmovedontoamorerobusthost?
Thatwouldbegood,noquestionaboutit.
Paigestartedeasttowardthepathacrossthepark,hergaitazombie-likeshuffle.Simonstartedtomakehismove.
What,hewondered,wouldhedoifsherefusedtogowithhim?Thatwasnotonlyapossibilitybutalikelihood.Simonhadtriedtogetherhelpinthepast,andithadbackfired.Hecouldn’tforceher.Heknewthat.He’devenhadRobertPrevidi,hisbrother-in-law,trytogetacourtordertohavehercommitted.Thathadn’tworkedeither.
Simoncameupbehindhernow.Herwornsundresshungtoolooselyoffhershoulders.Therewerebrownspots—sun?illness?abuse?—onherback,blottingtheonce-flawlessskin.
“Paige?”
Shedidn’tturnaround,didn’tsomuchashesitate,andforabriefsecond,Simonentertainedthefantasythathehadbeenwrong,thatCharlieCrowleyhadbeenwrong,thatthisdisheveledbagofboneswiththerancidsmellandshotvoicewasnothisfirstborn,nothisPaige,nottheteenagerwhoplayedHodelintheAbernathyAcademyproductionofFiddlerontheRoof,theonewhosmelledlikepeachesandyouthandbroketheaudience’sheartwithher“FarfromtheHomeILove”solo.Simonhadnevermadeitthroughoneofherfiveperformanceswithoutwellingup,nearlybreakingintosobswhenPaige’sHodelturnedtoTevyeandsaid,“Papa,Godaloneknowswhenweshallseeeachotheragain,”towhichherstagefatherreplied,“ThenwewillleaveitinHishands.”
Heclearedhisthroatandgotcloser.“Paige?”
Sheslowedbutdidnotturnaround.Simonreachedoutwithatremblinghand.Herbackstillfacedhim.Herestedhishandontheshoulder,feelingnothingbutdriedbonecoveredbypaperyskin,andtriedonemoretime.
“Paige?”
Shestopped.
“Paige,it’sDaddy.”
Daddy.WhenwasthelasttimeshehadcalledhimDaddy?HehadbeenDadtoher,toallthreekids,foraslongashecouldremember,andyetthewordjustcameout.Hecouldhearthecrackinhisvoice,theplea.
Shestillwouldn’tturntowardhim.
“Please,Paige—”
Andthenshebrokeintoarun.
Themovecaughthimoffguard.Paigehadathree-stepleadwhenhesnappedintoaction.Simonhadrecentlygottenhimselfintoprettygoodshape.Therewasahealthclubnexttohisofficeandwiththestressoflosinghisdaughter—thatwashowhelookedatit,aslosingher—hehadbecomeobsessedwithvariouscardio-boxingclassesduringhislunchhour.
Heleaptforwardandcaughtuptoherprettyquickly.HegrabbedPaigebythereedlikeupperarm—hecouldhavecircledtheflimsybicepwithhisindexfingerandthumb—andyankedherback.Theyankmayhavebeentoohard,butthewholething—theleaps,thereach—hadjustbeenanautomaticreaction.
Paigehadtriedtoflee.Hehaddonewhatwasnecessarytostopher.
“Ow!”shecried.“Letgoofme!”
Therewereloadsofpeoplearound,andsome,Simonwassure,hadturnedatthesoundofhercry.Hedidn’tcare,exceptitaddedurgencytohismission.HewouldhavetoactfastnowandgetheroutofherebeforesomeGoodSamaritansteppedinto“rescue”Paige.
“Honey,it’sDad.Justcomewithme,okay?”
Herbackwasstilltohim.Simonspunhersothatshewouldhavetofacehim,butPaigecoveredhereyeswiththecrookofherarm,asthoughhewereshiningabrightlightinherface.
“Paige?Paige,pleaselookatme.”
Herbodystiffenedandthen,suddenly,relaxed.Paigeloweredherarmfromherfaceandslowlyturnedhergazeupathim.Hopeagaintookflight.Yes,hereyesweresunkendeepintothesocketsandthecolorwasyellowwhereitshouldhavebeenwhite,butnow,forthefirsttime,Simonthoughtthatmaybehesawaflicker—life—theretoo.
Forthefirsttime,hesawahintofthelittlegirlheonceknew.
WhenPaigespoke,hecouldfinallyheartheechoofhisdaughter:“Dad?”
Henodded.Heopenedhismouth,closeditbecausehefelttoooverwhelmed,triedagain.“I’mheretohelpyou,Paige.”
Shestartedtocry.“I’msosorry.”
“It’sokay,”hesaid.“It’sgoingtobeokay.”
Hestretchedouthisarmstosweephisdaughterintosafety,whenanothervoiceslicedthroughtheparklikeareaper’sscythe.
“Whatthefuck…?”
Simonfelthisheartdrop.Helookedtohisright.
Aaron.
PaigecringedawayfromSimonatthesoundofAaron’svoice.Simontriedtoholdontoher,butshepulledherarmloose,theguitarcasebangingagainstherleg.
“Paige…”Simonsaid.
Butwhateverclarityhehadseeninhereyesjustafewsecondsagoshatteredintoamillionpieces.
“Leavemealone!”shecried.
“Paige,please—”
Paigestartedtobackpedalaway.Simonreachedoutforherarmagain,adesperatemanfallingoffacliffandtryingtograspabranch,butPaigeletoutapiercingscream.
Thatturnedheads.Lotsofthem.
Simondidnotbackaway.
“Please,justlisten—”
AndthenAaronsteppedbetweenthem.
Thetwomen,SimonandAaron,wereeyetoeye.PaigecoweredbehindAaron.Aaronlookedstrung-out,wearingadenimjacketoveragrungywhiteT-shirt—thelatestinheroinchicminusthechic.Hehadtoomanychainsaroundhisneckandhadthatstubblethataimedforfashionablebutfellwayshort,andworkboots,whichwerealwaysanironiclookonsomeonewhowouldn’trecognizeadayofhonestworkifitkickedhiminthegroin.
“It’sokay,Paige,”Aaronsaidwithasmoothsneer,stillmeetingSimon’sgaze.“Youjustkeepmoving,doll.”
Simonshookhishead.“No,don’t…”
ButPaige,almostusingAaron’sbackforleverage,pushedoffandstartedtosprintdownthepath.
“Paige?”Simonshouted.“Wait!Pleasejust—”
Shewasgettingaway.Simonveeredrighttogoafterher,butAaronslidwithhim,blockinghispath.
“Paigeisanadult,”Aaronsaid.“Yougotnoright—”
SimoncockedhisfistandpunchedAaronstraightintheface.
Hecouldfeelthenosegivewayunderhisknuckles,heardthebreaklikeabootstompingonabird’snest.Bloodflowed.
Aaronwentdown.
ThatwaswhenthetwotouristsfromFinlandscreamed.
Simondidn’tcare.HecouldstillseePaigeupahead.Sheturnedtotheleft,offthepavementandintothetrees.
“Paige,wait!”
Hejumpedtothesideofthefallenmanandstartedtowardher,butfromtheground,Aarongrabbedhisleg.Simontriedtopullfree,butnowhecouldseeotherpeople—well-meaningbutconfusedpeople—approaching,alotofthem,sometakingvideoswiththeirdamnphones.
Theywereallshoutingandtellinghimnottomove.
Simonkickedfree,stumbled,gothislegsback.Hestarteddownthepath,downtowardwherePaigehadveeredoff.
Butitwastoolatenow.Thecrowdwasonhim.
Someonetriedtotacklehimuphigh.Simonthrewanelbow.Heheardthetacklermakeanoofnoiseandhisgripslackened.SomeoneelsewrappedtheirarmsaroundSimon’swaist.Simonpulledhimofflikeabelt,stillrunningtowardhisdaughter,stillmovinglikeahalfbackwithdefendersalloverhimtowardthegoalline.
Buteventuallythereweretoomanyofthem.
“Mydaughter!”hescreamed.“Please…juststopher…”
Noonecouldhearoverthecommotion,orperhapstheysimplyweren’tlisteningtotheviolentmadmanwhohadtobetakendown.
Anothertouristjumpedonhim.Thenanother.
AsSimonfinallybegantofall,helookedupandsawhisdaughterbackonthepath.Helandedwithacrash.Then,becausehetriedtogetbackup,blowsraineddownonhim.Alotofthem.Whenitwasallover,hewouldhavethreebrokenribsandtwobrokenfingers.Hewouldhaveaconcussionandneedtwenty-threestitchesintotal.
Hedidn’tfeelathing,exceptfortherippinginhisheart.
Anotherbodylandedonhim.Heheardshoutsandscreamsandthenthepolicewereonhimtoo,flippinghimontohisstomach,diggingakneeintohisspine,cuffinghim.HelookeduponemoretimeandspottedPaigestaringfrombehindatree.
“Paige!”
Butshedidn’tcometohim.Insteadsheslippedawayas,onceagain,Simonrealizedthathehadfailedher.
ChapterTwo
Forawhile,thecopsjustleftSimonfacedownontheasphaltwithhishandscuffedbehindhisback.Onecop—shewasfemaleandblackwithanametagthatreadHAYES—bentdownandcalmlytoldhimthathewasunderarrestandthenreadhimhisrights.Simonthrashedandscreamedabouthisdaughter,beggingsomeone,anyone,tostopher.HayesjustkeptrecitingtheMirandarights.
WhenHayesfinished,shestraightenedupandturnedaway.Simonstartedscreamingabouthisdaughteragain.Noonewouldlisten,possiblybecausehesoundedunhinged,sohetriedtocalmhimselfandconjureupamorepolitetone.
“Officer?Ma’am?Sir?”
Theyallignoredhimandtookstatementsfromwitnesses.Severalofthetouristswereshowingthecopsvideosoftheincident,which,Simonimagined,didnotlookgoodforhim.
“Mydaughter,”hesaidagain.“Iwastryingtosavemydaughter.Hekidnappedher.”
Thelastpartwasaquasilie,buthehopedforareaction.Hedidn’tgetone.
Simonturnedhisheadleftandright,lookingforAaron.Therewasnosignofhim.
“Whereishe?”heshouted,againsoundingunhinged.
Hayesfinallylookeddownathim.“Who?”
“Aaron.”
Nothing.
“TheguyIpunched.Whereishe?”
Noanswer.
Theadrenalinerushbegantotaperoff,allowinganauseatinglevelofpaintoflowthroughhisbody.Eventually—Simonhadnoideahowmuchtimehadpassed—HayesandatallwhitecopwiththenametagWHITEhoistedhimupanddrag-walkedhimtoasquadcar.Whenhewasinthebackseat,Whitetookthedriver’sside,Hayesthepassenger.Hayes,whohadhiswalletinherhand,turnedaroundandsaid,“Sowhathappened,Mr.Greene?”
“Iwastalkingtomydaughter.Herboyfriendgotintheway.Itriedtomovearoundhim…”
Simonstoppedtalking.
“And?”sheprompted.
“Doyouhaveherboyfriendincustody?Canyoupleasehelpmefindmydaughter?”
“And?”Hayesrepeated.
Simonwascrazed,buthewasn’tinsane.“Therewasanaltercation.”
“Analtercation.”
“Yes.”
“Walkusthroughit.”
“Walkyouthroughwhat?”
“Thealtercation.”
“Firsttellmeaboutmydaughter,”Simontried.“HernameisPaigeGreene.Herboyfriend,whoIbelieveisholdingheragainstherwill,isnamedAaronCorval.Iwastryingtorescueher.”
“Mm-hmm,”Hayessaid.Then:“Soyoupunchedahomelessguy?”
“Ipunched—”Simonstoppedhimself.Heknewbetter.
“Youpunched?”Hayesprompted.
Simondidn’treply.
“Right,that’swhatIthought,”Hayessaid.“Yougotbloodalloveryou.Evenonyournicetie.ThataHermès?”
Itwas,butSimondidn’tsayanythingmore.Hisshirtwasstillbuttonedallthewaytothethroat,thetieideallyWindsored.
“Whereismydaughter?”
“Noidea,”Hayessaid.
“ThenIdon’thaveanythingelsetosayuntilIspeaktomyattorney.”
“Suityourself.”
Hayesturnedbackaroundanddidn’tsayanythingelse.TheydroveSimontotheemergencyroomatMountSinaiWestonFifty-NinthStreetnearTenthAvenue,wheretheytookhimimmediatelytoX-ray.AdoctorwearingaturbanandlookingtooyoungtogetintoR-ratedfilmsputSimon’sfingersintosplintsandstitcheduphisscalplacerations.Therewasnothingtobedoneforthebrokenribs,thedoctorexplained,otherthan“restrictactivityforsixweeksorso.”
Therestwasasurrealwhirlwind:thedrivetoCentralBookingat100CentreStreet,themugshots,thefingerprints,theholdingcell.Theygavehimaphonecall,justlikeinthemovies.SimonwasgoingtocallIngrid,buthedecidedtogowithhisbrother-in-lawRobert,atopManhattanlitigator.
“I’llgetsomeoneoverthererightaway,”Robertsaid.
“Youcan’thandleit?”
“I’mnotcriminal.”
“YoureallythinkIneedacriminal—?”
“Yeah,Ido.PlusYvonneandIareattheshorehouse.It’lltakemetoolongtogetin.Justsittight.”
Halfanhourlater,atinywomaninherearlytomidseventieswithcurlyblonde-to-grayhairandfireinhereyesintroducedherselfwithafirmhandshake.
“HesterCrimstein,”shesaidtoSimon.“Robertsentme.”
“I’mSimonGreene.”
“Yeah,I’matop-notchlitigator,soIpiecedthattogether.Nowrepeatafterme,SimonGreene:‘Notguilty.’”
“What?”
“JustrepeatwhatIsaid.”
“Notguilty.”
“Beautiful,welldone,bringstearstomyeyes.”HesterCrimsteinleanedcloser.“Thosearetheonlywordsyou’reallowedtosay—andtheonlytimeyou’llsaythosewordsiswhenthejudgeasksforaplea.Yougotme?”
“Gotyou.”
“Doweneedtodoadryrehearsal?”
“No,IthinkIgotit.”
“Goodboy.”
Whentheyheadedintothecourtroomandshesaid,“HesterCrimsteinforthedefense,”abuzzstartedhummingthroughthecourt.Thejudgeraisedhisheadandarchedaneyebrow.
“CounselorCrimstein,thisisquitethehonor.Whatbringsyoutomyhumblecourtroom?”
“I’mjustheretostopagravemiscarriageofjustice.”
“I’msureyouare.”Thejudgefoldedhishandsandsmiled.“It’snicetoseeyouagain,Hester.”
“Youdon’tmeanthat.”
“You’reright,”thejudgesaid.“Idon’t.”
ThatseemedtopleaseHester.“You’relookinggood,YourHonor.Theblackrobeworksonyou.”
“What,thisoldthing?”
“Makesyoulookthin.”
“Itdoes,doesn’tit?”Thejudgesatback.“Whatdoesthedefendantplead?”
HestergaveSimonalook.
“Notguilty,”hesaid.
Hesternoddedherapproval.Theprosecutoraskedforfivethousanddollarsinbail.Hesterdidnotcontesttheamount.Oncetheywentthroughthelegalrigmaroleofpaperworkandbureaucracyandwereallowedtoleave,Simonstartedforthefrontentrance,butHesterstoppedhimwithahandonhisforearm.
“Notthatway.”
“Whynot?”
“They’llbewaiting.”
“Who?”
Hesterpressedtheelevatorbutton,checkedthelightsabovethedoors,said,“Followme.”
Theyhitthestepsandtookthemdowntwolevels.Hesterstartedleadinghimtowardthebackofthebuilding.Shepickeduphermobile.
“YouattheEgglooonMulberry,Tim?Good.Fiveminutes.”
“What’sgoingon?”Simonasked.
“Odd.”
“What?”
“Youkeeptalking,”Hestersaid,“whenIspecificallytoldyounotto.”
Theyheadeddownadarkcorridor.Hesterledtheway.Sheturnedright,thenrightagain.Eventuallytheyreachedanemployeeentrance.Peoplewereflashingbadgestocomein,butHesterjustbarreledthroughtoexit.
“Youcan’tdothat,”aguardsaid.
“Arrestus.”
Hedidn’t.Amomentlater,theywereoutside.TheycrossedBaxterStreetandcutthroughthegreenofColumbusPark,passedthreevolleyballcourts,andendeduponMulberryStreet.
“Youlikeicecream?”Hesterasked.
Simondidnotreply.Hepointedtohisclosedmouth.
Hestersighed.“Youhavepermissiontospeak.”
“Yes.”
“EggloohasaCampfireS’moresicecreamsandwichthat’stodiefor.Itoldmydrivertograbtwofortheride.”
TheblackMercedeswaswaitinginfront.Thedriverhadtheicecreamsandwiches.HehandedonetoHester.
“Thanks,Tim.Simon?”
Simonshookofftheother.Hestershrugged.“Allyours,Tim.”Shetookabiteofherownandslippedintothebackseat.Simongotinnexttoher.
“Mydaughter—”Simonbegan.
“Thepoliceneverfoundher.”
“HowaboutAaronCorval?”
“Who?”
“TheguyIpunched.”
“Whoawhoa,don’tevenjokearoundaboutthat.Youmeantheguyyouallegedlypunched.”
“Whatever.”
“Notwhatever.Noteveninprivate.”
“Okay,Igotit.Doyouknowwhere—?”
“Hetookofftoo.”
“Whatdoyoumean,‘tookoff’?”
“Whatpartof‘tookoff’isconfusing?Heranawaybeforethepolicecouldlearnanythingabouthim.Whichisgoodforyou.Novictim,nocrime.”Shetookanotherbiteandwipedthecornerofherlips.“Thecasewillgoawaysoonenough,but…Look,Igotafriend.HernameisMariquitaBlumberg.She’saballbuster—notasweetheartlikeme.Butshe’sthebesthandlerinthecity.WeneedMariquitatogetonyourPRcampaignrightaway.”
Thedriverstartedupthecar.TheMercedesstartednorthandturnedrightonBayardStreet.
“PRcampaign?WhywouldIneed—?”
“I’lltellyouinaminute,butwedon’tneedthedistractionrightnow.Firsttellmewhathappened.Everything.Frombeginningtoend.”
Hetoldher.Hesterturnedhersmallframetofacehim.Shewasoneofthosepeoplewhoraisethephrase“undividedattention”intoanartform.Shehadbeenallenergyandmovement.Nowthatenergywasmorelikealaserbeampointeddirectlyathim.Shewasfocusingoneverywordwithanempathysostronghecouldreachoutandtouchit.
“Ohman,I’msorry,”Hestersaidwhenhefinished.“Thattrulysucks.”
“Soyouunderstand.”
“Ido.”
“IneedtofindPaige.OrAaron.”
“I’llcheckagainwiththedetectives,butlikeIsaid,myunderstandingisthattheybothranoff.”
Anotherdeadend.Simon’sbodystartedtoache.Whateverdefensemechanisms,whateverchemicalresponsesthatdelayifnotblockpainwereerodinginahurry.Paindidn’tsomuchebbthroughasflowin.
“SowhydoIneedaPRcampaign?”Simonasked.
Hestertookouthermobilephoneandstartedfutzingwithit.“Hatethesethings.Somuchinformationandsomanyuses,butmostlyitruinsyourlife.Youhavekids,right?Wellobviously.Howmanyhoursadaydotheyspend…”Hervoicedriftedoff.“Notthetimeforthatparticularlecture.Here.”
Hesterhandedhimthephone.
Simonsawthatshe’dbroughtupaYouTubevideowith289,000views.Whenhesawthescreenshotpreviewandreadthetitle,hisheartsank:
PROSPERITYPUNCHESPOVERTYWALLSTREETWALLOPSVAGABONDDADDYWARBUCKSDESTROYSTHEDESTITUTEBROKERBOPSBUM“HAVE”HITS“HAVE-NOT”
HeflickedhiseyesupatHester,whogavehimasympatheticshrug.ShereachedacrossandtappedPlaywithherindexfinger.ThevideohadbeentakenbysomeonewiththescreennameZorraStilettoandpostedtwohoursago.ZorraStilettohadbeenpanningupfromthreewomen—perhapshiswifeandtwodaughters?—whensomekindofdisturbancedrewhisattention.Thelensjerkedtotheright,regainingfocuswithidealtimingonapompous-lookingSimon—whythehellhadn’thechangedoutofthatsuitoratleastloosenedthegoddamntie?—justasPaigewaspullingawayfromhimandAaronwassteppinguptogetbetweenthem.Itlooked,ofcourse,asthougharich,privileged,suitedmanwasaccosting(andmaybeworse)amuchyoungerwoman,whowasthenbeingrescuedbyastand-uphomelessguy.
Asthescared,fragileyoungwomancoweredbehindhersavior’sback,themaninthesuitstartedscreaming.Theyoungwomanranaway.Themaninthesuittriedtopushpastthehomelessguyandfollowher.Simonknew,ofcourse,whathewasabouttosee.Stillhewatched,wide-eyedandhopeful,asthoughtherewereachancethatthesuitedmanwouldnotbemoronicenoughtoactuallypullbackhisfistandpunchthebravehomelessmanstraightintheface.
Butthatwasexactlywhathappened.
TherewasbloodasthekindlyhomelessSamaritancrumpledtothepavement.Theuncaringrichmaninthesuittriedtostepovertherubbleofhim,butthehomelessSamaritangrabbedhisleg.WhenanAsianmaninabaseballcap—anotherGoodSamaritannodoubt—enteredthefray,thesuitedmanelbowedhiminthenosetoo.
Simonclosedhiseyes.“Ohman.”
“Yep.”
WhenSimonopenedhiseyesagain,heignoredthecardinalruleforallarticlesandvideos:Nevereverreadthecommentsection.
“Richguysthinktheycangetawaywithstufflikethis.”“Hewasgoingtorapethatgirl!Luckythatherosteppedin.”“DaddyWarbucksshouldgetlifeinjail.Period.”“IbetRichieRichgetsoff.Ifhewasblack,hewouldhavebeenshot.”“Thatguywhosavedthatgirlissobrave.Ifthemayorletsthisrichguybuyhiswaytofreedom.”
“Goodnews,”Hestersaid.“Youdohaveafewfans.”Shetookthephone,scrolleddown,pointed.
“Thehomelessguyisprobablyonfoodstamps.Congratstothesuitforcleaningupthetrash.”“Maybeifthatsmellymethbumgetsajobinsteadoflivingoffthedole,hewon’tgetdecked.”
Theprofileavatarsofhis“supporters”hadeithereaglesorAmericanflagsonthem.
“Terrific,”Simonsaid.“Thepsychosareonmyside.”
“Hey,don’tknockit.Afewmightbeonthejury.Notthatthisisgoingtoajury.Orevenatrial.Domeafavor.”
“What?”
“HittheRefreshbutton,”Hestersaid.
Hewasn’tsurewhatshemeant,soHesterreachedacrossandhitthearrowatthetop.Thevideoreloaded.Hesterpointedtotheviewercount.Ithadjumpedupfrom289,000viewsto453,000inthelast,what,twominutes.
“Congrats,”Hestersaid.“You’reaviralhit.”
ChapterThree
Simonstaredoutthewindow,lettingthefamiliargreenoftheparkblurinfrontofhim.WhenthedrivermadetheleftoffCentralParkWestontoWestSixty-SeventhStreet,heheardHestermutter,“Uh-oh.”
Simonturned.
Newsvansweredouble-parkedinfrontofhisapartment.Maybetwodozenprotestorsstayedbehindbluewooden-horsebarriersthatread:
POLICELINE—DONOTCROSSNYPD
“Where’syourwife?”Hesterasked.
Ingrid.Hehadcompletelyforgottenaboutherorwhatherreactionmightbetoallthis.Healsorealizedthathehadnoideawhattimeitwas.Hecheckedhiswatch.Fivethirtyp.m.
“Atwork.”
“She’sapediatrician,right?”
Henodded.“AtNewYork–Presbyterianat168thStreet.”
“Whattimedoesshefinish?”
“Seventonight.”
“Doesshedrivehome?”
“Shetakesthesubway.”
“Callher.Timwillpickherup.Whereareyourkids?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Callthemtoo.Thefirmhasanapartmentinmidtown.Youguyscanstaytheretonight.”
“Wecangetahotel.”
Hestershookherhead.“They’llfindyouifyoudothat.Theapartmentwillbebetter,andit’snotlikewedon’tcharge.”
Hesaidnothing.
“Thistooshallpass,Simon,ifwedon’tfeedthefire.Bytomorrow,thenextdayatthelatest,theloonieswillallbeontothenewestoutrage.Americahaszeroattentionspan.”
HecalledIngrid,butwithherworkingintheemergencyroomtoday,itwentdirectlyintohervoicemail.Simonleftheradetailedmessage.ThenhecalledSam,whoalreadyknewallaboutit.
Samsaid,“Thevideo’sgottenoveramillionhits.”Hissonseemedbothstartledandimpressed.“Ican’tbelieveyoupunchedoutAaron.”Thenherepeated:“You.”
“Iwasjusttryingtogettoyoursister.”
“Everyone’smakingitsoundlikeyou’resomerichbully.”
“That’snotwhathappened.”
“YeahIknow.”
Silence.
“Sothisdriver,Tim,willpickyouup—”
“That’sokay.I’llstaywiththeBernsteins.”
“Areyousure?”
“Yeah.”
“Isitokaywithhisparents?”
“Larrysaysit’snoproblem.I’lljustgohomewithhimafterpractice.”
“Okay,ifyouthinkthat’sbest.”
“It’lljustbeeasier.”
“Yeah,thatmakessense.Ifyouchangeyourmindthough…”
“Right,gotit.”ThenSamsaidinasoftervoice,“Isaw…Imean,Paigeinthatvideo…shelooked…”
Moresilence.
“Yeah,”Simonsaid.“Iknow.”
SimontriedhisdaughterAnyathreetimes.Noanswer.EventuallyhesawonhiscallerIDthatshewascallinghimback.Whenhepickedupthough,itwasn’tAnyaontheline.
“Hey,Simon,it’sSuzyFiske.”
Suzylivedtwofloorsbelowhim.HerdaughterDeliahadbeengoingtothesameschoolsasAnyasinceMontessoriwhentheywereboththree.
“IsAnyaokay?”heasked.
“Oh,she’sfine.Imean,don’tworryoranything.She’sjustreallyupset.Youknow,aboutthatvideo.”
“Shesawit?”
“Yeah,youknowAlyssaEdwards?Shewasshowingittoalltheparentsduringpickup,butthekidshadalready…youknowhowitis.Allthetongueswagging.”
Hedid.“CanyouputAnyaon,please?”
“Idon’tthinkthat’sagreatidea,Simon.”
Idon’tgiveashitwhatyouthink,hethought,butwiselyenough—learningcurveafterhisearlieroutburst?—hedidn’tactuallysayitoutloud.
Thiswasn’tSuzy’sfaultanyway.
Heclearedhisthroatandaimedforhiscalmesttone.“CouldyoupleaseaskAnyatogetontheline?”
“Icantry,Simon,sure.”Shemusthaveturnedawayfromthephone,becausethesoundwastinniernow,moredistant.“Anya,yourdadwouldlike…Anya?”Nowallsoundwasmuffled.Simonwaited.“Shejustkeepsshakingherhead.Look,Simon,shecanstayhereaslongasyouneed.MaybeyoucantrylaterormaybeIngridcouldgiveheracallwhenshe’soffwork.”
Therewasindeednoreasontopushit.“Thanks,Suzy.”
“I’mreallysorry.”
“Iappreciateyourhelp.”
HepressedtheEndbutton.Hestersatnexttohim,staringstraightaheadwithhericecreamsandwich.
“Ibetyouwishyou’dtakenthaticecreamwhenIofferedittoyou,right?”Then:“Tim?”
“Yes,Hester.”
“Youhavethatextraicecreaminthecooler?”
“Ido.”Hehandeditbacktoher.
Hestertookoutthesandwichandshowedittohim.
Simonsaid,“You’rebillingmefortheicecreams,aren’tyou?”
“Notmepersonally.”
“Yourfirm.”
Sheshrugged.“WhydoyouthinkIpushthemsohard?”
HesterhandedtheicecreamtoSimon.Hetookabite,andforafewseconds,itwasbetter.
Butthatdidn’tlast.
***
ThelawfirmapartmentwaslocatedinabusinesstoweronefloorbeneathHester’soffice,anditshowed.Thecarpetswerebeige.Thefurniturewasbeige.Thewallswerebeige.Theaccentpillows…beige.
“Greatinteriordecorating,don’tyouthink?”Hestersaid.
“Niceifyoulikebeige.”
“Thepoliticallycorrecttermis‘earthtones.’”
“Earthtones,”Simonsaid.“Likedirt.”
Hesterlikedthatone.“IcallitEarlyAmericanGeneric.”Herphonebuzzed.Shecheckedthetext.“Yourwifeisonherway.I’llbringherupwhenshearrives.”
“Thanks.”
Hesterleft.Simonriskedapeekathisphone.Thereweretoomanymessagesandmissedphonecalls.HeskippedthemallexcepttheonesfromYvonne,bothhispartneratPPGWealthManagementandIngrid’ssister.Heowedhersomesortofexplanation.Sohetextedher:
I’mfine.Longstory.
HesawthelittledotsshowingYvonnewaswritinghimback:
Anythingwecando?No.Mightneedcoveragetomorrow.Noworries.I’llfillyouinwhenIcan.
Yvonne’sreplywassomecomfortingemojistellinghimthattherewasnopressureandthatallwouldbegood.
Hescannedtherestofthemessages.
NonefromIngrid.
Forafewminuteshepacedaroundtheapartment’sbeigecarpeting,checkedouttheviewfromthewindows,satonabeigecouch,stoodagain,pacedsomemore.HeletthecallsgotovoicemailuntilhesawonecominginfromAnya’sschool.Whenhepickeditupandsaid,“Hello,”thecallersoundedstartled.
“Oh,”avoiceSimonrecognizedasbelongingtoAliKarim,theprincipalofAbernathyAcademy,said,“Ididn’texpectyoutoanswer.”
“Iseverythingokay?”
“Anyaisfine.Thisisn’tabouther.”
“Okay,”Simonsaid.AliKarimwasoneofthoseacademicswhoworeit—tweedblazerswithpatchesontheelbow,unrulymuttonchopsonthesidesofhisface,baldingwithtoo-longshocksofhaironthecrown.“SowhatcanIdoforyou,Ali?”
“Thisisabitsensitive.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’sabouttheparentcharityballnextmonth.”
Simonwaited.
“Asyouknow,thecommitteeismeetingtomorrownight.”
“Idoknow,”Simonsaid.“IngridandIareco-chairs.”
“Yes.Aboutthat.”
Simonfelthishandtightenaroundthephone.Theprincipalwantedhimtosaysomething,todiveintothesilence.Simondidn’t.
“Someoftheparentsfeelit’sbestyounotcometomorrow.”
“Whichparents?”
“I’drathernotsay.”
“Whynot?”
“Simon,don’tmakethisharderthanithastobe.They’reupsetaboutthatvideo.”
“Aww,”Simonsaid.
“Pardon?”
“Isthatall,Ali?”
“Uh,notexactly.”
AgainhewaitedforSimontofillthesilence.AgainSimondidn’t.
“Asyouknow,thecharityballthisyearisraisingfundsfortheCoalitionfortheHomeless.Inlightoftherecentdevelopments,wefeelthatperhapsyouandIngridshouldn’tcontinueasco-chairs.”
“Whatrecentdevelopments?”
“Comeon,Simon.”
“Hewasn’thomeless.He’sadrugdealer.”
“Idon’tknowaboutthat—”
“Iknowyoudon’t,”Simonsaid.“It’swhyI’mtellingyou.”
“—butperceptionisoftenmoreimportantthanreality.”
“Perceptionisoftenmoreimportantthanreality,”Simonrepeated.“Isthiswhatyouguysteachthekids?”
“Thisisaboutdoingwhat’sbestforthecharity.”
“Theendsjustifythemeans,eh?”
“That’snotwhatI’msaying.”
“You’resomeeducator,Ali.”
“ItseemsthatIoffendedyou.”
“Morelikedisappointed,butokay,whatever.Justsendusbackourcheck.”
“Pardon?”
“Youdidn’tmakeusco-chairsbecauseofourwinningpersonalities.Youmadeusco-chairsbecausewedonatedbigbucksforthisball.”HeandIngridhadn’tgiventhemoneystrictlybecausetheybelievedinthecause.Thingslikethis—it’srarelyaboutthecause.Thecauseisaby-product.It’saboutsuckinguptotheschoolandtheadministratorslikeAliKarim.Ifyouwanttosupportacause,supportacause.Doyoureallyneedtheenticementofsomeboringrubber-salmondinnerwhereyouhonorarandomrichguytogetyoutodotherightthing?“Nowthatwe’renolongerco-chairs…”
Ali’stonewasincredulous.“Youwanttotakebackyourcharitabledonation?”
“Yep.I’dpreferifyouovernightedthecheck,butifyouwanttosendittwo-dayexpress,that’sfinetoo.Haveagreatday,Ali.”
Hehungupandchuckedthephoneontothebeigepillowonthebeigecouch.He’dstillgivethemoneytothecharity—hecouldn’tbethatmuchofahypocrite—justnotviatheschool’sfundraisingball.
Whenheturnedaround,IngridandHesterwerestandingthere,watchinghim.
“Personalratherthanlegaladvice,”Hestersaid.“Don’tengagewithanyoneforafewhours,okay?Peoplehaveatendencytoberashandstupidunderthiskindofpressure.Notyou,ofcourse.Butbettersafethansorry.”
SimonstaredatIngrid.Hiswifewastallwitharegalbearing,highcheekbones,shortblonde-to-grayhairthatalwayslookedinvogue.Incollegeshe’dworkedabitasamodel,herlookdescribedas“aloof,icyScandinavian,”andthatwasstillprobablythefirstimpression,whichmadehercareerchoice—pediatricianwhoneededtobewarmwithkids—abitofananomaly.Butkidsneversawherthatway.TheylovedandtrustedIngridimmediately.Itwasuncanny,thewaytheysawstraighttoherheart.
Hestersaid,“I’llleaveyouguystoit.”
Shedidn’tspecifywhat“it”referredto,butmaybeshedidn’thaveto.Whentheywerealone,Ingridshruggedawhat-the-hellandSimonlaunchedintothestory.
“YouknewwherePaigewas?”Ingridasked.
“Itoldyou.CharlieCrowleysaidsomethingtome.”
“Andyoufollowedup.Thenthisotherhomelessguy,thisDave—”
“Idon’tknowifhe’shomeless.Ijustknowherunsthescheduleforthemusicians.”
“Youreallywanttoplaysemanticswithmenow,Simon?”
Hedidnot.
“SothisDave…hetoldyouthatPaigewasgoingtobethere?”
“Hethoughtshemight,yes.”
“Andyoudidn’ttellme?”
“Ididn’tknowforsure.Whyupsetyouifitwasnothing?”
Sheshookherhead.
“What?”
“Youneverlietome,Simon.It’snotwhatyoudo.”
Thatwastrue.Heneverliedtohiswifeandinasense,hewasn’tlyinghere,notreally,buthewasshadingthetruthandthatwasbadenough.
“I’msorry,”Simonsaid.
“Youdidn’ttellmebecauseyouwereafraidI’dstopit.”
“Inpart,”Simonsaid.
“Whyelse?”
“BecauseI’dhavetotellyoutherestofit.HowI’dbeensearchingforher.”
“Eventhoughwebothagreedthatwewouldn’t?”
Technicallyhehadn’tagreed.Ingridhadmoreorlesslaiddownthelaw,andSimonhadn’tobjected,butnowdidn’tseemthetimeforthatkindofnuance.
“Icouldn’t…Icouldn’tjustlethergo.”
“Andwhat,youthinkIcould?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“YouthinkyouhurtmorethanIdo?”
“No,ofcoursenot.”
“Bullshit.YouthinkIwasbeingcold.”
Healmostsaid,“No,ofcoursenot”again,butdidn’tpartofhimthinkthat?
“Whatwasyourplan,Simon?Rehabagain?”
“Whynot?”
Ingridclosedhereyes.“Howmanytimesdidwetry…?”
“Onetimetoofew.That’sall.Onetimetoofew.”
“You’renothelping.Paigehastocometoitonherown.Don’tyouseethat?Ididn’t‘lethergo’”—Ingridspatoutthewords—“becauseIdon’tloveheranymore.Ilethergobecauseshe’sgone—andwecan’tbringherback.Doyouhearme?Wecan’t.Onlyshecan.”
Simoncollapsedonthecouch.Ingridsatnexttohim.Aftersometimepassed,sherestedherheadonhisshoulder.
“Itried,”Simonsaid.
“Iknow.”
“AndImessedup.”
Ingridpulledhimclose.“It’llbeokay.”
Henodded,evenasheknewitwouldn’tbe,notever.
ChapterFour
ThreeMonthsLater
SimonsatacrossfromMichelleBradyinhisspaciousofficeonthethirty-eighthfloordirectlyacrossthestreetfromwheretheWorldTradeCentertowersoncestood.Hehadseenthetowersfallonthatterribleday,buthenevertalkedaboutit.Heneverwatchedthedocumentariesornewsupdatesoranniversaryspecials.Hesimplycouldn’tgothere.Inthedistanceontheright,overthewater,youcouldseetheStatueofLiberty.Itwassmalloutthere,dwarfedbyallthecloserhigh-rises,bobbingaloneinthewater,butshelookedfierce,torchheldhigh,agreenbeacon,andwhileSimonhadlonggrowntiredofmostofhisview—nomatterhowspectacular,ifyouseethesamethingeveryday,itgrowsstale—theStatueofLibertyneverfailedtooffercomfort.
“I’msograteful,”Michellesaidwithtearsinhereyes.“You’vebeenagoodfriendtous.”
Hewasn’tafriend,notreally.Hewasafinancialadvisor,shehisclient.Butherwordstouchedhim.Itwaswhathewantedtohear,howhehimselfviewedhisjob.Thenagain,wasn’theafriend?
Twenty-fiveyearsago,afterthebirthofRickandMichelleBrady’sfirstchild,Elizabeth,SimonhadsetupacustodialaccountsothatRickandMichellecouldstartsavingforcollege.
Twenty-threeyearsago,hehelpedthemstructureamortgagefortheirfirsthome
Twenty-oneyearsago,hegottheirpaperworkandaffairsinordersotheycouldadopttheirdaughterMeifromChina.
Twentyyearsago,hehelpedRickfinancealoantostartaspecializedprintingservicethatnowservedclientsinallfiftystates.
Eighteenyearsago,hehelpedMichellesetupherfirstartstudio.
Overtheyears,SimonandRicktalkedaboutbusinessexpansion,aboutdirectdepositingpaychecks,aboutwhetherheshouldbecomeaCcorporationandwhatretirementplanwouldworkbest,aboutwhetherheshouldleaseorbuyacar,aboutwhetherprivateschoolforthegirlswouldbeaffordableortoobigastretch.Theytalkedinvestments,portfoliobalance,thecompanypayroll,thecostoffamilyvacations,thepurchaseofthefishingcabinbythelake,akitchenupgrade.Theyhadsetup529accountsandreviewedestateplans.
Twoyearsago,SimonhelpedRickandMichellefigureoutthebestwaytopayforElizabeth’swedding.Simonhadgone,ofcourse.TherehadbeenlotsoftearsonthatdayasRickandMichellewatchedtheirdaughterwalkdowntheaisle.
Amonthago,SimonendedupsittinginthesamepewinthesamechurchforRick’sfuneral.
NowSimonwashelpingMichelle,stillreelingfromlosingherlifepartner,learnhowtodothelittlethingsshe’dleftRicktohandle:balancingacheckbook,settingupchargecards,seeingwhatfundshadbeeninjointandseparateaccounts,nottomentionhowtokeepthebusinessrunningordecidewhethertheyshouldsell.
“I’mjustgladwecanhelp,”Simonsaid.
“Rickpreparedforthis,”shesaid.
“Iknow.”
“Likeheknew.Imean,healwaysseemedsohealthy.Werethereanyhealthissueshehidfromme?Didheknow,doyouthink?”
Simonshookhishead.“Idon’t,no.”
Rickhaddiedofamassivecoronaryatagefifty-eight.Simonwasn’tanattorneyoraninsuranceagent,butpartofbeingsomeone’swealthmanagerwastopreparetheestateforanyeventuality.SohetalkedaboutitwithRick.Likemostmenhisage,Rickhadbeenreluctanttoconsiderhisownmortality.
Simonfelthisphonebuzzinhispocket.Hehadastrictrule:Nointerruptionwhenhewaswithclients.Nottogethighfalutinaboutit,butwhenpeoplecametothisoffice,theywantedtotalkaboutsomethingthatmeantagreatdealtothem.
Theirmoney.
Pooh-poohitallyouwant.Moneymaynotbuyhappiness,but…well,nonsense.Money,prettymuchmorethananythingelseyoumightbeabletocontrol,canconjureupandelevatethatelusiveidealwecallhappiness.Moneyeasesstress.Itprovidesbettereducation,betterfood,betterdoctors—somelevelofpeaceofmind.Moneyprovidescomfortandfreedom.Moneybuysyouexperiencesandconveniencesandmostofall,moneybuysyoutime,which,Simonhadrealized,wasrightuptherewithfamilyandhealth.
Ifyoubelievethat—andevenifyoudon’t—thepersonyouchosetohandleyourfinanceswasuptherewithchoosingadoctororclergyman,thoughSimonwouldarguethatyourwealthmanagerwasevenmoreinvolvedinyourdailylife.Youworkhard.Yousave.Youplan.Therearevirtuallynomajorlifedecisionsyoumakethatarenotinsomewaybasedonyourfinances.
Itwasanawesomeresponsibilitywhenyousteppedbackandthoughtaboutit.
MichelleBradydeservedhisundividedattentionandcompletefocus.Sothepocketphone-buzzwasasignalthatsomethingimportantwasup.
Hesurreptitiouslyglancedatthecomputerscreen.Amessagehadcomeupfromtheirnewassistant,Khalil:
APOLICEDETECTIVEISHERETOSEEYOU.
HestaredatthemessagelongenoughforMichelletonotice.
“Youokay?”sheaskedhim.
“I’mfine.It’sjust…”
“What?”
“Somethinghascomeup.”
“Oh,”Michellesaid.“Icancomeback…”
“Canyoujustgivemetwosecondsto…?”Hegesturedtowardthephoneonhisdesk.
“Ofcourse.”
SimonliftedthereceiverandpressedKhalil’sline.
“ADetectiveIsaacFagbenleisonhiswayuptoseeyou.”
“He’sintheelevator?”
“Yes.”
“KeephiminreceptionuntilItellyou.”
“Okay.”
“DoyouhavethecreditcardformsfilledoutforMrs.Brady?”
“Yes.”
“Havehersignthem.MakesurethatthecardsareissuedforherandMeitoday.Showherhowtheautomaticpaymentworks.”
“Okay.”
“Ishouldbedonebythen.”
SimonhungupthephoneandmetMichelle’seyes.“I’mreallysorryaboutthisinterruption.”
“It’sokay,”shesaid.
No,itwasn’t.“Youknowaboutmy,uh,situationfromafewmonthsago.”
Shenodded.Everyoneknew.Simonhadjoinedthepantheonofviralvideovillains,uptherewiththedentistwhoshotthelionandtheracistlawyerwhohadthemeltdown.ThemorningshowsonABC,NBC,andCBShadfunwithitthedayafterithappened.Cablenewstoo.AsHesterCrimsteinhadpredicted,thenotorietyhadburnedhotforafewdaysandthenquicklyfadedtonearoblivionbytheendofthemonth.Thevideoshotupto8millionviewsinthefirstweek.Now,nearlythreemonthslater,itwasstillshortof8.5.
“Whataboutit?”Michelleasked.
Maybeheshouldn’tgothere.Thenagain,maybeheshould.“There’sacoponhiswayupheretoseeme.”
Ifyouexpectyourclientstoopenuptoyou,well,wasitfairtomakethatstreetone-way?Itwasn’tMichelle’sbusiness,ofcourse,exceptthatnowhewasinterruptinghertimeandsohefeltthatshehadtherighttoknow.
“Ricksaidthechargesweredropped.”
“Theywere.”
Hesterhadbeenrightaboutthattoo.TherehadbeennosignofeitherAaronorPaigeinthepastthreemonths,andwithnovictim,therewasnocase.Italsodidn’thurtthatSimonwasfairlywell-offorthatAaronCorval,asSimonsoonfoundouttohischagrinifnotsurprise,hadafairlyextensivecriminalrecord.HesterandtheManhattanDAmadeadealquietly,awayfrompryingeyes.
Nothingsigned,ofcourse.Noobviousquidproquo.Nothingsogauche.Butthenagain,hey,therewasafundraisingcampaigncomingup,ifSimonandIngridwantedtoattend.PrincipalKarimhadalsoreachedouttwoweeksaftertheincident.Hedidn’tdirectlyapologizebutwantedtoofferhissupport,remindingSimonthattheGreeneswerepartoftheAbernathyAcademy“family.”Simonwasallsettotellhimtogofuckoff,butIngridremindedhimthatAnyawouldbeenteringherfreshmanyeartheresoon,soSimonsmiledandreturnedthecheckandlifecontinued.
TheonesmallcaveatwasthattheManhattanDAwantedtowaitabitbeforeheofficiallydroppedthecharges.Theincidentneededtobefarenoughintherearviewmirrorthatthemediawouldn’tnoticeorasktoomanyquestionsaboutprivilegeoranyofthat.
“Doyouknowwhythepolicearehere?”Michelleasked.
“No,”Simonsaid.
“Youshouldprobablycallyourattorney.”
“Iwasthinkingthesamething.”
Michellestood.“I’llleaveyoutoit.”
“I’mreallysorryaboutthis.”
“Don’tworryaboutit.”
Simon’sofficehadaglasswalllookingintothecubicles.KhalilwalkedbyandSimonnoddedforhimtocomein.
“Khalilwillgetyouallsetwiththepaperwork.WhenI’mdonewiththispoliceofficer—”
“Justtakecareofyourself,”Michellesaid.
Sheshookhishandacrossthedesk.Khalilescortedherout.Simontookadeepbreath.HepickeduphisphoneandcalledHesterCrimstein’soffice.Shegotonthelinefast.
“Articulate,”Hestersaid.
“What?”
“That’showafriendanswershisphone.Nevermind.What’sup?”
“Acopisheretoseeme.”
“Whereishere?”
“Myoffice.”
“Seriously?”
“No,Hester,thisisaprankcall.”
“Great,wiseassesaremyfavoriteclients.”
“WhatshouldIdo?”
“Asswipes,”shesaid.
“What?”
“ThoseasswipesknowI’myourattorneyofrecord.Theyshouldn’tapproachyouwithoutcallingmefirst.”
“SowhatshouldIdo?”
“I’monmyway.Don’ttalktohim.Orher.Idon’twanttobesexisthere.”
“It’sahim,”Simonsaid.“IthoughttheDAwasdroppingthecharges—thattheyhadnocase.”
“Theyareandtheydon’t.Sittight.Don’tsayaword.”
TherewasagentleknockonhisdoorandYvonnePrevidi,Ingrid’ssister,slidintohisoffice.Yvonne,hissister-in-law,wasnotquiteasbeautifulashermodelsister—orwasthatbiasonSimon’spart?—butwaymorefashionobsessed,Yvonneworeapinkpencilskirtwithasleevelesscreamblouseandfour-inch,gold-studdedValentinopumps.
HehadmetYvonnebeforeIngrid,whentheywerebothinthetrainingprogramatMerrillLynch.Theyhadbecomeinstantbestfriends.Thatwastwenty-sixyearsago.Notlongaftertheyfinishedtheirtraining,Yvonne’sfather,BartPrevidi,hadtakentwopartnersintohisgrowingfirm—hisdaughterYvonneandhisnot-yetson-in-lawSimonGreene.
PPGWealthManagement—theP’sinthenamestoodforthetwoPrevidis,theGstoodforGreene.
Motto:WeAreHonestButNotVeryCreativeWithNames.
“What’supwiththehotcop?”Yvonneasked.
YvonneandRoberthadfourkidsandlivedinthetonyNewJerseysuburbofShortHills.Forashorttime,SimonandIngridhadtriedthesuburbstoo,movingfromtheirUpperWestSideapartmenttoacenter-hallcolonial,rightafterSam’sbirth.Theydidthatbecausethat’swhatyoudid.Youlivedinthecityuntilyouhadakidortwoandthenyoumovedouttoanicehousewithapicketfenceandabackyardandgoodschoolsandlotsofsportsfacilities.ButSimonandIngriddidn’tlikethesuburbs.Theymissedtheobvious:thestimulation,thebustle,thenoise.Youtakeawalkatnightinthebigcity,thereisalwayssomethingtosee.Youtakeawalkatnightinthesuburbs…well,nada.Allthatopenspace—thehushedbackyards,theendlesssoccerfields,thetownpools,theLittleLeaguediamonds—itwasallsodamnedclaustrophobic.Thequietworeonthem.Sodidthecommute.Aftergivingittwofullyears,theymovedbackintoManhattan
Amistakeinhindsight?
Youcouldmakeyourselfcrazywithsuchquestions,butSimondidn’tthinkso.Ifanything,theboredkidsoutintheburbswereactingoutandexperimentingmorethantheirurbancounterparts.AndPaigehadbeenfineinhighschool.Itwaswhensheleftthebigcityfortherural-ensconcedcollege—thatwaswhentheproblemshadstarted.
Ormaybethatwasrationalization.Whoknows?
“Yousawhim?”Simonasked.
Yvonnenodded.“Hejustgottoreception.Why’shehere?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“DidyoucallHester?”
“Yes.She’sonherway.”
“He’sawfullygood-looking.”
“Who?”
“Thecop.LookslikeheshouldbeonthecoverofGQ.”
Simonnodded.“That’sgoodtoknow,thanks.”
“YouwantmetotakecareofMichelle?”
“Khalil’sonit,butyoumightwanttolookinonher.”
“Done.”
Yvonneturnedtoleave,whenatallblackmaninasleekgraysuitsuddenlyblockedthedoorway.“Mr.Greene?”
Yep,rightoutofGQ.Thesuitdidn’tlooksomuchtailoredasbirthed,created,cultivatedforhimandonlyhim.Itfitlikesometightsuperherosuitorlikeasecondskin.Hisbuildwasrocksolid.Hesportedashavedheadandperfectlytrimmedfacialhairandbighandsandeverythingabouttheguyjustscreamed“coolerthanyou.”
YvonnegaveSimonanodthatsaid,“SeewhatImean?”
“I’mDetectiveIsaacFagbenlewiththeNYPD.”
“Youshouldn’tbebackhere,”Simonsaid.
HeflashedasmilesodazzlingYvonnetookastepback.“Yeah,well,I’mnothereforastandardappointment,amI?”Hetookouthisbadge.“I’dliketoaskyousomequestions.”
Yvonnedidn’tmove.
“Hi,”hesaidtoher.
Yvonnewaved,speechlessforonce.Simonfrowned.
“I’mwaitingformyattorney,”Simonsaid.
“WouldthatbeHesterCrimstein?”
“Yes.”
IsaacFagbenlecrossedtheofficeandsatuninvitedinthechairacrossfromSimon.“She’sgood.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oneofthebest,Ihear.”
“Right.Andshewouldn’twantustalking.”
Fagbenlearchedaneyebrowandcrossedhislegs.“No?”
“No.”
“Soyou’rerefusingtotalktome?”
“I’mnotrefusing.I’mwaitingformyattorneytobepresent.”
“Soyouwon’ttalktomerightnow?”
“LikeIsaid,I’mgoingtowaitformyattorney.”
“Andyoujustexpectmetodothesame?”
Therewasanedgeinhisvoicenow.SimonglancedatYvonne.She’dheardittoo
“Isthatwhatyou’retellingme,Simon?Isthatyourfinalanswer?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Imean,areyoureallyrefusingtotalktome?”
“Onlyuntilmyattorneygetshere.”
IsaacFagbenlesighed,uncrossedhislegs,andstoodbackup.“Buh-byethen.”
“Youcanwaitinreception.”
“Yeah,that’snotgoingtohappen.”
“Sheshouldbeheresoon.”
“Simon?CanIcallyouSimon,bytheway?”
“Sure.”
“Youtakegoodcareofyourclients,don’tyou?”
SimonglancedatYvonne,thenbacktoFagbenle.“Wetry.”
“Imean,youdon’twastetheirmoney,right?”
“Right.”
“I’mthesame.Myclients,yousee,arethetaxpayersofthecityofNewYork.I’mnotgoingtowastetheirhard-earneddollarsreadingfinancialmagazinesinyourreceptionarea.Doyouunderstand?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“Whenyouandyourattorneyareavailable,youcancomedowntotheprecinct.”
Fagbenlesmootheddownhissuit,reachedintohisjacketpocket,andpluckedoutabusinesscard.HehandedittoSimon.
“Byenow.”
Simonreadthecardandsawsomethingthatsurprisedhim.“TheBronx?”
“Pardon?”
“ItsaysyourprecinctisintheBronx.”
“That’sright.SometimesyouguysinManhattanforgetthatNewYorkhasfiveboroughs.There’stheBronxandQueensand—”
“Buttheassault”—Simonstopped,hitrewind—“theallegedassaulttookplaceinCentralPark.That’sinManhattan.”
“Yep,true,”IsaacFagbenlesaid,flashingthedazzlingsmileagain,“butthemurder?ThattookplaceintheBronx.”
ChapterFive
WhenElenaRamirezlimpedintotheridiculouslylargeofficewiththeridiculouslyover-the-topviews,shebracedfortheinevitable.Hedidnotdisappoint.
“Wait,you’reRamirez?”
Elenawasusedtothisskepticismborderingonshock.
“Intheflesh,”shesaid.“Perhapstoomuchofit,amIright?”
Theclient—SebastianThorpeIII—openlystudiedherinawayhewouldneveropenlystudyaman.Thatwasn’tbeingsensitiveoranyofthat.Itwasjustafact.EverythingaboutThorpestankofmoney—the“III”attheendofhisname,thehand-tailoredpinstripesuit,therich-boy-ruddycomplexion,theslicked-back’80sWallStreethair,thesterlingbull-and-bearcufflinks.
Thorpekeptstaringatherwithwhatsomeonemusthavetoldhimwashismostwitheringglare.
Elenasaid,“Wanttocheckmyteeth?”
Sheopenedhermouthwide.
“What?No,ofcoursenot.”
“Yousure?Icantwirlforyoutoo.”Shedidso.“Plentyofassbackhere,amIright?”
“Stopthat.”
Thorpe’sofficewasdecoratedinEarlyAmericanDouchebag,allwhiteandchromewithazebra-skinthrowruginthecenterasifhemightstrikeaposeonit.Allshow,nowork.HestoodacrossawhitedesklargeenoughtogarageaHondaOdyssey.Therewasoneframedpictureonthedesk—atoo-posedweddingphotographofatuxedoedThorpewearingashit-eatinggrinstandingnexttoafirm-bodiedyoungblondewhoprobablycalledherselfa“fitnessmodel”onInstagram.
“It’sjustthatyoucomehighlyrecommended,”Thorpesaidbywayofexplanation.
Meaningheexpectedsomethingalittlemorepolishedforhismoney—notapudgyMexicanbarelyfivefeettallinmomjeansandpracticalshoes.TheseguysheardhernameandexpectedPenélopeCruzoralitheflamencodancer,notsomeonewhoresembledthesummerhelpattheirbeachhouse.
“Geraldsaysyou’rethebest,”Thorpesaidagain.
“Andthemostexpensive,solet’sgettoit,shallwe?Iunderstandyoursonismissing.”
Thorpeliftedhiscellphone,tappedit,spunthescreentowardher.“ThisisHenry.Myson.He’stwenty-fouryearsold.”
Intheimage,Henrywasdressedinabluepoloshirtandgaveanawkwardsmile,thekindwhereyou’retryingbutit’sjustnotinyou.Elenaleanedforwardforacloserlook,butthedeskseparatingthemwastoowide.TheybothsteppedtowardawindowthatofferedakillerviewoftheChicagoRiveranddowntown.
“Nice-lookingboy,”shesaid.
Thorpenodded.
“Howlonghashebeenmissing?”sheasked.
“Threedays.”
“Didyoureportittothepolice?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Theywereverypolite.Theylistenedtome,tookareport,putHenryinthesystemorwhatever,justbecauseofwhoIam…”
Hewaswhite,Elenathought,andwithmoney.Thatwasall.Thatwasenough.
“Iheara‘but,’”Elenasaid.
“Buthesentmeatext.Henry,Imean.”
“When?”
“Thedayhewentmissing.”
“Whatdidthetextsay?”
Thorpetappedthephonesomemoreandhandedittoher.Elenatookitandread:
Headingwestwithafewfriends.Backintwoweeks.
“Youshowedthistothepolice?”Elenaasked.
“Idid.”
“Andtheystilltookareport?”
“Yes.”
ElenatriedtoimaginethereactionifablackorHispanicfathercameintoreportamissingsonandshowedthematextlikethat.He’dgetlaughedoutofthestation.
“There’sanother”—Thorpelookedintotheair—“‘but,’ifyouwill.”
“What’sthat?”
“Henryhasbeeninsometroublewiththelaw.”
“Whatkindoftrouble?”
“Minorstuff.Drugs.Possession.”
“Hasheservedtime?”
“No.Nothingreallyserious.Hegotcommunityservice.Asealedjuvierecord.Youunderstand.”
Ohyeah,Elenaunderstood.
“HasHenrydisappearedbefore?”
Thorpestaredatthewindow.
“Mr.Thorpe?”
“He’srunoffbefore,ifthat’swhatyoumean.”
“Morethanonce?”
“Yes.Butthisisdifferent.”
“Uh-huh,”Elenasaid.“Howdoyouandyoursongetalong?”
Asadsmilecametohisface.“Usedtobegreat.Bestbuds.”
“Andnow?”
Hetappedhischinwithhisforefinger.“Ourrelationshiphasbeenstrainedoflate.”
“Why’sthat?”
“Henrydoesn’tlikeAbby.”
“Abby?”
“Mynewwife.”
Elenapickeduptheframedphotographfromthedesk.“ThisAbby?”
“Yes.Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.”
Elenanodded.“Thatshe’ssmokinghot?”
Hegrabbedawaytheframe.“Idon’tneedyoutojudgeme.”
“I’mnotjudgingyou.I’mjudgingAbby.Andmyjudgmentis,she’ssmokinghot.”
Thorpefrowned.“Maybecallingyouwasamistake.”
“Maybe,butlet’srecapwhatweknowaboutyoursonHenry.One,hesentyouatextsayinghewastravelingwestfortwoweekswithsomefriends.Two,he’sdisappearedbefore—severaltimes,infact.Three,he’sbeenarrestedonavarietyofdrugscharges.AnythingI’mmissing?Oh,right,four,heresentsyourrelationshipwithAbby,wholookstobeabouthisage.”
“AbbyisalmostfiveyearsolderthanHenry,”Thorpesnapped.
Elenasaidnothing.
Thorpedeflatedrightinfrontofhereyes.“Ididn’tthinkyou’dtakemeseriously.”Hewavedhishanddismissively.“Youcango.”
“Yeah,notsofast.”
“Pardonme?”
“You’reclearlyworriedabouthim,”Elenasaid.“Myquestionis:Why?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.I’mnothiringyou.”
“Humorme,”shesaid.
“Thetextmessage.”
“Whataboutit?”
“It’sgoingtosoundstupid.”
“Goforit.”
“TheothertimesHenrydisappeared…well,hejustdisappeared.”
Elenanodded.“Hedidn’tsendyouatextmessagetellingyouhewasdisappearing.Hewouldjustrunoff.”
“Yes.”
“Sotextingyoulikethis—it’soutofcharacter.”
Thorpenoddedslowly.
“Andthat’sit?”
“Yes.”
“Notveryconvincingevidence,”Elenasaid.
“Thepolicedidn’tthinksoeither.”
Thorperubbedhisfacewithhishands.Shecouldseenowthathehadn’tsleptinawhile,thatthecheekswereruddybuttheskinaroundtheeyeswastoopale,drainedofcolor.
“Thankyouforyourtime,MissRamirez.Iwon’tbeneedingyourservices.”
“Oh,Ithinkyouwill,”Elenasaid.
“Excuseme?”
“ItookthelibertyofdoingalittlediggingbeforeIarrived.”
Thatgothisattention.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Yousaidyoursonsentyouatextfromhisphone.”
“Right.”
“BeforeIgothere,Ipingedthatphone.”
Thorpenarrowedhiseyes.“Whatdoesthatmeanexactly?‘Pinged’?”
“Truth?Idon’thaveaclue.Buttheshorthandis,IgotageniustechguynamedLou.Loucansendaping—whateverthatis—toacellphone,andthecellphonepingsbackitslocation.”
“SoyoucouldseewhereHenryis?”
“Theoretically,yes.”
“Andyoudidthatalready?”
“Loudid,yes.”
“Sowhereishe?”
“That’sjustit,”Elenasaid.“Therewasnoanswertoourping.”
Thorpeblinkedseveraltimes.“Idon’tunderstand.Areyousayinghisphoneshouldhave…pingedyouback?”
“Iam,”Elenasaid.
“MaybeHenryjustturnedhisphoneoff.”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’sacommonmisconception.TurningyourphoneoffdoesnotturnofftheGPS.”
“Soanyonecantrackyouanytime?”
“Intheorythepoliceneedawarrantandprobablecausetogetyourserviceprovidertodoit.”
“Yetyouwereabletodoit,”Thorpesaid.“How?”
Elenadidnotreply.
Thorpenoddedslowly.“Isee,”hesaid.“Sowhatdoesitmean—thatyoucouldn’tgethisphonetoping?”
“Couldbealotofthings.Couldbesomethingcompletelyinnocent.MaybeHenryfiguredyou’dhiresomeonelikemesohechangedphones.”
“Butyoudoubtit?”
Elenashruggedagain.“Fifty-fifty—maybemore—thatthereisarationalexplanationforallthisandHenryisfine.”
“ButyoustillthinkIshouldhireyou?”
“Youbuyburglaryinsurance,eventhoughthereismaybehalfofonepercentchanceyourhomewillberobbed.”
Thorpenodded.“Wellput.”
“IfigureI’mworththepeaceofmind,ifnothingelse.”
Thorpeplayedwithhisphoneandbroughtupapictureofhisyoungerselfholdinganinfantinhisarms.“Gretchen…that’smyfirstwife…sheandIcouldn’thavekids.Wetriedeverything.Hormones,surgeries,threeroundsofIVF.ThenweadoptedHenry.”
Therewasasmileonhisfacenow,albeitawistfulone.
“WhereisGretchennow?”
“Shediedtenyearsago,whenHenryhadjuststartedhighschool.Itwashardonhim.Itriedmybest.Ireallydid.Icouldseehewasslippingaway.Itookasabbaticalfromworktospendmoretimewithhim.ButthetighterIheldontohim…”
“Themorehepulledaway,”Elenasaid.
WhenThorpelookedup,hiseyesweremoist.“Idon’tknowwhyI’mtellingyouthis.”
“Background.Ineedtohearitall.”
“Anyway,Iknowhowthisallsounds.That’swhyIaskedGeraldtofindmethebestprivateinvestigatorinChicago.Yousee,MissRamirez,despitethedrugs,despitethattext,despitehisissueswithAbby,Iknowmyson.AndIhaveabadfeelingaboutthis.Simpleasthat.Somethingfeelsverywrong.Doesthatmakesense?”
“Yeah,”shesaidsoftly.“Itdoes.”
“MissRamirez?”
“CallmeElena.”
“Elena,pleasefindmyboy.”
ChapterSix
Simonknewhewasbeingplayed.
HeknewDetectiveFagbenlewastryingtogoadhimortriphimuporwhatever,buthealsoknewthathehadn’tdoneanythingwrong(“Famouslastwordsoftheconvicted,”Hesterwouldlatertellhim),andtherewasnoway,asFagbenleobviouslyknew,thatSimonwasgoingtolethimdropthatnuclearwarheadandwalkoutthedoor.
“Whowasmurdered?”Simonasked.
“Ah,ah.”Fagbenlewavedamocking,semi-scoldingfinger.“Yousaidnottotalktoyouuntilyourattorneywaspresent.”
Simon’smouthfeltdry.“Isitmydaughter?”
“I’msorry.Unlessyouwaivethatrighttocounsel—”
“OhforGod’ssake,”Yvonnesnapped.“Beahumanbeing.”
“Iwaivetherighttocounselorwhatever,”Simonsaid.“I’lltalktoyouwithoutmyattorneypresent.”
FagbenleturnedtoYvonne.“Ithinkyoubetterleave.”
“Paigeismyniece,”Yvonnesaid.“Issheokay?”
“Idon’tknowifshe’sokay,”Fagbenlesaid,stillstaringatthecubicles,“butshe’snotthemurdervictim.”
Relief.Pure,sweetrelief.Itwaslikeeverypartofhimhadbeenstarvingforoxygen.
“Thenwho?”Simonasked.
Fagbenledidn’tanswerrightaway.HewaiteduntilYvonnewasgone—YvonnepromisedtowaitbytheelevatorforHester—andthedoortotheofficewasclosed.ForamomentFagbenlestaredthroughtheglasswallintothecubiclearea.Itwasoddtovisitors,heguessed,havinganofficethatneverofferedcompleteprivacy.
“Doyoumindtellingmewhereyouwerelastnight,Simon?”
“Whattime?”
Fagbenleshrugged.“Let’sjustmakeitallnight.Sixo’clockon,say.”
“Iwashereuntilsix.Itookthesubwayhome.”
“Whichtraindoyoutake?”
“Theone.”
“FromChambersStreet?”
“Yes.IgetoutattheLincolnCenterstop.”
Fagbenlenoddedasthoughthiswassignificant.“What’sthataltogether?Doortodoor,Imean.Atwenty-,thirty-minutecommute?”
“Thirtyminutes.”
“Soyougethomearoundsixthirty?”
“That’sright.”
“Wasanyonehome?”
“Mywifeandyoungestdaughter.”
“Youhaveasontoo,correct?”
“Yes.Sam.Buthe’satcollege.”
“Where?”
“Amherst.It’sinMassachusetts.”
“Yeah,IknowwhereAmherstis,”Fagbenlesaid.“Soyougethome.Yourwifeanddaughterarethere…”
“Yes.”
“Didyougobackout?”
Simonthoughtaboutit,butonlyforasecond.“Twice.”
“Wheredidyougo?”
“Thepark.”
“Whattimes?”
“Seven,andthenagainattenp.m.Iwaswalkingourdog.”
“Oh,nice.Whatkindofdogdoyouhave?”
“AHavanese.HernameisLaszlo.”
“Isn’tLaszloaboy’sname?”
Henodded.Itwas.TheygotLaszloonSam’ssixthbirthday.Samhadinsistedonthatname,nomatterwhatthedog’sgender.Itwasanoldstory,butoncetheygotthedoghome,despitethepromisesofSamandhistwosisters,takingcareofthedoghadfallenontheonlyfamilymemberwho’dbeenreluctantabouttheadoption.
Simon.
Alsonotsurprising:HehadfallenhardforLaszlo.Helovedthosewalks,especiallytheonewherehe’dcomethroughthedoorattheendofthedayandLaszlowouldgreethimlikeareleasedPOWonatarmac—everyday,withoutfail—andshe’ddraghimenthusiasticallytotheparkasthoughshe’dneverbeentherebefore.
Laszlowastwelvenow.Herstepwasslowing.Herhearingwasgone,sothatsomedaysshedidn’tknowthatSimonwashomeuntilhewasalreadyinthehouse,whichsaddenedSimonmorethanitshould.
“Sootherthanthedogwalks,didyougoout?”
“No.”
“Sothethreeofyouwerehomeallnight?”
“Ididn’tsaythat.”
Fagbenlesatbackandopenedhisarms.“Dotell.”
“Mywifewenttowork.”
“She’sapediatricianupatNewYork–Presbyterian,correct?Doinganovernightshift,Iassume.SothatleavesyoualoneallnightwithyourdaughterAnya.”
ThatslowedSimondown.Heknewwherehiswifeworked.Heknewhisdaughter’sname.“Detective?”
“CallmeIsaac.”
Hardpass,ashiskidswouldsay.“Whowasmurdered?”
Thedoortohisofficeflewopen.HesterCrimsteinmayhavebeensmallofframebutshewaslargeofstep.SheburstinandstormedovertoFagbenle.
“Areyoueffingkiddingme?”
Fagbenleremainedunruffled.Heslowlystood,toweringoverHester,andstuckouthishand.“DetectiveIsaacFagbenlewithHomicide.Whatapleasuretomeetyou.”
Hesterstaredathisface.“Putyourhandawaybeforeyouloseit—likeyourjob.”ThensheturnedherwitheringglaretowardSimon.“I’mnothappywithyoueither.”
Hestercarriedonabitmore.Shetheninsistedthattheymovetoawindowlessconferenceroom.Changeofvenue.Ithadtobeapsychologicalplay,butSimonwasn’tsurehow.Oncetheyenteredtheroomthough,Hestertookfullcontrol.ShehadFagbenlesitononesideofalongconferencetable.SheandSimontooktheother.
Whentheywereallsettledin,HesternoddedtowardFagbenleandsaid,“Okay,gettoit.”
“Simon—”
“CallhimMr.Greene,”Hestersnapped.“He’snotyourpal.”
Fagbenlelookedasthoughhewereabouttoargue,buthesmiledinstead.“Mr.Greene.”Hereachedintohispocketandtookoutaphotograph.“Doyouknowthisman?”
HesterkeptahandonSimon’sforearm.Hewasnottoanswerorreactuntilshesaiditwasokay.Thearmwasthereasareminder.
Fagbenleslidthephotographacrossthetable.
ItwasAaronCorval.Thescumwassmilingthatawful,smugsmile,theonehe’dhadonhisfacenotlongbeforeSimonpuncheditaway.Hewasstandinginafieldsomewhere,treesbehindhim,andhe’dbeenstandingnexttosomeoneinthephotograph,someonehehadhisarmaround,someoneFagbenlehadcroppedout—youcouldseetheperson’sshoulderontheleft—andSimoncouldn’thelpbutwonderwhetherthecropped-outpersonwasPaige.
“Iknowhim,”Simonsaid.
“Whoishe?”
“HisnameisAaronCorval.”
“He’syourdaughter’sboyfriend,isthatcorrect?”
Hestersqueezedhisarm.“It’snothisjobtodescribetherelationship.Moveon.”
FagbenlepointedhisfingeratAaron’ssmugface.“HowdoyouknowAaronCorval?”
“Seriously?”ItwasHesteragain.
“Isthereaproblem,Ms.Crimstein?”
“Yes,there’saproblem.You’rewastingourtime.”
“I’masking—”
“Stop.”Sheheldupherpalm.“You’reembarrassingyourself.WeallknowhowmyclientknowsAaronCorval.Let’spretendyou’vealreadylulledMr.Greeneandmyselfintoastateofrelaxationwithyourinsightfulalbeitobviousinterrogationtechniques.Weareputtyinyourhand,Detective,solet’scuttoit,okay?”
“Okay,fairenough.”Fagbenleleanedforward.“AaronCorvalwasmurdered.”
Simonhadbeenexpectingthatandyettheweightofthewordsstillsenthimreeling.“Andmydaughter…?”
Hestersqueezedhisarm.
“Wedon’tknowwheresheis,Mr.Greene.Doyou?”
“No.”
“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawher?”
“Threemonthsago.”
“Where?”
“InCentralPark.”
“WouldthatbethedayyouassaultedAaronCorval?”
“Wow,”Hestersaid.“It’slikeI’mnotevensittinghere.”
Fagbenlesaid,“AgainIask:Isthereaproblem?”
“AndagainIanswer:Yeah,there’saproblem.Idon’tlikeyourcharacterization.”
“Youmeanmyuseoftheword‘assault’todescribewhathappened?”
“Imeanexactlythat.”
Hesatbackandputhishandsonthedesk.“Iunderstandthechargesinthatcaseweredropped.”
“Idon’tcarewhatyouunderstand.”
“Gettingofflikethat.Withallthatevidence.It’sinteresting.”
“Ialsodon’tcarewhatinterestsyou,Detective.Idon’tlikeyourcharacterizationoftheincident.Pleasereword.”
“Nowwho’swastingtime,Counselor?”
“Iwanttheinterviewdoneright,hotshot.”
“Fine.Theallegedassault.Theincident.Whatever.Canyourclientanswerthequestionnow?”
Simonsaid,“Ihaven’tseenmydaughtersincetheincidentinCentralPark,yes.”
“HowaboutAaronCorval?Haveyouseenhim?”
“No.”
“Sooverthelastthreemonths,you’vehadzerocontactwithyourdaughterorMr.Corval,isthatcorrect?”
“Askedandanswered,”Hestersnapped.
“Lethimanswer,please.”
“That’scorrect,”Simonsaid.
Fagbenleflashedaquicksmile.“SoIguessyouandyourdaughterPaigearen’tveryclose,huh?”
Hesterwasn’thavingit.“Whatareyou,afamilycounselor?”
“Justanobservation.HowaboutyourdaughterAnya?”
“WhatabouthisdaughterAnya?”Hestercountered.
“EarlierMr.GreenementionedthatheandAnyawerehomealoneallnight,”Fagbenlesaid.
“Hewhat?”
“That’swhatyourclienttoldme.”
HestergaveSimonanotherwitheringglare.
“Mr.Greene,youtookyourdogforanotherwalkabouttenp.m.,amIright?”
“Youare.”
“DidyouorAnyagooutafterthat?”
“Whoa,”Hestersaid,makingherhandsintoaT.“Time-out.”
Fagbenlelookedannoyed.“I’dliketocontinuemyquestioning.”
“AndI’dliketotongue-batheHughJackman,”Hestersaid,“sobothofusaregoingtohavetolivewithalittledisappointment.”Hesterrose.“Stayhere,Detective.Wewillberightback.”
ShedraggedSimonoutoftheroomanddownthecorridor,workinghermobilephonetheentiretime.“I’llskiptheobviousadmonishments.”
“AndI’llskipthepartwhereIdefendmyselfbyremindingyouthatIdidn’tknowifthemurdervictimwasmydaughter.”
“Thatwasaploy.”
“AsIwaswellaware.”
“What’sdoneisdone,”shesaid.“Whatdidyoualreadytellhim?Everything.”
Simonfilledherinontheirearlierconversation.
“YounoticedthatIjustsentatext,”Hestersaid.
“Yes.”
“Beforewegobackinandsaysomethingstupid,IwantmyinvestigatortodigupallhecanonCorval’smurder—time,circumstances,method,whatever.You’renotafool,soyouknowwhat’sgoingonherewithourhunkydetective.”
“I’masuspect.”
Shenodded.“Youhadaserious‘incident’”—Hestermadequotemarkswithherfingers—“withthedeceased.Youhatedhim.Youblamedhimforyourdaughter’sdrugproblems.Soyes,you’reasuspect.Soisyourwife.Sois…well,Paige.Myguessis,she’sthebiggestsuspect.Doyouhaveanalibiforlastnight?”
“LikeIsaid,Iwashomeallnight.”
“With?”
“Anya.”
“Yeah,that’snotgoingtohold.”
“Whynot?”
“WhereinyourapartmentspecificallywasAnya?”
“Inherroom,mostly.”
“Dooropenorshut?”
Simonsawwhereshewasgoingwiththis.“Shut.”
“She’sakid,right?Doorshut,maybeblastingmusiconherheadphones.Soyoucouldhavesneakedoutatanytime.WhattimedidAnyagotosleep?Let’ssayeleveno’clock.Youcouldhaveleftthen.Doesyourbuildinghaveanysecuritycameras?”
“Yes.Butit’sanoldbuilding.Therearewaysofgettingoutwithoutbeingseen.”
Hester’sphonedinged.Sheputittoherearandsaid,“Articulate.”
Someonedid.Andashedid,Hester’sfacelostcolor.Shedidn’tsayaword.Notforaverylongtime.Whenshefinallyspokeagain,hervoicewasuncharacteristicallysoft.“Emailmethereport.”
Shehungup.
“What?”Simonasked.
“Theydon’tthinkyoudidit.Correction:Theycan’tthinkyoudidit.”
ChapterSeven
Ashwatchedthetargetpulluptothedilapidatedtwo-familyhome.
“IshedrivingaCadillac?”DeeDeeaskedhim.
“Lookslikeit.”
“IsitanEldorado?”
DeeDeeneverstoppedtalking.
“No.”
“Yousure?”
“It’sanATS.CadillacstoppedmakingtheEldoradoin2002.”
“Howdoyouknowthat?”
Ashshrugged.Hejustknewstuff.
“MydaddyhadanEldorado,”DeeDeesaid.
Ashfrowned.“Your‘daddy’?”
“What,youthinkIdon’trememberhim?”
DeeDeehadbeeninfosterhomesfromtheageofsix.Ashhadenteredhisfirstwhenhewasfour.Overthenextfourteenyearshehadbeeninovertwenty.Deehadprobablybeeninaboutthesame.Onthreeoccasions,foratotalofeightmonths,theyhadendedupinthesamefosterhome.
“Heboughtitused,ofcourse.Like,reallyused.Thebottomwasrustedout.ButDaddylovedthatcar.Heletmesitinthefrontseatwithhim.Noseatbelt.Theleatherintheseats?Itwasallcracked.It’dscrapemylegs.Anyway,he’dplaytheradioloudandsometimeshe’dsingalong.That’swhatIrememberbest.Hehadagoodvoice,myoldman.He’dsmileandstartsingingandthenhe’dsortofletgoofthewheelandsteerwithhiswrists,youknowwhatImean?”
Ashknew.HealsoknewDaddysteeredwithonehandwhilejamminghisotherbetweenhisyoungdaughter’slegs,butnowdidn’tseemtobethetimetobringthatup.
“Daddylovedthatdamnedcar,”DeeDeesaidwithapout.“Until…”
Ashcouldn’thelphimself.“Untilwhat?”
“Maybethat’swhereitallwentwrong.WhenDaddyfoundoutthetruthaboutthatcar.”
Ashcringedeverytimesheusedtheword“Daddy.”
Thetargetgotoutofthecar.Hewasaburlyguyinjeans,scuffedTimberland-knockoffboots,andaflannelshirt.Hesportedabeardandacamouflage-coloredBostonRedSoxbaseballcaptoosmallforhispumpkinhead.
Ashgesturedwithhischin.“Thatourguy?”
“Lookslikeit.What’stheplan?”
Thetargetopenedthecar’sbackdoor,andtwoyounggirlswearingbright-greenschoolbackpacksgotout.Hisdaughters,Ashknew.Thetaller,Kelsey,wasten.Theyounger,Kiera,waseight.
“Wewait.”
Ashsatinthedriver’sseat.DeeDeewasinthepassenger’s.Ashhadn’tseenherinthreeyears.He’dfiguredthatshewasdeaduntiltheirrecentreunion.He’dexpectedittobeawkward—toomuchtime,toomanybridges—buttheyquicklyfellintotheiroldpatterns.
“Sowhathappened?”Ashasked.
“What?”
“Withyourdad’sEldorado.Wherediditallgowrong?Whatwasthistruthhelearned?”
Thesmiledroppedoffherface.DeeDeeshiftedinherseat.
“Youdon’thavetotellme.”
“No,”shesaid.“Iwantto.”
Theybothstaredoutthefrontwindowatthetarget’shome.Ashputhishandonhiship,wherehisgunwasholstered.Hehadhisinstructions.Hecouldn’timaginewhattheburlyguyhaddone—whatanyonthelisthaddone—butsometimesthelessyouknew,thebetter.
“Wewentouttothisfancyfishrestaurantfordinner,”DeeDeebegan.“Thiswasrightbeforemygrandmadied.Soshepaid.Mydad,well,hewasasteakguy.Always.Hehatedfish.Imean,reallyhatedit.”
Ashhadnoideawherethiswasgoing.
“Sothewaitercomesoverandstartsreadingoffthedailyspecials.Hehasthisblackboardwithhimandthespecials,they’reallwrittenoutinchalk.Fancy,right?”
“Right.”
“Soanyway,thewaitergetstothefishspecialandhehasthisweirdaccentandanyway,hesays,‘Thechefstronglyrecommendsthe’—thenthiswaiter,hewavesattheboardlikeit’sacaronThePriceIsRight—‘GrilledDoradowithwalnutsandparsleypesto.’”
Ashturnedtolookather.You’dthinktheyearswouldn’thavebeenkindtoDeeDee,allshe’dbeenthrough,butshelookedmorebeautifulthanever.Hergolden-blondehairwastiedinathickbraidrunningdownherback.Herlipswerefull,herskinflawless.Hergreeneyeswereabrightemeraldshademostassumedinvolvedcontactlensesorsomekindofcosmetics.
“SoDaddyasksthewaitertorepeatthat,thenameofthefish,andthewaiterdoesandDaddy—”
Man,Ashwishedshe’dstopcallinghimthat.
“—andDaddystartsfuming.Imean,hejustrunsoutoftherestaurant.Knocksoverhischairandeverything.See,hiscar,hissupercoolcar—it’snamedforafish!Daddycan’thandlethat,youknow?”
Ashjustlookedather.“You’reserious?”
“OfcourseI’mserious.”
“It’snotnamedforafish.”
“What,youneverheardofaDoradofish?”
“I’veheardofit,butElDoradoisamythicalcityofgoldinSouthAmerica.”
“Butit’salsoafish,right?”
Ashsaidnothing.
“Ash?”
“Yeah.”Hesighed.“Yeah,it’salsoafish.”
Thetargetsteppedbackoutofhishouse.Hestartedtowardhisgarage.
“Theyallhavetobedonedifferently?”Ashasked.
“Idon’tknowaboutdifferently,buttheycan’tbeconnected.”
Meaningitcouldn’tbelikeChicago.Still,thatgavehimplentyofflexibilityonthisone.
“Watchthehouse,”hesaid.
“I’mnotcomingwithyouthistime?”
Shesoundedhurtbythis.
“No.Takethewheel.Keepthecarrunning.Watchthedoor.Ifanyonecomesout,callme.”
Hedidn’trepeattheinstructions.Thetargethadgoneintothegarage.Ashstartedtowardit.
Hereiswhathedidknowaboutthetarget.Name,KevinGano.Marriedtwelveyearstohishighschoolsweetheart,Courtney.ThefourGanoslivedonthetopfloorofthistwo-familyhomeonDevonStreetinRevere,Massachusetts.Sixmonthsago,KevinhadbeenlaidofffromAlstonMeatPackingplantinLynn,wherehe’dworkedfortheprevioussevenyears.He’dbeentryingtofindanotherjobsince,tonoavail,solastmonthCourtneyhadbeenforcedtogobacktoworkasareceptionistatatravelagencyonConstitutionAvenue.
Kevin,tryingtomakehimselfuseful,pickedupthegirlseverydayfromschoolattwop.m.Thatwaswhyhewashomerightnowwhentherestofthisworking-classneighborhoodwasquietandstill.
KevinwasstandingbyhisworkbenchunscrewingaDVDorBlu-rayplayer—heearnedalittlemoneydoingsmallrepairs—whenAshapproached.HelookedupandgaveAshafriendlysmile.AshsmiledbackandthenAshpointedhisgunathim.
“Thiswillallbefineifyoustayquiet.”
Ashsteppedallthewayintothegarageandpulledthedoordownclosedbehindhim.HekepttheguntrainedonKevin,nevertakinghiseyesoffhim.Kevinstillhadthescrewdriverinhishand.
Hisrighthand.
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Putdownthescrewdriver,Kevin.Cooperateandnoonegetshurt.”
“Bullshit,”Kevinsaid.
“What?”
“You’relettingmeseeyourface.”
Goodpoint.
“I’mindisguise.Don’tworryaboutit.”
“Bullshit,”Kevinsaidagain.
Kevinlookedtowardthesidedoor,likehewasgoingtomakearunforit.
“KelseyandKiera,”Ashsaid.
Hearinghisdaughters’namesfrozehim.
“Itcangooneoftwoways.Ifyoumakearunforit,I’llshootyoudead.ThenI’llhavetomakeitlooklikeabadhomeinvasion.ThatmeansIgointoyourhouse.WhatareKelseyandKieradoinginthere,Kevin?Homework?WatchingTV?Havinganicesnack?Whatever.I’llgoin,andI’lldothingssohorribleyou’llbegladyou’redead.”
Kevinshookhishead,tearscomingtohiseyes.“Please.”
“Or,”Ashsaid,“youcandropthescrewdriverrightnow.”
Kevindidashewasasked.Thescrewdriverclankedontheconcretefloor.
“Idon’tunderstand.Ineverhurtanyone.Whyareyoudoingthis?”
Ashshrugged.
“Pleasedon’thurtmygirls.I’lldowhateveryouwant.Justdon’t…”Heswallowedandstoodalittletaller.“So…sowhatnow?”
AshcrossedthegarageandplacedthemuzzleofthegunagainstthesideofKevin’stemple.KevinclosedhiseyesrightbeforeAshpulledthetrigger.
Theechowasloudinsidethegarage,drawnout,butAshdoubtedanyoneoutsideofitwouldtakenotice.
Kevinwasdeadbeforehehitthefloor.
Ashmovedfast.HeplacedtheguninKevin’srighthandandpulledthetrigger,firingabulletstraightintotheground.Nowtherewouldbegunpowderresidueonthehand.HepulledthephoneoutofKevin’sbackpocketandusedKevin’sthumbtounlockit.Thenhequicklyscrolledthroughandfoundhiswife’scontactinformation.
Courtney’snamewastypedintothecontactswithtwoheartsbeforeandafterhername.
Hearts.Kevinhadputheartsnexttohiswife’sname.
Ashtypedupasimpletext:I’msorry.Pleaseforgiveme.
HehitSend,droppedthephoneontheworkbench,andheadedbacktothecar.
Don’trush.Don’twalktooquickly.
Ashfiguredthattherewasprobablyan80to85percentchancethesuicidescenariowouldhold.Youhadagunshotwoundtothehead—tothevictim’srighttemple,thewayarightymightdoitifthewoundwasself-inflicted.ThatwaswhyAshhadmadenoteofwhichhandKevinwasholdingthescrewdriverin.Youhadasuicidetext.Youhadgunresidueonthehand.TheextrabulletwouldprobablylooklikeKevinhadtriedonceandchickenedoutandthensteeledhimselffortherealdeal.
Sothesuicidescenariowouldprobablybeabuy.Eighty,eighty-fivepercent—maybemorelike90percentwhenyouaddedinthatKevinwasoutofworkandprobablydepressedaboutit.IfsomecopwassuperaggressiveorwatchedtoomuchCSI,hemightfindsomestuffdidn’taddup.Forexample,therehadn’tbeenenoughtimetopropKevinupbeforefiringthesecondshot,soifsomecrimetechreallyspentthemoneytostudythebullet’strajectory,hemightnoticetheshotoriginatedfromnearthefloor.
SomeonemightevenspotAshrightnow,orthecar,andthatmightraiseafeweyebrowstoo.
Butthatwasalldoubtful.
Eitherway,heandDeeDeewouldbelonggone.Thecarwouldbewipeddownandabandoned.Nothingwouldtrackbacktothem.
Ashwasgoodatthis.
Hegotintothepassengersideofthecar.Nocurtainsontheblockhadmoved.Nodoorshadopened.Nocarshaddrivenby.
DeeDeesaid,“Ishe…?”
Ashnodded.
DeeDeesmiledandstartedthecardowntheroad.
ChapterEight
IngridmetSimonatthedoorwhenhearrivedhome.Shethrewherarmsaroundhim.
“I’djustcrashedinbed,”Ingridsaid,“whenthepolicearrived.”
“Iknow.”
“Andsuddenlythedoorbuzzerkeptgoingoff.Ittookmeforevertowakeup.Ifigureditwasadelivery,excepttheyalwaysprotectmefromthatstuff.”
By“they,”shemeantthedoormeninthebuilding.Ingridworkedoneovernightshiftintheemergencyroomperweek.Thedoormenknewthatmeantshesleptduringthenextday,soiftherewereanydeliveries,theyweretoleavethemforSimontobringupwhenhegothomeatsixthirty.
“Ithrewonsomesweats.Thiscopcomesup.Heactuallyaskedmeforanalibi.LikeIwasasuspect.”
Simonknew,ofcourse.Ingridhadcontactedhimassoonasthedoormantoldherwhyshewasbeingbuzzed.HesterthenhadsentacolleaguefromherfirmtobewithIngridforthepolicequestioning.
“AndIjustgotacallfromMaryintheER.Thecopsactuallywenttothehospitaltodouble-checkIwasthere.Canyoubelievethis?”
“Theywantedanalibiformetoo,”Simonsaid.“Hesterthinksit’sjustroutine.”
“Idon’tunderstandthough.Whathappenedexactly?Aaronwaskilled?”
“Murdered,yes.”
“AndwhereisPaige?”
“Nooneseemstoknow.”
LaszlothedogstartedpawingSimon’sleg.Theybothlookeddownandintothedog’ssoulfuleyes.
“Let’stakeherforawalk,”Simonsaid.
Fiveminuteslater,theycrossedCentralParkWestatSixty-SeventhStreet,Laszlopullinghardontheleash.Ontheirleft,inplainviewyetsomehowslightlyhidden,wasatinyplaygroundburstingwithcolor.Alifetimeago,andyetnotthatlongago,theyusedtobringPaige,thenSam,thenAnyaheretoplay.They’dsitonabench,abletowatchtheentireplaygroundwithoutsomuchasturningtheirheads,feelingsafeandsecureinthemidstofthisenormousparkinthisenormouscity,lessthanablockfromtheirhome.
TheyheadedpasttheTavernontheGreen,thefamedrestaurant,andturnedrighttoheadsouth.AgroupofschoolchildreninmatchingyellowT-shirts—easytospotonfieldtrips—filedpastthem.Simonwaiteduntiltheywereoutofearshot
“Themurder,”Simonsaid.“Itwasgruesome.”
Ingridworealongthincoat.Shedugherhandsintoherpockets.“Goon.”
“Aaronwasmutilated.”
“How?”
“Doyoureallyneedthedetails?”heasked.
Ingridalmostsmiled.“Strange.”
“What?”
“You’retheonewhocanbarelystomachtheviolenceinR-ratedmovies,”shesaid.
“Andyou’rethephysicianwhoneversomuchasblinksatthesightofblood,”hefinishedforher.“ButmaybeIunderstandbetternow.”
“How’sthat?”
“WhatHestertoldme—itdidn’tgrossmeout.Maybebecauseit’sreal.Soyoujustreact.LikeyouwithapatientintheER.OnthescreenIhavetheluxuryoflookingaway.Inreallife…”
Hisvoicejustfadedaway.
“You’restalling,”Ingridsaid.
“Whichisdumb,Iknow.AccordingtoHester’ssource,thekillerslitAaron’sthroat,thoughshesaidthat’satamewayofputtingit.Theknifewentdeepintohisneck.Almosttookoffhishead.Theyslicedoffthreefingers.Theyalsocutoff…”
“Pre-orpost-mortem?”Ingridaskedinherphysiciantone.
“What?”
“Theamputations.Washestillaliveforthem?”
“Idon’tknow,”Simonsaid.“Doesitmatter?”
“Itmight.”
“I’mnotfollowing.”
Laszlostoppedanddidthebutt-sniffgreetingwithapassingcollie.
“IfAaronwasstillalivewhentheycuthimup,”Ingridsaid,“someonemayhavebeentryingtogetinformationoutofhim.”
“Whatkindofinformation?”
“Idon’tknow.Butnownoonecanfindourdaughter.”
“Youthink…?”
“Idon’tthinkanything,”Ingridsaid.
Theybothstopped.Theireyesmetandforabriefmoment,despiteallthepeoplewalkingby,despitethehorrorofwhattheyweregoingthrough,Simonfellbackintohereyesandshefellintohis.Helovedher.Shelovedhim.Simplebutthereyouhaveit.Youbothhavecareersandyouraisekidsandtherearevictoriesanddefeatsandyoujustsortofcoastalong,livingyourlife,thedayslong,theyearsshort,andtheneveryonceinawhile,youremembertopullupandlookatyourpartner,yourlifepartner,reallylookattheonewhotravelsdownthelonelyroadrightbyyourside,andyourealizehowmuchyouareinthistogether.
“Tothepolice,”Ingridsaid,“Paigeisjustaworthlessjunkie.Theywon’tlookforher,andiftheydo,itwillbetoarrestherasanaccessoryorworse.”
Simonnodded.“Soit’suptous.”
“Yes.WherewasAaronmurdered?”
“IntheirapartmentinMottHaven.”
“Youknowthataddress?”
Henodded.Hesterhadgivenittohim.
“Wecanstartthere,”Ingridsaid.
***
TheUberdriverdroveuptotwoconcretebarriers,setuponthestreetlikesomethingyou’dseeinawarzone.“Can’tgonofurther.”Thedriver—namedAchmed—turnedaroundandfrownedatSimon.“Yousurethisisit?”
“Itis.”
Achmedlookeddubious.“Ifyou’relookingtomakeabuy,Iknowasaferplace—”
“We’refine,thanks,”Ingridsaid.
“Idon’tmeannooffense.”
“Nonetaken,”Simonsaid.
“You’re,uh,notgoingtogivemeaone-starratingbecauseofthis,areyou?”
“You’repurefivestars,myman,”Simonsaid,openingthepassengerdoor.
“We’dgiveyousixifwecould,”Ingridadded.
TheyslippedoutoftheToyota.Simonworegraysweatsandsneakers.Ingridwasinjeansandasweater.Theybothworebaseballcaps,herswiththeclassicNewYorkYankeesNYoverlap,hiswithagolfclublogo,agiveawayatacharityouting.Everythingdiscreet,casual,tryingtoblendin,whichwasn’thappening.
Thefour-levelwalk-upofdecrepitbrickwasn’tsomuchfallingapartasflakingaway,frayingattheseamslikeanoldcoat.Thefireescapelookedreadytogiveatthegentlestpush,farmorerustthanmetal,posingthequestionifburnswereworsethantetanus.Onthesidewalk,amuch-mistreatedmattresshadbeenthrownatopblackplastictrashbags,crushingthemintomisshapenmasses.Thefrontstooplookedasthoughitshedconcretedust.Themetallic-graydoorhadsomekindofornategraffitiletteringspray-paintedonit.Carpartsandoldtireswerestrewnacrossthetallweedsnextdoor,allsurrounded,forsomeoddreason,byafreshchain-linkfencetoppedwithrazorwire—asifanyonewouldeverwanttostealanyofthatstuff.Thebuildingtotheright,perhapsaonce-proudbrownstone,hadplywoodcoveringbrokenglass,givingitalookoflonelinessanddespairthatshatteredSimon’sheartanew.
Paige,hisbaby,hadlivedhere.
SimonturnedtolookatIngrid.Shestaredatthebuildingtoo,alookoflossonherface.Hereyesgazedup,abovetherooftopstothepublic-housinghigh-risesloomingintheneardistance.
“Sonowwhat?”Simonaskedher.
Ingridtookintheirsurroundings.“Wedidn’treallythinkthisthrough,didwe?”
Shesteppedtowardthegraffiti-ladendoor,turnedtheknobwithouthesitation,andpushedhard.Thedoorgroundopengrudgingly.Whentheysteppedintowhatonemightgenerouslydubafoyer,thestale,acridodor,amixofthemustyandtherotting,encircledthem.Abarelightbulb,danglingfromtheceilingwithnofixture,providedamodicumoftwenty-five-wattillumination.
Shelivedhere,Simonthought.Paigelivedinthisplace.
Hethoughtaboutlifechoices,aboutbaddecisionsandforksintheroad,andwhatmoves,whatslidingdoors,hadledPaigetothishell-spawnedplace.Itwashisfault,wasn’tit?Ofcourseithadtobeinsomeway.Thebutterflyeffect.Changeonething,youchangeeverything.Theconstantwhat-ifs—ifonlyhecouldgobackandchangesomething.Paigehadwantedtowrite.Supposehehadsentoneofheressaystohisfriendatthatlocalliterarymagazine,theonethatworkedoffdonations,andhadgottenitpublished.Wouldshehavefocusedmoreonherwritingthen?PaigehadbeendeniedearlydecisiontoColumbia.ShouldSimonhavepushedhisalmamatermore,gottenmoreofhisoldfriendstocontactAdmissions?Yvonne’sfather-in-lawhadbeenontheboardatWilliams.Shecouldhavedonesomethingthere,ifhe’dpushedit.Andthatwasthebigstuff,ofcourse.Anythingcouldhavechangedhercourse,right?Paigewantedacatforherdormroom,buthedidn’tgetitforher.ShehadafightwithMerilee,herbestfriendinseventhgrade,andheasafatherhaddonenothingtopatchitup.PaigelikedAmericancheeseonherturkeysandwich,notcheddar,butsometimesSimonforgotandusedthewrongone.
Youcoulddriveyourselfmad.
She’dbeensuchagoodgirltoo.Thebestdaughterintheworld.Paigehatedtogetintroubleandwhenshedid,evenforsomethingminor,hereyeswouldfillwithtearssothatSimoncouldn’tbeartoscoldher.Butmaybeheshouldhave.Maybethatwouldhavehelped.Itwasjustthatshecriedsodamneasily,anditgotunderhisskinbecausethetruth,thetruthheneverhadthecouragetotellher,wasthathecriedeasilytoo—tooeasily—pretendingsomethingwaswrongwithhiscontactlensorthathehadnonexistentallergiesorleavingtheroomaltogetherratherthanadmittingit.Maybeifhehad,itwouldhavemadeiteasierforherandshecouldhavefoundsomekindofoutletorwaytobondwithherfatherwhochosetokeepupsomekindoffalsemachismo,somekindofideathatifherdaddidn’tcry,maybeshe’dfeelsafe,moreprotected.Insteaditjustmadehermorevulnerableintheend.
Ingridhadalreadystartedupthewarpedstairs.WhensherealizedSimonwasnotwithher,sheturnedandsaid,“Youokay?”
Hesnappedoutofit,nodded,followedher.“Thirdfloor,”hesaid.“ApartmentB.”
Therewerebrokenpiecesofwhatmighthaveoncebeenasofaonthefirstlanding.Crushedbeercansandoverflowingashtrayswerepiledhigh.Simonpeereddownthehallastheymadetheturnforthenextfloor.Athinblackmaninawifebeaterteeandthreadbaredenimstoodattheendofthehallway.Themanhadawhitebeardsothickandcurlyitlookedasthoughhewereeatingasheep.
Onthethirdfloor,therewasyellowtapethatreadCRIMESCENEDONOTCROSSforminganXinfrontofaheavymetaldoorwiththeletterBonit.Ingriddidnothesitateorslowdown.Shereachedfortheknobandtriedtoturnit.
Theknobwouldn’tmove.
ShesteppedbackandgesturedforSimontogiveitatry.Hedid.Hetwistedtheknobbackandforthandpushedandpulled.
Locked.
ThewallsaroundthemmightverywellbedecayingtothepointthatmaybeSimoncouldpunchhisfistthroughoneandenterthatway,butthislockeddoorwasnotabouttosurrender.
“Hey.”
Thesimpleword,spokeninanormaltoneofvoice,shatteredthestaleairlikeagunshot.SimonandIngridjumpedatthesoundandturned.Itwasthethinblackmanwiththesheepbeard.Simoncheckedforanexitroute.Therewasnoneexceptviathewaytheycame,andthatpathwasblockednow.
Slowlyandwithoutconsciousthought,SimontookasteptoslipinfrontofIngrid,puttinghimselfbetweenherandtheman.
Foramomentnoonespoke.Thethreeofthemjuststoodinthatgrimycorridoranddidn’tmove.Someoneonthefloorabovethemturnedupmusicwithaloudthumpingbassandanangryvocalist.
Thenthemansaid,“You’relookingforPaige.”
Itwasn’taquestion.
“You,”themansaid,raisinghishandandpointingabonyfingeratIngrid.“You’rehermother.”
“Howdidyouknow?”Ingridasked.
“Youlookexactlylikeher.Ordoesshelooklikeyou?”Hepettedthesheepbeard.“Ialwaysmixthatup.”
“DoyouknowwherePaigeis?”Simonasked.
“Isthatwhyyou’rehere?You’relookingforher?”
Ingridtookasteptowardhim.“Yes.Doyouknowwheresheis?”
Heshookhishead.“Sorry.”
“ButyouknowPaige?”
“Yeah,Iknowher.Iliverightbelowthem.”
“Istheresomebodyelsewhomightknow?”Simonasked.
“Somebodyelse?”
“Likeafriend.”
Themansmiled.“I’mherfriend.”
“Maybeanotherfriendthen.”
“Idon’tthinkso.”Hegesturedwiththebeardtowardthedoor.“Youtryingtogetin?”
SimonlookedatIngrid.Ingridsaid,“Yeah,wewerehopingtosee…”
Hiseyesnarrowed.“Seewhat?”
“Idon’tknow,totellyouthetruth,”Ingridsaid.
“We’rejusttryingtofindher,”Simonadded.
Themanstrokedthesheepbeardsomemore,pullingattheendasthoughtomakeitlonger.“Icanletyouin,”hesaid.
Hereachedintohispocketandfishedoutakey.
“Howdoyouhave…?”
“LikeIsaid,I’mherfriend.Don’tyouhaveafriendwhohasyourkey,justincaseyougetlockedoutorsomething?”Hestartedtowardthem.“Ifthecopsgetmadaboutrippingthetape,I’mblamingitonyou.Comeon,let’sgoinside.”
***
Theapartmentwasaclaustrophobichovel,maybehalfthesizeofPaige’scollegedormroom.Thereweretwosinglemattresses,oneonthefloorbytherightwall,oneupagainstthewallontheleft.Justmattresses.Nobeds.Nootherfurnitureatall.
Paige’sguitarwasproppedupintheright-handcorner.Herclotheswereonthefloorinthreestacksnexttoit.Theplacewasacycloneofamess,butherclotheswereneatlyfolded.SimonstaredatthemandfeltIngridslipherhandintohisandsqueeze.Paigehadalwaystakengoodcareofherclothes.
Ontheleftsideoftheroom,driedbloodstainedthewood.
“Neverdidnooneharm,yourdaughter,”theblackmansaid.“Exceptherself.”
Ingridturnedhereyestowardhim.“What’syourname?”
“Cornelius.”
“I’mIngrid.ThisisPaige’sfather,Simon.Butyou’rewrong,Cornelius.”
“About?”
“Shehurtmorethanherself.”
Corneliusconsideredthatbeforenodding.“Guessthat’strue,Ingrid.Butthere’salotofgoodinher,youknow.Still.She’dplaychesswithmealot.”HemetSimon’seye.“Shetoldmeyoutaughther.”
Simonnodded,afraidtospeak.
“ShelovedtowalkChloe.That’smydog.Cockerspaniel.Saidshehadadogofherownbackhome.Saidshemissedher.IgetthatPaigehurtyou,butI’mtalkinghereaboutintent.Seenitbefore,I’llseeitagain.It’sthedevil—hegetsaholdofyou.Hepokesandprodsuntilhefindsyourweaknessandthen,see,hewigglesrightthroughyourskinandgetsintoyourbloodstream.Couldbethroughdrink.Couldbethroughgambling.Couldbethroughavirus,likecancerorsomething.Orthedevilcouldbeinthesmack,therock,themeth,whatever.It’sallthedevilindifferentforms.”
Heturnedandlookeddownatthebloodonthefloor.
“Thedevilcouldevenbeaman,”Corneliussaid.
“IassumeyouknewAarontoo?”Simonasked.
Corneliusjustkeptstaringattheblood.“Youknowallmytalkaboutthedevilgettingintoyourbloodstream?”
Ingridsaid,“Yes.”
“Sometimeshedon’tneedtodoanypokingorprodding.Sometimesamandoesitforhim.”Corneliuslookedupatthem.“Idon’tlikewishingsomeonedead,butItellyou—thereweretimesIcameuphereandhe’dbesowasted,Paigetoo,lyingintheirownstink,andI’dlookathim,atwhathedone,andI’ddaydream…”
Hisvoicefadedaway.
“Didyoutalktothepolice?”Ingridasked.
“Theytalkedtome,butIgotnothingtosaytothem.”
“WhendidyoulastseePaige?”
Corneliushesitated.“Ikindahopedyouguyswouldtellme.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Therewasanoiseinthecorridor.Corneliusstuckhisheadout.Ayoungcouplestumbledtowardthem,armswrappedaroundeachother,limbssoentwineditwashardtosaywhereonebeganandtheotherended.
“Cornelius,”theyoungmansaid,aliltinhisvoice.“What’shappening,mahman?”
“Allgood,Enrique.Howareyou,Candy?”
“Loveya,Cornelius.”
“Loveyoutoo.”
“Youcleaningouttheplace?”Enriqueasked.
“Nah.Justmakingsureit’sallokay.”
“Dudewasaturd.”
“Enrique!”Candysaid.
“What?”
“Themanisdead.”
“Sonowhe’sadeadturd.Thatbetter?”
Enriquepeeredinthedoor,sawSimonandIngrid,andasked,“Whothatwithyou?”
“Justsomecops,”Corneliussaid.
Thatchangedtheirdemeanor.Suddenlytheirslowsaunterbecamemorepurposeful.
“Uh,nicetomeetyou,”Candysaid.
Theyunwoundtheirlimbsandhurriedtheirstep,bothdisappearingintoaroomattheendofthehall.Corneliuskeptthesmileonhisfaceuntilthecouplewasoutofsight.
“Cornelius?”Ingridsaid.
“Hmm.”
“WhendidyoulastseePaige?”
Heturnedslowly,hiseyestakinginthesadroom.“WhatI’mgoingtotellyou,”hesaid,“well,Ididn’ttellthepolicethisforobviousreasons.”
Theywaited.
“Youhavetounderstand.MaybeI’vebeensugarcoating,tellingyouhownicePaigewastoChloeandme.Butfactis,shewasamess.Ajunkie.Whenshewasinmyplace—Imean,likewhenshecamebytoplaychessorgetabitetoeat—truthis,andIdon’tlikesayingit,Ikeptaneyeonher.YouknowwhatI’msaying?Ialwaysworriedshe’dstealsomethingbecausethat’swhatjunkiesdo.”
Simonknew.Paigehadstolenfromthemtoo.CashwentmissingfromSimon’swallet.WhenseveralpiecesofIngrid’sjewelrydisappeared,PaigeclaimedinnocenceinnearOscar-worthyperformances.
That’swhatjunkiesdo.
Ajunkie.
Hisdaughterwasajunkie.Simonhadneverlethimselfarticulatethat,buthearingitcomefromCornelius’slipsjustmadeitlandwithahorrible,undeniablethud.
“TwodaysbeforeAarongotkilled,IsawPaige.Downbythefrontdoor.Iwascomingin.Shewasflyingdownthestairs.Almosttumbling.Likesomeonewaschasingher.Shewasgoingsofast,Ithoughtshe’dloseherstep.”
Corneliuslookedupandoffnow,asthoughhecouldstillseeher.
“Iputmyhandsout,liketobreakherfall.”Corneliusliftedhisarms,palmsup,demonstrating.“Icalledouttoher.Butshejustsprintedpastmeandoutside.Didn’tevenbreakherstride.Imean,that’shappenedbefore.”
“What’shappenedbefore?”Ingridasked.
Corneliusturnedhisattentiontoher.“Paigejustsprintingbyme,likethat.Likeshe’ssooutofit,shedoesn’tknowwhoIam.Lotsoftimes,sherunstothatemptylotnextdoor.Youseeitwhenyoucomein?”
Theybothnodded.
“Gotthatrazorwireupfront,butthere’sanopeningaroundtheside.GoestheretogetherfixfromRocco.”
“Rocco?”
“Localdealer.Aaronworkedforhim.”
Ingridsaid,“Aarondealtdrugs?”
Corneliuscockedaneyebrow.“Thatsurpriseyou?”
SimonandIngridexchangedaglance.Itdidnot.
“Pointis,whenajunkieneedsafix,youcouldputNFLdefensemeninherwayandshe’dbreakthrough.SowhatI’msayingis,thatpart—hersprintingoutlikethat—thatisn’twhatmadeitstrange.”
“Sowhatdidmakeitstrange?”Simonasked.
“Paigehadbruisesonherface.”
Simonfeltarushinginhisears.Hisownvoicesoundedfaraway.“Bruises?”
“Somebloodtoo.Likeshe’dtakenabeating.”
Simon’shandstightenedintofists.Theragecrawleduphim,heatinghisentirebody.Drugs,junkie,strung-out,whatever—somehowhecouldeitherdealorblockonallthat.
Butsomeonehadpunchedhislittlegirl.
Simoncouldseeit,acruelhandtighteningintoafist—tighteningjustashiswasnow—andthenthefistcockingback,asneerontheface,andthatfistlaunchingstraightathishelplessdaughter.
Anger,fury,rageconsumedhim.
IfitwasAaron—andifAaroncouldsomehowbealiveandstandinginfrontofhimrightthisverymoment—Simonwouldkillhimwithoutamoment’shesitationorthought.Noregret.Noguilt.
He’dendhim.
SimonfeltIngrid’shandonhisarm,awarmtouch,anattemptperhapstobringhimback.
“Igetwhatyou’refeeling,”Corneliussaid,lookingstraightatSimon.
“Sowhatdidyoudo?”Simonasked.
“WhosaysIdidanything?”
“BecauseyougetwhatI’mfeeling,”Simonsaid.
“Doesn’tmeanIdidanything.I’mnotherfather.”
“Soyoujustshruggedandwentaboutyourday?”
“Couldbe.”
Simonshookhishead.“Youwouldn’tjustletsomethinglikethatslide.”
“Ididn’tkillhim,”Corneliussaid.
“Ifyoudid,”Simonsaid,“itwouldneverleavethisroom.”
CorneliusglancedtowardIngrid.Shenoddedasiftoreassure.
“Pleasetellustherest,”Ingridsaid.
Corneliusfiddledwiththegray-whitebeard.Hetookanotherlookaroundtheroom,makingafaceasthoughhe’djustenteredtheroomforthefirsttimeandrealizedthefilth.
“Yeah,Icameuphere.”
“And?”
“AndIbangedonthedoor.Itwaslocked.SoItookoutmykey.JustlikeIdidtoday.Iopenedthedoor…”
Themusicupstairsstopped.Theroomwascompletelysilentnow.
Corneliuslookeddowntothemattressontheright.“Aaronwasrightthere.Passedout.StenchsobadIcouldbarelybreathe.Ijustwantedtorunoutofthere,forgetthewholething.”
Hestopped.
“Sowhatdidyoudo?”Ingridasked.
“Icheckedhisknuckles.”
“Pardon?”
“TheknucklesonAaron’srighthand,theywerescrapedup.Freshscrapestoo.SoIknewthen.Nosurprise,Iguess.It’dbeenhimwhobeather.SoIstoodoverhim…”
Againhestopped.Thistimeheclosedhiseyes.
Ingridsteppedtowardhim.“It’sokay.”
“LikeItoldyoubefore,Idaydreamedaboutit,Ingrid.Maybe…maybeIwouldhavedonemore,ifIgotthechance.Idon’tknow.Ifthatpunkwasawake.Ifhewasawakeandtriedtoexplainhimself.MaybethenIwouldhavejustexploded.YouknowwhatI’msaying?SoI’mstandingthereandI’mstaringdownatthispieceofgarbage.Andmaybethistime,afterwhatI’dseen,maybeIthoughtI’ddomorethanjustshakemyheadandshuffleaway.”
Corneliusopenedhiseyes.
“ButIdidn’t.”
“Youlefttheroom,”Ingridsaid.
Henodded.“EnriqueandCandycomedownthehall,justliketoday.Iclosedthedoorandwentbackdownstairs.”
“Andthat’sit?”
“That’sit,”Corneliussaid.
“Youhaven’tseenPaigesince?”
“NotPaige.NotAaroneither.Whenyoutwoshowedup,IfiguredmaybeIwaswrong.”
“Wrongaboutwhat?”
“MaybePaigedidn’tgotothatemptylotandseeRocco.Maybesheranhomeandtoldhermommyanddaddywhathappened.Maybetheycameouthereand…well,they’reherkin.They’reherblood.Somaybetheydidmorethandaydream.”
Corneliusstudiedtheirfaces.
“That’snotwhathappened,”Simonsaid.
“Yeah,Igetthatnow.”
“Soweneedtofindher,”Simonsaid.
“Igetthattoo.”
“Weneedtofollowherstepsaftersheranoutofhere.”
Corneliusnodded.“ThatmeansyougottogoseeRocco.”
ChapterNine
CorneliushadtoldthemhowtofindRocco:“Youduckthroughtheopeninginthefence.He’llbeintheabandonedbuildingontheothersideofthelot.”
Simonwasn’tsurewhattoexpect.
OnTV,he’dseenplentyofdrugdealsamongsturbanblight,menwithdarkstaresandgunsanddo-ragsandlow-slungjeans,littlekidsonbikesdoingthedealsbecausetheywereeasiertogetoutofjailorsomesuchthing,probablyjustTVnonsense.AshestoodwithIngridbytheopeninginthefence,therewasnoonevisible.Nolookout.Noarmedguard.Hecouldhearfaintvoicesinthedistance,probablycomingfromtheabandonedbuilding,buttheexpectedmenacewasnotyetvisible.
Whichdidnotmeanthatthiswasasafesituation.
“So,”SimonsaidtoIngrid,“yetagainIask:What’sourplan?”
“DamnedifIknow.”
Theylookedattheopeninginthefence.
“Letmegoinfirst,”hesaid,“justincaseitisn’tsafe.”
“Andleavemeoutherealone?Ohright,thatsoundssupersafe.”
Ingridhadapoint.
“Icouldtellyoutogohome,”hesaid.
“Youcould,”Ingridagreed,asshepulledbackthechainlinkandduckedintotheabandonedlot.
Simonquicklyfollowed.Theweedswereuppasthisknees.Theybothwalked,liftingtheirfeetasthoughindeepsnow,afraidoftrippingoverrustedaxlesandbearings,shreddedhosesandworntiretreads,shatteredwindshieldsandcrackedheadlights.
Theyhadbeensomewhatsmart,thoughsomemightsaystereotyping,beforemakingthetrektothisneighborhood.Ingridhadremovedallherjewelry,includingherweddingbandandengagementring.Simonworeonlyhisweddingband,whichwasn’tworththatmuchmoney.Betweenthem,theyhadmaybeahundreddollarsincash.Robbery—andfaceit,theywerewalkingintosomesortofdrugden—wasapossibilitybutitwouldn’tbeaprofitableone.
Thesteelexteriorcellardoorswereopen.SimonandIngridlookeddownintothedarkness.Theycouldseeaconcretefloor.Nothingelse.Soundscameupfromthedepths,muffledvoices,maybewhispers,maybelightlaughter.Ingridtookthefirststep,butSimonwasn’thavinganyofthat.Hejumpedinfrontofherandhurrieddown,reachingthedankconcretebeforeIngridreachedthesecondstep.
Thesmellhithimfirst—thatalways-awfulsulfurousstenchofrotteneggsmixedwithsomethingmorechemical,anammonia-liketastethatstayedonhistongue.
Thevoiceswereclearernow.Simonstartedtowardthem.Hedidn’thidehissteportrytobesilent.Sneakinguponthemwouldbethewrongmove.Hedidn’twanttostartlethemintodoingsomethingstupid.
Ingridcaughtuptohim.Whentheyreachedthecenterroomofthebasement,thevoicesstoppedasifthey’dbeenonaswitch.Simontookinthescene,evenasthestenchstartedtogettohim.Hetriedtobreathethroughhismouth.Tohisright,fourpeopleweresprawledasthoughtheyhadnobonesorwereoldsockssomeonehadcasuallytossedthere.Thelightwasdim.Simoncouldmakeouttheirwideeyesmorethananythingelse.Therewasatornfutonandwhatmighthavebeenabeanbagchair.Cardboardboxesonceusedforcasesofcheapwinehadbeenturnedintomakeshifttables.Spoonsandlightersandburnersandsyringeslayatopthem.
Noonemoved.SimonandIngridjuststoodthere.Thefourpeopleonthefloor—wasitfour?mighthavebeenmore,hardtotellinthislight—stayedstill,asthoughmaybetheywerecamouflagedandiftheydidn’tmove,theymightnotbeseen.
Afewmoresecondspassedbeforesomeoneinthegroupbegantostir.Aman.Hegottohisfeetslowly,momentbymoment,ahugeman,risingoffthefloorlikeGodzillawadingoutofthewater,hisentirebeingexpandingandfillingtheroom.Whenhestoodallthewayup,thetopofhisheadnearlyscrapedtheceiling.Thebigmanshuffledtowardthemlikeaplanetwithtwofeet.
“WhatcanIdoforyoufinefolks?”
Thevoicewaspleasant,affable.
“We’relookingforRocco,”Simonsaid.
“That’sme.”
ThehugemanstuckoutahandthatbelongedonaballoonintheMacy’sThanksgivingDayParade.Simonshookit,hishanddisappearingintothefoldsofflesh.Rocco’ssmilesplithisfaceintwo.HeworeaYankeescap,sameasIngrid’s,thoughhislookedmuchtoosmallforhishead,likeoneofthosemascotswithagiantbaseballonhisshoulders.Roccowasdark-skinnedblack.Hewasdeckedoutinahemphoodiewithkangaroopockets,denimshorts,andwhatlookedlikeBirkenstocksandals.
“IstheresomethingIcanhelpyouguyswith?”
Hisvoicestayedlight,folksy,maybeabitofthestoner.Theotherpeopleintheroomwentbacktotheirbusiness,whichinvolvedthelightersandtheburnersandplasticbagswithunknown—unknowntoSimon,atleast—powderorothercontents.
“We’relookingforourdaughter,”Ingridsaid.“HernameisPaige.”
“Weunderstandshecamehererecently,”Simonadded.
“Oh?”RoccofoldedGreco-Roman-columnarmsacrosshischest.“Howdoyouunderstandthat?”
SimonandIngridexchangedaglance.“Wejustheard,”Simonsaid.
“Heardfromwho?”
Someonefromtheflooryelled,“Whom!”
“What?”
Awhitehipsterwearinganovergrownsoulpatchandskinny-leggedjeanstuckedintofauxworkbootsscrambledtohisfeet.“Heardfromwhom,notwho.Comeon,Rocco.Prepositionalphrase.”
“Shit,right,sorry.”
“You’rebetterthanthat,man.”
“Itwasamistake.Don’tmakeabigthingofit.”RoccoturnedhisattentionbacktoSimonandIngrid.“Wherewerewe?”
“Paige.”
“Right.”
Silence.
“YouknowPaige,right?”Simonasked.
“Ido,yes.”
“She’s”—Ingridstopped,searchedfortheword—“aclientofyours?”
“Idon’treallydiscussclients.WhateverbusinessyoumightimagineIamin,confidentialitywouldhavetobeakeycomponentofit.”
“Wedon’tcareaboutyourbusiness,”Ingridsaid.“Wearejusttryingtofindourdaughter.”
“Youseemlikeanicewoman,Miss…?”
“Greene.Andit’sDoctor.”
“Youseemlikeanicewoman,Dr.Greene,andIhopeyoudon’ttakeoffense,butlookaroundyou.”Hespreadhisarmswide,asthoughhewereabouttopullintheentirebasementforahug.“Doesthislooklikethekindofplacewherewetellrelativeswheretheirlovedonesmightbehiding?”
“Isshe?”Simonasked.
“Isshewhat?”
“IsPaigehidingfromus?”
“I’mnotgoingtotellyouthat.”
“Wouldyoutellmefortenthousanddollars?”Simonasked.
Thatcausedahush.
Roccorolledalittleclosertothem,almostlikethatboulderinthefirstIndianaJonesmovie.“Youmightwanttokeepyourvoicedown.”
“Theofferstands,”Simonsaid.
Roccorubbedhischin.“Yougotthetengrandonyou.”
Simonfrowned.“Uh,no,ofcoursenot.”
“Howmuchdoyouhaveonyou?”
“Maybeeighty,ahundreddollars.Why,youwanttorobus?”Simonraisedhisvoice.“ButwhatIsaidgoesforanyoneinthisroom:TengrandifyoutellmewherePaigeis.”
IngridlookedupintoRocco’sface,forcinghimtomakeeyecontact.“Please,”shesaid.“IthinkPaigeisindanger.”
“BecauseofwhathappenedtoAaron?”
Thatname—justhearingRoccosayit—changedtheveryairintheroom.
“Yes,”Ingridsaid.
Roccotiltedhishead.“Whatdoyouthinkhappened,Dr.Greene?”
Histoneremainedcalm,level,even,butSimonthoughtthatperhapsheheardsomethingelseinitnow.Acrackle.Anedge.Whatshouldhavebeenobviouswasstartingtoreachhim.Roccomighthaveafriendlyfacade.HemaycomeacrossasagreatbigTeddybearcometolife.
ButRoccowasadrugdealerworkinghisturf.
ThebrutalityofAaron’smurdersuggestedadrughit,didn’tit?AndifAaronworkedforRocco…
“Wedon’tcareaboutAaron,”Ingridsaid.“Wedon’tcareaboutthisplaceoryourbusinessoranyofthat.WhateverhappenedtoAaron,Paigehadnothingtodowithit.”
“Howdoyouknow?”Roccoasked.
“What?”
“Seriously.HowdoyouknowPaigehadnothingtodowithwhathappenedtoAaron?”
Simontookthatone.“HaveyouseenPaige?”
“Ihave.”
“Thenyouknow.”
Rocconoddedslowly.“Astrongwindcouldknockherover.Igetthat.Butthatdoesn’tmeanshecouldn’tdrugamanandslicehimupwhenhe’sout.”
“Tenthousanddollars,”Simonsaidagain.“Allwewanttodoisbringourdaughterhome.”
Thedankbasementwentstill.Roccostoodthere,hisfaceexpressionless.Hewasmullingitover,Simonthought.Hedidn’tinterrupt.NeitherdidIngrid.
Thenavoicesaid,“Hey,Iknowyou.”
Simonturnedtowardthecorner.ItwasHipsterGrammarguy.HepointedatSimonandthenstartedsnappinghisfingers.“You’rethatguy.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout,Tom?”
“He’sthatguy,Rocco.”
“Whatguy?”
HipsterGrammarTomusedhisthumbstohitchhisjeansupbythebeltloops.“He’stheguyinthatvideo.TheguywhopunchedAaron.Inthepark.”
Roccorestedhishandsinthehoodie’skangaroopouch.“Whoa.Ithinkyou’reright.”
“I’mtellingyou,Rocco.That’stheguy.”
“Forreal.”RoccosmiledatSimon.“Areyoutheguyinthatvideo?”
“Yes.”
Roccoputuphishandsinmocksurrenderandsteppedback.“Oh,Lordy,pleasedon’thitme.”
HipsterGrammarTomlaughed.Someoftheotherguysdidtoo.
Later,Simonwouldclaimhefeltthedangerbeforeitallwentwrong.
Theremayindeedbesomethingprimalinhumanbeings,somesurvivalmechanismfromourcavemandaysofconstantdangerthatliesdormantinmodernman,somesixthsenseorinstinctthatalmostneverneedstosurfaceinoursociety,butit’sstillthere,stillpotentyetlatentinadeeppartofourgeneticmakeup.
Astheyoungmanstumbledintothebasement,thehacklesonthebackofSimon’sneckrose.
Roccosaid,“Luther?”
Theresttookasecond,maybetwoatthemost.
Lutherwasshirtless,hischestgleamingandcompletelyhairless.Hewasearlytwenties,allcoiledmuscle,wiry,bouncingonhistoeslikeabantamweightboxerimpatientforthebell.Hestaredwide-eyedatSimonandIngridandthenwithouttheleastbitofhesitation,hewhippedoutagun.
“Luther!”
Luthertookaim.Therewasnowarning,nodelay,nowordsspoken.Luthersimplytookaimandpulledthetrigger.
BLAM!
Simonsworethathecouldactuallyfeelthebulletgrazebyhisnose,couldhearthewhistlinghissasitspedpasthim.Herememberedatimewhenhewasgolfingandhisbrother-in-lawRobertshankedtheballanditsailedrightpasthisnoseandhitthecaddynexttohim,givinghimaconcussion.Soundedlikeadumbcomparison,buteventhoughthiswholeexperiencecouldn’thavetakenmorethanasecond,thatwaswherehismindtraveledto—agolfoutinginParamus,NewJersey—asthebulletshriekedpasthimandthebloodsplashedontohischeek.
Blood…
Ingrid’seyesrolledbackasshedroppedtotheground.
Simonwatchedherfallinslowmotion.Gonewasallthatprimitivesurvivalstuff,thestuffthatmighttellhimtofleeorfightorwhatever.HewatchedIngrid,hisentireworld,crumbletotheconcrete,bleeding,andanotherinstincttookover.
Protecther…
Hecollapsedtothegroundand,withoutconsciousthought,coveredherbodywithhis,tryingtopositionhimselfinsuchawayastoshieldasmuchofheraspossible,whileatthesametimeseeingifshewasalive,wherethewoundwas,whetherhecouldstemthebleeding.
Somewhereelse,inanotherpartofhisbrain,heknewthatLutherwasstillthere,stillarmedwithagun,stillinallprobabilitypreparingtofireagain.Butthatwasasecondaryoreventertiarythought.
Protecther.Saveher…
Heriskedalook.LuthersteppedtowardhimandpointedhisgundownatSimon’shead.Adozenthoughtsracedthroughhishead—kickout,rollaway,trytostrikehiminsomeway,anyway,beforehecouldfireagain.
Buttherewasnothingtobedone.Hecouldseethattoo.
Therewasnotimetodoanythingtosavehimself,sohepulledIngridevenmoreunderhimandcurledhisbodyinward,makingsurenoneofIngridwasexposed.Heloweredhisheadtowardhersandbracedhimself.
Simonheardthegunshot.
AndLutherwentdown.
ChapterTen
Ashplacedthecupofcoffeeonthetable.DeeDeebowedherheadinprayer.Ashtriednottorollhiseyes.DeeDeefinishedtheprayerinthesamewayshealwaysdid,“ForeverbetheShiningTruth.”
Ashsatacrossfromher.Thetarget’snamewasDamienGorse.HeownedatattooparlorinaNewJerseystripmallacrossthehighwayfromwheretheynowsat.Theybothturnedandstaredatthenameontheawning.
DeeDeestartedgiggling.
“What’ssofunny?”
“Thenameoftheparlor.”
“Whataboutit?”
“TattoosWhileUWait,”DeeDeesaid.“Thinkaboutit.Imean,howelsewouldyoudoit?‘Hey,man,here’smyarm,putaskullandcrossbonesonit,I’llbebackintwohours.’”
Shecoveredhermouthasshegiggledsomemore.Itwasallkindsofadorable.
“Goodpoint,”Ashsaid.
“Right?TattoosWhileUWait.Imean,whatnamecameinsecondplace?”
Hechucklednowtoo,eitherbecausethejokewasalittlefunnyormorelikelybecausehergigglewascontagious.DeeDeedrovehimcrazy.Shecouldbeannoyingasallget-out,noquestionaboutit,butmostly,hewasterrifiedthatsoonthesejobswouldendandshe’dbegonefromhislifeagain.
DeeDeenoticedhimlookingatherfunny.“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Ash…”
Thenhejustsaidit:“Youdon’thavetogoback.”
DeeDeelookedupathimwiththosedamnedbeautifulget-lost-forever-ingreeneyes.“OfcourseIdo.”
“Itisn’ttheShiningTruth.It’sacult.”
“Youdon’tunderstand.”
“That’swhatallcultistssay.Youhaveachoicehere.”
“TheShiningTruthistheonlychoice.”
“Comeon,DeeDee.”
Shesatback.“I’mnotDeeDeethere.Ididn’ttellyouthat.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“AtTruthHaven.TheycallmeHolly.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Theymadeyouchangeyourname?”
“Theydidn’tmakemechangeanything.HollyismyTruth.”
“NamechangingisCultIndoctrination101.”
“ItrepresentsthatI’manewperson.I’mnotDeeDee.Idon’twanttobeDeeDee.”
Hemadeaface.“SoyouwantmetocallyouHolly?”
“Notyou,Ash.”Shereachedacrossthetableandcoveredhishand.“YoualwayssawHolly.Youweretheonlyone.”
Hefeltthewarmthofherhandonhis.Foramomenttheystayedlikethat,andAshwishedthatthemomentwouldnevermoveon.Stupid.Heknewthatitwouldn’tlast.Nothinglasted.Butforanothermomentortwo,hejustsoakedthisinandletitbe.
DeeDeesmiledathimasifsheknewjustwhathewasfeeling.Maybeshedid.Shecouldalwaysreadhiminawaynooneelsecould.
“It’sokay,Ash.”
Hesaidnothing.Shepattedhisarmseveraltimes,disengagingslowly,soitwouldn’tjustbeasuddenpullaway.
“It’sgettinglate,”shesaid.“Weshouldprobablygetinposition.”
Henodded.Theyheadedtothestolencarwiththestolenplate.TheytookthehighwaynorthandexitedonDowningStreet.ThelocalroadledtothebackofaShopRitesupermarket.Theyparkedneartheexit,awayfromanysurveillancecameras.Theystartedthroughawoodedareaandcameuponthebackofthetattooparlor.
Ashcheckedhiswatch.Twentyminutesuntilclosingtime.
Murderwassimpleifyoukeptitsimple.
Ashalreadyhadthegloveson.Hisoutfitwasblackfromheadtotoe.Theskimaskwasoffbecausethosethingsweretoohotanditchytoputonprematurely.Butitwasattheready.
Therewasarustedgreendumpsterbehindthetattooparlor.AsidewindowhadaredneonsignreadingPIERCINGS—ANYWHERE,EVERYWHERE.Ashcouldseethesilhouetteofsomeonesweepingupinside.Thereweretwocarsleftinthelot—aToyotaTundrapickuptruck,hopefullybelongingtothelastclientoftheday,andintheback,nearthedumpsterandoutofsightfromthehighway,awood-paneledFordFlexbelongingtoDamienGorse.
Theirintel,suchasitwas,hadinformedthemthatGorsealwaysclosedup.
TheplanwastoletDamienGorselockup,walktohiscar,thenkillhimina“robberygonewrong.”
Ashheardthetinklingoftheshopkeeperbellwhenthefrontdooroftheparloropened.Amanwithalongredponytailsteppedout,turnedbackaround,andshouted,“Thanks,Damien.”
Damienshoutedsomethingbacktotheponytailedman,buttheycouldn’tmakeoutwhat.TheponytailedmannoddedandtrudgedthroughthegravellottowardtheToyotaTundra.Hisarmwascompletelybandaged.Hestaredatthearmwithabigsmileashewalked.
“Maybehejustcamebacktopickitup,”DeeDeewhispered.
“What?”
“Hisarm.Youknow.TattoosWhileUWait?”
Insidetheshop,thesilhouettestoppedwiththesweeping.
ShegiggledastheponytailedmangotintotheToyota,starteditup,andmergedontothehighway.
DeeDeemovedclosertoAsh.Shesmelledthewayonlyabeautifulwomancan,likehoneysuckleandlilacsandsomeformofambrosia.Herproximitywasadistraction.Hedidn’tlikethat.
Ashshiftedalittleawayfromherandputontheskimask.
Insidetheshop,thelightswentout.
“Showtime,”DeeDeesaid.
“Stayhere.”
Stayinglow,Ashmovedclosertothebackofthelot.Hesquattedbehindatreeandwaited.HelookedattheFordFlex.Thefauxwoodpanelingmadeitlooklikeafamilycar,thoughGorsewasunmarriedandchildless.Maybeitwashismother’scar.Orhisfather’s.Iftherehadbeenmoretime,Ashwouldhaveknownallthat,wouldhavedoneallhisownintel.Butknowingallthatwasoften,pardonthepun,overkill.
Justdothejob,moveon,don’tleaveanytracks.
Therestwasflotsamandjetsam.
Italsohelpedtothinkmethodically.Itwouldtakehimfewerthantensecondstomakeittothecar.Don’thesitate.Don’tgivehimachancetoreact.Walkuptohimandshoothiminthechesttwice.He’dnormallygoforaheadshot,butone,arobbermightnotdothat,andtwo,KevinGanohadgonedownwithaheadshot.
Noreasontorepeathimself.
Ofcourse,therewasnothingelseconnectingDamienGorseandKevinGano.Ashwasusingcompletelydifferenthandgunmakesandmodelsobtainedincompletelydifferentways.Onedeath—Gano’s—hadbeena“suicide”intheBostonarea,theother—Gorse’s—wouldbearobberygonewronginNewJersey.
Therewouldbenolawenforcementlink.
Morethanthat,AshcouldfindnootherconnectionsbetweenKevinGanoandDamienGorseoranyoftheothers.Theywereallbetweentheagesoftwenty-fourandthirty-two.Theylivedinvariouspartsofthecountry.Theyallattendeddifferentschools,helddifferentjobs.Therehadtobeanoverlap,ofcourse,somethingthatlinkedthetargets,andmaybeifAshhadmoreinformationormoretimehecouldfigureoutwhatitwas.
Butfornowhedidn’thaveeitherandthatwasokay.
Thetattooparlor’sshopkeeperbelltrilled.
Ashhadtheguninhisglovedhand.Theskimaskwasinplace.Ashhadlearnedovertheyearsthatskimasksdon’tofferenoughperipheralvision,sohe’dalreadymadetheeyeholesalittlebigger.Hestayedinhissquatandwaited.Tohisleft,hecouldseeDeeDeehadmovedclosertotheperiphery.Hefrowned.Sheshouldknowbetterandstayback.ButthatwasDeeDee.
Gorsewascomingathimfromtheright.DeeDeewasontheleft.Therewasnochancehewouldspotherbeforethebulletshithim.
Shejustwantedabetterview.
Still,hedidn’tlikeit.
Thecrunchingoffeetongravelmadehimturnhisheadtowardthesideofthebuilding.
ItwasDamienGorse.
Perfect.
NowAshjustneededtotimethestrike,butreallytherewasplentyofroomforerror,especiallyonthelateside.ArrivetooearlyandmaybeGorsecouldruntowardtheroadorbackintotheshop,thoughthatwasunlikely.ArrivetoolateanditmeantthatGorsewasinhiscar,butglassdoesn’tstopbullets.
Nomatter.Histimingwasperfect.
Gorsestuckoutahandholdingthecarremote.Ashheardthefamiliarbeep-beepasthecarunlocked.HewaiteduntilDamienGorsearrivedathisbackbumper.Ashstoodupstraightandrush-walkedtowardhim.Don’trun.Runningwillthrowoffyouraim.
Gorse’shandwasjustreachingoutforthecardoorhandlewhenhespottedAsh.Heturnedtowardhim,aquestioninglookonhisface.AshraisedtheweaponandfiredtwoshotsintoGorse’schest.ThesoundwaslouderthanAshhadanticipated,thoughthatwasn’treallyabigdeal.Gorse’sbodyfellagainstthecar.Forasecondthecarseemedtoholdhimupbeforehesliddownthedoorontothegravel.
AsAshhurriedtowardthestillbody,hespottedDeeDee,thankstohisperipheralvision,movingtoherrightsoshecouldgetabetterviewofthedeadbody.Hehadnotimeforthat.Hebentdown,madesureGorsewasdead,andthenrifledthroughtheman’spockets.Hetookoutthewallet.GorsealsoworeaTagHeuerwatch.Hetookthattoo.
DeeDeemovedcloser.
“Willyougetback?”hesnapped.
Hestartedtorise,butthenhesawthelookonDeeDee’sface.
Shewasstaringoverhisshoulder.Ashfelthisstomachdrop.
“Ash?”shesaid.
Thenshegesturedwithherchin.
Ashspun.There,nexttothegreendumpster,amanstoodholdingagarbagebag.
Theman—no,morelikelyateen,afreakingkidforcryingoutloud—musthaveexitedoutthebackofthestoretothrowoutthetrash.Hestillheldthebagupintheair,asthoughhe’dstoppedinmid-toss,frozenbywhathe’dwitnessed
ThekidjuststaredatAsh,whowaswearingaskimask.
AndhestaredatDeeDee,whowasn’twearingone.
Shit,Ashthought.
Nochoice.Heaimedhisgunandfired,butthekidwasonthemove.Heduckedbehindthedumpster.Ashstartedtowardhim,takinganothershot.Thekidscrambledonhishandsandknees,thebulletflyingoverhishead.Thekidduckedbackinthroughtheexitdoorandslammeditshut.
Damnit!
Ashhadchosentousearevolverforthismurder,asix-shooter.He’dalreadyfiredfourshots,leavinghimtwo.Hecouldn’twastethem.Buthecouldn’twastetimeeither.Itwouldtakeonlyafewsecondsforthekidtocallthepoliceor…
Analarmshatteredtheair.
ThesoundwassoloudAshstoppedforamomentandstartedtocoverhisearswithhishands.HespunbacktowardDeeDee.
“Go!”Ashshouted.
Shenodded,understoodtheprotocol.Takeoff.Hewastemptedtodothesame—getoutofherebeforethecopscame.ButthekidhadseenDeeDee’sface.Hecoulddescribeher.
Sothekidhadtodie.
Ashtriedtheknobonthebackdoor.Itturned.Maybefivesecondshadpassedsincehetookthefirstshot.Iftherewasaguninthestore,itwasdoubtfulthekidwouldhavehadtimetofindit.Ashburstinandlookedaround.
Nosignofthekid.
He’dbehiding.
SohowlongdidAshhave?Notlongenough.But.
Themindisacomputer,sointhebrieftimeittookhimtomakeastep,alotofprobabilitiesandoutcomesflowedthroughhim.Thefirstonewasthemostobviousandinstinctive:ThekidhadseenDeeDee’sface.Hecouldidentifyher.LeavinghimalivewasthusaclearandpresentdangertoDeeDee.
Conclusion:Hehadtobekilled.
Butashetookthenextstep,hebegantorealizethathisgutreactionmightbeabittooextreme.Yes,thekidhadseenherandperhapshecouldmakeanID.Butwhatwouldhesayexactly?Abeautifulwomanwithalongblondebraidandgreeneyeswhodidn’tliveinNewJersey,hadnoconnectiontoNewJersey,whowouldsoonbeoutofstateandperhapsbackonhercommuneorretreatorhavenorwhateverthefuckshecalledit…howwouldthepoliceevenknowhowtofindher?
Thenagain,supposeDeeDeedidn’tmakeitthatfar.Supposethepolicecaughthernow,beforeshecouldgetawaycleanly.Thekidcouldidentifyher.Butagain—seehowthemindworks?—sowhat?
Stripitdown:DeeDeehadbeenstandinginaparkinglotwhenDamienGorsewasmurdered.That’sall.Sohadamanwithaskimaskandagun—whywouldanyoneassumethatthetwoofthemweretogether?Ifshewasinonthekilling,wouldn’tshehavewornamasktoo?Wouldn’tDeeDeebeabletoeasilyclaimthatshehadnothingtodowiththekilling,thatshe’dstumbleduponthescene,evenifshewassomehowcaughtandsomehowidentifiedbecauseofthekid’stestimony?
Insidethetattooparlor,Ashtookanotherstep.
Moresilence.
Really,whenhethoughtaboutit,whatweretheoddsthatifthiskidlived,itwouldbringdangertoDeeDee?Whenyouaddeditallup—whenyouweighedalltheprosandcons—wouldn’tthebestroute,thebestchanceofasuccessfuloutcome,derivefromAshgettingawaynow,beforethecopscame?Wasitworththetimelostpursuingthisscaredkidandriskinggettingcaught—versustheminisculethreatthatthiswitness’ssurvivalcouldreallyharmDee?
Letthekidlive.
Ashheardasiren.
Hedidn’trelishkillinghimeither.Oh,he’ddoit,sure,andwithnoproblem.Butkillingthekidnowseemedwasteful,andwhenyoucan,youmightaswellerronthesideoftheangels,no?Hedidn’tbelieveinkarma,butthenagaintherewasnoreasontopokekarmaintheribs.
Sirens.Gettingcloser.
Thiswasthekid’sluckyday.
Ashturned.Hesprintedtowardthebackdoortomakehisescape,becauseintruthhisoptionsweredowntoone—flee.
Thatwaswhenheheardtheclickcomefromtheclosetdoornexttotheexit.
Ashalmostkeptgoing.
Buthedidn’t.
Ashopenedthedoor.Thekidwasdownonthefloor,hisshakinghandsontopofhisheadasthoughreadyingtowardoffblows.
“Please,”thekidsaid,“IpromiseIwon’t—”
Notimetohearmore.
Ashusedonebullet,aheadshot,leavinghimselfonelastbulletjustincase.
ChapterEleven
Everyonefledthetenementbasement.
Outofthecornerofhiseye,SimonsawRoccotossLutheroverhisshoulderlikealaundrybagashesprintedout.Forafewseconds,maybelonger,Simonstayedinposition,shieldinghiswife.Whenherealizedthatthedangerhadpassed,hereachedforhisphonetodial911.Sirensslicedthroughthestaleair.
Maybesomeonehadalreadycalled.Maybethesirenshadnothingtodowiththis.
Ingrid’seyeswereclosed.Bloodpouredfromawoundlocatedsomewherebetweenherrightshoulderandupperchest.Simondidallhecouldtostoptheflow,rippingoffhisownshirtandpressingithardagainstthewound.Hedidn’tbothercheckingIngridforapulse.Ifshewasdead,thenhe’dfindoutsoonenough.
Protecther.Saveher.
The911operatortoldhimthathelpwasonitsway.Timepassed.Simondidn’tknowhowmuch.Theywerealoneinthisdank,disgustingbasement,heandIngrid.TheyhadfirstmetinarestaurantonSixty-NinthStreet,onlytwoblocksfromwheretheynowlived,whenIngridwasfinallybackinthecountryandYvonnehadsetthemup.Hehadarrivedfirstandsatnervouslywaitingatatablebythewindow,andwhensheentered,headhigh,theregalcatwalkstrut,he’dbeenblownaway.Cornyornot—andmaybeeveryonedidthis—butwheneverSimonwasonafirstdate,helethimselfimagineafulllifewiththeperson,lookingwaaaaayaheadofhimself,picturinghimandthiswomanmarriedandraisingkidsandsittingacrossthekitchentableastheyagedandreadinginbed,allthat.HowdidhefeelwhenhefirstsawIngrid?Hethoughtthatshewastoogorgeous.Thatwasthefirstthought.Shelookedtooputtogetherforhim,toocomposedandconfident.He’dlaterlearnthatitwasforshow,thatIngridhadthesamefearsandinsecuritiesthatplagueallofus,thatpartofthehumanconditionisthatalldecentpeoplethinktheyarephoniesanddon’tbelongatsomepointoranother.
Whatever.TheirrelationshiphadstartedatthatbrightwindowtableonWestSixty-NinthStreetandColumbusAvenueandnowitcouldendinthisdank,darkbasementintheBronx.
“Ingrid?”
Hisvoicecameoutasapitifulplea.
“Staywithme,okay?”
Thepolicearrived,asdidtheEMTs.Theypulledhimawayandtookover.Hesatontheconcrete,pullinghiskneesuptohischest.Acopstartedaskinghimquestions,buthecouldn’thear,couldonlystareathisstillwifeastheEMTsworkedonher.Anoxygenmaskcoveredthemouthhehadkissedsomanytimes,kissedineverysinglewayimaginable,fromperfunctorytopassionate.Hedidn’tsayanythingnow,justwatched.Hedidn’tdemandtoknowwhethershewasstillalive,whethertheycouldsaveher.Hewastooterrifiedtodisturbthem,tobreaktheirconcentration,asthoughherlifelinewassofragilethatanyinterruptioncouldsnapitlikeanoverusedrubberband.
Simonwantedtosaythattherestwasablur,butitactuallycrawledbyinslowmotionandvividcolor—loadingIngridontothegurney,rollinghertotheambulance,hoppingintothebackwithher,staringattheIVbag,therigidexpressionsontheEMTs’faces,thepalenessofIngrid’sskin,thescreamsofthesiren,themaddeninglyfrustratingtrafficalongtheMajorDeegan,finallystopping,crashingthroughtheemergencyroomdoors,anursefirmlybutpatientlypullinghimawayandleadinghimtoayellowmoldedplasticchairinthewaitingroom…
HecalledYvonneandgaveherthebroadstrokes.Whenhefinished,Yvonnesaid,“I’llheadstraightovertoyourplaceandgetAnya.”
Simon’svoicesoundedweirdinhisownears.“Okay.”
“Whatdoyouwantmetotellher?”
Hefeltasobriseuphisthroat.Hestuffeditbackdown.“Nothingspecific,juststaywithher.”
“DidyoucallSam?”Yvonneasked.
“No.He’sgotabiologytest.Hedoesn’tneedtoknow.”
“Simon?”
“What?”
“You’renotthinkingstraight.Theirmotherhasbeenshot.She’sinsurgery.”
Hesqueezedhiseyesshut.
“I’llpickupAnya,”shesaid,“RobertwillgetSam.Theyshouldbeatthehospital.”
Yvonneleftoffthe“metoo,”maybebecausethekidsweremoreimportantormaybebecauseYvonneandIngridwerenotveryclose.Theywereciviltoeachother,unfailinglypolitewithnoobviousrancor,butSimonwasthebridgebetweenthetwosisters.
Yvonnespokeagain.“Okay,Simon?”
Twocopsappeared,doingtheroom-scanthing.TheyspottedSimonandswaggeredtowardhim.
“Okay,”hesaid,andhungup.
Atthescene,Simonhadgiventhecopsadescriptionoftheshooter,butnowtheywantedmoredetails.Hestartedtotellthecopseverything,butitwasslowgoingwithoutfullcontext,withoutgoingintoAaronandtheothermurderandallthat.Hewasalsodistracted,staringatthedoor,waitingforadoctortoappear,agodreally,totellhimwhetherhisworldwasoverornot.
Fagbenleburstintothewaitingroom.Thetwocopsmovedtowardhim.Thethreeofthemhuddledinthecorner.Simontookthebreaktoonceagainheadovertothedeskandaskabouthiswife—andonceagainthereceptionistpolitelytoldhimthatshehadnonewinformation,thatthedoctorwouldcomeoutassoonastherewasanupdate.
WhenSimonturnedbackaround,Fagbenlewasrightthere.“Idon’tunderstand.WhywereyoutwointheBronx?”
“Weweretryingtofindourdaughter.”
“Byvisitingadrugden?”
“Ourdaughterisadrugaddict.”
“Didyoufindher?”
“No,Detective.Incaseyoudidn’thear,mywifewasshot.”
“I’mreallysorryaboutthat.”
Simonclosedhiseyes,wavedhimoff.
“Ihearyoualsovisitedthemurderscene.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’swherewestarted.”
“Startedwhat?”
“Lookingforourdaughter.”
“Howdidyougetfromthatapartmenttothedrughousenextdoor?”
Simonknewbetterthantogothere.“Whatdoesthatmatter?”
“Whydon’tyouwanttotellme,Simon?”
“Becauseitdoesn’tmatter.”
“Gottabehonest,”Fagbenlesaid.“Thisalldoesn’tlookgood.”
“Gottabehonest,”Simonsaid.“Idon’tcarehowitlooks.”
Simonmovedbacktowardhisyellowplasticmoldedchair.
“Occam’srazor,”Fagbenlesaid.“Youknowit?”
“I’mnotinthemood,Detective.”
“Itstates—”
“Iknowwhatitstates—”
“—thatthesimplestexplanationisusuallytherightone.”
“Andwhat’sthesimplestexplanation,Detective?”
“YoukilledAaronCorval,”hesaid.Justlikethat.Noemotion,norancor,nosurprise.“Oryourwifedid.Iwouldn’tblameeitherofyou.Themanwasamonster.Hewasslowlypoisoningyourdaughter,killingherrightinfrontofyoureyes.”
Simonfrowned.“IsthisthepartwhereIbreakdownandconfess?”
“Nah,youjustlisten.I’mtalkingabouttheoldmoralquandary.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Question:Wouldyoukillsomeone?Answer:No,ofcoursenot.Question:Wouldyoukillsomeonetosaveyourchild?Answer…?”
Fagbenleraisedbothpalmsandshrugged.
Simonsatbackdown.Fagbenlepulledupanearbychairandsatclosetohim.Hekepthisvoicelow.
“YoucouldhavesneakedoutofyourapartmentbuildingwhenAnyawasasleep.OrIngridcouldhaverunovertotheBronxduringherworkbreak.”
“Youdon’tbelievethat.”
Hemadeamaybe-yes,maybe-nogesturewithhishead.“Iheardwhenyourwifewasshot,youjumpedontopofher.Usedyourbodyasashield.”
“What’syourpoint?”
“Youwerewillingtodietosavesomeoneyoulove,”Fagbenlesaid,movinginalittlecloser.“Howmuchofastretchisittobelieveyou’dkill?”
Therewasmovementallaroundthem—peopleinandout—butSimonandFagbenlesawnoneofthat.
“Ihaveanidea,Detective.”
“I’mallears.”
“MywifewasshotbyamannamedLuther.”Simongavehimthesamedescriptionhe’dalreadygiventwicenow.“Whydon’tyouguysfindandarresthim?”
“Wealreadydid.”
“Wait,youcaughthim?”
“Itwasn’treallyhard.Wejustfollowedthebloodtrail.Wefoundhimunconsciousabouttwoblocksaway.”
“Thebigguy,Rocco,hetookhimoutofthebasement.Hewascarryinghim.”
“RoccoCanard.Yeah,weknowhim.Gangaffiliated.LutherRitz—that’shislastname,bytheway—workedforRocco.SodidAaron.Roccoprobablytriedtohidehim.Whenhesawthebloodtrail,Roccodumpedhiminanalley.Atleastthat’sourtheory.Wewillneedyoutoidentifytheguytomakesurehe’syourshooter.”
“Okay,”Simonsaid.“Howbadwashehit?”
“He’lllive.”
“Didhesayanythingonthewayin?”
“Yeah,”Fagbenlesaid,flashingthesmile,“hesaidyouandIngridshothim.”
“That’salie.”
“Thatmuchweknow.ButIstilldon’tunderstandwhathappened.Whydidheshoot?”
“Idon’tknow.WewerejusttalkingtoRoccoand—”
“Youandyourwife?”
“Yes.”
“Soyoutwo,what,justwaltzedintothisdrugdenandstartedchattingupagangleader?”
“Likeyousaid,Detective:whatwedotohelpalovedone.”
Fagbenleseemedtolikethatanswer.“Goon.”
Simontoldhimwhathappened,leavingoutonlyonekeyaspect.
“AndthenLutherjuststartedfiringatyou?”
“Yes.”
“Nowarning?”
“None.”
“Thereyougo.”Anotherflashofteeth.“Occam’srazoragain.”
“Howso?”Simonasked.
“Roccoisadrugdealer.LutherandAaronbothworkedforhim.That’saworldloadedwithviolence.Aaronendsupdead,Luthershootsatyouguys—speakingofwhich,whoshotLuther?”
Amanploppeddowninthemoldedyellowseatacrossfromthem.Hewasholdingabandageonhishead.Bloodoozedthroughthegauze.
“Simon?”
“What?”
“Yourwifeishitwithabullet.Youdivetocoverher.Lutherisgoingtofinishyouoff.Sowhostoppedhim?”
“Ididn’tseeanyone,”hesaid.
Fagbenleheardsomethinginhistone.“Ididn’taskifyousawanyone.IaskedwhosavedyoufromLuther.”
ButjustthenAnyacamesprintingintotheroom.Simonstoodashisdaughterwrappedherarmsaroundhim,nearlyknockinghimover.Heclosedhiseyesandheldherclose,willingthetearstostayback.Anyaburiedherfaceinhischest.
“Mom…”shemuffle-cried.
Healmostsaid,“It’sgoingtobeokay”or“She’llbefine,”buthesawnoreasontotellmorelies.Hiseyesopened.YvonnecrossedtheroomandkissedhischeekashestillheldAnya.
“RobertisonhiswaytogetSam,”shesaid.
“Thankyou.”
Thenamaninhospitalscrubscameintotheroom.“SimonGreene?”
Anyaslowlyreleasedhergripandfreedherfather.
“Righthere.”
“Followme,please.Thedoctorwillseeyounow.”
ChapterTwelve
Youoftenhearthataphysician’sbedsidemannerismoreorlessirrelevant.Thetheoryseemstosuggestthatyoujustwantsomeonewhocoldly,mechanically,roboticallydoesthejob,whodoesn’tgetdistractedbyemotion,wholivesbythatoldsawthatyou’dratherhaveasurgeonwhocutsstraightandcaresless.
Ingrid,Simonknew,believedtheopposite.
Youwantarealperson—acaring,empathicperson—tobeyourphysician.Youwantapersonwhoseesyouasafellowhumanbeingwhoisscaredandhurtingandinneedofreassuranceandcomfort.ItwasaresponsibilityIngridtookveryseriously.Whenaparentbroughttheirchildtoseeher—well,stepbackandthinkaboutit:Whenareyouevermorevulnerable?You’restressed,you’reterrified,you’reconfused.Physicianswhodonotunderstandthat,whoactasthoughyouareananatomicalobjectinneedofrepairlikeaMacBookvisitingtheGeniusBararegoingtonotonlymaketheexperiencemoremiserablebuttheywillmisssomethinginthediagnosis.
Sometimes,likerightnow,youarescaredandhurtingandstressedandterrifiedandconfusedasyoutakeaseatacrossfromaphysicianwhospeakswordsthatwillchangeyourlifelikenoothers.Theycouldbetheworstwordsintheworldorthebestwordsor,asinthiscase,somewhereinbetween.
SoIngridwouldreallylikeDr.HeatherGrewe,whooozedbothexhaustionandempathy.Grewetriedtobreakitdown,aimingforacombinationofreal-worldterminologyandmedicaljargon.Simonfocusedonthebottomline.
Ingridwasstillalive.
Barely.
Shewasinacoma.
Thenexttwenty-fourhourswouldbecrucial.
Simonnoddedalong,butsomewherethedoctor’swordshaduntetheredhim.Hewastryingtoholdon,buthewasfloatingaway.Yvonne,whosatnexttohim,remainedfirmlygrounded.Sheaskedfollow-upquestions,probablygoodones,buttheydidn’tchangethemeaningorclarifythemurkydiagnosis.Thisisanotherthingyoulearnaboutdoctors.Wemaythinktheyaregodssometimes,butthelimitsofwhattheyknoworcandoarebothastoundingandhumbling.
TheywerecloselymonitoringIngrid’scondition,buttherewasnothingtodorightnowbutwait.Dr.Greweroseandextendedherhand.Simonroseandshookit.SodidYvonne.Therewerenovisitorsallowedyetsotheystumbledbackdownthecorridortowardthewaitingroom.
FagbenlecutSimonoffandpulledhimaside.
“Ineedsomethingfromyou,”Fagbenlesaid.
Simon,stillreeling,managedanod.“Okay.”
“Ineedyoutolookatsomething.”
HehandedSimonasheetofcardboardwithsixphotographsonit,threeinthetoprow,threeonthebottom.Theywereallheadshotsandunderneatheachheadshotwasanumber.
“Iwantyoutostudythiscarefullyandtellmeif—”
“NumberFive,”Simonsaid.
“Letmefinish.Iwantyoutostudythiscarefullyandtellmeifyourecognizeanyofthesemen.”
“IrecognizeNumberFive.”
“HowdoyouknowNumberFive?”
“He’sthemanwhoshotmywife.”
Fagbenlenodded.“I’dlikeyoutomakeaformalIDinperson.”
“This”—Simonpointedtothecardboardsheet—“isn’tenough?”
“Ithinkitwouldalsobebettertodoitinperson.”
“Idon’twanttoleavemywiferightnow.”
“Youdon’thaveto.Thesuspectisheretoo—recoveringfromthegunshot.Comeon.”
Fagbenlestarteddownthecorridor.SimonlookedbackatYvonne,whonoddedforhimtogo.Thewalkwasn’tfar,justtotheendofthecorridor.
“DidyoucatchRoccotoo?”Simonasked.
“Webroughthimin,yeah.”
“Whatdidhesay?”
“Youandyourwifecameintohisestablishment,hehadhisbackturned,thereweregunshots,heran.Hehasnoideawhofiredorwhogotshotoranyofthat.”
“That’sbullshit.”
“Really?Rocco,aleadingdrugdealer,islyingtous?Wow,Iforoneamshocked.”
“Didyouaskhimaboutmydaughter?”
“Doesn’tknowher.‘Whitegirlsalllookthesametome,’hesaid,‘especiallyjunkies.’”
Simondidn’twince.“Canyouholdhim?”
“Onwhatcharge?YouyourselfsaidRocconeverattackedyou,right?”
“Right.”
“Lutherwastheonewhopulledthetrigger.Speakingofwhich.”
Hestoppedinfrontofaroomwithauniformedcopsittingbythedoor.“Hey,Tony,”Fagbenlesaid.
TonytheguardlookedatSimon.
“Who’sthis?”
“Thevic’shusband.”
“Oh.”TonytheguardnoddedtowardSimon.“Sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“He’sheretomakeanID,”Fagbenlesaid.“Assumetheperpisstillout?”
“Nah,he’sawake.”
“Sincewhen?”
“Five,tenminutesago.”
FagbenleturnedtoSimon.“Probablynotagoodideatodothisnow.”
“Whynot?”
“Protocol.Mostwitnessesarescaredtobeface-to-facewiththeperp.”
Simonfrowned.“Let’sjustdothis.”
“Itdoesn’tbotheryouthathe’llseeyou?”
“Hesawmewhenheshotmywife.YouthinkIcare?”
Fagbenleshruggedasuit-yourselfandpushedopenthedoor.AtelevisionplayedsomethinginSpanish.Luthersatupinthebed,hisshoulderwrapped.HegaveSimonascowlandsaid,“What’shedoinginhere?”
“Oh,soyouknowthisman?”Fagbenleasked.
Luther’seyesshiftedleftandright.“Uh…”
FagbenleturnedtoSimon.“Mr.Greene?”
“Yes,he’sthemanwhoshotmywife.”
“That’salie!”
“You’recertain?”Fagbenleasked.
“Yes,”Simonsaid,“I’mcertain.”
“Theyshotme!”Luthershouted.
“Didthey,Luther?”
“Yeah.He’saliar.”
“Wheredidtheyshootyouexactly?”
“Intheshoulder.”
“No,Luther,Imeangeographicallocation.”
“Huh?”
Fagbenlerolledhiseyes.“Theplace,Luther.”
“Oh,inthatbasement.InRocco’slot.”
“Sowhydidwefindyouhidinginanalleytwoblocksaway?”
Youcouldseethedumbstampedalloverhim.“Uh,Iran.Fromhim.”
“Andhidinanalleyevenwhenthepolicecamesearchingforyou?”
“Hey,Idon’tlikecops,that’sall.”
“Great,thanksforconfirmingthatyouwereattheshootingscene,Luther.Reallyhelpsuswrapthisallup.”
“Ididn’tshootnobody.Yougotnoproof.”
“Doyouownagun,Luther?”
“No.”
“Neverfiredone?”
“Agun?”Hegotacageylook.“Maybeonce,likeyearsago.”
“Man,Luther,don’tyouwatchTV?”
“What?”
“Likeeverycopshow.”
Lutherlookedconfused.
“There’salwaysthepartwheresomemoronicperpsays,‘Ineverfiredthegun,’youknow,likeyoujustdid,andthenthecopsaystheyranagunshotresiduetest—thisringinganybells,Luther?—andtheyfindresidue,usuallyintheformofgunpowderparticles,onthemoronicperp’shandsandclothes.”
Luther’sfacelostcolor.
“And,see,oncetheyhaveallthat,thecops—thatwouldbeme—havetheguydeadtorights.Wehavewitnessesandgunresidueandscientificproofourmoronicperpisaliar.It’soverforhim.Heusuallyconfessesandtriestocutadeal.”
Luthersatbackandblinked.
“Youwanttotelluswhyyoudidit?”
“Ididn’tdoit.”
Fagbenlesighed.“You’rereallyboringusnow.”
“Whydon’tyouaskhimwhy?”Lutherasked.
“Pardon?”
LuthertiltedhischintowardSimon.“Askhim.”
Simontookdeepbreaths.He’dbeenblockingsinceheenteredtheroom,butnowitallcamecrashingdownonhim.Ingrid,thewomanhelovedlikenoother,wasnearby,inthisverybuilding,clingingtolifebecauseofthispieceofshit.Withoutconsciousthought,Simontookasteptowardthebed,raisinghishandstothrottletheuselessturd,thisnothing,thisworthlessdungwhohadtriedtosnuffoutthelifeofsuchawonderful,vibrantbeing.
FagbenleputanarmouttokeepSimonincheck,moreamentalblockadethanaphysicalone.HemetSimon’seyesandgaveanunderstandingbutfirmshakeofthehead.
“WhatshouldIaskhim,Luther?”Fagbenleasked.
“WhatweretheytwodoingatRocco’s,huh?Let’ssayIdiddoit.Notreally,butlikepretend,likewhat’stheword…hypodermically,let’ssayIdidit.”
Fagbenletriednottofrown.“Goforit.”
“MaybeRocconeedsprotection.”
“WhywouldRocconeedprotection?”
“Don’tknow.I’mtalkinghypodermically.”
“SoRoccotoldyoutoshootDr.Greene?”
“Doctor?”Hesatup,wincing.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Ididn’tshootnodoctor.Youain’tpinningthatonme.”HepointedatSimon.“Ijustshothisoldlady.”
Simondidn’tknowwhetherheshouldburstoutpunchingorlaughing.Againthesheeroutrageofthesituation—thateventhisworthlesssliceofnothinghasthepowertodestroysomethingasvitalandcherishedandlovedasIngrid—consumedhim,makinghimrealizethattherewasnothingjustinthisworld,nocontrol,nocenterforce,justrandomchaos.Hewantedtokillthispunk,stomphimoutlikethebugthathewas,exceptnobugcouldeverbethiscallousandharmful,soyes,stompoutthisnothingforthegoodofmankind—muchgained,nothinglost.Andyethesuddenlyfeltexhaustedbythenotion,thatintheendtherewasnopointindoingeventhat.Itwasallabigfuckingjoke.
“Iwasjustprotectingmyboss,”Luthersaid.“Self-defense,youknowwhatI’msaying?”
Simonfelthisphonevibrate.Heglancedatthescreen.ItwasfromYvonne:
WecanseeIngridnow.
***
WhenSimonfirstenteredherroom,whenhefirstsawIngridonthatbed,stillerthansleep,tubeseverywhere,gurglingmachines—whenhefirstsawallofthat,hiskneesbuckledandhisbodyfelltowardthefloor.Hedidn’tcatchhimself.Heprobablycouldhave,probablycouldhavereachedoutandgrabbedthewheelchairaccessibilitybaronhisright.Buthedidn’t.Helethimselflandandlandhardandlethimselfhavethesilentscream,thatmoment,becauseheknewthatheneededit.
Whenthatwasover,heroseandtherewerenomoretears.HesatnexttoIngridandheldherhandandtalkedtoher.Hedidn’twillhertoliveortellherhowmuchhelovedheroranyofthat.IfIngridcouldhear,shewouldn’twantthosewords.Shewasn’tbigonmelodramaforonething,butmorethanthat,shewouldn’twanthimexpressingthoughtslikethiswhenshecouldn’treciprocateoratleastcomment.Declarationsofloveorlosswithnoresponseweremeaninglesstoher.Itwaslikeplayingcatchwithyourself.Ithadtogotwoways.
Sohetalkedaboutgeneralstuff—hiswork,herwork,theremodelingofthekitchenthatmightonedayhappen(ormorelikely,not),aboutpoliticsandthepastandafewfavoritememoriesheknewshelikedtobathein.ThatwasalsoIngrid.Shelikedwhenherepeatedcertainstories.Shewasthekindwholisteneddeeply,withherentirebeing,andasmilewouldcometoherlipsandhecouldseethatshewasbacktherewithhim,relivingthemomentwithaclarityfewpeoplecouldexperience.
Butofcourse,therewasnosmileonherfacetoday.
Atsomepoint—Simoncouldn’tsayhowmuchtimehadpassed—Yvonneputherhandonhisshoulder.“Tellmewhathappened,”shesaid.“Everything.”
Sohedid.
Yvonnekepthereyesonhersister’sface.SheandIngridhadtakensuchdifferentpaths,andmaybethatexplainedtherift.Ingridhadchosensomethingofahighlifetostart—themodeling,thetravel,someexperimentationwithdrugsthatoddlymadeherlesssympathetictoPaige,notmore—whereasYvonnehadalwaysbeenmorethedutifultype-Adaughterwhostudiedhardandlovedherparentsandstayedonthestraightandnarrow.
Intheend,Ingridhaddiscovered,assheputit,thatsearchingthewholeworldjustmakesyoufindhome.She’dcomebackanddoneayearofwhatwascalled“post-baccalaureate”atBrynMawrCollege,soastocraminallherpre-medrequirements.WiththesortofdeterminationandsinglefocusthatYvonnewouldundoubtedlyadmireinanotherperson,Ingridexcelledthroughmedschool,residency,andinternship.
“Youcan’tstayhere,”Yvonnesaidwhenhefinished.
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“I’llsitwithIngrid.Butyoucan’tjustsithere,Simon.YouhavetogofindPaige.”
“Ican’tleavenow.”
“Youhaveto.Youhavenochoice.”
“Wealwayspromised…”Simonstopped.Hewasn’tgoingtoexplaintoYvonnewhatshealreadyknew.HeandIngridwerelikeone.Ifoneofthemgotsick,theotherwasgoingtobethere.Thatwastherule.Thatwaspartofthebargaininallthis.
Yvonneunderstood,butshestillshookherhead.“Ingridisgoingtowakeupfromthis.Orshe’snot.Andifshewakesup,she’sgoingtowanttoseePaige’sface.”
Hedidn’treply.
“Youcan’tfindherifyou’resittinghere.”
“Yvonne—”
“Ingridwouldtellyouthatifshecould,Simon.Youknowthis.”
Ingrid’shandfeltlifelessnow,nofeelofbloodpumpingthroughit.Simonstaredathiswife,willinghertogivehimsomekindofanswerorsign,butsheseemedtobegrowingsmaller,fadingaway,rightinfrontofhiseyes.Thisdidn’tseemtobeIngridinthisbedanymore,justanemptybody,asifherbeinghadalreadyfledthebuilding.Hewasn’tna?veenoughtothinkthesoundofPaige’svoicecouldbringIngridback,buthesureasshitdidn’tthinkhimsittingtherewoulddoiteither.
SimonletgoofIngrid’shand.“BeforeIgo,I’llneedto—”
“Igotthekids.Igotthebusiness.IgotIngrid.Go.”
ChapterThirteen
NighthadpassedanditwasnearlydaybreakwhenthecardroppedSimonbackoffbythoseconcreteblocksintheBronx.Therewasnooneonthestreet—nooneawakeanyway.Twoguysweresleepingonthesidewalkinfrontoftheovergrown,abandonedlot,scantfeetfromwhereheandIngridhadentered,what,justafewhoursago.Someonehadhunguppolicetape,butit’dbeentorndownthemiddle,flyinginthepredawnbreeze.
Simonreachedthedecrepitfour-floorbricktenementhousethathisdaughterhadcalledhome.Heheadedbackinsidethistimewithnohesitationorfear.Hestartedupthestairsbutstoppedonthesecondfloorratherthanheadinguptothethird.Itwasn’tquitesixa.m.Simonhadn’tslept,ofcourse.Hefeltrattledandjuiceduponsomethingthatheknewwouldebboutofhimsoon.
Heknockedonthedoorandwaited.Hefiguredthathemightbewakinghimup,buthedidn’tmuchcare.Tensecondslater,nomore,thedooropened.Corneliuslookedasthoughhehadn’tsleptmucheither.Thetwomenlookedateachotherforalongmoment.
“Howisshe?”Corneliusasked.
“Critical.”
“Bettercomeinside.”
Simonwasn’tsurewhatheexpectedwhenhesteppedintoCornelius’sapartment—somethinglikethedirtyhovelPaigehadcalledhome—buttheinteriorwaslikesteppingthroughamagicportalintoanotherworld.TheplacecouldhavebeenfeaturedononeofthosehomeTVshowsIngridlovedtowatch.Built-inoakbookshelvesframedthewindowsonthefarwall.AclassicVictoriantuftedsofaofgreensattotheright.Theembroideredaccentpillowshadbotanicalthemes.Printsofbutterflieshungtotheleft.Achesssetsatatopanornatewoodtableandforamoment,SimoncouldalmostseePaigesittingtherewithCornelius,thewayherbrowwouldfurrowandshe’dplaywithherhairwhensheconcentratedonamove.
Acockerspanielburstaroundthecorner,tailwaggingsohardshecouldbarelykeepherbalance.Corneliusscoopedherupandheldherclose.“ThishereisChloe.”
Therewerephotographsinfrontofthebooksontheshelves.Familyphotographs.Lotsofthem.Simonmovedtowardthemforabetterlook.Hestoppedatthefirstphotograph,astandardfamilyshotinfrontofarainbowbackdrop—ayoungerCornelius,awomanwholookedtobehiswife,andthreesmilingteenageboys,twoofwhomwerealreadytallerthanCornelius.
Corneliusputdownthedogandjoinedhim.
“Thispicturegottabeeight,tenyearsold.MeandTanya,weraisedthreeboyshereinthisapartment.They’regrownnow.Tanya…shepassedtwoyearsago.Breastcancer.”
“I’msorry,”Simonsaid.
“Doyouwanttosit?Youlookexhausted,man.”
“IfIsit,I’mafraidI’mnotgoingtogetbackup.”
“Mightnotbeabadidea.Youneedsomerestifyouwanttokeepgoing.”
“Maybelater.”
Corneliusplacedthefamilyphotographdowngently,asthoughitwereexceedinglyfragile,andpointedtoaportraitofaMarineinuniform.
“ThishereisEldon.He’souroldest.”
“AMarine.”
“Yes.”
“Helookslikeyou.”
“Thathedoes.”
“Youserve,Cornelius?”
“AMarinecorporal.FirstPersianGulfWar.OperationDesertStorm.”CorneliusturnedandfacedSimonfull-on.“Youdon’tseemsurprised.”
“I’mnot.”
Corneliusrubbedhischin.“Didyouseeme?”
“Justaflash.”
“Butenoughtofigureitout?”
“IthinkIwouldhaveguessedanyway,”Simonsaid.“Idon’tknowhowtothankyou.”
“Don’t.IsawLutherheadingin,soIfollowedhim.ShouldhavetakenhimoutbeforeheshotIngrid.”
“Yousavedourlives.”
Corneliusglancedbackoveratthefamilyphotos,asthoughtheimagesmightimpartsomekindofwisdomtohim.“Sowhyareyoubackhere?”heasked.
“Youknowwhy.”
“TofindPaige.”
“Yes.”
“Shewenttheretoo.Tothatbasement.Sameasyou.”Corneliusmovedtowardthefarcorner.“Ineversawherafterthat.”
“AndthenAaronendedupdead.”
“Yes.”
“DoyouthinktheykilledPaige?”
“Idon’tknow.”Corneliussquatteddown.Heopenedacabinet,revealingasafe.“Butyoushouldbepreparedforbadnews,nomatterhowthisshakesout.”
“Iam,”Simonsaid.
Corneliuspressedhisthumbagainstthedoor.Simonheardthebeep-beepasthesafereadhisprints.Thedooropened.“Andyoushouldn’tgointhistimewithoutbackup.”
Hereachedinsideandpulledouttwohandguns.Hestoodupandshutthecabinet.HehandedoneweapontoSimonandkepttheotherforhimself.
“Youdon’thavetodothis,”Simonsaid.
“Youdidn’tcomeherejusttothankme,didyou?”
“No.”
“Let’sgofindRocco.”
***
TheJudgeLesterPattersonHouseswasoneofthecity’soldestandlargestlow-incomehousingcomplexes,featuringfifteenmonotonoushigh-risesoftiredbrick.Thecomplexsatonmorethanseventeenacresandhousedmorethaneighteenhundredfamilies.
Corneliusledtheway.TheelevatorsinBuilding6wereoutofordersotheytookthestairs.Thehourwasearly,buttheplacewasalive.Thestairwellswerefilledwithlaughingkidsgettingreadyforschool.Adultsbegantheirdailytrekstothenearbybusandsubwaystopsfortheworkcommute.Mosteveryonewasleaving,headingdownthestairs,sothatCorneliusandSimonhadtoswimupstream,twosalmonontheirwaytotheeighthfloor.
Rocco’smotherandsiblingslivedinapartment8C.Twochildrensprintedoutthedoor,leavingitopen.Simonrappedhisknucklesonthedoor,andawoman’svoicetoldhimtocomein.
Simonentered.Corneliusstayedbythedoor.RoccorosefromaBarcaloungerandstartedtowardhim.AgainSimonwastakenabackbythepuresizeoftheman.Awomancameoutofthekitchen.
“Who’sthis?”sheasked.
RoccostareddaggersatSimon.“Don’tworryaboutit,Mama.”
“Don’ttellmenottoworryaboutit.Thisismyhouse.”
“Igotit,Mama.He’sjustleaving.”RoccosteppedrightuptoSimon,spreadingouttohisfullsize.Simonwaseyetoeyewithhispectorals.“Aren’tyou?”
SimontiltedsohecouldseepastRocco,whichwasnoeasytask.“I’mlookingformydaughter,”hesaidtoRocco’smother.“Ithinkyoursonmayknowwheresheis.”
“Rocco?”
“Don’tlistentohim,Mama.”
Butshewasn’thavinganyofthat.Ashismotherstrodetowardhim,thebigmanseemedtowither.“Doyouknowwherethisman’sdaughteris?”
“Idon’t,Mama.”Hesoundedlikeaten-year-oldnow.“I’mtellingthetruth.”
NowsheturnedonSimon.“Whatmakesyouthinkheknows,mister?”
“Letmetalktohimasecond,Mama.”Roccostartedmovingthemtowardthedoor.“Igotthis.”
RoccousedhisbulktoshoveSimonbackintothecorridor,followedhimout,andclosedthedoorbehindhim.“Notcool,man—comingtomymama’s.”HespottedCornelius.“Whatthefuckareyoudoinghere?”
“Justhelpinghimout.”
Roccosnappedhisfingersandpointedathim.“NowIgetit.You’retheonewhosenthimtomeinthefirstplace.Getthefuckoutofhere,bothofyou.”
Simondidn’tmove.“Rocco?”
Thebigmanlookeddownathim.“What?”
“Mywifeisinacomafightingtosurvive.Shegotshotinyourbasementbyyourman.Mydaughterismissing.Thelastplaceanyonesawherwasalsoinyourbasement.”Simondidn’tflinchorwaverorevenmove.“I’mnotgoinganywhereuntilyoutellmeeverythingyouknow.”
“YouthinkI’mscaredofyou?”
“Youshouldbe,”Corneliussaid.
“Why’sthat?”
“Lookathim,Rocco.He’sadesperateman.Yousmartenoughtoknowitdon’tpaytomesswithadesperateman.”
Roccodidindeedlookathim.Simonheldhisgaze.
“I’lltellthepoliceyouorderedLuthertoshootus,”Simonsaid.
“What?Youknowthatisn’ttrue.”
“YoucalledoutLuther’sname.”
“Tostophim,man.Ididn’twanthimtoshoot!”
“Idon’tknowthat.Ithinkitwasanorder.Ithinkyoutoldhimtoshootus.”
“Ah,Isee.”Roccospreadhishands.HelookedatSimonandthenatCornelius.“Sothat’showitis,isit?”
Corneliusshrugged.
“Ijustwanttofindmydaughter,”Simonsaid.
Roccodidalet-me-think-about-itheadroll.“Okay,fine,butthenIwantyougone.”
Simonnodded.
“Yeah,shecametome.Paige,Imean.Shecametothebasement.Icouldseerightawaythatsomeonehadbeatenherup.”
“Didshesaywho?”
“Ididn’thavetoask.Iknew.”
“Aaron.”
Roccodidn’tbotherreplying.
“SowhydidLuthershootatus?”
“Becausehe’scrazy.”
Simonshookhishead.“There’sgottabemoretoitthanthat.”
“Ididn’ttellhimtodoit.”
“Whodid?”
“Look,man,thebusinessI’min—itisn’taneasyone.Alwayssomeonetryingtomoveinonus.Aaron,yeah,hewasashitbag.Buthewasoneofus.Wefigurearival,shallwesay,‘enterprise’tookhimout.MaybetheFidels.”
“Fidels?”
Corneliussaid,“Cubangang,”andeveninthemiddleofallthis,withhiswifefightingforherlifeandhisdaughterGodknowswhere,Simonlaughedoutloud.Thesoundechoedinthecorridor.Peopleturnedandstared.
“You’rekiddingme.”
“I’mnot.”
“ACubangangcalledtheFidels?”
Corneliusletasmilehithislips.“Theleader’snameisCastro.”
“You’remakingthatup.”
“SweartoGod.”
SimonspunbacktowardRocco.“WhydidPaigecometoyouafterthisbeating?”
“Whydoyouthink?”
“Forafix,”Simonsaid.“Didyougiveittoher?”
“Shedidn’thaveanymoney.”
“Isthatano?”
“I’mnotacharity,”Roccosaid.
“Sowhatnext?”
“Sheleft,man.NextthingIknow,Aaronisdead.”
“DoyouthinkPaigedidit?”
“SmartmoneyisontheFidels,”hesaid.“Butyeah,Ithinkthere’sachancePaigekilledhim.Ormaybeyoudidit,man.Maybethat’swhatLutherwasthinking.LutherwastherewhenPaigecamein.Thinkaboutit.Let’ssayI’mafather.IfsomedudehurtmydaughterthewayAaronhurtyours,I’dgetrevenge.Somaybethat’syourplay.”
“What’smyplay?”
“MaybeyoukilledAaron.Andnowyou’relookingforyourdaughtertocompletetherescue.”
“That’snotmyplay,”Simonsaid.
Buthekindofwishedthatitwas.Roccowasright.Ifsomeonehurtsyourdaughter,afatherhasanobligationtostophim,nomatterwhat.Simonhadn’t.He’dletPaigeslipaway,tryingtothrowheruselesslifelinesinsteadofdoingwhatamanshoulddo.
Anythingtorescuehischild.
Protecther.Saveher.
Somefatherhe’dturnedouttobe.
“She’sprobablyaroundheresomewhere,”Roccosaid.“Youcanlookforher,man,Ican’tblameyoufortrying.Butshe’sajunkie.Evenifyoufindher,thisstorywon’thaveahappyending.”
***
Corneliusledthewaybacktohisapartment.Whenheclosedthedoorbehindthem,Simonreachedintohiscoatpocketandtookoutthegun.
“Here,”Simonsaid,holdingitouttowardhim.
“Keepit.”
“Yousure?”
“I’msure,”Corneliussaid.
“DoyouthinkRoccowillbeabletofindher?”
“Withthatrewardmoney?”
SimonhadendedupmakingasimpleoffertoRocco:FindPaigeandget$50,000.
“Yeah,”Corneliussaid.“Ifshe’sstilldownhere,he’llfindher.”
TherewasaknockonCornelius’sdoor.
“Putthatgunbackinyourpocket,”Corneliuswhispered.Thenraisinghisvoice:“Who’sthere?”
Whatsoundedlikealittleoldladywithanaccent—Polish,Russian,EasternEuropeanmaybe—said,“It’sLizzy,Mr.Cornelius.”
Corneliusopenedthedoor.Thewomanwasasvoice-advertised—smallandold.Sheworeastrangewhitegownofsomesort,longandflowing,almostsomethingyou’dweartobed.Hergrayhairrandownherback,looseandunkempt.Thehairseemedtobeswayingfromabreeze,eventhoughtherewasnone.
“SomethingIcandoforyou,MissSobek?”Corneliussaid.
TheoldwomanpeeredaroundCorneliuswithherhugeeyesandspottedSimon.“Whoareyou?”sheaskedhim.
“MynameisSimonGreene,ma’am.”
“Paige’sfather,”Corneliusadded.
TheoldwomangaveSimonalooksoheavyhealmoststeppedback.“Youcanstillsaveher,youknow.”
Herwordschilledhim.
“DoyouknowwherePaigeis?”Simonasked.
MissSobekshookherhead,thelonggrayhairdancingacrossherfacelikeabeadcurtain.“ButIknowwhatsheis.”
Corneliusclearedhisthroat,tryingtomovethisalong.“Didyouwantsomething,MissSobek?”
“Someoneisupstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Onthethirdfloor.Awoman.ShejustsneakedintoPaige’sapartment.Ithoughtyou’dwanttoknow.”
“Didyourecognizeher?”
“Neverseenherbefore.”
“Thankyou,MissSobek.I’llgocheckrightnow.”
CorneliusandSimonsteppedbackintothecorridor.MissSobekhurriedaway.
“Whydidshecometoyouwiththis?”Simonasked,followinghimdownthecorridor.
“I’mnotjustatenant.”
“You’rethesuper?”
“I’mtheowner.”
Theyheadedupthestairsanddownthehall.Theyellowtapeontheapartmentdoor—blockingoffthemurderscene,Simonremindedhimself—wastorn.Corneliusreachedoutfortheknob.Simonrealizedthathehad—intentionally?subconsciously?—puthishandontheguninhispocket.Isthatwhathappenswhenyoucarry?Isitalwaysthere,byyourside,likesomekindofpacifierthatcalmsorgivescomfortinstressfulsituations?
Corneliusflungthedooropen.Awomanstoodthere.Ifshewasstartledbytheirinterruption,shewasdoingagoodjobofkeepingittoherself.Shewasshortandsquat,maybeLatina,withablueblazerandjeans.
Shespokefirst.“AreyouSimonGreene?”
“Whoareyou?”
“MynameisElenaRamirez.I’maprivatedetective.Ineedtotalktoyourdaughter.”
***
ElenaRamirezshowedthemafancyembossedbusinesscard,aprivateinvestigator’slicenseofsomekind,andanIDshowingshewasaretiredFBIagent.TheywereallbackinCornelius’sapartmentnow.ThetwomensatinleatherarmchairswhileElenaRamireztookthegreentuftedsofa.
“Sowhereisyourdaughter,Mr.Greene?”sheasked.
“Idon’tunderstand.Yourcardsaysyou’refromChicago.”
“That’scorrect.”
“Sowhydoyouwanttotalktomydaughter?”
“ItinvolvesacaseI’mworkingon,”Ramirezsaid.
“Whatcase?”
“ThatIcan’tsay.”
“MissRamirez?”
“PleasecallmeElena.”
“Elena,I’mnotreallyupforgames.Idon’tcarewhatyourcaseisandIdon’thaveanyreasontobecagey,soI’mgoingtobeforthrightandIhopeyouwillbetoo.Idon’tknowwheremydaughteris.That’swhyI’mhere.I’mtryingtolocateher.Ibasicallyhavenoleadsotherthanthefactthatshe’sprobablygettinghighwithinaone-square-mileradiusofwherewenoware.Followingmesofar?”
“Youbet,”Elenasaid.
“Sonowyoucomealong—aprivateeyefromChicagonoless—andwanttotalktomydaughter.I’dloveyoutotalktoher.There’snothingI’dlikemore,infact.Somaybewecanhelpeachotheroutbycooperating?”
Simon’sphonebuzzed.Hehaditinhishand,constantlycheckingforanytextupdates,feelingthatphantomvibrationthingeverytenseconds.Thisonewasreal.
Yvonnetexted:
Stabilizing,whichdoctorsaysisgood.Movedtoaprivateroom.Stillinacoma.SamandAnyawithus.
“JusttomakesureI’mfollowing,”ElenaRamirezsaid,“yourdaughterismissing.Isthatcorrect?”
Simonstillhadhiseyesonthephone’sscreen.“Yes.”
“Sincewhen?”
Therewasnothingtogainbybeingcoy.“Sinceherboyfriendwasmurdered.”
ElenaRamireztookhertime,crossedherarms,thoughtitover.
Simonsaid,“Elena?”
“I’mlookingforamissingpersontoo.”
“Who?”
“Atwenty-four-year-oldmalewhodisappearedfromtheChicagoarea.”
Corneliusspokeforthefirsttimesincetheysatdown.“Howlonghashebeenmissing?”
“SincelastThursday.”
Simonasked,“Whoisit?”
“Ican’tdivulgethename.”
“Forcryingoutloud,Elena,ifyourmissingtwenty-four-year-oldissomeonemydaughterknows,maybewecanhelp.”
ElenaRamirezconsideredthatforamoment.“HisnameisHenryThorpe.”
Simonpickeduphisphoneandstartedtyping.
“Whatareyoudoing?”sheasked.
“Idon’trecognizethename.I’mcheckingwithmysonandotherdaughter.They’dhaveabetterhandleonPaige’sfriends.”
“Idon’tthinkPaigeandHenrywerefriends.”
“Sowhatistheconnectionbetweenthem?”
ElenaRamirezshrugged.“That’spartofwhyI’mhere.Totrytofindout.Withoutgoingintofulldetail,itseemsthatnotlongbeforehevanished,HenryThorpewasintouchwitheitheryourdaughterorperhapsherboyfriend,AaronCorval.”
“Intouchhow?”
Shetookoutasmallnotepad,lickedherfingers,startedpagingthroughit.“Therewasaphonecallfirst.Fromyourdaughter’sphonetoHenry’s.Thiswastwoweeksago.Thenthereweretextsforawhile,followedbyemails.”
“Whatdidthetextsandemailssay?”
“Idon’tknow.Thetextsareontheirphones,Iguess.Wecan’taccessthem.Theemailswerealldeleted.Wecanseesomeweresent,butnothingbeyondthat.”
“Whatmakesyouthinkthesecommunicationsareimportant?”
“Idon’tknowthattheyare,Mr.Greene.ThisiswhatIdo.Whensomeonegoesmissing,Ilookforanomalies—somethingthatdoesn’tfitintotheirnormalroutine.”
“Andtheseemailsandtexts—”
“Anomalies.CanyouthinkofanyreasonHenryThorpe,atwenty-four-year-oldmanfromChicago,wouldsuddenlybeintouchwithyourdaughterorAaronCorval?”
Simondidn’treallyhavetothinkaboutitlong.“DoesHenryThorpehaveahistoryofdruguse?”
“Some.”
“Itcouldbethat.”
“Couldbe,”Elenasaid.“ButyoucanbuydrugsinChicago.”
“Couldbesomethingmoreprofessionalinthatrespect.”
“Couldbe.ButIdon’tthinkso,doyou?”
“No,”Simonsaid.“Andeitherway,mydaughterandyourclientarebothmissing.”
“Yes.”
“SowhatcanIdotohelp?”Simonasked.
“ThefirstthingIaskedmyselfwaswhythecommunicationsmovedfromtextingbyphonetoemailsviaacomputer.”
“And?”
“Andhowintodrugswerethey?Yourdaughterandherboyfriend.”
Simonsawnoreasontolie.“Very.”
Corneliussnappedhisfingers,gettingit.“Paigeprobablysoldherphone.Toraisecashforafix.”HeturnedtoSimon.“Happensallthetimedownhere.”
“Thatphoneisnolongeractive,”Elenaagreed,“sothatwouldbemytheorytoo.”
Simonwasn’tsosure.“SoPaigemovedfromusingaphonetousingacomputer?”
“Yes.”
“Sowhereisthecomputernow?”
“Probablysoldthattoo,”Corneliussaid.
“Thatwouldbemyguess,”Elenasaid.“Shecouldhavetakenitwithherwhenshevanished,Iguess.Orthekillercouldhavestolenit.Butthekeyquestionis,Howdidshegetthecomputerinthefirstplace?Shecouldn’thaveboughtit,right?”
“Unlikely,”Simonsaid.“Imean,ifshewassellingherphonetobuydrugs,whywouldshespendthemoneyonacomputer?”
“Whichmeanssheprobablystoleit.”
Simonjustletthatsitthere.Hisdaughter.Junkie.Sellingherownstuff.Thief.
Andwhatelse?
“Areyougoodwithcomputers,Mr.Greene?”
“Simon.Andno.”
“Ifyouknowwhatyou’redoing—likemytechguy,Lou—youcancheckanIPaddress,”Elenasaid.“Sometimesyoucantrackthecomputerdowntoatownorastreetorevenanindividual.”
“WasLouabletofigureoutwhoownedhercomputer?”
“No,”Elenasaid,“butitcamefromAmherst,Massachusetts.Morespecifically,thecampusofAmherstCollege.Doesn’tyoursongothere?”
ChapterFourteen
AnyawasasleepinoneofthoseyellowmoldedchairswhenSimonandElenaarrivedinthehospitalwaitingroom.HerheadrestedonheruncleRobert’sbowlingballofashoulder.Robert,Yvonne’shusband,wasabigboisterousman,thickallover,amostlybaldex–footballplayerwithaheart-on-his-sleevecharm.Hewasagreatlitigator—jurieslovedhiswinningsmile,hisevery-guybanterthatmaskedanimblelegalmind,hislarger-than-lifepaceduringacross-examination—andotherthanYvonne,RoberthappenedtobeSimon’sclosestfriend.
RobertgentlymovedAnyasothathecouldstandwithoutwakingher.HegreetedSimonwithamonsterbearhug.Robertwasgoodwiththebearhugs,andforamoment,Simonclosedhiseyesandtookitin.
“Youokay?”
“No.”
“Didn’tthinkso.”
Thetwomenletgo.BothlookeddownatthesleepingAnya.
“Theywon’tletanyoneundereighteeninIngrid’sroom,”Robertexplained.
“SoSamis…?”
“HeandYvonneareinwithher,yeah.Roomseven-one-seven.”
Robertglancedawho’s-thistowardElenaRamirez.Simonfiguredthatshecouldexplain,sohepattedRobert’sshoulder,thankedhim,andheadedtowardroom717.Corneliushadstayedathome.Therewasnothingmoreforhimtodo—hehaddonemorethanenoughalready—andhefeltasthoughhistimemightbebetterusedifhestayedinMottHavenas“eyesontheground.”
“Butifyouneedme…”Corneliushadadded,astheyexchangedphoneinformation.
SimonopenedthedoortoIngrid’sroom.Thesoundsgottohimfirst.Thosedamnbeepingmachinesandsuckingsoundsandwhateverothergoddamnclankssignalthedirectoppositeofwarmthandcare.
Hisson,hisbeautifuleighteen-year-oldboy,Sam,satinthechairnexttohismother’sbed.Heturnedtowardhisfather,hisfacesoakedfromtears.Samwasalwaysanemotionalchild,whatIngridlovinglycalled“aneasycry.”Likehisfather.WhenSimon’smotherdiedthreeyearsago,Samhadcriedforhoursstraight,withzeroletup,justsobbingandsobbing,andSimoncouldn’tbelievethattheboycoulddothis,justkeepsobbingfullthrottle,withoutpassingoutfromsheerexhaustion.
Youcouldn’tcomfortSamwhenhewaslikethat.Asemotionalashecouldbe,physicalcontactofanykindmadeitworse.Heneededtobealone,he’dtellthem.Ifyoutriedtostophimorcomforthiminanyway,itbackfired.Evenasasmallchild,Samwouldlookupthroughpleadingeyesandsay,“Justletmegetitout,okay?”
Yvonnestoodbythewindow.ShegaveSimonahalf-heartedsmile.
Simoncrossedtheroom.Heputahandonhisson’sshoulderandbentdowntokisshiswife’scheek.Ingridlookedworsetohim,colorless,fading,likethiswholethingwasoneofthosescenesinamoviewhereDeathisbattlingLifeandrightnowDeathhadtheupperhand.
Hefeltahandreachintohischestandtwisthisheart.
HelookedbackoveratYvonneandsignaledwithaglancetowardthedoorthatheneededhertoleave.Yvonnegotthemessagerightaway.Withoutanotherwordsheslippedoutoftheroom.SimongrabbedachairandpulleditupnexttoSam.SamworearedT-shirtwithaSrirachaHotChiliSaucelogoonit.Samlovedlogotees.IngridhadboughtitforhimtwoweeksagoafterSamhadtoldthemthatthefoodatcollegewasokaybuthehaddiscoveredthatputtingSrirachasauceoneverythingmadeitbetter.Ingridhaddutifullygoneonline,foundaSrirachaT-shirt,andshippedituptohim.
“Youokay?”
WhichwasadumbthingforSimontosay,butwhatelse?Silenttearsstillcascadeddownhisson’sfaceandwhenSimonsaidthosetwowords,Sam’sfacetightenedasthoughholdingbackafreshsurge.SamwassohappyupatAmherst.WherePaigehadbeenslightlyhomesickatcollege—whythehellhadn’ttheypaidmoreattentiontothat?whyhadtheylistenedtoeveryone’sunsolicitedadvicetogiveittimeandnotbesoavailabletoher?—Samtooktofreshmancampuslifeimmediately.Everyonenewthatheencounteredwasthecoolestpersoninthewholeworld.Hisroommate,Carlos,aslackerdudefromAustinwhosportedasoulpatch,wasevencoolerthanthat.Samrightawaysignedupforclubsandintramuralsportsandacademicgroups.
IngridwouldprobablybeannoyedthatSimonhadsnatchedhimawayfromallthat.
Samkepthiseyesonhismother.“Whathappened?”
“Whatdidyourauntanduncletellyou?”
“JustthatMomhadbeenshot.TheysaidI’dhavetowaitforyou.”
YvonneandRoberthaddonetherightthingyetagain.“YouknowwhoAaronis,right?”
“ThatguyPaige…”
“Yes.Hewasmurdered.”
Samblinked.
“AndPaigehasdisappeared.”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“TheylivedtogetherintheBronx.YourmomandIwentdowntoseeifwecouldfindher.That’swhenshegotshot.”
Hefilledhissoninonthedetails,notstopping,nottakingabreath,notlettingupevenwhenSamstartedtogopaleandhisblinkinggotworse.
Atsomepoint,Samsaid,“DoyouthinkPaigedidit?DoyouthinkshekilledAaron?”
ThatstoppedSimoncold.“Whywouldyouaskthat?”
Samjustshrugged.
“Ineedtoaskyousomething,Sam.”
Sam’seyeswanderedbacktohismother’sface.
“HaveyouseenPaigerecently?”
Hedidn’treply.
“Sam,it’simportant.”
“Yes,”hesaidinasoftvoice.“Isawher.”
“When?”
Hewouldn’ttakehiseyesoffhismother.“Sam?”
“Twoweeksagomaybe.”
Thatmadenosense.Samwasatschooltwoweeksago.Therehadbeenonebreakintheschoolyear,buthewashavingsomuchfunoncampushedidn’twanttoleave.Unlessthatwasalie.Unlesshereallydidn’tloveschoolordamnedSrirachahotsauceorCarlosortheintramuralsportsoranyofthat.
“Where?”Simonasked.
“ShecametoAmherst.”
“Paigecametoyourcampus?”
Henodded.“PeterPanBusLines.It’stwenty-fourdollarsfromPortAuthority.”
“Didshecomeupalone?”
Henodded.
“Didyouknowshewascomingup?”
“No.Shedidn’ttellme.Shejust…showedup.”
Simontriedtoenvisionthis—thatcatalogue-picture-readycollegequadwithhealthy-lookingstudentsplayingFrisbeeorloungingwiththeirbooksinthesunbeinginfiltratedbyonewhowouldhavebelongedthereasmuchasanyofthemayearagobutwhowasnowahorriblewarning,likethatwreckedcarapolicestationkeepsaroundtoteachkidsnottodrinkanddrive.
Unless,againunless…
“Howdidshelook?”Simonasked.
“Thesameasinthatvideo.”
Thewordsstompedouthissmallflameofhope.
“Didshetellyouwhyshecameup?”
“ShesaidsheneededtogetawayfromAaron.”
“Didshetellyouwhy?”
Samshookhishead.
“Sowhathappened?”
“Sheaskedifshecouldcrashwithmeforafewdays.”
“Youdidn’ttellus?”
HiseyesstayedonIngrid.“Sheaskedmenotto.”
Simonwantedtosaysomethingmoreaboutthat,aboutnottrustinghisparents,butnowwasnotthetime.“Yourroommatedidn’tmindherstaying?”
“Carlos?Hethoughtitwouldbecool.Likeshewassomeschoolprojecttohelptheunderservedorsomething.”
“Howlongdidshestay?”
Hisvoicewassoft.“Notvery.”
“Howlong,Sam?”
Thetearsstartedpushingthroughhiseyesagain.
“Sam?”
“Longenoughtocleanusout,”hesaid.Thetearscame,flowingdown,buthisvoiceremainedclear.“PaigesleptonCarlos’sblow-upmattressonthefloor.Weallfellasleep.Whenwewokeup,shewasgone.Sowasourstuff.”
“Whatdidshetake?”
“Ourwallets.Ourlaptops.Carloshadadiamondstud.”
“Howcouldyounothavetoldme?”
Hehatedtheirritationinhisvoice.
“Sam?”
Hedidn’treply.
“DidCarlostellhisparents?”
“No.Ihadsomemoney.I’mtryingtomakehimwhole.”
“Tellmehowmuchandwe’llmakehimwholenow.Andwhataboutyou?”
“Icalledyouroffice,”Samsaid.“ItoldEmilyIlostthecreditcard.Shesentmeanother.”
Simonrecalledthatnow.Hehadn’tthoughttwiceaboutit.Visacardswerelostorstolenallthetime.
“I’musingthecomputersinthelibraryfornow.It’snotabigdeal.”
“Howcouldyounottellme?”
Whichagainwasdumbtoharpon,buthecouldn’tstophimself.
Hisson’sfacecollapsed.“It’smyfault,”Samsaid.
“What?No.”
“IfIhadtoldyou—”
“Nothing,Sam.Itwouldn’thavechangedathing.”
“IsMomgoingtodie?”
“No.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.”
Whichwastrueenough.
Hedidn’tprotestorsayanymorelies.Nopoint.Thelieswouldaggravateratherthancomfort.Heglancedtowardthedoor.Yvonnewatchedthemfromthelittlewindowinthedoor.Simonwentoverandagain,whenyou’rethisclosetosomeone,whenyouspendasmuchtimetogetherasheandYvonne,youjustreadtheirmind.
SoSimonlefttheroom,andYvonnetookover.
HefoundElenaRamirezplayingwithherphoneattheendofthecorridor.
“Tellme,”shesaid.
Hedid.
“SothatexplainsPaigeusingthelaptop,”Elenasaid.
“Sowhatnow?”Simonasked.
Elenaactuallymanagedasmile.“Youthinkwe’reateam?”
“Ithinkwecanhelpeachother.”
“Iagree.Ithinkweneedtofindtheconnections.”Elenaplayedwithherphonesomemore.“I’msendingyouthedetailsonAaron’sfamily.Theyarehavingsomekindofmemorialserviceforhiminthemorning.Maybeyoushouldbethere.MaybePaigewillshow.Lookforsomeonehidingnearby.Ifnot,talktothefamily.SeeifyoucanfigureouthowAaronmightknowHenryThorpe.”
“Okay,”Simonsaid.“Whatwillyoubedoing?”
“VisitingsomeoneelseHenryThorpecontacted.”
“Who?”
“Don’thaveaname,”Elenasaid.“Onlyalocation.”
“Where?”
“AtattooparlorinNewJersey.”
ChapterFifteen
TheCorvalInnandFamilyTreeFarmwaslocatedinfareastConnecticut,neartheRhodeIslandborder.Simonarrivedateightthirtya.m.ThememorialserviceforAaron,accordingtoElenaRamirez,wastostartatnine.
TheinnwasawhiteFederal-stylefarmhousewithtastefuladditionsonbothsides.Greenwickerrockingchairslinedthewraparoundporch.AsignreadFAMILYOWNEDSINCE1893.PureNewEnglandpostcard.Ontheright,abusletouttouristsforhayrides.Thebarninthebackwasa“Rootin’Tootin’PettingZoo”promising“pettinginteractions”withgoats,sheep,alpacas,andchickens,thoughSimonwonderedhowspecificallyyouwentaboutpettingachicken.
AtChristmastime,visitorschoppeddowntheirownChristmastrees.InOctober,theysetuptheplaceasthe“HauntedFarm,”completewiththe“HauntedMaze,”the“HauntedSilo,”the“HauntedHayride”(keyword:Haunted)drivenbythe“HauntedHeadlessHorseman.”Therewasalsoseasonalpumpkinandapplepicking.Youcouldmakeyourownciderinthesmallcabinontheright.
Simonparkedthecarandheadedtowardtheinn’sfrontdoor.Anornatesignbythedoorsaid,INNGUESTSONLY.Simonignoreditandenteredthefoyer.ThedecorwasoftheperiodandmoreformalthanSimonwouldhaveexpected.CherrywoodchairswithfannedWindsorbackssatoneithersideofmahoganysetteeswithwingedpawfeet.Thegrandfatherclockstoodnexttotheoversizedfireplacelikeasentinel.Onemahoganybreakfrontdisplayedfinechina,theotherleather-boundbooks.Therewereoldoilportraitsofstern-looking,heartymen—pastpatriarchsoftheCorvalfamily.
“MayIhelpyou?”
Thewomanbehindthedesksmiledathim.SheworeablousecheckeredinthesamedesignasthoseItalianrestaurantsthatweretryingtoohardtobeauthentic.HewonderedwhetherthiswomanwasAaron’smother,butthenhefollowedtheoldoilportraitsuntilhereachedaframedphotographofasmilingcouplecirclingsixtybehindherhead.Aplaqueunderthephotographread:
THECORVALSWileyandEnid
Simonsaid,“I’mhereforthememorialservice.”
Thewomangavehimsuspicious,ifnotstink,eye.“MayIaskyourname?”
“SimonGreene.”
“Idon’tknowyou,Mr.Greene.”
Henodded.“IknewAaron.”
“YouknewAaron,”shesaid,hervoicetingedwithdisbelief,“andyou’reheretopayyourrespects?”
Simondidn’tbothertoreply.Thewomantookoutapamphletandopeneditcarefully.Herreadingglassesweredanglingfromachain.Sheputthemontheendofhernose.“Youheadbackbehindthebarn.Turnrighthere.You’llseethecornmaze.Don’tgoinit.Twicethisweekwe’vehadtosendinemployeestogetpeopleout.Walkaroundhere.”
Shepointedonthemap.
“There’sapathintothewoods.Headdownit.You’llseeagreenarrowonatreepointingright.That’sforthehikers.Youinsteadturnleft.”
“Complicated,”Simonsaid.
Shehandedhimthepamphletandfrownedathim.“Thislobbyisonlyforguestsstayingattheinn.”
“Andsubtle.”
Hethankedherandheadedbackoutside.Thehayridewasgettingunderway,atractorpullingabunchofpeopleatmuchtooslowapace.Everyonewassmiling,thoughtheylookedprettyuncomfortable.Afamily—man,woman,daughter,son—wavedathiminunison.Hewavedback,andboom,hedroppedbackintimetotakingthekidsapplepickinginChester,justnorthoftheNewJerseyborder.Ithadbeenagloriousautumnday,andyes,herememberedputtingPaigeonhisshoulderssothatshecouldreachahigherbranch,butwhatherememberedmost,rightnow,ashestoodthereandtriednottostareatthishappy,innocent,blissfullyignorantfamily,wasthewayIngridlookedinherdarkflannelshirttuckedintothin-leggedbluejeansandhighboots.Hehadjustturnedtowardher,Paigegigglingonhisshoulders,andIngridhadsmiledbackathim,tuckingherhairbehindherear,andevennow,justthinkingabouthowtheireyesmetonthatday,Simoncouldfeelhiskneesgivewayjustalittlebit.
Hegrabbedhisphoneandstaredatthescreenforafewseconds,willingittogivehimgoodnews.Itdidn’t.
Hefollowedtheroutepastthepettingzoobarn.Thechickenswereloose.Oneranuptohim,stopped,lookedupathim.Simonwastemptedtotrytopetit.Amandressedinfarmeroverallswasgivingademonstrationinvolvingeggsandanincubator.Thecornstalksatthemazeweretenfeethigh.Therewasalinetogetinandasigntellingvisitorsthatthemaze’sthemeforthisyearwasTHEFIFTYSTATES—FINDTHEMALL
Hespottedthewalkingpath,tookitastoldtothegreenarrow,turnedleftwhenthearrowwantedhimtoturnright.Thewoodsgrewthicker.Helookedbacktowherehe’dstarted,buthecouldn’tseetheclearinganymore.
Simonkeptgoing,thepathslopingdownnow,steeperandsteeper.Heheardwhatsoundedlikerunningwaterinthedistance.Abrookmaybe.Thepathveeredright.ThetreesinfrontofhimthinneduntilSimonfoundhimselfinaclearing.Itwasaperfectsquare,theclearingmadebymanratherthannaturaldesign.Alowwoodenpicketfence,afoothigh,nomore,formedtheperimeteraroundsmalltombstones.
Afamilyplot.
Simonstopped.
Behindtheclearingwasindeedaroaringbrookandafadedteakwoodbench.Simondidn’tthinkthedeadcaredmuch,butfortheliving,thiswouldbeaZenplacetogrieveandmeditateonthoseyoulost.
AmanSimonrecognizedasWileyCorval,Aaron’sfather,stoodalone,staringdownatanewertombstone.Simonwaited.WileyCorvaleventuallyliftedhisheadtowardhim.
“Whoareyou?”heasked.
“MynameisSimonGreene.”
WileyCorvallookedaquestionathim.
“I’mPaige’sfather.”
“Didshedoit?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“Didshekillmyson?”
“No.”
“Howdoyouknowforsure?”
“Idon’t.”Themanwasabouttoburyhisson.Itwasn’tthetimetolie.“Icouldtellyoumydaughterisnotakiller,butthat’snotgoingtoofferyoumuchcomfort,isit?”
WileyCorvaljuststaredathim.
“ButIdon’tthinkitwasPaige.Thedeath…itwasviolent.Doyouknowthedetails?”
“Yes.”
“Idon’tthinkshecoulddothat.”
“Butyoudon’tknow,doyou?”
“Idon’t,no.”
Heturnedaway.“Leave.”
“Paigeismissing.”
“Idon’tcare.”
Inthedistance,Simoncouldhearthescream-laughterofchildren,probablycomingfromthecornmaze.AaronCorvalhadgrownuphere,inthisNormanRockwellpaintingcometolife,andlookhowitendedup.Thenagain,inallfairness,hadn’tPaigebeenraisedinaslightlyalteredversionofanidyllicchildhood?Andnotjustonpaper.Weallseethepicketfencesortheprettyfacades,thetwosmilingparents,thehealthysiblings,allthat,andpartofusgetsthatwehavezeroideawhat’sgoingonbehindcloseddoors,thatthereisangerandabuse,shattereddreamsandblownexpectations.
Butthathadn’tbeenthecasewithPaige.
Weretheirlivesperfect?
Ofcoursenot.
Weretheirlivesprettyclosetoperfect?
Asclose,Simonimagined,asyouget.
Andyettheirdaughterhadsuccumbedtotheworstoutthere.Simonhadaskedhimselfamillionquestions,ponderedeverydecision—hadheshownenoughinterest,paidattentiontoherfriendsandstudies,supportedherhobbies?Weretheytoostrictortoolax?TherewasthattimeSimonhadexplodedinangerandactuallythrownaglassonthefloorduringdinner.Justonce.Yearsago.HerememberedhowPaige,onlyeightatthetime,hadstartedtoshiver.
Wasthattoblame?
Yougothrougheverydamnmomentlikethatbecauseeventhoughhismotherhadwarnedhim,“Kidsdon’tcomewithinstructionmanuals,”andyouquicklylearnthatyourchildcomestoyouhardwired,thatinthebattleofnaturevsnurture,naturekickscompleteandtotalass—still,whenthingsgowrong,whensomethingthisdarkinvadesyourchild’ssoul,youcanonlywonderwherethehellyouwentwrong.
Frombehindhim,awomanasked,“Who’sthis?”
Simonspuntowardthevoice.Againherecognizedherfromthepictureinthefoyer—Aaron’smother,Enid.Therewerepeopletraipsingdownthepathwithher,tenortwelve,Simonestimated,includingamanwithaclericalcollarcarryingaBible.
“Justanicegentlemanwhowalkeddownthewrongpath,”WileyCorvalsaid.
Simonconsideredcounteringthatwiththetruth—full-onconfrontation,tohellwithniceties—butheconcludedthatitwouldprobablybackfire.Hemutteredanapologyandstartedpastthefamilyandfriendsandbackuptowardthefarm.TherewasnooneclosetoAaron’sagehere,andSimonrememberedPaigetellinghimsomethingaboutAaronbeinganonlychild.Thatmeantthere’dbenosiblingtoquestion—andnoneofthesepeoplelookedtherightagetobeaclosefriend,ifindeedajunkielikeAaronhadanyclosefriends.
Sonowwhat?
Letthemhavetheirservice,hethought.Whatevertheirsonhadturnedinto,WileyandEnidhadlosthimnow—brutally,suddenly,unnaturally,permanently.Givethemthismoment.
Whenhegotbacktotheclearing,agroupofkidsSimonestimatedwerearoundtenorelevenyearsoldemergedfromthemazebreathless.Theyallstartedhigh-fivingeachother.Simonpulledouthisphone.Therewerealotofmessages.Hewenttohisfavorites.Ingridwaslistedfirst.Yvonnewassecond,andthenPaige(whosenumbernolongerworkedbuthestillkeptitinFavorites),Sam,Anya.Ageorderwiththekids.Onlyfair.
HehitYvonne’snumber.
“Nochange,”Yvonnesaid.
“Ihavetobetherewithher.”
“No,youdon’t.”
Helookedbackatthekidswho’djustfinishedthecornmaze.Theyallhadtheirphonesoutnow,sometakingphotos,bothselfiesandgroupshots,othersdoingwhateveritwaswealldoonthosescreens.
“Reverseroles,”Yvonnesaid.“You’retheoneshot.You’retheonelyinghereinacoma.DoyouwantIngridsittingnexttoyouandholdingyourhand?Or—”
“Yeah,okay,Igetit.”
“SohaveyoufoundAaron’sfamily?”
Hefilledherinonwhathadjustoccurred.
“Sowhat’syourplan?”
“Hanghere.Waituntiltheserviceisover.Trytotalktothemagain.”
“Thefatherdoesn’tsoundamenable,”Yvonnesaid.“Amothermightbemoreunderstanding.”
“Sexist,”hesaid.
“Yep.”
“Howarethingsatwork?”
“Wegotyoucovered.”
Simonhungupandmovedbacktohiscar.Hetookouthisphoneagainandstartedtolistentothemessages.Wordabouttheshootinghadsomehownotyetmadethepapers,somostofthemessagesweremercifullyclient-ratherthansolace-related.Hereturnedsomeoftheclientcalls,notmentioninghisownsituation,makingitjustanotherworkday.Doingsomethingroutinewascomforting.
HewasblockingonIngrid.Heknewthat.Buthealsoknewthatwastherightwaytogorightnow.
Halfanhourlater,whilediscussingwithDr.DanielBrocklehurst,aneurosurgeonatMountSinai,thefinancialbenefitsofretiringinFloridaversusArizona,Simonspottedthemournerscomingbackoverthegentlehill.TheywereledbyWileyCorvalandtheclergyman.Wiley’sbackwasbentoverinapparentifnotmelodramaticgrief,andtheclergymanhadhisarmaroundhisshoulders,whisperingwhatSimonassumedwerewordsofcomfort.Theothermournerstrailedthem,somesquintingupintothesun,othersnoddingtopassingtourists.
Inthebackofthegroup—wayintheback,cometothinkofit—wasEnidCorval,Aaron’smother.Forabriefflash,Simonimaginedthemasapackofgazellesandhimthelion,readyingtotakedowntheonefarthestawayfromthepack.Sillyimage,butthereyougo.
ButthatonewouldbeEnid,themother.
Simonkeptwatching.Enidlookeddistracted.Sheglancedatherwatch,slowingherwalk,stayingfartherandfartherbackfromtherestofthemourners.Alone.
Odd,Simonthought.Shewasthemother.You’dthinkafewofthemwouldbewithher,puttinganarmaroundher,offeringhercomfortingwords.Noonedid.
Shewasalsodresseddifferently.Therestofthegroup,includingWileyCorval,hadgonewiththeblue-blazer,khaki,loafer-sans-socksspirit,evenifthatwasn’texactlywhattheywerewearing.Poorman’syachtclub.Enidworemomjeans,Velcrowhitesneakers,andastretched-outcable-knitsweaterthatwasayellowusuallyfoundonaTiconderogapencil.
Wileyandtheclergymanstarteduptheporchsteps.Thereceptionistwho’dhelpedSimongreetedWileyatthedoorwithabussonthecheek.Therestofthemournersfiledinafterhim.
ExceptEnid.
Shewasnowtrailingthegroupfarenoughthatsheremainedoutsideafterthedoorhadclosed.Sheglancedleft,thenright,thenheadedbehindtheinn.
Simonwasn’tsurewhathismovewashere.Getoutofthecarandconfront?Staywherehewasandseewhereshewasgoing?
WhenEnidCorvaldisappearedaroundthebackoftheinn,Simonslidoutofthecartogetabetterview.Hespottedhergettingintoapickuptruck.Shestarteditupandputthetruckintoreverse.Simonhurriedbacktohiscarandhittheignitionbutton.
Thirtysecondslater,hewasfollowingEnidCorval’spickupdownTomWheelerRoad.
Theroadwaslinedwithlowstonewallsofferingamodicumofprotectiontothevastfarmlandonbothsides.Simondidn’tknowenoughaboutthisarea—weretheserealfarmsorforshoworwhat?—butmostlookedprettywornanddilapidated.
Fifteenminuteslater,thepickuptruckpulledintoadirtparkinglotwithlike-mindedvehicles.Therewasnosignvisibleadvertisinganameordescriptionforthisestablishment.Enidgotoutofthepickupandheadedtowardaconvertedbarnwithaluminumsiding,likeit’dbeensnappedtogether.Thecolorwasfauxbrightorange,likeaclown’shair.
Simonpulledin,self-consciousofhisAudi,andcruisedtoafarcorner.Helookedtohisleft.Hiddenfromtheroadonthefarsideofthebarnwereacoupleofdozenmotorcycleslinedupintwoanallystraightlines.Harley-Davidsonsforthemostpart.Simondidn’tknowmuchaboutmotorcycles,hadneverbeenonone,butevenfromthisvantagepoint,hecouldspottheiconicHarleylogoonafewofthebikes.
Enidwasheadingacrossthedirtlotforthesaloon-styledoors.Twohuskymeninleatherchapsandblackbandannasstumbledintothelotasshearrived.Theirthick,somewhatflabbyarmswereloadedwithtats.Bothsportedpaunchesandtheprerequisitebeard.Bikers.
TheygreetedEnidwarmlywithhandshakesandhugs.Shekissedoneonthecheekanddisappearedinside.Simondebatedwaitingforhertocomebackout—thisplaceclearlywasn’thisusualhangout—butthatseemedlikeawasteoftime.Heturnedoffhiscarandstartedfortheswingingdoors.
Whenhepushedthemopen,hesomehowexpectedthatthemusicwouldstopandeveryonewouldturnandstareattheinterloper.Butnoonedid.Therewasalsonomusicplaying.Atelevisionoldenoughforrabbitearsshowedabaseballgame.Thebarwasodd.Toowideinspots,spaceenoughforadancemaybe,butSimondoubtedthatthere’dbeenonerecently.Therewasajukeboxintherightcorner,butitwasunplugged.Thefloorbeneathhimwasmostlydirt,thesameastheparkinglot.
EnidCorvaltookaseatatthebar.Consideringitwasonlyelevena.m.,businessseemedprettybrisk.Thereweremaybetenpeoplescatteredamongstthethirtyorsostools,equallyspacedapart,noonerightnexttoanyoneelse,likemen’surinalsinapublicbathroom.Theyallhuddledovertheirdrink,eyesdowninprotective,don’t-converse-with-memode.Agroupofbikersontherightplayedpoolonatablewithuglyripsinthegreenfabric.
TherewerecansofPabstBlueRibboneverywhere.
Simonsportedadressshirt,tie,andblackloafers—hehad,afterall,beenheadingtoamemorialservice—whilehalftheguysinhereworecottongymtankswithnosleeves,alooknomanoverfortyshouldevertry,nomatterhowwellbuilt.Andtheseguysweren’twellbuilt.
Hatsofftothem,Simonthought,fornotcaring.
HetookastooltwoawayfromEnid.Shedidn’tlookupfromherdrinkorglancehisway.Ontheothersideofhimaguywearingaporkpiehatwasbouncinghisheadupanddownasthoughtomusicbutnomusicwasplayingandhewasn’twearingearphones.Arainbowofrustedlicenseplatestookupmostofthebackwall—probablyplatesrepresentingallfiftystates,butSimonwasn’treallyupforchecking.TherewereneonsignsforMillerHighLifeandSchlitz.Anoddlyornatechandelierhungfromtheceiling.Thisplace,liketheinn,wasalldarkwood,butthatwastheonlysimilarity,likethiswasthepoorestofpoorcousinsoftheinn’srichdarkwood.
“What’llyouhave?”
Thebarmaid’shairwasthecolorandtextureofthehayonthathayrideanddoneinaquasimulletthatremindedSimonofan’80shockeyplayer.Shewaseitherahardforty-fiveorasoftsixty-five,andtherewaslittlequestionshehadseenitallatleasttwice.
“Whatkindofbeerdoyouhave?”heasked.
“WehavePabst.AndPabst.”
“Youchooseforme.”
Enidstillhadhereyeonherdrink,notsomuchasglancinginhisdirection,whenshesaid,“You’rePaige’sdad.”
“Wileytellyou?”
Sheshookherhead,stillnotlookingathim.“Hedidn’tsayaword.Whydidyoucometoday?”
“Topaymyrespects.”
“That’salie.”
“Yeah,itis.ButIamsorryforyourloss.”
Shedidn’treacttooracknowledgethat.“Sowhyareyouhere?”
“Mydaughterismissing.”
Thebarmaidopenedthecanandploppeditinfrontofhim.
Enidfinallyturnedherheadtowardhim.“Sincewhen?”
“SinceAaron’smurder.”
“Thatcan’tbeacoincidence.”
“Iagree.”
“Yourdaughterprobablykilledhimandran.”
Justlikethat.Noemotioninhervoice.
“Woulditmatter,”Simonsaid,“ifIsaidIdon’tthinkthat’sthecase?”
Enidmadeamaybe-yes,maybe-nogesture.“Yougambleatall?”
“No.”
“Yeah,butyou’resomebigstockbrokerorsomething,right?”
“Idofinancialadvising.”
“Yeah,whatever.Youstillplaytheodds,right?Trytofigureoutwhat’ssafeandwhat’srisky,allthat?”
Simonnodded.
“Soyouknowwhatthetwomostlikelypossibilitiesare,don’tyou?”
“Tellme.”
“One,yourdaughterkilledAaronandisontherun.”
“Andtwo?”
“WhoeverkilledAarontookorkilledhertoo.”EnidCorvaltookasipofherdrink.“Cometothinkofit,PossibilityTwoismuchmorelikely.”
“Whatmakesyousaythat?”Simonasked.
“Junkiesaren’tgreatatnotleavingcluesoreludingthepolice.”
“Soyoudon’tthinkshekilledhim?”
“Ididn’tsaythat.”
“Let’sassumeyou’reright,”Simonsaid,tryingtostaymethodicalhere,detached.“WhywouldsomeonetakePaige?”
“Noclue.Hatetosaythis,butoddsare,she’sdead.”Shetookanothersip.“I’mstillnotsurewhyyou’rehere.”
“I’mhopingyouknowsomething.”
“Ihaven’tseenAaroninmonths.”
“Doyourecognizethisguy?”
Simonhandedherhisphone.ElenaRamirezhadtextedhimaphotographofherclient’smissingson,HenryThorpe.
“Whoishe?”
“HisnameisHenryThorpe.He’sfromChicago.”
Sheshookherhead.“Idon’tknowhim.Why?”
“Hemaybeconnectedintothis.”
“Intothishow?”
“Idon’thaveaclue.It’swhyI’mhere.He’smissing.”
“LikePaige?”
“Iguess.”
“Can’thelpyou,I’mafraid.”
Ascowlingbikerwithashavedheadpulledoutthestoolbetweenthemsohecouldleanonthebar.Simonnoticedtheblackiron-crosstattooandmaybeahalfswastikastickingoutfromunderhisshirtsleeve.Thebikernoticedhimnoticingandstaredhimhardintheeye.Simonstaredbackandfelttheredstarttorise
“Whatareyoulookingat?”BikerBoysaid.
Simondidnotblinkormove.
“Iaskedyou—”
Enidsaid,“He’swithme.”
“Hey,Enid,Ididn’tmean—”
“Andyou’reinterruptingaprivateconversation.”
“I,Imean,howwasIsupposedtoknow?”
BikerBoysoundedscared.
“Iwasjustgettingsomebeers,Enid.”
“That’sfine.Gladyswillbringthemovertoyou.Youwaitoverbythepooltable.”
Andwiththat,BikerBoywasgone.
“Enid,”Simonsaid.
“Yeah?”
“Whatisthisplace?”
“Privateclub.”
“Yours?”
“Youheretoaskaboutyourdaughteroraboutme?”
“I’mjusttryingtofigurethisallout.”
“Whatout?”
“DoyoumindtellingmeaboutAaron?”
“Whatabouthim?”
“Idon’tknow.Anything.Everything.”
“Can’tmuchseethepurpose.”
“Therearethreadshere,”hesaid,thewordssoundingweirdcomingfromhismoutheventohim.“Connections.Idon’tknowwhattheyare,butIfeellikeI’mmissingsomething.SoI’maskingquestionsandplowingaheadandhoping.”
Shefrowned.“You’regoingtohavetodobetterthanthat.”
“Mywifewasshotyesterday,”Simonsaid.
Enidlookedaquestionathim.
“She’salivebut…WewerelookingforPaige.Wheretheylived.WhereAaronwaskilled.”
Hetoldherthestory,takingchugsofthePabstashewentalong.Simoncouldn’trememberthelasttimehedrankacoldbeerthisearlyintheday,buttoday,inthisplace,itfeltright.Simonglancedaroundtheroomashespoke.BikerBoywasn’ttheonlyonewithwhitesupremacisttattoos.Anumberofguyshadswastikas,andyeahhewasoutnumberedandhehadbiggerfishtofryatthemoment,butthiswasAmericanow,hiscountry,thiscrapjustoutintheopenandaccepted,andhecouldfeelhisbloodboildespiteitall.
“YousawwhereAarongrewup,”Enidsaidwhenhefinished.
“Onthatfarm.”
“It’snotreallyafarm.It’satouristspot,butyeah.Nice,right?”
“Seemsso.”
“Seemsso,”sherepeatedwithanod.“WhenAaronwaslittle,helivedintheactualinn.Backthen,theyonlyrentedoutsixrooms.Thefamilylivedintherest.Thentheygrew.Startedrentingoutalltenrooms.Five,sixyearsago,webuiltthoseadditions,sonowit’suptotwenty-fourrooms.Wegotaprettygoodrestauranttoo.Wileyalwayscallsita‘bistro.’Thinksitsoundsfancier.Andthegiftshopdoesanicebusiness.Sellssouvenirsandcandles,junklikethat.I’mgettingofftopic,aren’tI?”
“Notatall.”
“YouwanttoknowaboutAaron.”
Simondidn’treply.
“Well,Aaron,evenasakid,hewasalwaysalittledark,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
Oneofthetattooguysmethereyebyabackdoor.Enidnoddedandtheguyslippedout.
“Idon’tseehowanyofthiscouldpossiblyhelpyou,”shesaid.
“They.”
“What?”
“Yousaid,‘Theyonlyrentedoutsixrooms.’They.”
“So?”
“I’dthinkyou’dsay‘we’insteadof‘they.’”
“No‘we’yet,”shesaid.“WileyandIweren’tmarriedbackthen.”
“Backwhen?”
“WhenWileylivedintheoriginalinn.”
“ButyousaidAaronlivedthere.”
“Yeah.WithWiley.I’mhisstepmom.Iwasn’tonthesceneuntilhewasnine.Truthbetold,I’mnotthematernaltype.Surprised,right?Aaronandme,wewereneverclose.”
“Andhisrealmom?Whereisshe?”
Enidglancedatthebackdoor.Thetattoomancamebackin,makingsurethatEnidspottedhim.Herglasswasempty.GladyswiththeHayHairfilleditwithoutbeingtold.
“Mrs.Corval?”Simonsaid.
“CallmeEnid.”
“Enid,whathappenedtoAaron’srealmother?”
“Ithasnothingtodowithanyofthis.”
“Itmight.”
“How?”Enidturnednow,placingonearmonthebar,andfacedhimfull-on.“Imean,ItoldAaronfromDayOneinhere:Youdon’ttryit.Notever.Notataste.Hesaweverydaywhatthatcrapdoestoyou.Stillheendedupmurderedinajunkie-infestedshithole.Sotellme,Mr.Greene.HowcouldhisbirthmomhaveanythingtodowithAaronendinguplikethat?Andwhileyou’reatit:Howcouldhisbirthmomhaveanythingtodowithyourdaughtervanishingintothewind?”
“Idon’tknow,”Simonsaid.
“I’dprobablybemoretheonetoblame,don’tyouthink?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“HisdadandIgetmarried.Whenhe’sateenhewantstostarthangingouthere.That’stheproblemwithgrowingupinaquietplace.Peoplethinkit’smagicalorsomeshit.Beautybores.Ittraps.SomeonelikeAaron,he’sgotthatedgeinhim.Justthewayheis.Likeme,eventhoughwearen’tblood.”
Hewantedtoaskwhatthisplacewas,butthatwouldbethewrongwaytogo.Heshiftedgearsandasked,“WasAaron’sbirthmotherattheservicetoday?”
Enidkeptherheaddown.
“Can’tyouatleasttellme—”
“No,”Enidsaid.“Shewasn’tthere.”
“Isshestillalive?Didshehaveanykindofrelationshipwithherson?”
“Idon’tknowyou,Mr.Greene.”
“Yeah,youdo.Imean,youknowenough.Idon’tcarewhatyoudohereorwhat’sgoingonwiththeinnoranyofthat.Idon’tmeanyoutheleastbitoftrouble.Butattheriskofsoundingone-note,mydaughterismissing.”
“AndIdon’tseehowthathasanythingtodowith—”
“Itprobablydoesn’t,”heinterrupted.“Exceptthat’snothowitfeels,doesit?ThepolicethinkmaybePaigekilledAarontosaveherself.OrmaybeIdidit.Ormywife.Toprotectourchild.Ormaybeitwasadrugdealgonewrong.Thoseareallgoodtheories,butI’maskingforyourhelp.”
Shestartedswirlingherglass,hereyesontheliquor.
“IsAaron’smotheraliveornot?”
“Thetruth?”Enidlookedupandstudiedhisfaceforaverylongtime.“Idon’tknow.”
“Youdon’tknowifshe’saliveordead?”
“That’sright.”EnidturnedtoGladys.“Getmyfriendhereanotherbeerandbringittothecornerbooth.HeandIneedtotalkforabit.”
ChapterSixteen
TheentrancetoTattoosWhileUWaitwasblockedoffwithold-schoolA-frametrafficbarricades,thekindwithslantedreflectiveorange-and-whitestripesrunningacrossthehorizontalbeam.
ElenaRamirezspottedtwofullyemblazonedpolicecarsplustwoothervehiclesthatlookedtobeunmarked.ShepulledherrentalFordFusionwiththeoverbearingcherryscentintothetattooparlor’sentrybetweenthehighwayandthebarricades.
Acopfrownedandstartedtowardher.
“You’llneedtoleave.”
“What’sgoingonhere?”
“Pleaseremoveyourcarfromthepremises.”
Elenacouldwavehercredentials,buttheyprobablywouldn’tgetheranyplace.Shealsohadnoideawhatthesituationwasorwhythepolicewerehere,anditwasneveragoodideatogoinblind.
Timetodoalittlerecon.
Elenathankedtheofficer,putthecarinreverse,andgotbackontothehighway.ShepulledoffahundredyardsdowntheroadataSonicDrive-In.Shetookoutherphoneandmadesomecalls.Ittookmaybehalfanhourtogetthedetailsonthedoublemurderfromthedaybefore.
ThetwovictimswereDamienGorse,agetwenty-nine,co-owneroftheparlor,andeighteen-year-oldRyanBailey,ahighschoolseniorwhoworkedthereparttime.Theinitialreportindicatedthatthetwovictimshadbeenshotinarobberygonewrong.
Wrong,Elenathoughttoherself,beingtheoperativeword.
Shemadeafewmorecalls,waited,gottheconfirmation.Thensheheadedbackdownthehighwayandpulleduptothosebarricades.Thesamepoliceofficermovedoneofthemaside,sothatshecouldpass.Hepointedforhertoparkontheleft.Shenoddedathanksanddidasrequested.
Elenalookedinherrearviewmirrorandtriedonasympathetic,we’re-all-in-this-togethersmile.Meh.Thispartwouldbeapainintheass.Copsandegos.Toughrecipe.Addinadollopofterritorialbullshitandcustomarydickswingingplustherarityoflandingasinglemurdercaseletaloneadoublemurder,andElenaexpectedashitshowofepicproportions.
AmanElenafiguredwasmidthirties,maybeforty,cameoutofthetattooparlor’sfrontentrance,pulledoffhiscrimescenegloves,andheadedtowardher.Hisstridewasconfidentbutnotcocky.Theguywasgood-lookingashell.Morelumberjackthanprettyboy,whattheyusedtocall“rugged.”Ifshestillhadatype—andElenahadfeltdeadinthatareasinceJoel’sdeath—thisguywouldbeit.
Thecopgaveheranodandatightsmile,anappropriategreetingunderthecircumstances.
“YoumustbeSpecialAgentRamirez,”themansaid.
“Retired.”
Sheshookhishand.Hishandwasbig.LikeJoel’s.Shefeltanotherpang.
“I’mDetectiveDumas.EveryonecallsmeNap.”
“Nap,”sherepeated,“like…?”
“Ashortsleep,yes.”
“I’mElena.Iworkprivatenow.”
“Yeah,mybossfilledmein.”
“WouldthatbeCountyProsecutorLorenMuse?”
“Itwould.”
“Ihearshe’sgood.”
“Yeah,”Napsaid,“sheis.”
Noresentmentinhistoneathavingayoungwomanoverhim.Nofauxvirtualsignalingoveriteither.Goodsigns.
Herewashowitworked:Elena’sfirm,VMBInvestigations,wasoneofthemostprestigiousinthecountry,withofficesinChicago,NewYork,LosAngeles,andHouston.InvestigatorslikethoseatVMBneedaccess,sotheydonategenerouslytopoliticalcampaignsandpolicebenevolentgroupsofvariousstripes.Oneofherseniorpartners,MannyAndrews,wasabigbackerofthecurrentgovernor.ThatgovernoristheonewhonamedLorenMusecountyprosecutor.SoMannyAndrewscallsthegovernor,thegovernorcallsMuse,Museinturncallstheleaddetectiveonthecase,NapDumas.
Themessage:Cooperate.
Nothingillegal.Ifyougaspatthissortoffavorexchanging,youarehopelesslyna?ve.Theworldhadalwaysbeenaplaceof“youscratchmybackandI’llscratchyours.”Whenthatbreaksdown,forbetterorworse,sodoesyoursociety.
Copsoftenbristledatthisparticularback-scratch,however,whichleadstotheterritorialdickswingingElenahadbracedfor.NapDumasseemedokaywithit.Fornow.
“Followme,”hesaid.
Hebeganwalkingtotheleftsideofthebuilding.Elena,whostillhadthelimpfromalong-agobullet,caughtupwithhim.
“Ijusttookoverthecaseanhourago,”Napsaid,“soI’mstillcatchingupmyself.”
“Iappreciateyoulettingmeonthescene.”
Asmall,knowingsmilecametoDumas’slips.“Noproblem.”
Elenadidn’tbotherwithafollow-up.
“Anychanceyoucantellmeyourinterestinthis?”
“Ihaveacase,”Elenasaid.“Theremaybeanoverlap.”
“Whoa,”Dumassaid,“let’sgoeasyonthespecifics.”
Shesmiledatthat.UpaheadElenaspottedawood-paneledFordFlex.Twocrimescenetechniciansdressedallinwhiteworkedthescene.
“Canyoutellmewhatkindofcase?”heasked.
Sheponderedplayinghardball,remindinghimthathisbosshadalreadytoldhimtocooperateandthatshecouldn’ttalkabouthercasebecauseitwasworkproduct,butthatfeltwronghere.ThisNapguyseemedalright.Morethanthat,actually.Goodaura,Elena’smotherwouldtellher.Elenahadalwaysbeenskepticalofthatstuff—firstimpressions,gutinstincts—because,let’sfaceit,peoplecanbecompletepsychosandfoolyou.Butintruth,theyrarelyfooledElena.Astheyearshadgoneon,sherealizedthathergutworkedbetterthansheimagined.Theguyswhogaveherthecreepsoffthebat?Theyalwaysendedupbeingcreeps.Theguys,theveryfewguys,whogaveoffthiskindofpositiveaura?Theyendedupbeingtrustworthy.
AndNapremindedherofJoel.HerJoel.Godhelpher.
Thepangmovedtoherheartandstayedthere.
“Nap?”
Hewaited.
“Ithinkit’sbetterifwewait,”Elenasaid.
“Oh?”
“I’mnotgoingtokeepanythingfromyou,”Elenasaid,“butrightnowI’dliketohearwhatyouthinkwithoutanypreconceptions.”
“Preconceptions,”Dumasrepeated.
“Yes.”
“Youmeanlikecontextandfacts?”
“Youseemlikeastraightshooter.”
“Asdoyou.”
“Canwejustplayitmywayfornow?”
Naphesitatedbutnotforverylong.HenoddedhisokayastheyreachedtheFordFlexandstartedrightin:“Thewayweseeit,thefirstshootingtookplacehere,asDamienGorsewasgettinginhiscar.”
“SoGorsewasshotfirst?”
“We’reprettysure,yeah.”Naptiltedhishead.“Isthatimportant?”
Shedidn’treply.
Hesighed.“Right.Preconceptions.”
“Howmanyshooters?”Elenaasked.
“Wedon’tknow.Butinitialballisticsindicatethesamegunkilledbothvictims.”
“Somaybetherewasonlyone.”
“Hardtosay,butitfeelsthatway.”
Elenatookinthescene.Shelookedatthebackofthebuildingandthenuptowardthesky.“Nosecuritycamerasintheparkinglot?”
“None.”
“Howaboutinside?”
“Alsonone.JustaroutineADTalarmwithapanicbuttonandmotiondetector.”
“Iassumethebusinesstakescash.”
“Yes.”
“Whatdotheydowithit?”
“Oneofthetwoowners—andGorsewasoneofthem—takesthecashhomeeverynightandstoresitintheirsafe.”
“Theirsafe?”
“Pardon?”
“Yousaidtheirsafe.Thetwoownersshareasafe?”
“Theylivetogether,yeah.Andtoansweryournextquestion,Gorsewasrobbed.Thecash,hiswallet,someofhisjewelryweregone.”
“Soyou’rethinkingrobbery?”
Napgaveheracrookedsmile.AgainlikeJoel’s.Damn.“Well,Iwas,”hesaid
Theimplicationwasclear:Iwas—untilyoushowedup.
“Sowhere’stheco-owner?”sheasked.
“Onhiswayfromtheairport.Heshouldbehereanyminute.”
“Airport?”
“HisnameisNeilRaff.HewasonvacationinMiami.”
“Isheasuspect?”
“Abusinesspartnertakingatripduringthetimeofamurder?”
“Right,”shesaid.“Soofcourseheis.”
“LikeIsaid,it’searly.”
“AnyideahowmuchcashGorsehadonhim?”
“Notyet,no.Somedays,we’vebeentold,itcouldbeashighasafewthousanddollars—somedaysitcouldbenexttonothing.Dependsobviouslyonhowbusinesswasthatdayandhowmanypeopleusedplastic.”
Therewasnochalkdrawingofabodyoranyofthatstuff,butNaphadcrimescenephotographs.Elenastudiedthemforamoment.
“DoyouthinktheperprobbedGorsefirstandthenshothim,”Elenabegan,“orshothimfirstandthenrobbedhim?”
“Shothimfirst,”Napsaid.
“Youseemprettycertain.”
“LookatGorse’spocketinthephotograph.”
Shedid,nodding.“Turnedinsideout.”
“Alsotheshirtuntucked,oneringleftonlikeit’sbeentoodifficulttogetoff—orsomeoneinterruptedhim.”
Elenasawitnow.“Wherewastheshooterstanding?”
Napshowedher.“Thefirstcopsonthescenefiguredthattheshooterhadjustdriveninandfiredfromhiscarorthatmaybehe’dparkedandwaited.”
“You’renotbuyingthat?”
“Itcouldbe,”Napsaid.“Butmybetistheshootercameoutfromthewoods.Lookatthisangle.”
Elenanodded.
“It’spossible,”Napcontinued,“thatthekillercouldhavedriveninearlier,parked,andthenhiddeninthewoods.ButIdon’tthinkso.”
“Whynot?”
“Becausetherewasonlyoneotherpersonhereatthetimeoftheshooting—thesecondvictim,RyanBailey.Baileydoesn’townacar.Hetakesthebusfromthemallandwalks.”
Sheglancedaround,subtractedoutthecopcarsbothmarkedandunmarked.“Sowhenthefirstrespondersgothere,wereanycarsinthelototherthanGorse’s?”
“None,”Napsaid.“Thelotwasempty.”
Elenastoodbackup.“Soifsomeone—say,thekiller—droveinandparkedinthelot,Gorsewouldhavenoticeditwhenheleft.”
“Agree,”Napsaid.“DamienGorseistheowner.It’sclosingtime.Ifastrangecarisinhislot,Ithinkhe’dwalkoverandcheckitout.Unlesstherewasagetawaydriver.”
Elenafrowned.“Getawaydriver?”
“Iuseallthecoolcoplingo.Eitherway,wewillgothroughallrelevantnearbyCCTVfootage.”
“Iunderstandoneofthetwovictimscallednine-one-one.”
“RyanBailey.Thesecondvictim.”
“Whatdidhesayonthecall?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Napexplainedhisworkingtheory.TheshooterkillsDamienGorsebytheFordFlex.Theshooterstartsgoingthroughthedeadman’spockets;takesthemoney,thewatch,thewallet;andheispullingoffGorse’sjewelrywhenthedooropensandRyanBaileycomesout.Baileyseeswhat’shappening,runsbackinside,hitsthealarm,andhidesinthecloset.
Elenafrowned.
“What?”Napasked.
“Baileysetsoffanalarminsidethetattooparlor?”
Napnodded.“Thepanicbuttonisrightnearthebackdoor.”
“Isitasilentalarm?”sheasked.
“No.”
“Loud?”
“Thealarm?Yeah.Reallyloud.”
Elenafrownedagain.
“What?”
“Showme,”shesaid.
“Showyouwhat?”
“Inside.TheclosetwhereRyanBaileyhid.”
Napstudiedherforamoment.Thenhehandedherapairofcrime-scenegloves.Shesnappedthemon.Hedidthesame.Theywalkedtowardthebackentrance.
“Fullgarbagebag,”Napsaid,pointingtoonelyingsplitontheground.“WefiguredBaileycameouttothrowitinthedumpster.”
“Andthatwaswhenheinterruptedtherobbery?”
“That’sourtheory.”
Exceptitdidn’tmakesense.
Anothercophandedthemeachawhitecrime-scenesuitwithfooties.Elenaslippedhersonoverhersuit.Allwhite—theybothlookedlikegiantsperms.Thereweremorewhite-coveredlabguysinside.Theclosetwasadjacenttothebackdoor.
Elenafrownedagain.
“What?”
“Itdoesn’taddup.”
“Whynot?”
“YoufigureRyanBaileycameoutsidetothrowawaythegarbage.”
“Right.”
“HespotsourkillerlootingGorse’sbody.”
“Right.”
“Soourperpdidn’tknowthekidwasinside.That’smostlikely.”
“Idon’tknow,probably.Sowhat?”
“SoRyanBaileygoesoutside.Hespotsthekiller.Herunsbackinandhitsthealarm.Thenhehidesinthecloset.”
“Right.”
“Andourkillerisinhotpursuit,right?”
“Right.”
“Soourkillerfollowshiminside.Thekillersearchesforhim.Allthewhile,thisalarmisblaring.”
“Yeah,so?”
“Why?”sheasked.
“Whatdoyoumean,why?RyanBaileyhadspottedthekiller.Hecouldidentifyhim.”
“Soourkillerwantedtosilencehim?”
“Yes.”
“Sothatsortofrulesoutaprofessionalhitjob,”Elenasaid.
“Howso?”
“Doyouknowanyprothatwouldn’thavebeenwearingaskimaskorsomekindofdisguise?Aprowouldhaverunwhenthealarmwentoff.Becausewhatcouldthekidtellus?Amanwearingaskimaskkilledhisboss?That’sit.TheonlyreasonthekillerwouldfollowhiminandkillhimisthatRyanBaileycouldidentifyhim.”
Napnodded.“Ormaybeitwassomeonetheybothknew.”
“Eitherway,”Elenasaid,“Idon’tthinkitfitsinwithmycase.Myguywouldbeapro.He’duseamask.”
“Sowhatisyourcase?”
Andthenshespottedthecomputerontopofthecounter.Shedidn’tknowwhoHenryThorpehadbeenintouchwith—justthatthecommunicationscamefromanIPaddressandWi-Filocatedinthisbuilding.
ElenaturnedtoNap.“CanItakealookatthatcomputer?”
ChapterSeventeen
EnidCorvalandSimonwerecomfortablyensconcedontherippedfabricofacornerboothinthis“privateclub.”
Simonhadalreadyputmostofittogether.NotaboutAaron’smother.Hehadnoideaaboutthat.Butaboutthisclub.Theyweresellingsomethingoutback.Drugsprobably.Thiswasn’tapuborbar.Itwasaprivateclub.Differentregulations.Theinnwasherfront,herlegitimacy,andprobablywhereshelaunderedalotofthemoneyfromhere.
Hemight,ofcourse,bewayoffinhisassumptions.Histheorizing,ifyouwantedtocallitthat,didn’tevenraiseitselftothelevelofflimsyconjecture,andeitherway,hewasn’tgoingtobringitupunlessheabsolutelyneededto.
Butthetheoryfeltrighttohim.
“Wileyandme,ourmarriageiskindofold-fashioned.”Shestopped,shookherhead.“Don’tknowwhyI’mtellingyouthis.I’mgettingolder,Iguess.Aaronisdead.Andmaybeyou’reright,Mr.Greene.”
“Simon.”
“IpreferMr.Greene.”
“MaybeI’mrightaboutwhat?”
Enidspreadherhands.“Maybeit’sallrelated.Thatstuffinthepast.Andnow.WhoamItosay?”
Simonwaited,butnotlong.Eniddovein.
“I’mnotfromaroundhere.IgrewupinBillings,Montana.Youdon’tneedtohearthetaleofhowIendedupinthispartofConnecticut.Thewindsblow,astheydo.That’slife.ButwhenImetWileyhehadanine-year-oldsonnamedAaron.Alotofwomenfoundallthatattractive.Thesingle-fatherthing.Raisingtheboyonhisown.Thebeautifulinnandfarm.SomeonewouldaskWileyabouttheboyandwhathappenedtohismother,buthe’dpolitelyshakethemoff.Didn’tliketotalkaboutit.Usedtogetatearinhiseye.Evenwithme.”
“Buteventually?”
“Oh,I’dheardthestorybeforehetoldme.Everyonearoundhereknewpartsofit.Wileyandtheboy’smothermetduringatimeinhislifewhenhedidn’twantanythingtodowiththeinn.Likeeveryoneelsewhogrowsuphere,Wileylongedtoescape.SohestartedbackpackingthroughEuropeandmetagirlinItaly.HernamewasBruna.Tuscany.ThatwaswhatWileytoldme.Thetwoworkedinavineyardforawhile.Hesaidworkinginthevineyardwasalittlelikeworkingontheinn.Itremindedhimofitanyway.Madehimlongforhomealittle,that’swhathesaid.”ShegesturedatthePabstcanwithherchin.“You’renotdrinkingyourbeer.”
“Ihavetodrive.”
“Twobeers?Comeon,you’renotthatbigagirl.”
Buthewas.Ingridcoulddrinkhardliquorforhoursandshownosignsofit.SimonhadtwobeersandtriedtoFrench-kissalightsocket.
“Sowhathappened?”
“Theyfellinlove.WileyandBruna.Romantic,right?Theyhadaboy.Aaron.Ablissfulstoryuntil,well,Brunadied.”
“Shedied?”
Enidkeptstill.Toostill.
“How?”heasked.
“Caraccident.Head-oncollisiononAutostradaA11,andyeah,Wileyalwaysaddedthatdetail.AutostradaA11.Ilookedituponce.Don’tknowwhy.ItconnectsPisatoFlorence.Brunawasgoingtovisitherfamily,hesaid.Andhedidn’twanttogo.Theyhadafightaboutitbeforesheleft.See,Wileywassupposedtohavebeeninthecarwithher.That’swhathesaid.Soheblameshimself.It’sveryhardforhimtotalkabout.Hegetsallchokedup.”
Shelookedathimoverherglass.
“Yousoundskeptical,”Simonsaid.
“DoI?”
“Yes.”
“Wileytellsthestorywithgusto.He’squitetheatrical,myhusband.You’dbelieveeveryword.”
“Youdidn’t?”
“Oh,Ibelievedit.Butsee,IalsowonderedwhyBrunawouldgotovisitherfamilyandnotbringherinfantson.You’ddothat,right?You’reayoungmom,travelingthe”—shemadequotemarkswithherfingers—“‘autostrada’toseeyourfamily.You’dtakeyourbaby.”
“DidyouaskWileyaboutthat?”
“No,Ineversaidanything.Imean,whywouldI?Who’dquestionastorylikethat?”
Therewasachillinthestale-beerair.Simonwantedtoaskafollow-up,butmorethanthat,hewantedEnidtotellit.Hekeptsilent.
“Wileycamebackhomeaftertheaccident.Here.Theinn,Imean.HewasafraidthatmaybeBruna’sfamilywouldsueforcustodyorholdhimup—they’dneverbeenlegallymarriedoranything—soheflewtotheStateswiththebaby.Theymovedintotheinn…”
Hervoicefadedoutassheshrugged.
Endofthestory.
“So,”Simonsaid,“Aaron’smotherisdead.”
“That’swhatWileysays.”
“ButwhenIaskedyouifshewasalive,yousaidyoudidn’tknow.”
“You’reaquickone,Mr.Greene.”Sheraisedherglassandsmiled.“WhythehellamItellingyouanyofthis?”
Shestaredathimandwaitedforananswer.
“BecauseIhaveanhonestface?”Simontried.
“Youlooklikemyfirsthusband.”
“Washehonest?”
“Shitno.”Then:“Butoh,man,hewasgreatinbed.”
“Sowehavesomethingincommon.”
Enidsnorted.“Ilikeyou,Mr.Greene.Andah,whatthehell.Ican’tseehowitwillhelpyouandyet…I’veseensomestrangeshit.Andbadstays.Baddoesn’tgoaway.Youburybad,itdigsitselfout.Youthrowbadinthemiddleoftheocean,itcomesbackatyoulikeatidalwave.”
Simonjustwaited.
“Doyoukeepyouroldpassports?”sheaskedhim.“Imean,afterthey’reexpired?”
“Yes.”
Infact,Simonadvisedhisclientstodothesame,justincasetheyeverneededtoprovethey’dbeensomeplace.Hewasbigonsavinganyofficialpaperwork,becauseyouneverknew.
“SodoesWiley.Notwheresomeonecouldeasilyfindthem.They’reboxedupinstorageinthebasement.ButIfoundthem.Andyouknowwhat?”
“What?”
Enidputherhandtothesideofhermouthandstage-whispered,“WileyhasneverbeentoItaly.”
***
TheofficeatTattoosWhileUWaitwasglassenclosed,sowhoeversatinitcouldlookoutatthechairsandtheartistsandthewaitingareaandviceversa.Thecomputer’smonitorfacedawall,however,sothatwhileprivacywasprettymuchnonexistent,youcouldn’tseewhatthepersonsittingatthedeskmayhavebeensurfingorbrowsingorwhateverpeoplecalleditnowadays.
Thedeskwaspartner-style,sothattwopeoplecouldsitfacingeachother.Thetopwasclutteredwithscrapsofpaper,threepairsofdrugstorereadingglasses,adozenorsoassortedpensandmarkers.Therewasabagofcherrycoughdropsontheleft,afewpaperbackbooks,billsstrewnaboutwithnoreasonorguidingprinciplebehindthem.
Inthecenterofthedesk,facingtheglass,wasaslightlyfadedphotographofsixmenwithhugesmiles.Twowereupfront,witharmsaroundeachother’sshoulders,theotherfourslightlybehindthemwithfoldedarms.It’dbeensnappedinfrontoftheparlor—openingdayfromthelooksoftheribbonsandtheoversizedfauxscissors.Theclothes,thefacialhair,theposes—thewholevibemadeitfeellikeaDoobieBrothersalbumcover.
ElenapickedupthephotographandshowedittoNap.Napnoddedandpointedtotheguyinthefrontontheright.
“That’sthevictim.DamienGorse.”
Napslidhisfingertowardtheguynexttohim—aheftydudeinfullleathermotorcyclewearandasalt-’n’-pepperhandlebarmustache.“That’sthepartner,NeilRaff.”
Elenasatintheswivelchairinfrontofthemonitor.Thecomputer’smousewasredandintheshapeofaheart.ForamomentElenajuststaredatit.Aheart.DamienGorse’scomputermousewasintheshapeofaheart.Asaninvestigator,youkeepyourheaddownandyouthinkanalyticallybecausethatwasoftenthebest.Youfocusonyourparticulargoal—inthiscasefindingHenryThorpe—butJoelhadalwaystoldhernottoforgetthedevastation,theliveslostordestroyedorirrevocablytornapart.DamienGorsehadsatinthischairandusedthisheart-shapedmouse.Theheart-shapedmousewasagift—ithadtobe,itwasnotthekindofthingyoubuyforyourself—andthepersonwhogaveittohimwantedDamientoknowthathewasinsomewayloved.
“Don’tletthoseemotionscloudyou,”Joelwouldtellher.“Letthemfuelyou.”
WhenElenatouchedthemouse,thescreenlitup.AphotographappearedofDamienGorseandNeilRaff,withanolderwomanbetweenthetwo.Theywereonabeachsomewhere,allsmiles.
Inthecenterofthescreenwasaboxaskingforapassword.ElenalookedoveratNapasifhemightknow.Heshruggedno-ideaather.TherewerePost-itnotesalloverthecomputer.Shescannedthemforwhatmightbeapassword,butnothingjumpedoutather.Sheopenedthetopdrawer.Nothing.
“Youhavesomeonewhocancrackthis?”sheasked.
“Yeah,buthe’snothereyet.”
Thefrontdoorflewopen,andamansherecognizedfromthephotographsasNeilRaffburstintohisowntattooparlor.Theoutfitwasdenimnowratherthanleather—almostmoredatedthaninthephotograph—andthehandlebarmustachewasnowfull-onsalt.Buttherewasnomistakinghimforanyoneelse.Dazed,heturnedhisheadandlookedabouthisownbusiness,asthoughseeingitforthefirsttime,throughred-tinged,swollen-from-cryingeyes.
Naphurriedovertotheman.Elenawatched.Napputahandontheman’sshoulderandloweredhisheadandtalkedsoftly.Napwasgood.Again,somethinginthewayNapcarriedhimselfbroughtonJoel’secho.Itstirredher.God,shemissedJoel.Everypartofhim.Shemissedtheconversations,thecompany,theheart,butrightnowshecouldn’thelpbutthinkofhowmuchshemissedthesex.Thismaysoundoddtosome,butmakinglovetoJoelwasthegreatestthingshewouldeverdo.Shemissedtheweightofhimonher.Shemissedthewayhelookedatherwhenhewasinsideher,asifsheweretheonlywomanonGod’sgreenearth.Shemissed—andthiswasn’tveryfeministofher—thewayJoeltoweredoverherandmadeherfeelsafe.
Shewasthinkingthisbecauseitsuddenlydawnedonher,asshelookedatthephotographsofGorseandRaff,asshethoughtbacktowhatNaphadsaidabouttheownerstakingthecashhometotheirsafe,andasshewatchedthedevastationonthefaceofNeilRaff,thatsherecognizedthisparticulargrief,thegut-wrenching,all-consumingdevastationoflosingalifepartnerratherthanafriendorbusinesspartner.
Shecouldbeprojecting,butshedidn’tthinkso.
NapgotRaffseatedonaleathercouchinthewaitingarea.Hewheeledoverachairandsatrightinfrontofthegrievingman.Naphadanotepadinhishand,buthedidn’twanttoriskappearinganythinglessthancompletelyfocusedandsympathetic,sohetooknonotes.Elenawaited.Therewasn’tmuchelsetodo.
Halfanhourlater,aftersheofferedhercondolences,Elenamovedtheheart-shapedmouseagain,wakingupthescreen.Thephotographappeared.
“OhGod,”Raffsaid.HeturnedtoNap.“HasanyonetoldCarrie?”
“Carrie?”
“Damien’smother.OhmyGod,she’sgoingtobedevastated.”
“Howcouldwereachher?”
“Letmecallher.”
Napdidn’treplytothat.
Raffsaid,“ShelivesinacondoinScottsdalenow.Onherown.Damienisallshehas.”
Is,Elenathought.Isallshehas.Stillusingpresenttense.Common.
“DidDamienhavesiblings?”Napasked.
“Nosiblings.Carriecouldn’thavekids.Damienwasadopted.”
“Andhisfather?”
“Outofthepicture.Hisparentshadanastydivorcewhenhewasthree.Hisadoptivefatherhasn’tbeenpartofDamien’slifesince.”
Elenapointedtothewhiteboxonthescreen.“DoyouknowDamien’spassword?”
Raffblinkedandlookedaway.“OfcourseIknowhispassword.”
“Couldyoutellmewhatitis?”
Heblinkedsomemore,hiseyesbrimmingwithtears.“Guanacaste.”
Hespelleditforher.
“It’saprovinceinCostaRica,”Raffsaid.
“Oh,”Elenasaidbecauseshewasn’tsurewhatelsetosay.
“We…wehoneymoonedthere.It’sourfavoritespot.”
ElenahittheReturnkeyandwaitedfortheiconstoappearonthescreen.
“Whatareyoulookingfor?”Raffasked.
“ThiswasDamien’scomputer?”
“It’sourcomputer,yes.”
Againwiththepresenttense.
“Arethereanyothercomputersonyournetwork?”sheasked.
“No.”
“Howaboutclients?Couldtheyaccessyournetwork?”
“No.It’spasswordprotected.”
“Andthisistheonlycomputeronit?”
“Yes.DamienandIsharedit,thoughI’mnotreallygoodwithtechnology.SometimesIwouldsithereanduseit,andthenDamienwouldsitontheothersideofthedesk.Butmostofthetime,itwasDamien’s.”
Elenawasnotgreatwithtechnologyeither—thatwaswhyherfirmhadLou—butsheknewthebasics.Shebroughtupthebrowserandstartedcheckingthehistory.NeilRaffhadbeeninMiamiforthepastfivedays,soalltherecentsurfingwouldhavebeendonebyDamienGorse.
“Istilldon’tunderstandwhatyou’relookingfor,”Raffsaid.
Therewerealotofimagesearches.Sheclickedonarandomfew.Theywere,asonemightexpect,tattoos,awidevarietyofthem.Therewereroses-and-barbed-wiretattoos,skeletonswithcrossbones,heartsofallshadesandsizes.TherewasonetattooofPennywisetheClown,fromStephenKing’sIt,andseveralinvolvingfull-onsexactsincluding,uh,allfours(whoactuallygotthatasatattoo?),andtherewereonesthatsaid“Mom”andonesoftombstonesforfriendswho’ddiedandfull-armsleevesandlotsofwingdesignsforthelowerback,whattheyusedtocall(maybestilldo?)trampstamps.
“Wegetideasfromtheimages,”Raffsaid.“Weshowtheclientswhat’sbeendonesowecantakeittothenextlevel.”
Therestofthebrowserhistorylookedequallyroutine.DamienGorsehadvisitedRottenTomatoesandboughtmovietickets.He’dboughtsocksandK-CupcoffeepodsfromAmazon.HevisitedoneofthoseDNAsitesthattellyouyourancestralmakeup.Elenaoftenthoughtabouttakingoneofthosetests.HermotherwasMexicanandsworeElena’sbiologicalfatherwastoo,buthe’ddiedbeforeshewasborn,andMomalwaysactedfunnywhenElenawouldask,sowhoknew?
“MaybeIcanhelp?”Raffasked.Itwasmoreofapleathanaquestion.
Elenakepthereyesonthescreen.“Doyou—orreally,didDamien—knowsomeonenamedHenryThorpe?”
Hethoughtaboutit.“NotthatIcanthinkof.”
“He’stwenty-fouryearsold.FromChicago.”
“Chicago?”Raffthoughtsomemore.“Idon’tthinkIknowanyonewiththatname.AndIneverheardDamienmentionhimeither.Whydoyouask?”
Elenablewthroughhisquestion.“HaveyouandDamienbeentoChicagorecently?”
“IwentwhenIwasaseniorinhighschool.Idon’tthinkDamien’severbeen.”
“HowaboutthenameAaronCorval?Doesthatringanybells?”
Raffpettedthehandlebarmustachewithhisrighthand.“No,Idon’tthinkso.IshealsofromChicago?”
“Connecticut.ButhelivesintheBronxnow.”
“Sorry,no.CanIaskwhyyou’reasking?”
“Itwouldbebetterrightnowifyoucouldjustanswermyquestions.”
“Well,Idon’trecognizeeithername.Icouldsearchourcustomerdatabase,ifyou’dlike.”
“Thatwouldbegreat.”
Raffreachedoverhershoulderandstartedtyping.
Napsaid,“Canyouprintthefullclientlistforus?”
“Youthinkoneofourclients…?”
“Justcoveringallbases,”Napsaid.
“HowdoyouspellThorpe?”RaffaskedElena.
Shesuggestedthathetryitbothways—withtheeandwithoutthee.Nothing.SamewithAaronCorval.
“Whoarethesemen?”Raffasked.Therewasanedgetherenow.“WhatdotheyhavetodowithDamien?”
“YousaidonlyyouandMr.GorseusedthisIPandWi-Fi?”
“Yeah,so?”
“Don’taskmeforthetechnicalexplanation,”shesaid,“butHenryThorpehadcontactwithsomeoneusingthiscomputer’sIP.”
Napjustlistened.
“Meaning?”Raffsaid.Therewasmoreedgenow.
“Meaningjustthat.SomeonewhousedthiscomputercommunicatedwithHenryThorpe.”
“So?ThisThorpeguycouldbeaninksalesmanforallIknow.”
“He’snot.”
Elenastaredathimhard.
“Damiendidn’tkeepsecretsfromme,”Raffsaid.
Didn’t.Finallythepasttense.
“Maybeourcomputerwashackedorsomething.”
“That’snotwhathappened,Neil.”
“Sowhatareyouinsinuating?”
“I’mnotinsinuatinganything.I’masking.”
“Damienwouldn’tcheatonme.”
Shehadn’treallybeengoingthere,butmaybesheshould.Maybetherewassomekindofromanticconnectionhere.WasHenryThorpegay?Shehadn’tbotheredtoask.Thenagain,whointhisdayandagecares?
Andifthatwasthecase—ifDamienandHenrywerelovers—howdidAaronCorvalfitintothis?Wasn’tPaigeGreenehisgirlfriend?Couldthatbetiedinsomehow?CouldtherebesomekindofromanticentanglementElenahadn’tyetconsideredatthecenterofthis?
Shedidn’tseehow.
Naptappedherontheshoulder.“CanIspeaktoyouforamoment?”
Elenagotupfromthechair.SheputahandonRaff’sshoulder.“Mr.Raff?”
Helookedather.
“I’mnotinsinuatinganything.Really.I’mjusttryingtohelpfindwhodidthis.”
Henodded,hiseyesdown.
Napheadedoutthebackdoor.Shefollowedhim.
“What’sup?”sheasked.
“AaronCorval.”
“Whatabouthim?”
“Itisn’thardtouseGoogle,”hesaid.“Hewasmurdereddaysago.”
“That’sright.”
“Soyouwanttotellmewhat’sgoingon?”
ChapterEighteen
Simon’scarroutebacktoManhattanranpasttheCorvalInnandFamilyTreeFarm
Healmostdrovestraightpastit—whatwasthepoint,andhewantedtogetbacktothehospital—butthenagain,nothingventured,nothinggained.Hepulledintothelotandparkedinthesamespothe’dleftearlier.
Theinnwasquiet.IfthemournershadallbeenheadingtoareceptionwhenEnidpeeledoffforherclub,thereceptionwasover.Helookedforanyfamiliarfacesatall—anyonewho’dbeenatthememorialservicedownbythatbrook—buttheonlypersonwholookedfamiliarwasthewomanbehindthedeskwiththetablecloth-checkedblouse.Shehadanothermapofthegroundsflattenedonthedeskandwasshowingacolor-coordinatedyoungcouplethatSimonwouldanachronisticallycallyuppiesthe“mostarduoushikingtrailontheproperty.”
ThewomanclearlyspottedSimonwaitingoutofthecornerofhereye,andsheclearlywasn’thappyaboutit.Simonstood,bouncingonhistoes,andglancedaround.Therewasastaircaseontheright.Hedebatedgoingupit,butwhatgoodwouldthatdo?Therewereglassdoorscoveredwithlacebehindhim.Theywouldleadtoanotherroom.
Maybethereceptionwasinthere.
Ashestartedtowardthem,heheardthewomanbehindthedesksay,“Excuseme,thatroomisprivate.”
Simondidn’tstop.Hereachedthedoor,turnedtheknob,andpushedintotheroom.
Therehadindeedbeenareceptionofsomesortinhere.Debrisfromfingersandwichesandcruditéssatonastainedwhitetableclothinthecenteroftheroom.AnantiquerolltopdeskcompletewiththosemailslotsandtinyfiledrawerswastoSimon’sright.WileyCorvalswiveledfromthedeskandrose.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
ThewomanbehindthedeskcameinbehindSimon.“I’msosorry,Wiley.”
“It’sokay,Bernadette.Igotit.”
“Areyousure?Icancall—”
“Ihaveit.Closethedoorandseetoourguests,please.”
ShethrewaneyedaggeratSimonbeforeheadingbackintothelobby.Sheclosedthedoorsalittleharderthannecessary,shakingtheglass.
“Whatdoyouwant?”heaskedSimonwithasnap.
WileyCorvalnowworeabrownherringbonetweedvestwithpewterbuttons.Agoldchainhungfromamiddlebutton,attachednodoubttoapocketwatchthatwasinthevestpocket.Hiscrispwhiteshirthadpuffyarmsmovingdowntoataperedcuff.
Dressedfortheroleofinnkeeper,Simonthought.
“Mydaughterismissing.”
“Youtoldmethatalready.Ihavenoideawheresheis.Pleasegoaway.”
“Ihavesomequestions.”
“AndIdon’thavetoanswerthem.”Hestoodalittlestraighter,threwbackhisshouldersforeffect.“I’mmourningmysontoday.”
Therewasnoreasontobesubtle.“Areyou?”Simonasked.
SurprisecametoWiley’sface—Simonhadexpectedthat—buttherewassomethingdeeper.
Fear.
“AmIwhat?”
“Aaron’sfather.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Youdon’tlooklikehimatall.”
Wiley’smouthdroppedopen.“Areyouserious?”
“TellmeaboutAaron’smother.”
Helookedasthoughhewereabouttosaysomething,caughthimself,andthenasmilecrossedWileyCorval’sface.Thesmilewascreepy.Extracreepy.Simonalmosttookastepback.
“You’vebeentalkingtomywife.”
SomethingoccurredtoSimonatthatmoment,somethingthatperhapsEnidhadbeenhintingat,orperhapsitwasseeingWileyintheflesh,dressedrightnowtoplaysomepart,orperhapsithadbeentheexpressiononWiley’sfacewhenSimonfirststumbledacrosshimdowninthewoods.
TherewasnogriefemanatingfromWileyCorval.
Ofcourse,alltheclichésapplyhere—peoplegrieveintheirownway,justbecauseyoucan’tseeamanishurtingdoesn’tmeanheisn’t,hecouldbeputtingonabraveface—buttheyallranghollow.Enidhaddescribedherhusbandastheatrical.Simongotthatnow,asifeverythinghedidwaspartofanact,includinghisfeelings.
Thatlittleboy.Livingalonewithamanwhoclaimedtobehisfather.
Simontriedtoholdbackhisimagination,butitbecameabuckinghorse,runningwild,runningtowardtheworstthoughts,themostawful,depravedscenarios.
Theycan’tbetrue,Simontoldhimself.
Andyet.
“I’llgetacourtorder.”
“Forwhat?”Wileyasked,spreadinghishands,thepicturenowofpureinnocence.
“Parentage.”
“Seriously?”Thatdamnedcreepysmile.“Aaronwascremated.”
“IcanfindhisDNAinotherways.”
“Doubtful.AndevenifyoucouldsomehowgethisDNAandmine,itwouldshowthatI’mhisfather.”
“You’relying.”
“AmI?”
He’senjoyingthis,Simonthought.
“Andjustforthesakeofafunmentalexercise,supposeyoudidrunthetestandsupposeitshowedIwasn’tAaron’sbiologicalfather,whatwouldthatprove?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“Maybehismothercheatedonme.Whatdifferencecouldthatmakealltheseyearslater?Thetestwouldn’tshowthat,ofcourse—thisisallahypothetical;IwasAaron’sfather—butwhatdoyouthinkyou’dbeabletoprove?”WileytooktwostepstowardSimon.“MysonwasadrugdealerlivingwithyourjunkiedaughterintheBronx.That’swherehewasmurdered.WhatevergossipEnidtoldyou,youhavetoseethathismurderhasnothingtodowithhischildhood.”
Thatmadesense,ofcourse.Onthesurface,therewasnowaytoarguewithanyofthat.TherewasnotascintillaofevidencethatlinkedwhateverpotentialawfulnesshadoccurredtoayoungboyinthisveryinnandhisbloodymurderdecadeslaterinthatBronxtenement.
Andyet.
Simonshiftedgears.
“WhendidAaronstartgettingintodrugs?”
Theoilysmilewasback.“MaybeyoushouldaskEnidaboutthat.”
“Whendidhemoveaway?”
“Whendidwhomoveaway?”
“Whoarewetalkingabout?Aaron.”
Anothersmile.Christ,hewasreallyenjoyingthis.
“Eniddidn’ttellyou?”
“Tellmewhat?”
“Aarondidn’tmoveaway.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Enidhasaplace.It’sasortofclub.”
“Whataboutit?”
“There’sanapartmentofftheback,”Wileysaid.“Aaronlivedthere.”
“Untilwhen?”
“Iwouldn’treallyknow.AaronandI…wewereestranged.”
Simontriedtofollowthis.“SowhendidhemovenearLanfordCollege?”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Hemovedthere.IthinkAaronwasworkingataclubwhenhemetPaige.”
Wileyactuallylaughedoutloudnow.“Whotoldyouthat?”
NowSimonfeltthechillagain.
“YouthinktheymetinLanford?”
“Theydidn’t?”
“No.”
“Wherethen?”
“Here.”HenoddedatthelookofsurpriseonSimon’sface.“Paigecamehere.”
“Totheinn?”
“Yes.”
“Didyouseeher?”
“Idid.”Nowthelaughwasgone,thesmilefallingaway.Hisvoiceturnedgrave.“Ialsosawher…after.”
“Afterwhat?”
“Aftershe’dbeenwithAaronforafewmonths.Thedifference,whathedidtoher…”WileyCorvalstopped,shookhishead.“Ifyoudidharmmyson,Ialmostcan’tblameyou.IcanonlytellyouthatI’msorry.”
Bullshit.Hewasn’tsorry.Thiswasallanact.
“WhatdidPaigewant?”Simonasked.“Whenshecamehere.”
“Whatdoyouthink?”
“Ihavenoidea.”
“ShewantedtomeetAaron.”
***
Itmadenosense.
WhywouldPaige,aseeminglyhappycollegefreshman,comeherelookingforascumbaglikeAaronCorval?Howwouldhisdaughterevenknowwhohewas?Hadtheymetearlier?NotaccordingtoWileyCorval.PaigehadspecificallycometotheinnseekingtomeetAaron.Didshecometohimtoscoredrugs?Thatalsoseemedalongshot.Drivingthisdistancetoscoredrugs—hoursfromLanfordCollege—seemedpatentlyridiculous.
DidAaronandPaigemeetonlineinsomeway?
Thisseemedmostlikely.Theymetonline,andPaigedroveupheretomeetinperson.
Buthow?Why?Howdidtheirpathscross?Paigedidn’tseemlikethetypeforonlinedatingorTinderoranyofthat—andevenifshewas,evenifSimonwasbeingna?veabouthisowndaughter,couldn’tshehookupwithsomeoneclosertoherschool?
Itmadenosense.
CouldWileybelyingaboutPaigecomingtotheinn?CouldhebetryingtomuddythewatersanddistractfromwhatEnidhadtoldSimonaboutAaron’sparentage?
Simondidn’tthinkso.
WileyCorvalwasasleazebaganduntrustworthyandmaybe—no,probably—worse.ButhiswordsaboutPaigecomingheretomeetAaronhadthatoddyetunmistakablescentoftruth.
SimondrovebacktoEnid’sclub,butshewasgone.HehitYvonne’sspeeddial.
Yvonneansweredonthefirstring.“Ifthere’sachange,I’llcallyou.”
“Nochangeatall?”
“None.”
“Andthedoctors?”
“Nothingnew.”
Simonclosedhiseyes.
“Ispentthedaymakingcalls,”Yvonnesaid.
“Towhom?”
“Well-connectedfriends.Iwantedtomakesurewehavetheabsolutebestdoctorsonthis.”
“And?”heasked.
“Andwedo.Fillmeinonyourvisittotheinn.”
Hedid.Whenhefinished,Yvonnesimplysaid,“Holyshit.”
“Iknow.”
“Sowheredoyougonext?”
“I’mnotsure.”
“Yeah,youare,”Yvonnesaid.
Sheknewhimtoowell.
“SomethingatthatcollegechangedPaige,”hesaid.
“Iagree.Simon?”
“Yes.”
“Callmeinthreehours.IwanttoknowyouarrivedatLanfordsafely.”
ChapterNineteen
Thatweekend,”EileenVaughantoldSimon,“Paigeborrowedmycar.”
Theysatinthefour-personcommonroomwithcathedralceiling.Thedorm’soversizedbaywindowlookedoutoveraLanfordCollegequaddrippingsogreenitmightaswellhavebeenastill-wetpainting.EileenVaughanhadbeenPaige’sfreshman-yearroommate.OnPaige’sfirstdayofcollege,whenSimon,Ingrid,Sam,andAnyahadallbroughthertothiscampusbrimmingwithhope,EileenVaughanhadbeenthefirsttogreetthem.Eileenwassmartandfriendlyandonthesurface,atleast,seemedtobetheperfectroommate.Simonhadtakenherphonenumber,“justincase,”foremergencypurposesonly,whichiswhyhestillhaditnow
SimonandIngridhadleftLanfordCollegethatdayonsuchahigh.Squintingintothecampussun,they’dheldhandsastheywalkedbacktothecar,evenasSamgrumbledabouthisparents’“grossPDA”(PublicDisplayofAffection)andAnyascoffedoutan“Ugh,canyounot?”Backinthecar,Simonhadreminiscedabouthisowncollegeyears,howhe’dlivedinafour-personsuiteliketheonehewasinnow—butnotlikethisone.Simon’shadbeenlitteredwithemptypizzaboxesandemptierbeercans,decoratedinEarlyAmericanPubCrawl,whileEileenVaughan’ssuitelookedlikesomethingoutofanIkeacatalogue,allpalewoodsandrealfurnitureandfreshly-vacuumedthrowcarpets.Therewasnothingironicorcollege-yonthewalls,nodecorativebongsorChepostersorheck,postersofanykind,favoringinsteadhandcraftedtapestrieswithmildBuddhistdesignsorgeometricpatterns.Thewholeeffectwaslesstruecollegiateandmoremodelshowroom,thedormyouusetoswayprospectivestudents(andmore,theirparents)duringcampusvisits.
“HadPaigeeverdonethatbefore?”SimonaskedEileen.
“Borrowedmycar?Never.Shetoldmeshedidn’tliketodrive.”
Itwasmorethanthat,Simonthought.Paigedidn’tknowhowtodrive.Notreally.She’dmanagedtogetherlicenseaftertakinglessonsfromadrivingschoolinFortLee,butbecausetheylivedinManhattan,sheneverdrove.
“YouknowhowPaigewas,”Eileencontinued,notrealizinghowthe“was”ratherthan“is”struckhimdeepinthechest.Itwasappropriate,ofcourse—Paigewasa“was”intermsofthiscampusandprobablyEileen’slife,butashelookedatthislovely,healthy-lookinggirl—yes,heshouldcallherawoman,butrightnowheonlysawEileenasagirl,agirllikehisdaughter—therewasadeep,heavythudinhisheartremindinghimthathisdaughtershouldbethere,occupyingoneofthesuite’sfourbedroomswithaboxspringonthefloorandadeskwithagoosenecklamp.
Eileensaid,“EvenifPaigehadtogetsomethingatthesupermarketorCVS,she’daskmetodriveinstead.”
“SoitmusthavesurprisedyouwhenPaigeaskedtoborrowthecar.”
Eileenworejeansandadarkgraycable-knitsweaterwithaturtleneck.Herlongreddishhairwaspartedinthemiddleandhungdownbehindhershoulders.Hereyeswerebigandindigoblueandshejustreekedofyouthandcollegeandpossibilities,anditkilledhim.
Hervoicewashesitant.“Itdid.”
“Youseemunsure.”
“CanIaskyousomething,Mr.Greene?”
HewasgoingtocorrectherandtellhertocallhimSimon,buttheformalityfeltsomehowrighthere.Shewashisdaughter’sfriend.Hewasaskingabouthisdaughter.
“Ofcourse.”
“Whynow?”
“Pardon?”
“Thiswasalongtimeago.WhathappenedwithPaige…IknowIagreedtoseeyou,butthiswasn’treallyeasyformeeither.”
“Whatwasn’teasy?”
“WhathappenedwithPaige.Here,Imean.AtLanford.Wehadthatsmallroom,thetwoofus,and,Idon’tknow,weconnected.Shewasmybestfriendrightaway.I’manonlychild.Idon’twanttomaketoomuchofthis,butPaigewaslikeasistertome.Andthen…”
Eileenhadbeenhurtandshe’drecoveredandnowSimonwasrippingopenthestitches.Hefeltbadaboutthat,butEileenwasyoung,andthirtyminutesafterhewalkedoutthedoor,she’dgotoaclassoroneofherroommateswouldgetherfordinnerintheCushmanCafeteriaandthenthey’dstudyattheEldersLibraryandprobablyhitadormparty—andthose“wounds”wouldbebacksealeduptight.
“Whathappened?”Simonasked.
“Paigechanged.”
Nohesitation.
“Why?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Hetriedtothinkhowtoapproachthis.“When?”
“Itwastowardtheendoffirstsemester.”
“Afterthistripwithyourcar?”
“Yes.Well,no.Somethingwasoffevenbeforethen.”
Simonleanedforwardalittle,makingsuretokeepawayfromherpersonalspace.“Howlongbefore?”
“I’mnotsure.It’shardtoremember.It’sjustthat…”
Henoddedforhertogoon.
“WhenPaigeaskedtoborrowthecar,Irememberfeelingweirdaboutit.Notjustbecauseitwasoutofcharacter.Butbecauseshe’dbeendistantlately.”
“Anyideawhy?”
“No.Iwashurt.Iwasmaybealittleangrywithheraboutit.”Eileenlookedup.“Ishouldhavereachedouttoherinstead,youknow?Insteadofgettingallhurtaboutit.Makingitallaboutme.MaybeifIhadbeenagoodfriend—”
“Noneofthisisonyou,Eileen.”
Shedidn’tseemconvinced.
“CouldPaigehavebeentakingdrugs?”Simonasked.
“YoumeanbeforeshemetAaron?”
“OnetheoryisthatPaigewasdoingdrugsalready—soAaronmighthavebeenasourceorsomething.”
Eileenconsideredthat.“Idon’tthinkso.Foronething,Iknowthisisacollegecampusanddrugsaresupposedtoberampant.Butthat’snotreallyhowitishere.Iwouldn’tevenknowwheretobuyanythingstrongerthanweed.”
“Maybethatwasit,”Simonsaid.
“What?”
“MaybePaigewantedtobuysomethingstronger.”
“SoshewenttoAaron?”
“That’sonetheory.”
Eileenwasn’tbuyingit.“Paigedidn’tevensmokeweed.Idon’tmeantomakehersoundlikesomekindofpriss.Shedrankandstuff,butIneversawherstonedbeforeorhighorwhateveryouwanttocallit.ThefirsttimeIsawherlikethatwasaftershemetAaron.”
“Soitcomesbacktothesamething,”Simonsaid.“WhydidPaigeborrowyourcar?WhydidshedrivetothisquietcornerofConnecticut?”
“Idon’tknow.I’msorry.”
“Yousaidshewasdifferent.”
“Yes.”
“Howaboutherotherfriends?”
“Ithink…”Hergazetraveledupandtotheleft.“Yes,lookingbackonit,IthinkPaigejustkindofwithdrew.Fromallofus.Oneofourfriends,JudyZyskind—doyouknowher?”
“No.”
“Judy’soneofmysuitematesnow.She’satalacrossegameatBowdoinorI’daskhertoexplain.Anyway,Idon’tthinkthisisit,butJudythoughtmaybesomethinghadhappenedtoheratafratparty.”
Simonfeltacoldjoltrunthroughhim.“Whatdoyoumean,‘happenedtoher’?”
“Wetalkalotaboutsexualassaultoncampushere.A.Lot.I’mnotsayingtoomuch.Wereallyneedit.ButIthinkJudysortofhasitonthebrainnow.Sowhensomeonebecomeswithdrawn,it’skindaallwesee.IrememberonenightJudyconfrontingPaigeaboutit.AboutsomeguywhoJudythoughtwasbotheringPaige.”
“Whatguy?”
“Idon’tknow.Theydidn’tsayaname.”
“AndthisisbeforeAaron?”
“Yes.”
“HowdidPaigereact?”
“Shesaidthatithadnothingtodowithanyofthat.”
“Didshesaywhatitdidhavetodowith?”
Eileenhesitated,turnedaway.
“Eileen?Didshesaysomethingelse?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“IthinkPaigewasjusttryingtodeflect.Togetusoffherback.”
“Whatdidshesay?”
“Shesaid”—Eileenturnedback,metSimon’seyes—“thattherewereproblemsathome.”
Simonblinkedandleanedback,takingtheblow.Hehadn’tbeenexpectingthat.“Whatkindofproblemsathome?”
“Paigewouldn’telaborate.”
“Noclueatall?”
“Ithought,well,withwhathappenedafter,withAaronandthedrugsandeverything,IthoughtmaybeyouandDr.Greenewerehavingproblems.”
“Weweren’t.”
“Oh.”
Simon’smindswirled.
Problemsathome?
Hetriedtopieceittogether.Itwasn’tthemarriage—heandIngridweregood,betterthanever,actually.Itwasn’tfinancial—herparentswerebothattheheightoftheircareersandearningpower.HowaboutPaige’ssiblings?Nothingstrange,nothingthathecouldremember.TherehadbeenaminordramawithSam’sscienceteacher,butno,thathadbeentheyearbefore,andthatwouldn’twarranta“problemsathome”comment.
UnlesssomethinghadbeengoingonthatSimondidn’tknowabout.
Butevenifthatwerethecase—evenifPaigeimaginedorsawsomerealproblemwithsomethingbackhomewithherfamily—howhadthatledhertodrivetoConnecticutandAaron?
HeaskedEileenthat.
“I’msorry,Mr.Greene.Idon’tknow.”
EileenVaughanglancedathermobilephonethewaysomeoneoldermightglanceattheirwatch.Sheshiftedonthecouch,herbodylanguagesuddenlyallwrong,andSimonknewthathewaslosingher.
“Ihaveaclasssoon,”shesaid.
“Eileen?”
“Yes?”
“Aaron’sbeenmurdered.”
Hereyeswidened.
“Paigehasrunoff.”
“Runoff?”
“She’smissing.AndnowIthinkwhoeverkilledAaronisafterhertoo.”
“Idon’tunderstand.Why?”
“Idon’tknow.ButIthinkwhateverbroughtthemtogether—whatevermadePaigeseekAaronout—isresponsible.That’swhyIneedyourhelp.Ineedtofigureoutwhathappenedtoher,onthiscampus,thatmadeherborrowyourcarandgotoAaron.”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Igetthat.AndIgetthatyoujustwantmetoleave.ButI’maskingyouforyourhelp.”
“Helphow?”
“Startfromthebeginning.Tellmeeverythingthathappened,nomatterhowinsignificantitmightseem.”
***
Paigebecamea“TryHard,”EileenVaughantoldhim.
“Awhat?”
“ATryHard,”Eileenrepeated.“YouknowhowduringOrientationWeektheytellyouthatyoucanbeallyouwanttobe,thatthisisyourchancetostartanewandtakeadvantageofalltheopportunities?”
Simonnodded.
“Paigetookthattoheart.”
“Isn’tthatagoodthing?”
“Ithoughtshewasoverdoingit.Shewantedtobeinaplay.Shetriedoutfortwoacappellagroups.There’sthiscluboncampusofsciencenerdswhobuildrobots.Shejoinedthat.Sheranforafreshmanjudiciaryseatandwon.ShegotobsessedwiththeFamilyTreeClub,whichhookedupwithourgeneticsclass,tofigureoutwhereyou’refromandallthat.Shealsowantedtowriteaplay.Lookingbackonit,itwasalltoomuch.Shewasdrivingherselftoohard.”
“Didshehaveanyboyfriends?”
“Nooneserious.”
“Theguyyourlacrosseroommatementioned…”
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutthat.I’lltextJudy,ifyoulike.”
“Please.”
Eileentookoutherphone,herfingersdancingonthescreen.Shenoddedwhenitwasdone.
“Howaboutheracademics?”Simonasked.“Whatclasseswasshetaking?”
Afathershouldknowthat,ofcourse,butbeforeallthis,Simonhadpridedhimselfonnotbeingoneofthosehelicopterparents.Hedidn’tknowherclasses,eveninhighschool.SomeparentscheckedanonlineprogramcalledSkywardeveryday,tomakesuretheirchilddidtheirhomeworkorwaskeepingupwiththeirgrades.Simondidn’tevenknowhowtologon.Hehadsmuglythoughtbackthenthatthatmadehimabetterfather.
Stayoutoftheway.Trustyourchild.
AndithadbeeneasywithPaige.Shewasself-driven.Sheexcelled.Oh,whatsatisfactionSimonhadfeltbackthen,whatfoolishsuperiorityoverthoseoverbearingandoverinvolvedparentshe’dfelt,braggingthathedidn’tevenknowhisSkywardpasswordlikethatassholeatthepartywhobragsaboutnotowningatelevision.
Whatarrogancebeforethefall.
EileenwrotedownthenamesofPaige’sclassesandtheprofessorswhotaughtthem.Shehandedhimtheslipofpaperandsaid,“Ireallyhavetogonow.”
“DoyoumindifIwalkwithyou?”
Shesaidthatwouldbefine,butshesaiditgrudgingly.
Simonreadtheclasslistastheyheadedforthedoor.“Doesanythingjumpoutatyou?”
“Notreally.Mostoftheclasseswereprettybig.Idon’tthinktheprofessorswillreallyrememberher.TheonlyexceptionwouldbeProfessorvandeBeek.”
Theystartedacrossthatbright,greenquad.
“WhatdidvandeBeekteach?”
“ThatgeneticsclassItoldyouabout.”
“WherecanIfindhim?”
Stillwalking,Eileenpeckedsomethingoutonhermobilephone.“Here,thisishim.”
Shehandedhimthephone.
ProfessorLouisvandeBeekwasyoung,probablynotyetthirtyand—nottobethatfather—helookedlikethekindofprofessorthatmadeyoungco-edsswoon.Hisso-black-it’s-bluehairwasatouchtoolong,hisskinalittletoowaxy.Hehadgoodteeth,anicesmile.HeworeatightblackT-shirtinthepicture,histonedarmsfoldedoverhischest.
Whatthehellhappenedtoprofessorswithtweedsportcoats?
Underhisportrait,itread“ProfessorofBiologicalScience.”ItalsolistedhisofficeaddressatClarkHouse,hisemailaddress,hiswebsite,andfinally,theclasseshetaught,includingIntroductiontoGeneticsandGenealogy.
“Yousaidhewasanexception.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”Simonasked.
“Foronething,GeneticsandGenealogywasasmallclass,”shesaid.“Sowegottoknowtheprofessorprettywell.ButforPaige,hewassomethingmore.”
“Likewhat?”
“ProfessorvandeBeekranthatFamilyTreeclubItoldyoushegotobsessedwith.Iknowshevisitedhimduringofficehours.Alot.”
Simonfrownedagain.Eileenmusthavespottedit.
“Ohno,nothinglikethat.”
“Okay.”
“WhenPaigegothere,shedidn’tknowwhattomajorin.Liketherestofus.Youknewthat,right?”
Henodded.HeandIngridhadencouragedthat.Noneedtolockyourselfdown,they’dtoldher.Explore.Trynewthings.You’llfindyourpassion.
“Paigetalkedalotabouthermomandherjob.”Thenshequicklyadded,“Notthatshedidn’ttalkaboutyoutoo,Mr.Greene.Imean,Ithinkshefoundyourjobinterestingtoo.”
“It’sokay,Eileen.”
“Anyway,Ithinkshesortofhero-worshippedhermom.ProfessorvandeBeekisalsothefreshmancounselorforstudentswhowanttogointomedicine.”
Simonswallowed.“Paigewantedtobeaphysician?”
“Yeah,Ithinkso.”
Therevelationcrushedhimanew.Paigehadwantedtobeadoctor.Likehermother.
“Anyway,”Eileencontinued,“Idon’tthinkthishasanythingtodowithhermeetingAaron,butProfessorvandeBeekwasabigpartofherlifehere.”
TheycrossedinfrontofRatnerdormitory,wherePaigeandEileenhadlivedfreshmanyear,walkingrightacrossthespotwhereSimonhadhuggedhisdaughtergoodbyealifetimeago.
Thepainfulhitsjustkeptcoming.
WhenEileenspottedsomefriendsinfrontoftheIsherwoodbuilding,shetoldSimonthatherclasswasinsideandbidhimaquickgoodbye.HewavedassheleftandthenheadedovertoClarkHouse.Whenheenteredthefrontfoyer,anolderwomanwithafacethathadseenitallbeforetheEisenhoweradministrationsatbehindthedeskandscowledathim.
AsmallnameplatereadMRSDINSMORE.Nofirstname.
“MayIhelpyou?”Mrs.Dinsmoresaidinavoicethatindicatedanyhelpwouldcomeveryreluctantly.
“I’mlookingforProfessorvandeBeek.”
“Youwon’tfindhim.”
“Pardon?”
“ProfessorvandeBeekisonsabbatical.”
“Sincewhen?”
“I’mnotatlibertytoansweranyadditionalquestionsonthematter.”
“Ishearoundorishetraveling?”
Mrs.Dinsmorehadapairofglassesonachainaroundherneck.Sheputthemonnowandfrownedwithevenmoredisapproval.“Whatpartof‘notatlibertytoanswer’didyoufindconfusing?”
SimonhadLouisvandeBeek’semailfromthatwebdirectory.Thatseemedthemoreprudentwaytogo.“You’vebeenadelight,thankyou.”
“Iaimtoplease,”Mrs.Dinsmorereplied,headdown,writingsomethingdown.
Simonheadedbacktowardhiscar.HecalledYvonneandheardyetagainhownothingwithIngrid’sconditionhadchanged.Hewantedtoaskamillionquestions,butanoddmemorycametohim.EarlyinhisrelationshipwithIngrid,Simonworriedabouttheoverseasmarketsandpoliticalupheavalandupcomingearningsreports—anythingthatcouldaffecthisclients’portfolios.Thatwasnaturalenough,partofthejobonthesurface,butitactuallymadehimalessfocusedandlesseffectivefinancialanalyst.
“Theserenityprayer,”Ingridhadtoldhimonenight.She’dbeensittingatthecomputer,wearingoneofhisdressshirts,herbacktohim.
“What?”
Hecameupbehindherandrestedhishandsonhisbeautifulwife’sshoulders.Theprinterwhirred.Shereachedforasheetofpaperandhandedittohim.
“Putthisonyourdesk,”shesaid.
Heshouldhavebeenfamiliarwiththeprayer,ofcourse,buthewasn’t.Hereadit,andoddasthissounds,itchangedhislifealmostimmediately:
God,grantmetheSERENITYtoacceptthethingsIcannotchange,TheCOURAGEtochangethethingsIcan,TheWISDOMtoknowthedifference.
No,Simonwasn’treligiousintheleastandtheprayerwasshortandobvious.Yetitresonated.Andmorethanthat,itresonatedwithIngrid.Hecouldn’tchangeIngrid’scondition.Shewascomatoseinahospital,thepainofthatconstantandripping,buthehadtoletitgobecauseitwasfoolhardytothinkhecouldchangethatfactnow.
Hecouldn’t.
Soacceptthat.Letitgo.Changethethingsthathecould.
Likefindinghisdaughter.
WhenSimonreachedhiscar,hecalledElenaRamirez.
“Anything?”heasked.
“Youfirst.”
“PaigecametoAaron,nottheotherwayaround.IalwaysthoughtthattheymetnearLanfordCollege.Butshesoughthimout.”
“Sosheknewhimbefore?”
“Somehow.”
“Probablymetonline.Adatingapporsomething.”
“Whywouldshehavebeenonadatingapp?”
“Whyisanyone?”
“She’sacollegefreshman,allcaughtupinherstudiesandnewfriends.Andthat’snotmyDadgogglestalking.”
“Dadgoggles?”
“Youknow.Bias.SeeingyourkidsthroughDadgoggles.”
“Oh,right.”
“ThiswaswhatPaigewaslike,accordingtoherroommate,notme.Didyoutalktotheguyatthetattooparloryet?”
“DamienGorse.Stickwithmefirst,Simon.IsthereanythingelseyouthinkIshouldknow?”
“JustsomethingreallyweirdaboutAaron’supbringing.Orhisparentageanyway.”
“Tellme.”
SoSimonfilledherinonthestoryEnidtoldhimaboutAaronandWiley’staleofadeadItalianmother.Whenhefinished,therewassilenceontheotherendofthephone.Thenheheardhertappingonakeyboard.
“Elena?”
“I’mtryingtoGooglephotographsofAaronandhisfather.”
“Why?”
Therewasapause.
“Idon’tseeany.Iseesomeofthefatherattheinn.Wiley.”
“Why,what’sup?”
“Thisisgoingtosoundweird,”shebegan.
“But?”
“Butyou’veseenbothAaronandWileyinperson.”
“Yes.”
“Doyouthinktheyarefatherandson?Imean,biologically.”
“No.”Simonsaiditthatfast,withoutreallyprocessinghisresponse.“Imean…look,Idon’tknow.Somethingisoff.Why?”
“Itmightbenothing.”
“But?”
“ButHenryThorpewasadopted,”Elenasaid.“SowasDamienGorse.”
Simonfeltachill,buthestillsaid,“You’rereaching.”
“Iknow.”
“Paigewasn’tadopted.”
“Iknowthattoo.”
“Elena?”
“Yes?”
“WhatdidDamienGorsetellyou?”
“Nothing,Simon.Gorseisdead.Someonemurderedhimtoo.”
ChapterTwenty
Ashalwaystriedtobeprepared.
Therewerefreshclothesinthecarforbothofthem.TheymanagedtochangeonthemoveanddumpedtheoldclothesinacharitybinbehindaWholeFoodsneartheNewYorkstateborder.AtaRiteAid,DeeDee,donningabaseballcap,boughttenitems,butonlytworeallymattered—hairdyeandascissors.
Hedidn’tgoinwithher.
Therewerecameraseverywhere.Letthemlookforalonewomanorloneman.Confusethem.Don’tstayanyplacetoolong.
DeeDeehadthoughtshecouldjustcolorherhairintheRiteAidbathroom.Ashtoldherthatwouldbeamistake.
Keepmoving.Don’tgivethemanythingtogoon.
Theydroveanothertenmilesandfoundanold-schoolgasstation—poorerCCTV,Ashfigured.DeeDeeheadedintothebathroomwearingthebaseballcap.Usingthenewlyboughtscissors,shesawedoffthelongblondebraidandcroppedherhairclose,thensheflushedthecuthairdownthetoilet.Shedyedtheshorterlocksasubtleauburn,nothingtoostriking,andputthecapbackonherhead.
Ashhadtoldher:Alwayswalkwithyourheadtilteddown.CCTVcamerasshotfromabove.Always.Sowearacapwithabillandkeepyoureyesontheground.Sometimes,dependingontheweather,sunglasseswereagoodidea.Othertimes,theydrewthewrongkindofattention.
“Thisisoverkill,”DeeDeesaid.
“Probably.”
Butshedidn’targue—andifDeeDeereallyhadanissuewithhisprecautions,she’dargue.
Oncetheywerebackontheroad,DeeDeetookoffthecapandmussedherhairwithherhand.“HowdoIlook?”
Heriskedalookandfelttheka-boominhisheart.
DeeDeepulledherkneesuptoherchestandfellasleepintheseatnexttohim.Ashkeptsneakingglancesather.Ataredlight,herolledupashirthe’dkeptinthebackseatandplaceditbetweenherheadandthecardoor,justtomakesureshewascomfortableanddidn’thurtherself.
Threehourslater,whenshewokeup,DeeDeesaid,“Ineedtopee.”
Ashpulledoffatthenextreststop.Theyputonbaseballcaps.Ashboughtsomechickenfingersandfriestogo.Whentheygotbackonthehighway,DeeDeeasked,“Whereareweheaded?”
“Wedon’tknowwhatthecopshaveonyou.”
“That’snotananswertomyquestion,Ash.”
“Youknowwherewe’regoing,”hesaid.
DeeDeedidnotreply.
“Iknowit’sneartheVermontborder,”Ashsaid.“ButIdon’tknowtheexactlocation.You’llhavetodirectme.”
“Theywon’tletyouin.Nooutsiders.”
“Gotit.”
“Especiallymen.”
Ashrolledhiseyes.“Gee,thatseemsnormal.”
“That’stherules.NooutsidemeninTruthHaven.”
“Idon’thavetogoin,Dee.Ijustneedtodropyouoff.”
“Why?”
“Youknowwhy.”
“Youthinkit’snotsafeformeanymore.”
“Bingo.”
“Butit’snotuptoyoutodecidewhat’ssafe,”shesaid.“It’snotuptomeeither.”
“Don’ttellme,”Ashsaid.“It’sinGod’shands.”
Shesmiledathim.Itwas,asalways,evenwiththestrangehaircolorandnewcut,beatific.Thesmilestruckhisheartwithagentleboom.
“It’snotjustGod.It’stheTruth.”
“Andwhotellsyouthetruth?”
“Forthosewhocanneverunderstand,it’seasiesttocallhimGod.”
“Hetalkstoyou?”
“Viahispersonageonearth.”
Ashhadstudieduponthenonsenseofhercult.“ThatwouldbeCasperVartage?”
“Godmadehischoice.”
“Vartageisaconman.”
“Thedevildoesn’twanttheTruthtoflourish.ThedevildiesinTruth’slight.”
“SoVartage’sjailtime?”
“That’swherehewastoldtheTruth.Insolitary.Aftertheybeathimandtorturedhim.Nowwhenthemediaandoutsidersspeakillofhim,itisbecausetheyaretryingtosilencetheTruth.”
Ashshookhishead.Pointless.
“It’sthesecondexitaftertheVermontborder,”shesaid.
Ashflippedthestation.Theseventiesclassic“Hey,St.Peter”byFlashandthePancameontheradio.Ashhadtosmile.Inthesong,amanarrivesatthegatesofheavenandpleadsforSt.PetertolethiminbecauselivinginNewYorkCitymeanshe’salreadydonehistimeinhell.
“Doyouhavemusicatthecompound?”Ashasked.
“WecallitTruthHaven.”
“DeeDee.”
“Yes,wehavemusic.Manyofourmembersaretalentedmusicians.Theywritetheirownsongs.”
“Youdon’thaveoutsidemusic?”
“Thatwouldn’tspreadtheTruth,Ash.”
“OneofVartage’srules?”
“Pleasedon’tusehisbeforename.”
“Hisbeforename?”
“Yes.It’sforbidden.”
“Beforename,”hesaidagain.“Youmeanlikeyou’renowHolly?”
“Yes.”
“Didhegiveyouthatname?”
“TheTruthCouncildid.”
“WhomakesuptheTruthCouncil?”
“TheTruth,theVolunteer,theVisitor.”
“Threepeople?”
“Yes.”
“Allmen?”
“Yes.”
“LiketheTrinity.”
Sheturnedtowardhim.“NothingliketheTrinity.”
Noreasontogetintothat,hethought.“IassumetheTruthisCasperVartage.”
“Heis,yes.”
“Andtheothertwo?”
“TheyaretheoffspringoftheTruth.TheywerebornandraisedintheHaven.”
“Hissons,youmean?”
“It’snotlikethat,butforyourpurposes,yes.”
“Mypurposes?”
“Youwouldn’tunderstand,Ash.”
“Anotherlinefromeverycult.”Heheldupahandbeforeshecouldadmonishhim.“AndwhathappensifyouquestiontheTruth?”
“Truthistruth.Bydefinition.Anythingelseisalie.”
“Wow.Soeverythingyourleadersaysisgospel.”
“Canthelionnotbealion?He’stheTruth.Howcanwhathesaysnotbetrue?”
AshshookhisheadastheycrossedintoVermont.Hekeptsneakingglancesather
“DeeDee?”
Sheclosedhereyes.
“DoyoureallywantmetocallyouHolly?”
“No,”shesaid.“It’sokay.WhenI’mnotinTruthHaven,I’mnotHolly,amI?”
“Uh-huh.”
Shesaid,“DeeDeecandothingsthatHollycannot.”
“Nicemoralout.”
“Isn’tit?”
Ashtriednottogrin.“IthinkIlikeDeeDeemore.”
“Yes,Ithinkyoudo.ButHollyismorecomplete.HollyishappyandunderstandstheTruth.”
“DeeDee?”Then,pausing,hesighedandsaid:“OrshouldIsay,‘Holly’?”
“Thisexit.”Hetookit.“What,Ash?”
“CanIbeblunt?”
“Yes.”
“Howcanyoubelievethiscrap?”
Heglancedather.Shetuckedherlegsupsothatshewassittingcross-leggedintheseat.“Ireallydoloveyou,Ash.”
“Iloveyoutoo.”
“YoudidsomeGoogling,Ash?OntheShiningTruth?”
Hehad.Theirleader,CasperVartage,wasbornofamysteriousbirthin1944.Hismotherclaimedtohavewokenuponedaysevenmonthspregnant—theverymomentherhusbanddiedleadingthechargeonNormandyBeach.Thereisnoproofofanyofthis,ofcourse.Butthisisthestory.AsayoungsterinNebraska,Casperwasconsidereda“grainhealer”andfarmerssoughthimoutduringdroughtsandthelike.Againnoonebacksupthisclaim.Vartagerebelledagainsthispowers—somethingabouttheTruthbeingsopotenthetriedtofightitoff—andendedupinprisonsometimearound1970forfraud.Thatpart—thefraud—thereisevidenceofandplentyofit.
Afterlosinganeyeinaprisonfightandbeingthrownintoahellholedescribedasthe“heatbox,”ol’Casperwasvisitedbyanangel.HardtosayifVartagejustmadethispartupoutofwholeclothorifthesuncauseddelusions.Eitherway,theangelwhovisitedhimisknowninthecult’scleverfolkloreastheVisitor.TheVisitortoldhimabouttheTruthandthesymbolhehadtofindbehindarockintheArizonadesertwhenhewasfree,whichsupposedlyhedid.
Therewasmorecraplikethat,typicalnonsensemythology,andnow“TheShiningTruth”hadacompoundwheretheybrainwasheddisciples,mostlywomen,orbeatordruggedorrapedthem.
“Idon’texpectyoutoseetheTruth,”DeeDeesaid.
“Ijustdon’tgethowyoudon’tseethisisacrazy-asscult.”
Sheangledherbodytowardhim.“DoyourememberMrs.Kensington?”
Mrs.Kensington,afostermotherthey’dhadincommon,tookthoseinhercaretochurchtwiceaweek—TuesdayafternoonsforBiblestudiesandSundaymorningsformass.Always.Shenevermissedthem.
“Ofcourseyoudo.”
“Shewasgoodtous,”heagreed.
“Yes,shewas.Doyoustillgotochurch,Ash?”
“Rarely,”hesaid.
“Youlikeditthough.Whenwewerekids.”
“Itwasquiet.Ilikedthequiet.”
“Doyourememberthestoriesthatweheardbackthen?”
“Sure.”
“Mrs.Kensingtonbelievedeveryoneofthem.”
“Iknow.”
“Soremindme:HowoldwasNoahwhenhebuilttheark?”
“DeeDee.”
“Somewherearoundfivehundredyearsold,ifIrecall.DoyoureallythinkNoahputtwoofeverycreatureonthatark?Thereareamilliontypesofinsectsalone.Thinkhemanagedtogetthemallonboard?ThatallmakessensetoyouandalltheMrs.Kensingtonsoutthere—buttheTruthdoesn’t?”
“It’snotthesamething.”
“Sureitis.WesatinthatchurchandMrs.Kensingtonhadtearsinhereyesandnoddedwhentheytoldusaboutsalvation.Doyourememberthestories?”
Ashfrowned.
“LetmeseeifIcanrecap:Acelestialbabyboy,whowashisownfather,wasborntoamarriedvirgin.Thenthebaby’sfather—whowasalsohim—torturedandkilledhim.Oh,butthenhecamebackfromthedeadlikeazombie,butifyoueathisflesh,whichisawafer,anddrinkhiswinebloodandpromisetokisshisass,hewillsuckalltheeviloutofyou—”
“DeeDee—”
“Wait,I’mgettingtothebestpart.Thereasonwhythereisevilatallintheworld—doyourememberthispart,Ash?”
Hedid,buthekeptquiet.
“No?Oh,you’lllovethis.Evilexistsbecauseanairheadedbimbo,whostartedlifeasaman’srib,gottrickedintoeatingapieceofbadfruitbyatalkingreptile.”DeeDeeclappedherhandstogetherandfellbackonthecarseat,laughing.“DoIneedtogointotheotherstuff?Thepartingofseas,theprophetsascendingonanimalsuptothesky,Abrahampimpingouthiswifetothepharaoh?Howaboutevennow,allthese‘holy’menwholiveinRomancompoundswithhomoeroticartandwearcostumesthatwouldmakeadragqueenblush?”
Hejustkeptondriving.
“Ash?”
“What?”
“ItmaysoundlikeI’mmockingthesebeliefs,”shesaid,“orthatI’mmockingMrs.Kensington.”
“Thatitdoes.”
“I’mnot.Mypointis,maybebeforeyoudismissotherbeliefsaswacko,youshouldtakeacloserlookatthestoriesthat‘normal’”—DeeDeeair-quoted—“peoplefindcredible.Wethinkallreligionsarecrazy—exceptourown.”
Hedidn’twanttoadmitit,butshehadapoint.Andyetsomethinginhertone…
“TheTruthismorethanareligion.It’saliving,breathingentity.TheTruthhasalwaysexisted.Itwillalwaysexist.Mostpeople’sGodlivesinthepast—thousandsofyearsago,stuckinoldbooks.Why?DotheythinkGodgaveuponthem?Mineishere.Today.Intherealworld.WhenthisTruthdies,hisoffspringwillcontinue.BecausetheTruthlives.TheTruth,ifyoucouldbeobjective,Ash,ifyouhadn’tbeenbrainwashedbythebigreligionssincechildbirth,makesmoresensethantalkingsnakesorelephantgods,doesn’tit?”
Ashsaidnothing.
“Ash?”
“What?”
“Talktome.”
“Idon’tknowwhattosay.”
“Maybethat’sbecauseyou’rehearingtheTruth.”
“Uhno,that’snotit.”
“Takeyournextright,”shesaid.“We’regettingclose.”
Theroadwasonelanenow,withforestoneitherside.
“Youdon’thavetogoback,”Ashsaid.
DeeDeeturnedandstaredoutherwindow.
“Ihavesomemoneysaved,”Ashcontinued.“Wecouldgosomewhere.Justyouandme.Buyaplace.YoucouldbeHollywithme.”
Shedidn’treply.
“Dee?”
“Yes.”
“Didyouhearme?”
“Idid.”
“Youdon’thavetogoback.”
“Shh.We’regettingclosenow.”
ChapterTwenty-One
SimoncalledthephonenumberonProfessorvandeBeek’sbiopage.Aftertworings,itwenttovoicemail.SimonleftamessageaskingvandeBeektocallhimbackabouthisdaughter,PaigeGreene.Simondoubledupthen,sendinganemailtotheprofessorwiththesamerequest.
HecalledbothSamandAnya,butthecallswentrightintovoicemail,whichwasnosurprise.Kidsnevertalkedonthephone,onlytexted.Heshouldhaveknownbetter.Hesentthemboththesametext:
Youokay?Wannacallme?
Samansweredrightaway.
Allgood.Nahnoneed.
Again,nosurprise.
HestartedbacktowardNewYorkCity.HeandIngridsharedastreamorcloudorwhatever,sothatallhisphotosanddocumentsandallherphotosanddocumentswereinthesameplace.Musictoo.Theysharedaservice,sohetoldSiritoplayIngrid’smostrecentplaylistandsatbackandlistened.
ThefirstsongIngridhadputonherplaylistmadehimsmile:“TheGirlfromIpanema,”the1964versionsungbyAstrudGilberto.
Sublime.
Simonshookhishead,stillinaweofthewomanwhohadsomehow,outofalltheoptions,chosenhim.Him.Whateverlifehadthrownathim,whateverturnshe’dmadeorbizarreforkshe’dseenintheroad,thatfact—thatIngridhadchosenhim—alwayskepthimbalanced,madehimthankful,guidedhimhome.
Thephonerang.ThecallerIDappearedonthecar’snavigationscreen.
Yvonne.
Hequicklyansweredit.
“It’snotaboutIngrid,”Yvonnesaidrightaway.“Nochangethere.”
“Whatthen?”
“Andnothingiswrong.”
“Okay.”
“TodayisthesecondTuesdayofthemonth,”shesaid.
He’dforgottenaboutSadieLowenstein.
“Notabigdeal,”Yvonnecontinued.“IcancallSadieforyouandpostponeorIcanheadoutmyselfor—”
“No,I’llgo.”
“Simon…”
“No,Iwantto.It’sonmywayanyhow.”
“Areyousure?”
“Yeah.IfsomethingchangeswithIngrid—”
“I’llcallyou.OrRobertwill.He’stakingoverformesoon.”
“Howarethekids?”
“Anyaiswithyourneighbor.Samisonhisphoneallthetime,textingorwhatever.Hestarteddatingagirltwoweeksago.Didyouknowthat?”
Anotherpang,thoughasmallonethistime.“No.”
“ThegirlfriendwantstocomedownfromAmherstandsitherewithhim,whichismakinghimsmileinspiteofhimself,butSam’stoldhernottoyet.”
“I’llbebacksoon.”
“Theymissyou,buttheydon’tneedyou,ifyouknowwhatImean.Theygetwhatyou’redoing.”
***
SadieLowensteinlivedinabrickcolonialinYonkers,NewYork,justnorthoftheBronx.Theneighborhoodwasno-frillsandworkingclass.Sadiehadlivedhereforfifty-sevenofhereighty-threeyears.Shecouldaffordbetter.Asherfinancialadvisor,Simonknewthatbetterthananyone.ShecouldgetaplacedowninFloridafortheroughwinterstoo,acondomaybe,butshescoffed.Nointerest.ShetooktwotripsperyeartoVegas.Thatwasit.Otherthanthat,shelikedheroldhome.
Sadiestillsmokedandhadtheraspyvoicetoproveit.Sheworeanold-schoolhousedress/muumuu.Theysatinherkitchen,attheroundFormicatablewhereSadieoncesatwithherhusbandFrankandtheirtwinboys,BarryandGreg.Theyweregonefromherenow.BarrydiedofAIDSin1992.Franksuccumbedtocancerin2004.Greg,theonlyonestillliving,hadmovedouttoPhoenixandrarelycamehometovisit.
Thefloorwasfilmylinoleum.Aclockabovethesinkhadthenumbersdisplayedwithreddice,asouvenirfromoneofherearlyVegastripswithFrank,maybetwentyyearsago.
“Sit,”Sadiesaid.“I’llmakeyousomeofthatteayoulikesomuch.”
Theteawasastore-brandchamomilewithlemonandhoney.Hedidn’tdrinktea.ForSimon,teawasweak,a“coffeewannabe,”andmuchashewantedteatobesomethingmore,teaalwaysendedupbeinglittlemorethanbrownwater.
Butadecadeago—maybemore,hecouldn’trememberanymore—Sadiehadmadehimteawiththisparticularflavorboughtatthisparticularstore,andshe’daskedhimifhelikedit,andhesaid,“Verymuch,”andnowthatteawashere,waitingforhim,everytimehevisited.
“It’shot,sobecareful.”
Amonthlycalendar,thekindwithgenericphotographsofmountainsandrivers,hungontheivory-to-yellowrefrigerator.Banksusedtohandoutcalendarsliketheseforfree.Maybebanksstilldidthat.Sadiewasgettingthemsomewhere.
Simonstaredatthecalendar,thatsimple,old-worldschedulerandto-dolist.
Hedidthatprettymucheverytimehecame.Juststaredatthethirtyorthirty-oneboxes(yes,twenty-eightortwenty-nineinFebruaryfortheanal).Most—almostall—ofthoseboxeshadnowritinginthem.Justwhite.Ablueballpointhadscratchedoutthewords“Dentist,2PM”forthesixthofthemonth.RecyclingdaywascircledeveryotherMonday.Andthere,onthesecondTuesdayofeverymonth,writtenwithapurplemarkerinbig,boldletters,wasoneword:
SIMON!
Yes,hisname.Withtheexclamationpoint.AndanexclamationpointwasreallynotSadieLowenstein.
Thatwasit.
Hehadfirstseenthatcalendarentry—hisnameinpurplewithanexclamationpoint—onthissamerefrigeratoreightyearsago,whenhewasdebatingcuttingdownhisvisitsbecausereally,atthisstage,withherinvestmentsandcostsprettymuchfixed,therewasnoreasontocomeoutmonthly.Itcouldbehandledbyphoneorbyajuniorcolleagueoratthemost,theycouldwrapitupinquarterlyvisits.
ButthenSimonlookedattherefrigeratorandsawhisnameonthecalendar.
HetoldIngridabouttheentry.HetoldYvonneaboutit.Sadiehadnofamilynearbyanymore.Herfriendshadeithermovedorpassedaway.Sothismeantsomethingtoher,hisvisits,sittingattheoldkitchentablewheresheonceraisedafamily,Simongoingovertheportfolioastheybothsippedtea.
Andsoitmeantsomethingtohimtoo.
SimonhadnevermissedanappointmentwithSadie.Notonce.
Ingridwouldbeangryifhe’dcanceledtoday.Soherehewas.
Hewasabletoaccessherportfoliofromhislaptop.Hewentoverafewoftheholdings,butreallythatwasallbesidethepoint.
“Simon,doyourememberouroldstore?”
SadieandFrankhadownedasmalloffice-supplystoreintown,thekindofplacethatsoldpensandpaperandmadephotocopiesandbusinesscards.
“Sure,”hesaid.
“Haveyoudrivenbyitlately?”
“No.It’saclothingstorenow,right?”
“Usedtobe.Allthosetightteenclothes.IusedtocallitSlutsRUs,remember?”
“Iremember.”
“WhichIknowisn’tnice.Imean,youshouldhaveseenmeinmyprime.Iwasalooker,Simon.”
“Youstillare.”
Shewavedadismissivehandathim.“Stopwiththepatronizing.Backthenthough,boyIknewhowtousemycurves,ifyouknowwhatI’msaying.MydadwouldthrowafitwithwhatIwore.”Awistfulsmilecametoherlips.“GotFrank’sattention,thatIcantellyou.Thepoorkid.SawmeatRockawayBeachinatwo-piece—heneverhadachance.”
Sheturnedthesmiletowardhim.Hesmiledback.
“Anyway,”Sadiesaid,thesmileandthememoryvanishing,“thatwhorecostumeplacecloseddown.Nowit’sarestaurant.Guesswhatkindoffood?”
“Whatkind?”
Shetookadragfromhercigaretteandmadeafacelikeadoghadleftadroppingonherlinoleum.“Asianfusion,”shespatout.
“Oh.”
“Whatthehelldoesthatevenmean?Isfusionacountrynow?”
“I’mnotsure.”
“Asianfusion.Andit’scalledMeshugas.”
“Yeah?Idon’tthinkthat’sthename.”
“Somethinglikethat.Tryingtoappealtoustribemembers,right?”Sheshookherhead.“Asianfusion.Imean,comeon,Simon.”Shesighedandtoyedwithhercigarette.“Sowhat’swrong?”
“Pardon?”
“Withyou.What’swrong?”
“Nothing.”
“YouthinkI’mmeshuga?”
“Areyouspeakingfusiontome?”
“Veryfunny.Icouldtellthemomentyouwalkedin.What’swrong?”
“It’salongstory.”
Sheleanedback,lookedleft,lookedright,lookedbackathim.“YouthinkIgotalotgoingonrightnow?”
Healmosttoldher.Sadielookedathimwithwisdomandsympathy,andsheclearlywelcomedit,wouldprobablyevenenjoy,ifthatwastheword,listeningwithalearnedearandoffering,attheveryleast,moralsupport.
Buthedidn’t.
Itwasn’tabouthisownprivacy.Itwasabouttheline.Simonwasherfinancialadvisor.Hecouldexchangenicetiesabouthisfamily.Butnotsomethinglikethis.Hisissueswerehisissues,nothisclient’s.
“Somethingwithoneofyourchildren,”Sadiesaid.
“Whatmakesyousaythat?”
“Whenyouloseachild…”Sadiesaid.Shestopped,shrugged.“Oneofthesideeffectsisthiskindofsixthsense.Plus,Imean,whatelsewoulditbe?Okay,sowhichkid?”
Easiertojustsayit:“Myoldest.”
“Paige.Iwon’tpry.”
“You’renotprying.”
“MayIgiveyoualittleadvice,Simon?”
“Sure.”
“Imean,that’swhatyoudo,right?Giveadvice.Youcomehereandyougivemefinancialadvice.Becauseyou’reanexpertinmoney.Myexpertiseis…anyway,IalwaysknewBarrywasgay.Itwasstrange.Identicaltwins.Raisedinthesamehouse.Barryusedtositrightwhereyouare.Thatwashisseat.Gregsatnexttohim.ButfromasyoungasIcanremember,theyweredifferent.ItgetseveryonemadwhenIsaythatBarryfromDayOnewas,Idon’tknow,moreflamboyant.Thatdoesn’tmeanyou’regay,peopletellme.ButIknowmytruth.Myboyswereidentical—anddifferent.Ifyouknewthemboth,evenaslittlechildren,andhadtoguesswhichwasgay—goahead,sayI’mstereotyping—you’dknow.Barrywasintofashionandtheater.Gregwasintobaseballandcars.Imean,Iwaspracticallyraisingclichés.”
Shetriedtosmileatthat.Simonfoldedhishandsandputthemonthekitchentable.Hehadheardsomeofthisbefore,butthiswasn’taplaceSadiewenttoveryoften.
Andthatwaswhenitbegantodawnonhim.
Thetwins,genetics.
ThestoryofBarryandGreghadfascinatedhimthefirsttimehe’dhearditbecausehe’dwonderedhowidenticaltwins,whohadtheexactsameDNAandwereraisedinthesamehome,endedupwithdifferentsexualpreferences.
“WhenBarrygotsick,”Sadiecontinued,“wedidn’tseewhatitwasdoingtoGreg.Weignoredhim.Wehadtodealwithalltheimmediatehorror.MeanwhileGregisseeinghisidenticaltwinwitheraway.There’snoreasontogointothedetails.ButGregneverrecoveredfromBarry’sillness.Hewasscared,sohejust…ranaway.Ididn’tseethatintime.”
Gregwastheonlybeneficiaryofhismother’sestate,soSimonstillkeptsomewhatintouchwithhim.Gregwasnowthricedivorcedandcurrentlyengagedtoatwenty-eight-year-olddancerhe’dmetinReno.
“Ilosthim.BecauseIdidn’tpayattention.Butalso…”
Shestopped.
“Alsowhat?”
“BecauseIcouldn’tsaveBarry.Thatwasreallyit,Simon.Foralltheproblems,allGreg’sfearsofmaybebeinggaytoo,allthat,ifIcouldhavesavedBarry,Gregwouldhavebeenokay.”Shetiltedherhead.“CanyoustillsavePaige?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Butthere’sachance?”
“Yeah,thereis.”
Genetics.Paigehadbeenstudyinggenetics.
“Thengosaveher,Simon.”
ChapterTwenty-Two
TherewerenosignsforTruthHaven,whichwashardlyasurprise.
“Takealeft,”DeeDeesaid,“bythatoldmailbox.”
Oldwasanunderstatement.ThemailboxlookedasifpassingteenagershadstartedwhackingitdailywithabaseballbatduringtheCarteradministration.
DeeDeelookedathisface.
“What?”
“SomethingelseIread,”Ashsaid.
“What?”
“Areyouforcedtohavesexwiththem?”
“With…?”
“YouknowwhatImean.Yourtruthoryourvisitororwhatevertheleaderscallthemselves?”
Shesaidnothing.
“Ireadthattheyforceyou.”
Hervoicewassoft.“TheTruthcan’tbeforced.”
“Soundslikeayes.”
“Genesis19:32,”shesaid.
“What?”
“DoyourememberthestoryofLotintheBible?”
“Seriously?”
“Doyourememberthestoryornot?”
Thissoundedtohimlikeadeflection,butheanswered,“Vaguely.”
“SoinGenesischapter19,GodallowsLotandhiswifeandtheirtwodaughterstoescapethedestructionofSodomandGomorrah.”
Henodded.“ButLot’swifeturnsaroundwhenshe’snotsupposedto.”
“Right,andGodturnsherintoapillarofsalt.Whichis,well,seriouslymessedup.Butthat’snotmypoint.It’sLot’sdaughters.”
“Whataboutthem?”
“WhentheygettoZoar,Lot’sdaughterscomplaintherearenomen.Sotheycomeupwithaplan.Doyourememberwhatitis?”
“No.”
“Theolderdaughtertellsheryoungersister—I’mquotingGenesis19:32—‘Comeon,let’sgetourfatherdrunk,sothatwecansleepwithhimandhavechildrenbyhim.’”
Ashsaidnothing.
“Andtheydo.Yep,incest.RightthereinGenesis.Thetwodaughtersgettheirfatherdrunk,sleepwithhim,andbecomepregnant.”
“IthoughttheTruthhadnothingtodowiththeOldorNewTestament.”
“Wedon’t.”
“SowhyareyouusingLotasanexcuse?”
“Idon’tneedanexcuse,Ash.AndIdon’tneedyourpermission.IjustneedtheTruth.”
Hekeptstaringoutthefrontwindshield.
“Thatstillsoundslikea‘yes,Ihavesexwiththem.’”
“Doyoulikesex,Ash?”
“Yes.”
“Soifyouwereinagroupwhereyougottohavesexwithalotofwomen,woulditbeanissue?”
Hedidn’treply.
Thecartireskickedupdirtfromtheroadasheheadedintothewoods.NoTrespassingsigns—awidevarietyoftheminvariouscolorsandsizesandevenwording—hungfromtrees.Astheyapproachedthegate,DeeDeerolleddownherwindowandmadeacomplicatedhandgesture,likeathird-basecoachsignalingarunnertostealsecond.
Thecarglidedtoastopbeforethegate.DeeDeeopenedhercardoor.WhenAshdidthesame,shestoppedhimwithahandonhisshoulderandashakeofherhead.
“Stayhere.Keepbothhandsonthesteeringwheelatalltimes.Don’ttakethemoff,eventoscratchyournose.”
TwomeningrayuniformsthatremindedAshofaCivilWarreenactmentappearedfromthesmallguardhouse.TheywerebotharmedwithAR-15s.TheybothhadhugebeardsandscowledatAsh.Ashtriedtolooknonthreatening.Hehadhisownhandgunswithinreachandwasprobablyabettershotthaneitheroftheseposers,butnoteventhebestmarksmanisamatchfortwoAR-15s.
Thatwasthepartpeopledidn’tget.
Itisn’tabouttalentorskill.YoucouldbeLeBronJames,butifyou’reusingabasketballwithnoair,you’renotgoingtobeabletodribbleaswellassomeonewhoseballgotplenty.
DeeDeeapproachedtheguardsanddidsomethingwithherrighthandthatlookedabitlikesomeonecrossingthemselves,buttheshapeshemadewasmoretriangular.Thetwomenreturnedthegesture/salute.
Ritual,Ashguessed.Likeallreligions.
DeeDeespoketothetwomenforaminuteortwo.ThemennevertooktheireyesoffAsh,whichtookconsiderableself-disciplinewhenyouconsiderwhatDeeDeelookedlike.Ashwouldhavehadtolook.
Perhapsthiswaswhythereligiouslifehadnevercalledtohim.
TheTruth.Whatbullshit.
Shecamebacktothecar.“Justpullovertheretotheright.”
“Whycan’tIjustturnaroundandgo?”
“Whathappenedtoyoutakingmeawayfromallthis?”
Hisheartleaptintohisthroatwhenshesaidthat,butherjust-kiddingsmilebroughtitbackdownagain.Hetriedtokeepthedisappointmentoffhisface.
“You’reback,”hesaid.“You’resafe.There’snoneedformetohangaround.”
“Justwait,okay?Ineedtocheckwiththecouncil.”
“Checkwhat?”
“Please,Ash.Justwait.”
Oneguardhandedherfoldedclothes.Gray.Liketheirs.Sheslippedthemovertheclothingshewaswearing.Theotherguardhandedherheadgearthatlookedlikesomethingyou’dfindinaconvent.Alsogray.Sheputitontopofherheadandtieditlikeabonnetunderherchin.
DeeDeealwaysstrodewithherheadhigh,hershouldersback,thedefinitionofconfidence.Nowshewasbentover,eyeslowered,herwholepersonasubservient.Thetransformationstartledhim.Andpissedhimoff.
DeeDeehasleftthebuilding,Ashsaidtohimself.Hollyisherenow.
Hewatchedherwalkthroughthegate.Hetiltedhistorsototheright,sohiseyescouldfollowherupapath.Therewereotherwomenmillingabout,alldressedinthesamedrab-grayuniform.Nomen.Maybetheywereinadifferentarea.
ThetwoguardssawthathewaswatchingDeeDeeandthecompound.Theydidn’tlikeit.Sotheystoodinfrontofhiscartoblockhisview.Hedebatedshiftingthecarintodrive,hittingthegas,andmowingthefuckersdown.Insteadhechosetoturnthecaroffandgetout.Theguardsdidn’tlikethat,butthenagaintheydidn’tlikemuchthathedid.
ThefirstthingthathitAshashegotoutofthecarwasthesilence.Itwaspure,heavy,almostsuffocatingbutinagoodway.Therewerenormallysoundseverywhere,eveninthedeepestpartofthewoods,buttherewasonlyquiethere.Ashdidn’tmoveforamoment,didn’tevenwanttoriskshatteringthesilencebyshuttinghiscardoor.Hestoodandclosedhiseyesandletthequietconsumehim.Forasecondortwo,hegotit.Orthoughthegotit.Theappeal.Hecouldsurrendertothis,thisquiet,thistranquility.Itwouldbesoeasytoturnovercontrolandreasonandthoughts.Justbe.
Surrender.
Yes,thatwasthatapplicableword.Letsomeoneelsedotheheavymentalwork.Justtoilorliveinthemoment.Getsuckedintothestillness.Hearyourheartbeatinginyourchest.
Butthiswasn’talife.
Itwasavacation,abreak,acocoon.ItwastheMatrixorvirtualrealityorsomethinglikethat.Andmaybewhenyougrowuplikehedid—ormore,likeDeeDeedid—acomfortingdelusionbeatsharshreality.
Butnotinthelongrun.
Hetookoutacigarette.
“Smokingisforbidden,”oneoftheguardssaid.
Ashlitup.
“Isaid—”
“Shh.Don’tspoilthequiet.”
GuardOnetookasteptowardAsh,butGuardTwoputahandouttoblockhim.Ashleanedagainstthecar,tookadeepinhale,madeaproductionoutofblowingthesmokeout.GuardOnewasnotpleased.Ashheardthecrackleofawalkie-talkie.GuardTwoleanedinandwhisperedintoit.
Ashmadeaface.Whouseswalkie-talkiesanymore?Don’ttheyhavemobilephones?
Afewsecondslater,GuardTwowhisperedsomethingintheearofGuardOne.GuardOnegrinned.
“Hey,toughguy,”GuardOnesaid.
Ashletlooseanotherlongtrailofsmoke.
“You’rewantedupinthesanctuary.”
Ashstartedtowardthem.
“NosmokinginsideTruthHaven.”
Ashwasgoingtoargue,butwhatwasthepoint?Hethrewthecigaretteontotheroadandcrusheditunderhisfoot.GuardTwohadopenedthegatewitharemotecontrol.Ashtookinthesetupnow—thefencing,thesecuritycameras,theremote.Prettyhightech.
Hestartedtowardtheopening,butGuardOnestoppedhimwithhisAR-15.
“Youarmed,toughguy?”
“Yes.”
“Maybehandtheweaponovertomethen.”
“Aw,can’tIkeepmygun?”
Bothguardspointedtheirweaponsathim.
“Holsteronmyrightside,”Ashsaid.
GuardOnereachedforit,feltnothing.
Ashsighed.“That’syourright,notmine.”
GuardOneslidhishandtotheothersideofAsh’sbodyandremovedthe.38.
“Nicepiece,”theguardsaid.
“Putitinmyglovecompartment,”Ashsaid.
“Excuseme?”
“Iwon’tbringitin,butI’mleavingherewithit.Putitinmycar.Thedoorisopen.”
GuardOnedidn’tlikeit,butGuardTwonoddedthatheshouldlisten.Sohedid.Whenthetaskwascompleted,GuardOnemadeabigdealofslammingthedoorreallyhard.
“Anyotherweapons?”GuardOneasked.
“No.”
GuardTwogavehimacursorysearchanyway.Whenhewasdone,GuardOnegesturedwithhisheadforhimtoproceedthroughthegate.TheyflankedAshastheyenteredthecompound—GuardOneonhisright,GuardTwoonhisleft.
Ashwasn’toverlyconcerned.HefiguredthatDeeDeehadspokentotheTruthortheVolunteerorwhoeverandthattheywantedtoseehim.DeeDeehadn’tmadeitclear,butitseemedprettyobviousthatsomeoneinthecultwaspayingforthesehits.DeeDeewasn’tcomingupwiththecashorthenamesonherown.
Someoneinthiscultwantedtheseguysdead.
Theystartedupthehill.Ashwasn’tsurewhatheexpectedtofindinsideTruthHaven,buttheoverridingwordtodescribethecompoundwas…“generic.”Inaclearing,Ashcouldmakeoutabuildingpaintedthesamedrabgrayastheuniform,maybethreestorieshigh.Thearchitecturewasrectangularandfunctionalandhadallthepersonalityofaroadsidechainmotel.Ormaybemilitarybarracks.Ormaybe,andperhapsmostaccurately,itlookedlikeaprison.
Therewerenobreaksfromthedrabgray—nosplashesofcolor,notexture,nowarmth.
Butmaybethatwasthepoint.Therewerenodistractions.
Therewasnature,pushedtotheside,andofcoursetherewasbeautyinthat.Therewascalmandquietandsolitude.Ifyouaretroubled,ifyoufeeloutofplaceamongstnormalsociety,ifyouaredesperatelytryingtoescapemodernityanditsnoisesandconstantstimulation,whatlocalecouldbebetter?Thatwashowcultsworked,wasn’tit?Findthedisillusionedoutcasts.Offerthemeasyanswers.Isolate.Inducedependency.Control.Allowonlyonevoice,onethatcannotbequestionedordoubted.
Succumb.
Severalthree-storydrab-graystructuresformedacourtyard.Theyledhimacrossit.Allwindowsanddoorsfacedthecourtyard,soyoucouldn’tevenviewthetreesfromyourroom.Thecourtyardhadgreengrassandwoodenbenches,againpaintedindrabgray,andthebenches,likethewindows,allfacedalargestatuesittinghighatopapedestalwiththewordTRUTHwrittenonallsides.Thestatuewasmaybefifteenfeethigh.ItwasofabeatificCasperVartage,hishandsraised,halfexaltation,halfembraceofhisflock.Thatwaswhatyousawfromeverywindow—“TheTruth”staringyouintheface.
Thereweremorewomeninthecourtyard,alluniformed,allwearingheadgearofsomekind.Nonespoke.Nonemadeasound.Nonesomuchasglancedatthisstrangerintheirmidst.
Ashwasgettingabadfeelingaboutthis.
GuardOneunlockedadoorandsignaledforAshtoenter.Theroomhadpolishedhardwoodfloors.Onthewallwereportraitsofthreemen.Theportraitsformedatriangle.TheTruthakaCasperVartagewasatthetop.Histwosons—youcouldseetheresemblance—werebelowhimoneitherside.TheVolunteerandtheVisitor,Ashassumed.Somefoldingchairswerestackedinthecorner.Thatwasitintermsofdecor.Ifoneofthewallswasmirrored,youmightmistakethisforanexercisestudio.
GuardsOneandTwocameandstoodbythedoor.
Ashdidn’tlikethis.
“What’sgoingon?”
Theydidn’tspeak.GuardTwoleft.HewasalonenowwithaheavilyarmedGuardOne.GuardOnegrinnedathim.
Thebadfeelinggrew.
Ashstartedmentallyprepping.Suppose,ashehadalready,thattheculthadbeentheoneswhohiredhim.Perhapsthepeoplehekilledwereallformermembersofthecult,thoughonthesurfacethatdidn’tseemtoaddup.Gorse,forexample,wasagaytattoo-parlorownerwholivedinNewJersey.GanowasmarriedwithkidsoutsideBoston.Butstill,itcouldbethat.MaybetheywereTruthersintheiryouth,andforsomereasontheyneedednowtobesilenced.
Ormaybetherewasanothermotive.Itdidn’tmatter.
WhatdidmatterwasthatAshhaddonethejob.Themoneyhadcomethrough.Ashknewhowtogetfundsandtransferthemaroundsotheywouldn’tbefound.He’dbeenpaidinfull—halfontakingeachjob,halfoncompletion.
Butnowthecultwasdonewithhim.Perhaps.ThatwasoneofthethingsDeeDeedidn’tknowyet—whyshewantedhimtowait.Whoeverwashiringhimwascommunicatingthroughher.SoperhapsshehadcometotheTruthCouncilwhenhedroppedheroff.PerhapstheTruthoroneofhisadvisorshadsaid,“No,wearedone.”
Andsupposetheywantedtocompletelytieupanylooseends.
Ashwasprofessional.Hewouldnevertalk.Thatwaspartofwhatyougotforyourmoney.
Butmaybethecultleadersdidn’tknowthatabouthim.
Maybetheyfiguredthatundernormalcircumstances,they’dbemoretrusting,butbecauseAshandDeeDeekneweachother—hadaspecialconnectioneven—theVartagesfeltmoreexposed.
Thesimplestsolutiontotheproblem?ThesmartplayforVartageandhissons?
KillAsh.Buryhiminthewoods.Getridofhiscar.
IfAshwasthecultleader,thatwaswhathewoulddo.
Adoorontheothersideoftheroomopened.GuardOneloweredhisgazeasawomanAshguessedwasinherearlyfiftiesenteredtheroom.Shewastallandimposingandunlikeeveryoneelsehe’dseeninthecompound,sheheldherheadhigh,chestout,shouldersback.Sheworethegrayuniform,buttherewereredstripesonhersleeves,likesomethinginthemilitary.Againstallthedrabgray,thestripesstoodoutlikeneonlightsinthedark.
“Whyareyouhere?”sheaskedhim.
“Justdroppingoffafriend.”
Sheglancedoverhisshoulderattheguard.Asifhefelthergaze,helookedup,semi-wincing.Thiswomanwasn’ttheTruthorpartoftheirtrinity,butwhoevershewas,sheclearlyoutrankedthisguy.
GuardOnestoodatattention.“AsIinformedyou,MotherAdiona.”
“Adiona?”
SheturnedtoAsh.“Yourecognizethereference?”
Henodded.“AdionawasaRomangoddess.”
“That’scorrect.”
He’dlovedmythologyasakid.Hetriedtorememberthedetails.“Adionawasthegoddessofreturningchildrenhomesafelyorsomething.Shewaspairedwithanothergoddess.”
“Abeona,”shesaid.“I’msurprisedyouknowthis.”
“Yeah,I’mfullofsurprises.Soyou’renamedafteramyth?”
“Exactly.”Shesmiledwidely.“Doyouknowwhy?”
“Ibetyou’lltellme.”
“Allgodsaremyths.Norse,Roman,Greek,Indian,Judeo-Christian,pagan,whatever.Forcenturiespeoplebowedtothem,sacrificedforthem,spenttheirlivesfollowingthem.Anditwasalllies.Howsad,don’tyouthink?Howpathetic.Tospendyourlifedeludedlikethat.”
“Maybe,”Ashsaid.
“Maybe?”
“Ifyoudon’tknowanybetter,maybeit’sokay.”
“Youdon’treallybelievethat,doyou?”
Hesaidnothing.
“Godsarelies.OnlytheTruthprevails.Doyouknowwhyallreligionseventuallycrashandburn?Becausetheyaren’ttheTruth.Unlikethesemyths,theTruthhasalwaysbeenthere.”
Ashtriednottorollhiseyes.
“What’syourname?”sheaskedhim.
“Ash.”
“Ashwhat?”
“JustAsh.”
“HowdoyouknowHolly?”
Hesaidnothing.
“YoumayknowherasDeeDee.”
Hestillsaidnothing.
“Youpulledupwithher,Ash.Youdroppedheroff.”
“Okay.”
“Wherewereyoutwo?”
“Whydon’tyouaskher?”
“Ialreadyhave.Ineedtoseeifsheistellingthetruth.”
Ashstoodthere.MotherAdionamovedclosertohim.Shegavehimamischievoussmileandsaid,“DoyouknowwhatyourDeeDeeisdoingrightnow?”
“No.”
“She’snaked.Onallfours.Onemanbehindher.Onemaninfrontofher.”
Shesmiledsomemore.Shewantedhimtoreact.Hewouldn’t.
“Well?Whatdoyouthinkofthat,Ash?”
“I’mwonderingaboutthethirdman.”
“Pardon?”
“Youknow.Truth,Volunteer,Visitor.Soifoneishavingherfrombehindandtheotheroneisinthefront,whereisthethird?”
Shestillsmiled.“You’vebeenplayedforafool,Ash.”
“Wouldn’tbethefirsttime.”
“Sheoffersherfavorstomanymen.Butnotyou,Ash.”
Hemadeaface.“Didyoureallyjustcallthem‘favors’?”
“Thisiswoundingyoudeeply,Iknow.Youloveher.”
“Veryinsightful.CanIgobacktomycarnow?”
“Wherewereyoutwo?”
“I’mnotgoingtotellyou.”
Hernodwasbarelydiscernible.Butitwasenough.GuardOnesteppedforward.Therewasabatoninhishand.Twothingshappenedsimultaneously.One,Ashrecognizedthatthebatonwasacattleprodorstunbatonofsomekind.Two,theprodtoucheddownonhisback.
Thenallthoughtcloseddowninatsunamiofpain.
Ashcollapsedtothathardwoodfloor,writhinglikeafishonadock.Theelectricityshootingthroughhimhiteverything.Itparalyzedthecircuitryfromhisbrain.Itsingedhisnerveendings.Itmadehismusclesspasm.
Hestartedfoamingatthemouth.
Hecouldn’tmove.Hecouldn’tevenreallythink.
Therewaspanicinthewoman’svoice.“I…Whatsettingdidyouhavethaton?”
“Highest.”
“Areyouserious?Thatwillkillhim.”
“Thenwemightaswellgetitoverwith.”
Ashsawtheendofthebatonheadingforhimagain.Hewantedtomove,neededtomove,buttheelectricitycoursingthroughhimhadshort-circuitedanycommandsinvolvingmusclecontrol.
Whenthebatontoucheddownagain,thistimeonhischest,Ashfelthisheartexplode.
Thentherewasonlydarkness.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Nochange.
Simonwassotiredofhearingthat.HischairwaspulleduprightnexttoIngrid’sbed.Heheldherhand.Hestaredatherface,watchingherbreathe.Ingridalwayssleptonherback,justlikethis,sothatcomalookedamazinglylikesleep,whichmayseemobviousorperhapsnot.Youexpectacomatolookdifferent,don’tyou?SurethereweretubesandnoisesandIngridlikedwearingspaghetti-strapsilknegligeestobed,whichofcoursehelovedtoo.Helovedthecoilofherbody,thebroadshoulders,theprominentcollarbone.
Nochange.
Thiswaspurgatory,neitherheavennorhell.Thereweresomewhoarguedthatpurgatorywastheworst—thesuspended,theunknown,thewearandtearoftheendlesswait.Simonunderstoodthatsentiment,butfornowhewasokaywithpurgatory.IfIngrid’sconditiondarkenedineventheslightestway,he’dloseitcompletely.Hewasself-awareenoughtorealizethathewashangingonbyafrayingthreadnow.Ifhegotbadnews,ifsomethingmorewentwrongwithIngrid…
Nochange.
Soblock.
Right,pretendshewasasleep.Hekeptstaringatherface,thecheekbonessosharpthesurgeonsdownthehallcouldusethemasscalpels,thelipshe’dgentlykissedbeforehesatdown,hopingtogetsomekindofreactionoutofthembecauseevenwhenIngridwasdeepinsleep,herlipswouldreactinstinctively,insomesmallwayattheveryleast,tohiskiss.
Butnotnow.
Heflashedbacktothelasttimehe’dwatchedherassheslept—ontheirhoneymooninAntigua,daysafterthey’dofficiallytiedtheknot.Simonhadwokenupbeforesunrise,Ingridsprawlednexttohimonherback,likerightnow,likealways.Hereyeswereclosed,ofcourse,herbreathingeven,andsoSimonjuststared,marvelingatthefactthatthiswashowhe’dwakeupeverydayfromnow—nexttothiswondrouswomanwhowasnowhislifepartner.
Hehadwatchedherlikethisforonlyten,maybefifteenseconds,whenwithoutopeninghereyesormovingatall,Ingridsaid,“Cutthatout,it’screepy.”
Hesmiledatthememory,sittingnowatherbedsidewithherstillyetwarmhandinhis.Yes,warm.Alive.Bloodflowingthrough.Ingriddidn’tfeelshrunkenorsickordying.Shewasjustasleepandsoonshe’dwakeup.
Andthefirstthingshe’ddoisaskaboutPaige.
Hehadsomequestionsaboutthattoo.
SimonhadcalledElenaafterleavingSadieLowenstein’sandfilledherinonPaige’sinterestingeneticsandancestry.Elenausuallyplayeditclosetothevest,butthismeantsomethingtoher.She’dpepperedhimwithfollow-upquestions,onlysomeofwhichhecouldanswer.
WhenElenaranoutofquestions,sheaskedforEileenVaughan’sphonenumber.Simongaveittoher.
“What’sgoingon?”heasked.
“Maybenothing.Butnotlongbeforehewaskilled,DamienGorsealsovisitedoneofthoseDNAsites.”
“Sowhatdoesthatmean?”
“Letmerundownafewthingsbeforewegetintothat.Areyougoingtothehospital?”
“Yes.”
Elenapromisedtomeethimthereandthenshehungup.
Thechildrenseemedokay.AnyawashomewithSuzyFiske,andSimonthoughtthatwasprobablybestfornow.Samhadbefriendedsomemedicalresidentswhowereworkingthefloor—Samwasgoodatthat,alwaysabletomakefriendsquickly—andhewasintheirloungerightnow,tryingtostudyforhisupcomingphysicsexam.He’dalwaysbeennotonlyasmartkidbutanindustriousone.Simon,who’dbeenado-enough-to-get-bystudent,wasconstantlyamazedbyhisson’sworkethic—upearlyinthemorning,exercisingbeforebreakfast,gettinghishomeworkdonedaysaheadoftime—andunlikemostfathers,Simonsometimesworriedthatheshouldencouragehissontoeaseoffthegaspedalabitandsmelltheroses.Samwasalmosttoodriven.
Notnow,ofcourse.Nowitwouldhopefullybeanicedistraction.
Nochange.
Soblock—thoughrightnow,hewasblockingonmorethanIngrid’scondition.
Simondidn’tconsiderhimselftobeanoverlyimaginativeguy,butwhateverimaginationhehad,ithadshiftedintooverdriveafterhearingabouttheDNAtest,careeninghimdownthisdark,uglyroad,onewithbarbedwireandlandmines,onehe’dneverwantedtotravel,butthereseemedtobenootherchoiceatthemoment.
EileenVaughan’swordskeptechoing:“Problemsathome.”
Yvonneslippedintotheroom.“Hey,”shesaid.
“IsthereanychancePaigeisn’tmychild?”
Boom.Justlikethat.
“What?”
“Youheardme.”
Simonturnedtowardher.Yvonnewaspale,shaking.
“IsthereanychanceI’mnotPaige’sbiologicalfather?”
“MyGod,no.”
“Ijustneedtoknowthetruth.”
“Whatthehell,Simon?”
“Couldshehavesleptwithsomeoneelse?”
“Ingrid?”
“WhoelsewouldIbetalkingabout?”
“Idon’tknow.Thisisallsuchcrazytalk.”
“Sothere’szerochance.”
“Zero.”
Heturnedbacktowardhiswife.
“Simon,what’sgoingon?”
“Youcan’tsayforsure,”hesaid.
“Simon.”
“Noonecansayforsure.”
“No,ofcoursenoonecansayforsure.”AhintofimpatiencehadcreptintoYvonne’svoice.“Ican’tsayforsureyouhaven’tfatheredanyotherchildreneither.”
“YouknowhowmuchIloveher.”
“Ido,yes.Andshelovesyoujustasmuch.”
“ButIdon’tknowthewholestory,doI?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Yeah,youdo.There’sapartofherthat’shidden.Evenfromme.”
“There’spartofeverybodythat’shidden.”
“That’snotwhatImean.”
“ThenIdon’tgetwhatyoudomean.”
“Yeah,Yvonne,youdo.”
“Whereisthiscomingfrom?”
“It’scomingfrommysearchforPaige.”
“Andnowyouthink,what,thatyou’renotherfather?”
Simonswunghisbodynow,facedherfull.“Iknoweverythingaboutyou,Yvonne.”
“Youreallythinkso?”
“Yes.”
Yvonnesaidnothing.SimonlookedbackatIngridinthebed.
“Iloveher.Iloveherwithallmyheart.ButtherearepartsofherIdon’tknow.”
Shestillsaidnothing.
“Yvonne?”
“Whatdoyouwantmetosay?Ingridhasanairofmystery,I’llgrantyouthat.Guyswentgagaoverit.Andhey,let’sbehonest.It’soneofthethingsthatdrewyoutoher.”
Henodded.“Atfirst.”
“Youloveherdeeply.”
“Ido.”
“Andyetyou’rewonderingifshebetrayedyouintheworstwaypossible.”
“Didshe?”
“No.”
“Butthere’ssomething.”
“IthasnothingtodowithPaige—”
“Whatdoesithavetodowith?”
“—orhergettingshot.”
“Buttherearesecrets?”
“There’sapast,sure.”Yvonneraisedherhands,moreinfrustrationnowthanconfusion.“Everyonehasone.”
“Idon’t.Youdon’t.”
“Stopit.”
“Whatkindofpastdoesshehave?”
“Apast,Simon.”Hertonewasimpatient.“Justthat.Shehadalifewaybeforeyou—school,travel,relationships,jobs.”
“Butthat’snotwhatyoumean.Youmeansomethingoutoftheordinary.”
Shefrowned,shookherhead.“Itisn’tmyplacetosay.”
“Toolateforthat,Yvonne.”
“No,it’snot.Youhavetotrustme.”
“Idotrustyou.”
“Good.We’retalkingaboutancienthistory.”
Simonshookhishead.“Whatever’shappeninghere—whateverchangedPaigeandledtoallthisdestruction—Ithinkitstartedalongtimeago.”
“Howcanthatbe?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Yvonnemovedclosertothebed.“Letmeaskyouthis,Simon.”
“Goahead.”
“Best-casescenario:Ingridcomesoutofthisokay.YoufindPaige.Paigeisokay.Shegetsclean.Imean,totallyclean.Putsthiswholeuglychapterbehindher.”
“Okay.”
“ThenPaigedecidestomoveaway.Getafreshstart.Shemeetsaguy.Awonderfulguy.Aguywhoputsheruponapedestal,wholovesherbeyondanythingshecanimagine.Theybuildagreatlifetogether,thisguyandPaige,andPaigeneverwantsthiswonderfulguytoknowthatatonetime,shewasajunkieandmaybeworse,livinginsomecrackden,doingGodknowswhatwithGodknowswhotogetafix.”
“Areyouserious?”
“Yes,I’mserious.Paigelovesthisguy.Shedoesn’twanttoseethelightinhiseyesdim.Can’tyouunderstandthat?”
Simon’svoice,whenhefinallyfoundit,wasbarelyawhisper.“MyGod,whatisshehiding?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter—”
“Likehellitdoesn’t.”
“—justlikePaige’sdrugpastwouldn’tmatter.”
“Yvonne?”
“What?”
“DoyoureallythinkthissecretwouldchangehowIfeelaboutIngrid?”
Shedidn’treply.
“Becauseifthat’sthecase,thenourloveisprettyweak.”
“It’snot.”
“But?”
“Butitwouldchangethewayyouseeher.”
“Thedimintheeyes?”
“Yes.”
“You’rewrong.I’dstillloveherjustasmuch.”
Yvonnenoddedslowly.“Ibelieveyouwould.”
“So?”
“Soherdistantpasthasnothingtodowiththis.”Yvonneheldupherhandtostophisprotest.“Andnomatterwhatyousay,Ipromised.It’snotmysecrettotell.Youhavetoletitgo.”
Simonwasn’tgoingtodothat—heneededtoknow—butjustthenhefeltIngrid’shandtightenoverhislikeavise.Hisheartleapt.Hespunhisheadbacktowardhiswife,hopingmaybetoseehereyesopenorasmilebreakoutonherface.Butherentirebodyconvulsed,wentrigid,begantospasm.Hereyesdidn’topen—theyfluttereduncontrollablysothathecouldonlyseetheirwhites.
Machinesbegantobeep.Analarmsounded.
Someonerushedintotheroom.Thensomeoneelse.Athirdpersonpushedhimaside.Morepeoplefloodedtheroom,surroundingIngrid’sbed.Themovementwasconstant.Theywerecallingouturgentinstructions,usingunintelligiblemedicaljargoninborderline-panictones,assomeoneelse,thesixthpersontoentertheroom,gentlybutfirmlypushedhimandYvonneout.
***
TheyrushedIngridintosurgery.
NoonewouldtellSimonanythingofrelevance.Therewasa“setback,”oneofthenursestoldhim,followedcloselybytheoldchestnut:“Thedoctorwillbewithyouassoonasshecan.”
Hewantedtoaskmore,buthealsodidn’twanttodistractanyone.JustworkonIngrid,hethought.Getherbetter.Thenfillmein.
Hepacedacrowdedwaitingroom.Hestartedbitingthenailonhispointerfinger,somethinghe’ddonealotwhenhewasyoung,thoughhe’dquitforgoodhissenioryearofcollege.Orsohethought.Hepacedfromonecornertotheother,pausingineachcorner,leaninghisbackforasecondortwoagainstthembecausewhathemostwantedtodowascollapsetothefloorthereandjustcurlup.
HelookedforYvonne,hopingtoshakethedamnansweroutofherabouthiswife’spast,butshewasnowheretobefoundallofasudden.Why?Didshewanttoavoidhim,orwasshejustneeded—especiallywithherpartneroutofcommission—atwork?Yvonnehadsaidsomethingaboutthat,abouttakingcareoftheoffice,aboutpacingthemselvesforthe“longhaul,”aboutnotneedingbothofthemhereatthesametime.
SimonwassomewherebetweenannoyedandangrywithYvonne,buthealsorecognizedthatherargumentforkeepingherpromisetoIngridhadmeritandevennobility.SimonhadknownIngridfortwenty-fouryears—threeyearsbeforePaigewasborn.HowcouldanythingfrombeforePaigewasbornorevenbeforeSimonandIngridmet,nomatterhowbizarreorsordidorjustplainawful,factorintothis?
Itmadezerosense.
“Simon?”
ElenaRamirezwassuddenlynexttohim.SheaskedwhethertherewasanyupdateonIngrid’scondition.SimontoldherthatIngridwasinsurgeryandsaid,“Sofillmeinonwhat’sgoingon.”
Theymovedtooneofthosecornershe’dbeenleaningagainst,theonefarthestawayfromtheentranceandgeneralpopulation.
“Ihaven’tputitalltogetheryet,”Elenasaidinalowvoice.
“But?”
Elenahesitated.
“Youfoundsomething,right?”
“Yes.ButIstilldon’tknowhowitconnectstoyou.Oryourdaughter.”
“I’mlistening.”
“Let’sstartwithPaigeandthisfamilytreeclub.”
“Okay.”
“WeknowthatDamienGorsevisitedanancestryDNAsitecalledDNAYourStorydotcom.”Shelookedaroundasthoughshefearedsomeonewouldoverhearher.“SoIaskedmyclienttocheckhissonHenry’schargecardstoo.”
“And?”
“TherewasachargetoDNAYourStory.Infact,HenryThorpesignedupforseveralDNAancestrysites.”
“Wow.”
“Right.”
“SoIguessIneedtocheckPaige’screditcards,”hesaid.“Seeifshesigneduptoo.”
“Yes.”
“HowaboutAaron?Washeonthesite?”
“Thereisnowaytoknow,unlesswefinditonachargecard.Doyouthinkyoucouldaskthemother?”
“Icouldask,sure,butIdoubtshe’llhelp.”
“Worthashot,”Elenasaid.“Butforthesakeofargument,let’sassumethattheyallsentintheirsamplestothesameDNAsiteandgottested.Doyouknowhowthesetestsworkatall?”
“Notreally.”
“YouspitintoatesttubeandtheyanalyzeyourDNA.Differentsitesdodifferentthings.SomeclaimtheycanlookatyourDNAandgiveyouagenetichealthworkup—doyoupossesscertainvariantsthatmakeyoumorelikelytogetAlzheimer’sorParkinson’s?…Stufflikethat.”
“Isthataccurate?”
“Thescienceseemsquestionable,butthat’snotreallyimportantrightnow.Atleast,Idon’tthinkitis.Thebasicpackageisprobablywhatyou’dknowaboutifyou’vereadanythingabouttheseDNAsites.Itgivesyouanancestrycomposition—likeyou’re,say,fifteenpercentItalianandtwenty-twopercentSpanish,thatkindofthing.Itcanmapyourancestralmigrationtoo,likewhereyourpeoplefirststartedandwheretheysettledovertime.It’sprettywild.”
“Yeah,thatmightbeinteresting,buthowdoesthatplayintothis?”
“Idoubtitdoes.”
“Thesetests,”Simonsaid.“Theyalsotellyouaboutyourparents,right?”
“Andotherrelatives,yes.Iassumethat’swhybothHenryThorpeandDamienGorsetookthetest.”
“Becausetheywereadopted,”Simonsaid.
“Anddidn’tknowanythingabouttheirbirthparents.That’sthekey.It’sverycommonforadopteestosignupfortheseservices,sotheycanfindtheirparentsorlearnaboutsiblingsorreally,anybloodrelative.”
Simonrubbedhisface.“AndAaronCorvalmighthavedonesomethinglikethattoo.Tolearnabouthismother.”
“Yes.Ormaybetoprovehisfatherwasn’thisfather.”
“YoumeanlikemaybeAaronwasadoptedtoo?”
“Itcouldbe,Idon’tknowyet.OneoftheproblemsisthattheseDNAsitesarehighlycontroversial.Imean,millionsofpeoplehavedonethem,maybetensofmillions.Morethantwelvemillionlastyearalone.”
Simonnodded.“Iknowalotofpeoplewhosentintheirsamples.”
“Metoo.YeteveryoneisnaturallysqueamishaboutsendingtheirDNAintoaninternetcompany.Sotheseancestrysitesareabsolutistsaboutsecurityandprivacy.WhichIget.ItriedeverycontactIknow.DNAYourStorywon’ttellmeathingwithoutawarrant—andthey’vepromisedtofightanywarranttotheSupremeCourt.”
“Buttheconnectionsyoufound—”
“—arerightnowtenuousatbest.Twootherwiseunconnectedmurders—differentmeans,differentstates,differentweapons—wecanonlylinkmarginallytosomeoneinChicagoviaafewinternetmessages.It’slessthannothinginacourtoflaw.”
Simontriedtoabsorbwhatshewassaying.“SoyouthinkAaronandyourclientandthisGorseguy—allthreeoftheseguys—couldallberelated?”
“Idon’tknow.Butmaybe.”
“Twoofthemhavebeenmurdered,”Simonsaid.“Andthethird—yourclient—ismissing.”
“Yes.”
“Whichleadstotheobviousquestion.”
Elenanodded.“Paige.”
“Right.Howwouldmydaughterfitintoyourhypothesis?”
“I’vebeenthinkingaboutthisalot,”Elenasaid.
“And?”
“TherehavebeencaseswherelawenforcementhasusedtheseDNAteststosolvecrimes.Somaybe,don’taskmehow,Paigestumbledacrossacrime.”
“Whatkindofcrime?”
Elenashrugged.“Idon’tknow.”
“AndwhywouldshetrackdownAaronCorval?”
“Wedon’tknowthatshedid.WeonlyknowPaigedrovetoseehiminConnecticut.”
Simonnodded.“SomaybeAaronCorvalreachedouttoherfirst.”
“Maybe.Thethingis,it’shardtofigureouttheconnections.Mytechguy,Lou,isworkingonit.HefiguresHenrywasusinganencryptedmessagingapplikeWhatsApporViber,sohecan’tseeitall.ButnowLou’sthinkingthatmaybeHenrywasmessagingthroughtheancestrysite—theyhavetheirownmessagingcapabilities—anditjustlookedlikeamessagingapp.”
Simongaveherablanklook.
“Yeah,Idon’tgetiteither,”Elenasaid,wavingitaway.“Theimportantthingis,Louisstillsearchingfornames.IalsohavemyofficelookingintoAaronCorval’sbackground—hisbirthcertificate,anything—sowecangetahandleonthat.Whichbringsmetothebigthing.”
Elenastoppedandletlooseadeepbreath.
“What?”hesaid.
“Ifoundanotherconnection.”
Therewassomethingoddinhervoice.“Betweenallofthem?”
“No.BetweenHenryThorpeandDamienGorse.”
“What’sthat?”
“Theywerebothadopted.”
“Thatweknow.”
“Theywerebothadoptedfromthesameagency.”
Boom.
“TheagencyiscalledHopeFaith.”
“Where’sitlocated?”
“Maine.AsmalltowncalledWindham.”
“Idon’tgetit.YourclientlivesinChicago.DamienGorselivedinNewJersey.YettheywerebothadoptedoutofMaine?”
“Yes.”
Simonshookhisheadinamazement.“Sowhatdowedonext?”
“Youstayherewithyourwife,”shesaid.“I’mflyinguptoMaine.”
ChapterTwenty-Four
ThelasttimeElenahadlandedatthePortlandInternationalJetportinMaine,she’dbeentravelingwithJoel.Joel’sniece/goddaughterwashavingaweekend“themewedding”atarustickids’sleepawaycampwithanativeAmericanname—CampManu-something,Elenacouldn’tremembernow—andElenahadnotbeenlookingforwardtoit.
Foronething,Joel’sex-wifeMarlene,agorgeous,lithebeauty,wouldbethere,soElenawouldhavetodealwiththeoddlooksfromafamilywhocouldneverunderstandwhatsix-two,handsome,andcharismaticJoelsawinthemaybe-five-foot,squat-built,andseeminglycharmlessElena.
Elenadidn’tquitegetiteither.
“It’llbefun,”Joelhadassuredher.
“It’llsuck.”
“Wehaveourownprivatecabinbythewater.”
“Wedo?”
“Okay,it’snotprivate,”headmitted.“Orbythewater.Andweareinbunkbeds.”
“Wow,soundsgreat.”
Evenunderthebestofcircumstances,thetripsoundedlikeanightmare.Elenadidn’tlikecampingornatureorinsectsorarcheryorkayakingoranyoftheactivitieslistedon“JackandNancy’sWeddingItinerary.”ItwasearlyJune.SummercampsinMainerentthemselvesoutforretreatsandeventstomakealittleextracashbeforeschoolisoutandthechildrendescenduponthemforthesummer.
Buttohersurprise,theweekendhadbeenfun,afterall.Elena’ssidehadwonsomethingcalledColorWars,andherlawenforcementbackgroundcameinhandyforherteamduringtheday-longCapturetheFlagbattle.Atnight—andthiswasthememorythatstillhauntedher,wouldalwayshaunther—Joelwouldprocureabottleofwineandtwoglassesfromwhateverfestivitieswereontheagenda.Hewouldwraptheglassesandbottleinoneextra-largesleepingbag.Whenlightswentout—again,likearealcamp,someoneactuallyblewtapsonatrumpet—Joelwouldslipdownfromthetopbunk,takeElenabythehandtothesoccerfield,andmakelovetoherunderacrisp-blue,star-filledMainesky.
WhywassexsogoodwithJoel?
Whywasheabletoreachaplacedeepwithinherbodyandsoulnoothermanhadevercomeclosetofinding?Shehadtriedtoanalyzeitathousandtimes,andrealizedthatsex,greatsex,isabouttrustandvulnerability.ShetrustedJoelcompletely.Sheletherselfopenupandbecompletelyvulnerablewithhim.Therewasneveranyjudgment,anyhesitation,anydoubt.Shewantedtopleasehim,andhewantedtopleaseher,andshewantedtobeselfishandhewantedtobeselfish.Therewasneveranyagendaotherthanthat.
Youdon’tgetthatofteninlife.Maybeonceortwice.Mostlikely,never.
Elenaknew,despitewhatwell-meaningfriendstoldher,shewouldnevergetitagain.Therewasnoreasontotry.Shedidn’tdate—notthatshegotalotofoffersanyway—andshehadnointerestinanotherrelationship.Shewasn’tbeingamartyrorself-pityingoranyofthat.ShejustknewthatwhenJoeldied,thatpartofherdiedtoo.Therewasnooneelseouttherewhocouldgiveherthattrustandvulnerability.Thatwasafact,asadoneperhaps,butasshekepthearinginthispatheticpoliticalclimate,factsdon’tcareaboutyourfeelings.She’dhadthatwonderfulconnection,ithadbeenawesome,nowitwasgone.
HerroomatthenearbyHowardJohnson’shadaviewofnotonebuttwogasstationsplusa7-Eleven.ShehadchosenHoJo’sovertherelativelyswankier—sheshouldmaybeputthatwordinairquotes—EmbassySuitesandComfortInn,basedpurelyonnostalgia.WhenshewasalittlegirlinTexas,thebigfamilynightoutwasdinnerandicecreamataHowardJohnson’sMotorLodge,onewiththatdistinctorangeroofandcupolatoppedwithaweathervane.Elenaandherfatheralwaysorderedthefriedclamstrips,always,andrightnow,withhermindwanderingmorethanusual,abiteofnostalgiasoundedandwouldtasteawfullygood.
Whensheaskedatthefrontdeskabouttherestaurant,thereceptionistlookedatherasthoughshewasspeakingSwahili.“Wedon’thavearestaurant.”
“You’reaHowardJohnson’swithoutarestaurant?”
“That’sright.ThePortlandPieCompanyisn’tfar.AndDock’sSeafoodisaboutamileandahalfdowntheroad.”
Elenasteppedbackand,rightthereinthegenericlobby,didsomequickGoogling.HowhadshemissedthatHowardJohnson’srestaurantshadbeenslowlygoingoutofbusinessforyears?By2005,therewereonlyeightleftandnowtherewasonlyone,inLakeGeorge,NewYork.SheactuallycheckedouthowlongtheridetoLakeGeorgewouldbe—nearlyfivehours.
Toofar.Andthereviewswerelessthanstellar.
Sheheadedinsteadtooneofthosebrewery-stylebars,watchedthegame,dranktoomuch.Shethoughtaboutthetwomostimportantmeninherlife,herfatherandJoel,andhowbothhadbeentakenfromherfartoosoon.AridesharedroveherbacktotheHowardJohnson’s—thelackofanorangerooforevenaweathervaneshouldhavetippedheroffthattimeshadchanged—andshefellasleep.
Inthemorning,sheputonablueblazerandjeansandcheckedtheappridetoHopeFaithinWindham.Halfhour,notraffic.Elena’shomeofficehadalreadyarrangedtogetherpowersofattorneytospeakonbehalfofthefamiliesofbothHenryThorpeaswellasrecentmurdervictimDamienGorse.
Thiswasallatremendouslongshot.
TheHopeFaithAdoptionAgencywaslocatedinasmallofficecomplexbehindanApplebee’sonRooseveltTrail.Theowner,amancoveredinuntamedgrayhairandnamedMaishIsaacson,greetedherwithanervoussmileandadead-fishhandshake.Heworestylishtortoise-frameglassesandanunrulybeard.
“Idon’tseehowIcanhelp,”Isaacsonsaidforthethirdtime.
Beadsofperspirationdottedhisforehead.Shehandedhimthepowersofattorneyastheysatdown.Isaacsonreadthemcarefullyandthenasked,“Howlongagoweretheseadoptions?”
“HenryThorpewouldhavebeentwenty-fouryearsago.DamienGorseclosertothirty.”
“SoagainIsay:Idon’tseehowIcanhelp.”
“I’dliketoseeanythingyouhaveontheadoptions.”
“Fromalltheseyearsago?”
“Yes.”
Isaacsonfoldedhishands.“Ms.Ramirez,you’reaware,areyounot,thatthesewereclosedadoptions?”
“Iam.”
“SoevenifIhadthisinformation,youknowthatlegallyIcannotunsealanadoptionrecord.”
Helickedamanicuredfinger,pluckedoutasheetofpaperfromthecredenza,andsliditacrossthedesksoElenacouldfollowalong.“Whilethelawsaresomewhatloosernowthanthey’veeverbeen—adoptees’rightsandallthat—youstillhavetofollowacertainprotocol.”
Elenalookeddownatthepaper.
“Sosteponeistogotothecountyclerk—Icangiveyoudirections—andfilloutapetitionwiththecountycourt.Oncethatisdone,they’llsetupadatetomeetwithajudge—”
“Idon’thavetimeforthat.”
“Myhandsaretiedhere,Ms.Ramirez.”
“Thefamiliesfiledhere.Inthisoffice.Theyusedyourservicesandtheywantmetoseeallpaperwork.”
Hescratchedathishead,hiseyeslowered.“Inallduedeference,thefamiliesdon’treallyhaveasayhere.Bothadopteesareofage,soitwouldbeuptothemtopetitionthecourtorthisoffice.Mr.Gorseisrecentlydeceased,asIunderstandit.Isthatcorrect?”
“Hewasmurdered,yes.”
“OhGod,that’sawful.”
“That’swhyI’mhere,bytheway.”
“I’msorryaboutthistragedy,butlegallyspeaking,itprobablymeanssomeotherkindoflegalformwouldneedtobefilledout.Idon’tknowofacasewhereanadopteedied—”
“Wasmurdered.”
“—andthenoneofhisparents…hismotherfromthelooksofthisdocument…wantedinformationonthebirthparents.I’mnotsureshehasanystanding.AsforHenryThorpe,he’salive,correct?”
“He’smissingundersuspiciouscircumstances.”
“Still,”Isaacsonsaid,“Idon’tseehowanyone—parent,guardian,whomever—canpetitiononhisbehalf.”
“Theywerebothadoptedhere,Mr.Isaacson.”
“I’mawareofthat.”
“Thetwomen—bothchildrenadoptedviayouragency—haverecentlybeenintouchwithoneanother.Areyouawareofthat?”
Isaacsonsaidnothing.
“Nowoneisdead,andoneismissingundermysteriouscircumstances.”
“I’mgoingtohavetoaskyoutoleave.”
“Youcanask,”Elenasaid.
Shefoldedherarms.Shedidn’tmove.Shejuststaredathim.
“Myhandsaretiedhere,”hetried.“I’dliketohelp.”
“Didyoudotheseadoptionsyourself?”
“We’vedonemanyadoptionsovertheyears.”
“DoyouknowthenameAaronCorval?Perhapsyourememberhisfather,Wiley.ThefamilyownsatreefarmandinninConnecticut.”
Hesaidnothing.Butheknew.
“WasMr.Corvalaclient?”sheasked.
“Iwouldn’tknow.”
“He’sdeadtoo.AaronCorval,Imean.”
Hisfacelostwhatevercolorwasleft.
“Washeadoptedhere?”
“Iwouldn’tknow,”hesaidagain.
“Checkthefiles.”
“I’mgoingtohavetoaskyoutoleave.”
“Yeah,I’mnotgoingtodothat.Youworkedherebackthen—whentheseadoptionstookplace.”
“Istartedthisplace.”
“Yes,Iknow.It’salovelybackstory,yours,allabouthowyouwantedtosavechildrenandunitethemwithlovingfamiliesbecauseofyourownpaternityissues.Iknowallaboutit.Iknowallaboutyou.Youseemlikeadecentguy,aguywhohastriedhisbest,butifthereisanythingamissinanyofyouradoptionpaperwork—”
“There’snot.”
“Butifthereis,I’mgoingtofindit.I’mgoingtodigintoeverythingyou’veeverdoneandifIfindonemistake,honestornot,I’mgoingtouseitasleverage.Lookatme,Mr.Isaacson.”
Heraisedhiseyesandtriedtoholdhers.
“Youknowsomething.”
“Idon’t.”
“Yeah,youdo.”
“Everyadoptionhereisaboveboard.Ifoneofmyemployeescommittedafraudonus…”
Nowtheyweregettingsomewhere.Elenaleanedforward.“Ifthat’sthecase,Mr.Isaacson,I’myourbestfriend.I’mheretohelp.Letmeseethefiles.Yourfiles.Notthelegalones.Letmetrackdownthefraudandputitright.”
Hesaidnothing.
“Mr.Isaacson?”
“Ican’tshowyouthefiles.”
“Whynot?”
“They’regone.”
Shewaited.
“Fiveyearsago,therewasafire.Allofourrecordswerelost.Thatwasn’treallyanissue.Everythingofrelevanceiskeptwiththecountyclerk’soffice.LikeIsaid.ButevenifIwantedtoshowyouthefiles—whichIcan’tdolegallyanyway—theyonlyexistatthecountyclerk’soffice.That’swhereyouhavetogo.”
Shestaredathim.
“You’renottellingmesomething,Mr.Isaacson.”
“Nothingillegalwasdone.”
“Okay.”
“AndIthinkwhateverwas,well,itwasbestforthechildren.That’salwaysbeenmyconcern.Thechildren.”
“I’msurethat’strue.Butnowthosechildrenarebeingtargetedandevenkilled.”
“Ican’tseehowitinvolvesus.”
“Maybeitdoesn’t,”shesaid,notremindinghimthattheonlylinksofarwastheHopeFaithAdoptionAgency.“MaybeI’llbeabletoclearyou.Doyourememberthesecasesatall?”
“Inaway,yes.Inaway,no.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Thesecasesrequiredalittleextraprivacy.”
“Inwhatway?”
“Theywereunwedmothers.”
“Aren’talotofyourmothersunwed?Imean,evenbackthen.”
“Yes,”hesaid,alittletooslowly.Hestrokedhisbeard.“ButthesegirlscamefromafairlyorthodoxbranchofChristianity.”
“Whatbrand?”
“Ineverknew.ButIalsothink…theydidn’tlikemen.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Idon’tknow.Ireallydon’t.ButIwasn’tallowedtoknowthemothers’names.”
“You’retheownerhere.”
“Yes.”
“Soyouhadtosignoff.”
“Idid.ThatwastheonlytimeIsawthemothers’names.ButIdon’trememberany.”
Hedid.Ofcoursehedid.
“Whataboutthefathers’names?”
“Theywerealwayslistedasunknown.”
Hewasstrokinghisbeardsohard,hairswerecomingoffinhishand.
“Youmentionedanemployeebefore,”shesaid.
“What?”
“Yousaid,‘Ifoneofmyemployeescommittedafraudonus.’”Elenatriedhardtomeethiseye,buthewashavingnoneofit.“Didsomeoneworkonthesecases?”
Hemovedhishead.Itmayhavebeenanod,shewasn’tsure,butshetreateditasthoughitwas.
“Who?”
“Hername,”hesaid,“isAlisonMayflower.”
“Shewasacaseworker?”
“Yes.”Thenthinkingmoreaboutit,headded,“Sortof.”
“AndthisAlisonMayflower,shewastheonewhobroughtinthesecases?”
Hisvoicewaslow,faroff.“Alisoncametomeinthestrictestconfidence.Shesaidtherewerechildreninneed.Iofferedmyhelp,anditwasacceptedunderconditions.”
“Whatkindofconditions?”
“Foronething,Ihadtobekeptinthedark.Icouldn’taskanyquestions.”
Elenatookhertime,thoughtitover.WhenshewaswiththeFBI,herteamhadbustedseveralseeminglyabove-boardchurchesandagenciesforillegaladoptions.Insomecases,whitebabieswereinsuchdemandthatmacroeconomicrealityinacapitalistsocietytookover—supplyanddemand—andsotheycommandedahigherprice.Inothercases,oneofthepotentialadoptiveparentshadsomethingintheirhistorythatmadelegallyadoptingdifficult.Soagain,moneychangedhands.
Bigmoneysometimes.
Elenahadtobecarefulhere.Shewasn’theretobustIsaacsonforsellingbabiesorwhateverhe’dmaybedonetwentyorthirtyyearsago.Shewantedinformation.
Asifreadinghermind,hesaid,“Ireallydon’tknowanythingthatcanhelpyou.”
“ButthisAlisonMayflower.Shemight?”
Isaacsonnoddedslowly.
“Doyouknowwheresheisnow?”
“Shehasn’tworkedwithmefortwentyyears.Movedaway.”
“Towhere?”
Heshrugged.“Ihadn’tseenherinyears.Losttouch.”
“Hadn’t.”
“What?”
“Yousaid‘hadn’t,’not‘haven’t.’”
“Yeah,IguessIdid.”Heranhishandthroughhishairandletlooseadeepbreath.“Shemusthavemovedback,Idon’tknow.ButIsawherlastyearworkingatacaféinPortland.Oneofthoseweirdveganplaces.Butwhenshesawme…”Hestopped.
Elenapromptedhim.“Butwhenshesawyou?”
“Sheslippedouttheback.Iwentouttofollowher,justtosayhi,butbythetimeIgotthere…”Heshruggeditoff.“Anyway,itmightnothavebeenAlison.Imean,shelookeddifferent—herhairusedtobelongandblackasnight.Thiswoman’swassupershortandtotallywhite,so…”Hethoughtaboutitsomemore.“No,itwasAlison.I’msureofit.”
“Mr.Isaacson?”
Helookedupather.
“Whereisthiscafé?”
ChapterTwenty-Five
ThefirstthingAshsawwhenheopenedhiseyeswasDeeDee’sbeautifulface.
Hemighthavethoughtthathe’ddiedorhewashallucinatingorsomethinglikethat,exceptifthatwasthecase,DeeDeewouldhavehadhernormalblondebraidback,nottheshortauburn-dyedlocksshe’dbeenforcedtoadopt.
Ormaybenot.Maybeindeathyousawthelastvision,notyourfavoriteone.
“It’sokay,”DeeDeesaidinthesoothingvoiceofsomethingstillconfusinglycelestial.“Juststaystill.”
Heglancedpastherasheswambacktofullconsciousness.Yep,hewasstillinthecultcompound.Thedecorintheroomwasclosertononexistentthanaustere.Nothingonthewalls,nofurnitureinview.Thewallswerethatsameinescapablegray.
Therewereotherpeopleintheroom.DeeDeetriedtostophimfromsittingup,buthewashavingnoneofit.Inthefarcorner,AshsawMotherAdiona,hereyesonthefloor,herhandsclaspedinfrontofher.Closertohim,oneitherendofthebed,stoodtwomenherecognizedfromthetriangleofportraitshe’dseeninthatotherroom—theVisitorandtheVolunteer.
OneofCarterVartage’ssons—theVisitormaybe?—spunandwalkedoutthedoorwithoutaword.TheotherturnedtoMotherAdionaandsnapped,“You’relucky.”
“I’msorry.”
“Whatwereyouthinking?”
“Hewasanoutsiderandanintruder,”MotherAdionasaid,hereyesstillontheground.“IwasdefendingtheTruth.”
“That’salie,”DeeDeesaid.
ThesonsilencedDeeDeewithawaveofhishand,hiseyesstillboringintotheolderwoman.
“Itisn’tyourplace,Mother.”
Thewomankepthereyesontheground.
“Ifyouhadconcerns,youshouldhavecometothecouncil.”
MotherAdionanoddedmeekly.“You’reright,ofcourse.”
Vartage’ssonspunaway.“Youmaygo.”
“BeforeIdo”—theolderwomanheadedtowardAsh—“Iwanttooffermysincereapologies.”
MotherAdionareachedthebedandtookAsh’slefthandinbothofhers.Shemethiseyeandheldhisgaze.“Icannotexpressmysorrowforhurtingyou.ForeverbetheTruth.”
Theothertwomuttered,“ForeverbetheTruth.”
MotherAdionagrippedAsh’shandtighter.
Thatwaswhenshepressedaslipofpaperintohispalm.
Ashlookedupather.MotherAdionagavehimthesmallestnod,foldedhishandintoafistaroundtheslipofpaper,andlefttheroom.
“Howareyoufeeling?”DeeDeeaskedhim.
“Fine.”
“Getdressedthen,babe.TheTruthwantstomeetyou.”
***
TheGreen-N-LeenVeganCafé,Elenanoticed,advertisedallitsproductsonablackboardthatusedarainbowassortmentofcoloredchalk.Besidestheobvious“vegan,”theboardwaschockfullofbuzzjargonlike“organic,”“fairtrade,”“meatless,”“tempeh,”“falafel,”“tofu,”“raw,”“100%natural,”“eco,”“fresh,”“gluten-free,”“locallygrown,”“earth-friendly,”“farm-to-table.”AsignreadOHKALEYEAH!AnotherspelledEATPEASNOTPIGSinagreenvegetablemosaic.Totherightwasacorkboardwithpushpinsadvertisingallkindsofenvironmentalfairs(wasitokaytousepaperforthat?)aswellasyogaclassesandvegancookinglessons.Thewholebuildingshouldhavebeenclothedinhempandsportingseveralofthoserubberbraceletssupportingacause.
AlisonMayflowerwasbehindthecounter.
Shelookedstraightoutofcentralcastingforanolder,healthyvegan—tall,toned,alittletoothinmaybe,prominentcheekbones,glowingskinwith,perIsaacson’sdescription,close-croppedhairsoblindinglywhiteyouwonderedwhetheritwasnatural.Herteethwereblindinglywhitetoo,thoughhersmilewashesitant,shaky,unsure.SheblinkedalotasElenaapproached,asthoughshewereexpectingbadnewsorworse.
“MayIhelpyou?”
Atipjarread,FEARCHANGE—LEAVEITWITHUS.Elenalikedthat.Shehandedthewomanherbusinesscardwithherprivatenumbersonit.Thewomanpickeditupandstartedreadingit.
“AlisonMayflower,”Elenasaid.
Thewoman—Elenaguessedheragetobeearlysixties,thoughshecouldpassforyounger—blinkedmoreandtookastepback.“Idon’tknowthatname.”
“Yeah,youdo.It’syours.Youchangedit.”
“Ithinkyouhavememistaken—”
“Twochoiceshere,Alison.One,wegosomewhererightnowandhaveaprivatetalkandthenIgoawayforever.”
“Or?”
“Ortwo,Iblowyourlifecompletelyapart.”
Fiveminuteslater,ElenaandAlisonmadetheirwaytothebackcornerofthecafé.AbeardedmanwithareallivemanbunwhomAlisonhadcalledRaoulhadtakenoverbehindthecounter.RaoulkeptglaringatElenaashecleanedcoffeemugswithadishrag.Elenatriednottorollhereyes.
Assoonastheywereseated,Elenadoverightintoherreasonforbeinghere.Shedidn’tsugarcoatitortakeasideroute.Straightahead.
Murders,disappearance,adoptions,thewholestory.
Firstcamedenial:“Idon’tknowanythingaboutanyofthis.”
“Sureyoudo.YoudidadoptionsatFaithHope.YouaskedMaishIsaacsontokeepthemquiet.Icoulddraghiminheretoconfirm—”
“There’snoneedforthat.”
“Solet’sskipthepartwhereyoupretendyoudon’tknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.Idon’tcareifyouweresellingbabiesoranyofthat.”
Thetruthwas,Elenadidcare.Whenthiswasover,ifothercrimeshadbeencommitted,she’dreportthemtothecorrectlawenforcementagencyandcooperateinanywaytoseethatMayflowerandIsaacsonwerepunished.Buttoday,rightnow,herprioritywasfindingHenryThorpe,andifsheinvolvedtheauthorities,everyonewouldclamup.
Itcouldwait.
“Igaveyouthenames,”Elenacontinued.“Doyourememberanyofthem?”
“Ididalotofadoptions.”
Theblinkingwasback.Shecringedintothechair,herchinonherchest,herarmscrossedinfrontofher.Elenahadstudiedbodylanguagewhenshe’dbeenwiththeFBI.Somewherealongtheway,AlisonMayflowerhadbeenabused,probablyphysically.Theabusehadbeenatthehandsofaparentalfigureoraspouse-typesituationorboth.Theblinkingwaspreparingforanassault.Thecringingwasacquiescing,beggingformercy.
RaouldidsomemoreglaringatElena.Hewastwenty-five,maybethirty,tooyoungtobethesourceofAlison’sabuse.MaybeRaoulknewherstoryanddidn’twanttoseehersuffermore.Maybehejustsensedit.Youdidn’thavetobeanykindofexpertindecipheringnonverbalcluestofigureitout.
Elenatriedagain.“Youdidthistohelpthechildren,didn’tyou?”
Herfacetiltedup,hereyesstilldoingtherapidblinks,buttherewassomethingakintohopetherenow.“Yes.Ofcourse.”
“Youweresavingthemfromsomething?”
“Yes.”
“What?”Elenamovedcloser.“Whatwereyousavingthemfrom,Alison?”
“Ijustwantedthemtohavegoodhomes.That’sall.”
“Buttherewassomethinguniqueabouttheseadoptions,right?”Elenatriedtoupthepressure.“Youhadtokeepitquietaboutthem.SoyouwentthroughasmallagencyinMaine.Moneywasexchanged,whatever,thatdoesn’tmatter.”
“WhatIdid,”shesaidthroughtheblinks,“Ididtohelptheboys.”
Elenawasnodding,tryingtocoaxhertosaymore,butonewordmadeherpullup:
Boys.
AlisonMayflowerjustsaidshedidittohelpboys.Notkids,notbabies,notchildren.
“Weretheyallboys?”Elenaasked.
Alisondidn’treply.
“DoesthenamePaige—?”
“Onlyboys,”Alisonwhispered,shakingherhead.“Don’tyousee?Ididittohelpthoseboys.”
“Butthey’redyingnow.”
AsingletearrolleddownAlison’scheek.
Elenagaveanotherpush.“Areyougoingtositbyandletthathappen?”
“MyGod,whathaveIdone?”
“Talktome,Alison.”
“Ican’t.Ihavetogo.”
Shestartedtorise.Elenaputahandonherforearm.Afirmhand.“Iwanttohelp.”
AlisonMayflowershuthereyes.“It’sacoincidence.”
“No,it’snot.”
“Yes,itis.Ifyoudoenoughadoptions,ofcoursesomeofthechildrenaregoingtofacetragedyintheirlives.”
“Wheredidtheseboyscomefrom?Whoweretheirfathers,theirmothers?”
“Youdon’tunderstand,”Alisonsaid.
“Sotellme.”
AlisonsnatchedherarmawayandrubbeditwhereElenahadbeenholdingit.Herexpressionwasdifferentnow.Shewasstillblinking,stillscared,buttherewasdefiancetheretoo.
“Isavedthem,”Alisonsaid.
“No,youdidn’t.Whateveryoudid,whateveryou’vebeenkeepingsecretalltheyears?It’sback.”
“Impossible.”
“Maybeyouthoughtitwasallburied—”
“Morethanburied.It’sburned.Idestroyedalltheevidence.Idon’tevenknowthenamesanymore.”Hereyesblazednowassheleanedacrossthetable.“Listentome.Thereisnowayanyonecanhurtthosechildren.Imadesureofthat.”
“Whatdidyoudo,Alison?”
Shesaidnothing.
“Alison?”
“Isthisladybotheringyou,Allie?”
ElenatriednottosighasshelookedupatRaoul.Raoulscowledather,hisfistsonhishipslikeahipsterSuperman.
“Thisisaprivateconversation,”Elenasnapped.“Ifyouandyourmanbunwouldjustscootbackbehindthecounter—”
“Iwasn’ttalkingtoyou,lady.Iwastalkingto—”
Andthenwithoutwarning,AlisonMayflowertookoff.
Elenawascaughtoffguard.OnemomentAlisonwasthere,meeklysittingacrossfromher—thenextshemovedasthoughpropelledfromaslingshot.Alisonwasintothehallway,headingtowardtheback.
Damn.
Elenawasseveralthings,butspeedy,especiallywithherlimp,wasnotoneofthem.Shetriedtofollow,butevenasshestartedtostand,gruntingasshedidso,Elenacouldseethelitheveganwaspullingtoofarahead.
WhenElenastartedtofollow,Raoulandhismanbunsteppedinherway.Elenadidn’tslow.Heputouthishandstostopher.Thesecondhetouchedher,Elenagrabbedhimbytheshoulders,buckedup,andkneedhimhardintheballs.
Raouldroppedfirsttobothknees.Hismanbunfollowed.Thenhetoppledontothefloorlikeanaxedtree.Elenaalmostyelled,“Timber!”
Shedidn’t,ofcourse.Shestarteddowntheback,pastbathroomswithhippie-beadcurtainsinsteadofdoors,andslammedherbodyagainstthebackdoor.Itflewopenintoanalley.Elenalookedleftandthenright.
ButAlisonMayflowerwasgone.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Stillwaitingfornewsfromthedoctor,SimonpacedthewaitingroomandgotdowntofollowinguponwhatheandElenaRamirezhaddiscussed.Hedidn’thaveanumberforAaron’sstepmom,Enid,sohecalledtheCorvalInn,whereawomanwhosoundedalotlikethereceptionisthe’dpersonallyencounteredtookamessage
Thatwouldgonowhere.
Nextup:CheckPaige’schargecard.SimonhadsetupanautopayfortheVisacardPaigeusedatLanfordCollege,andeventhoughhe’dbeenforcedtocancelitwhenPaigestartedtoabuseittosecuredrugsforherandAaron,hewasstillabletoaccesstheoldrecords.Hedownloadedthechargesandstartedgoingthroughthem.
Itwasapainfulexercise.Hisdaughter’searlyexpenseshadbeentypicallycollegiate-innocent—localeateriesforsmallmeals,theLanfordCollegestoreforschoolsuppliesandlogo-emblazonedsweatshirts,toiletriesfromaCVS.ThereweretwochargestoaRita’sItalianIceinPoughkeepsieandasixty-five-dollarcharge,probablyforasummerdress,fromaplacecalledElizabeth’sBoutique.
TherewasnochargetoDNAYourStory.
ButSimondidfindaseventy-nine-dollarchargetosomethingcalledAnce-Story.HeGoogledthecompanyandyep,itwasagenealogywebsitethatconcentratedon“fillingthebranchesonyourfamilytree”viaDNAtesting.Hewasjustreadingthroughthesitewhenatiredfemalevoicecalledhisname.
“SimonGreene?”
Dr.HeatherGrewewasstilldressedinherclassicbluesurgicalscrubs.Classicblue.Simonlikedthat.Hefoundthecolorproperlysomberandthereforecomforting.Toomanyofthenursesandstaffmembershadfunkyorfunscrubs,brightpinksorfloralpatternsoroneswithSpongeBoborCookieMonster,andfine,Simongotit—ifyouworkhereallday,maybeyouwantedtochangeitupordosomethingdifferent,andsure,thecontrastofwearingsomethingbrightinthisgrimenvironmentmadesense,butno,unlessyouwereinthepediatricwing,Simonwantedthesomber,seriousscrubs,andhewasgladtoseeIngrid’ssurgeonwearingthem.
“Yourwifeisoutofsurgery.She’sstabilized.”
“Isshestillinacoma?”
“I’mafraidsheis,butwealleviatedtheimmediateproblem.”
Dr.Grewebegantoexplaininsomedetail,butitwashardforSimontofocusonthemedicalminutiae.Thebigpicture—thewordsincaps,ifyouwill—seemedtobethesame:
NOCHANGE.
AfterDr.Grewefinished,Simonthankedherandasked,“CanIseemywife?”
“Yes,ofcourse.”
Sheledhimdowntotherecoveryarea.Hehadnoideahowabodyinacomacouldappearmoreexhausted,butIngrid’sferociousbattlewithwhateverhaddraggedherbackintosurgeryhadclearlyleftherdrained.Shelaycompletelystill,likebefore,butnowthestillnessseemedsomehowworse,moresunken,fragile.Hewasalmostafraidtotakeherhand,asthoughitmightsomehowbreakoffinhis
Buthedidtakethehand.
HetriedtopictureIngriduprightandhealthyandbeautifulandvibrant.Hetriedtoflashbacktoothertimesinthishospital,happiertimes,Ingridholdingoneofhernewbornchildren,butthevisionwouldnothold.AllhecouldseerightnowwasthisIngrid,weak,pale,drawn,moregonethanhere.HestaredatherandthoughtaboutwhatYvonnehadtoldhimaboutthepastandsecrets.
“Idon’tcare.”
Hesaidthewordsoutloudtohiscomatosewife.
Whatevershehaddoneinthepast—hetriedtoimaginetheworst:crime,drugs,prostitution,evenmurder—he’dforgive.Didn’tmatterwhat.Noquestionsasked.
Hestoodandputhislipstohiswife’sear.
“Ijustneedyouback,babe.”
Itwasthetruth.Butitalsowasn’t.Hedidn’tcareaboutherpast.Butthereweresomequestionsthatstillneededtobeasked.Atsixa.m.,hecheckedinwiththedutynurse,madesuretheyhadhismobilephonenumber,andheadedoutofthecloyinghospitalairandintothecitystreet.Normallyhe’dtakethesubwaytohisapartment,buthewantedtobeabovegroundincaseacallcamein.Atthishour,theridefromthehospitaltohisplaceontheUpperWestSideshouldbefifteenminutestops.Aslongashehadhisphonewithhim,hecouldcomebackimmediatelyiftherewereanychanges.
Hedidn’twanttoleaveher,buttherewassomethingheneededtodo.
Simoncalledaridesharewithhisappandhadthedriverstopinfrontofatwenty-four-hourDuaneReadepharmacyonColumbusAvenuenearSeventy-FifthStreet.Heranin,boughtasix-packoftoothbrushes,hoppedbackintothecar.Whenhegothome—man,howlonghaditbeensincehe’dbeeninhisownhome?—theapartmentwassilent.Hetiptoeddownthecorridorandlookedintothebedroomontheright.
Samwasasleeponhisside,fetalposition,legspulleduptight.Thatwashowhissonalwaysslept.Simondidn’twanttowakeSamyet.HeheadedintothekitchenandopenedthedrawerwiththeZiplocplasticbags.Hegrabbedsomeoutandquietlymadehiswaytowhatthey’ddubbed“thegirls’bathroom,”theonePaigehadsharedwithherlittlesisterAnya.
Ithadbecomesomethingofarunningjokeinthehousethatthekidsneverchangedtheirtoothbrushesuntilthebristleswerenotonlyfrayedbutprettymuchnonexistent—soyearsago,Simontookituponhimselftobuyapackageofnewtoothbrusheseverytwomonthsandswitchthemoutonhisown.Hewasgoingtodothattodaytoo,sonoonewouldnoticewhathewasupto,eventhough,well,whoreallywould?
Paige’stoothbrushwasstillherefromherlastvisit…sheesh,howlongago?
Hetookhertoothbrushcarefullybythehandleandplaceditintheplasticbag.HehopedthattherewouldbeenoughDNAonittogetasample.Hestartedtoleavethebathroombutpulledupshort.
HetrustedIngrid.Hereallydid.
Butworkingunderabetter-safe-than-sorrypersonalphilosophy,SimonputAnya’stoothbrushinasecondZiplocbag.HemovedtotheotherbathroomandputSam’sinonetoo.
Itallfeltlikeasick,terriblebetrayal.
Whenhewasdone,Simonheadedintohisownroomandpackedtheplasticbagsinhisworkbackpack.Hecheckedhisphone.Nothing.Itwasstillearly,buthetextedSuzyFiskeanyway:
HeyI’mhomeforabit.Ifyou’reawake,canyouwakeupAnyaandsendherhomeforbreakfast?
Hewasn’tsurehowlonghe’dhavetowaitforaresponse,butrightawayhesawtheflashingdotsindicatingSuzywastypinghimback:
I’llwakeherupnow.AnythingnewonIngrid?
HetoldSuzyno,nothingnew,andthankedherprofuselyforlookingafterAnya.ShetypedbackthatAnyawasapleasure,thathavingAnyaaroundactuallymadeiteasier,andwhileSimonknewthatshewasbeingnice,healsoknewthattherewastruththere.Suzyhadtwodaughtersandlikemostsistersthatage,theyfought.Ifyouaddathirdelementintoamixlikethat,itchangesthechemicalmakeupjustenoughtomakeeverythingatadmorepleasant.
Simontextedback:StillI’msupergrateful.
Hemovedbackintothekitchen.AllofhismaleNewYorkCityfriendssuddenlylikedtocook.Orclaimedtheydid.TheywaxedeloquentaboutsomecomplicatedrisottodishtheyrecentlymadeorarecipefromtheNewYorkTimesweeklyemailorsomesuchthing.When,hewondered,didcookingbecomethenewposerclaim,replacingalltheamateursommeliers?Wasn’tcooking,forthemostpart,achore?Whenyoureadhistorybooksorheck,watcholdmovies,wasn’tbeingaperson’scookoneoftheworstjobsinthehouse?Whatwouldbethenextchoreturnedintogreatart?Vacuumingmaybe?WouldhisfriendsstartdebatingthewondersofDysonoverHoover?
Themindlikestowanderunderstress.
Thethingwas,Simondidhaveonemeal,onespecialtyifyouwill,thathepreparedwithgreataplombonthoseweekendmorningswhenthefamilyweretogetherandhe,thefather,wasinthemood:pancakeswithchocolatechips.
ThesecretbehindSimon’sbelovedfamilybreakfastrecipe?
Youcan’thaveenoughchocolatechips.
“It’smorelikechocolatewithpancakechips,”Ingridhadjoked.
Thechocolatechipswereintheuppercabinet.Ingridalwaysmadesuretheyhadthem,justincase,eventhoughithadbeenalongtimesinceSimonpreparedhiscelebrateddish.Thatdepressedhim.Hemissedhavinghischildrenhome.ForgettingPaige’stragicdescentforamoment(asifheevercould),havinghisoldestdaughtergoofftocollegehadbeenmoretraumaticthanSimonwouldhaveexpected.WhenSamleft,thetraumadoubled.Theywereleaving,hischildren.Theyweren’treallygrowingupanymore—theyweregrown.Theywereabandoninghim.Yes,itwasnaturalandrightanditwouldbealotworseiftheyweren’t.Butitbotheredhimanyway.Thehomewastooquiet.Hehatedthat.
WhenSamgraduatedhighschool,hisclasspresidentpostedawell-meaningmemeontheschool’ssocialmedia.Thephotowastheclassicself-helpimageofalovelybeachatsunsetwiththeprerequisitegentlewaves,andthetextread:
LOVEYOURPARENTSWEARESOBUSYGROWINGUP,WEOFTENFORGETTHEYAREGROWINGOLD
HeandIngridhadreadthememetogetherinthisverykitchen,andthenIngridsaid,“Let’sprintthatout,rollitintoatube,andshoveitupapretentiousass.”
God,helovedher.
He’dbeenseatedastheyreadthatmeme,Ingridleaningoverhisshoulder.Shethrewherarmsaroundhisneck,bentclosesohefeltherbreathinhisear,andwhispered,“Oncethekidsarealloutofthehouse,wecantravelmore.”
“Andrunaroundthehousenaked,”Simonhadadded.
“Er,okay.”
“Andhavealotmoresex.”
“Hopespringseternal.”
Hefake-pouted.
“Wouldhavingmoresexmakeyouhappier?”sheasked.
“Me?No.Iwasthinkingofyou.”
“You’reallself-sacrifice.”
SimonwasstillsmilingatthememorywhenSamsaid,“Whoa,Dad’spancakes.”
“Yep.”
Hisfacelitup.“DoesthatmeanMom’sgottenbetter?”
“No,notreally.”
Damn.Heshouldhavethoughtofthat—thathissonwouldseehimmakingpancakesandjumptothatconclusion.
“Itmeans,”Simoncontinued,“thatshe’dwantustodosomethingnormalandnotjustwallow.”
Hecouldhearhisown“Dadvoice”fallingwayshortofthemark.
“Itisn’tnormalwhenyoumakepancakesanymore,”Samsaid.“It’sspecial.”
Hehadapoint.Healsoendedupbeingbothrightandwrong.Thebreakfastdidendupbeingnormal—andspecial.AnyacameupfromtheFiskeapartmentandthrewherarmsaroundherfatherasthoughhewerealifepreserver.Simonhuggedherback,closedhiseyes,rodethewaveforaslongashisdaughterneeded.
Thethreeofthemsataroundthecirculartable—Ingridhadinsistedonroundforthekitchen,eventhoughrectangularfitbetter,becauseit“promotesconversation”—andeventhoughtwochairswereglaringlyempty,itfeltsomehow,well,normalandspecial.AnyasoonhadchocolatealloverherfaceandSamteasedherforit,andthenAnyarecalledhowhermothercalledhisbreakfastconcoction“chocolatewithpancakechips.”
Atsomepoint,Sambrokedownandcried,butthatfeltnormalandspecialtoo.Anyaslidoffherseatandwrappedherarmsaroundherolderbrother,andSamlether,wasevencomfortedbyhislittlesister,andSimonfeltthepangdeepinhisheartofIngridmissingthismomentbetweenherchildren.He’drememberitthough.AssoonasIngridwokeup,Simonwouldtellheraboutthismoment,whenhersonlookedforcomfortfromhislittlesister—hislittlesisterofallpeople!—andshewasabletogiveit,andoneday,whenSimonandIngridwereoldorgone,they’dstillalwayshaveeachother.
ItwouldmakeIngridsohappy.
WhileSamandAnyadidthedishes—familyrule:whoeverpreparesthefooddoesn’tdothecleanup—Simonheadedbacktohisbedroom.Heclosedthedoor.Therewasalockonit,thekindofflimsythingyouinstallsoyourkidsdon’twalkinonyouduringaninopportunemoment.HeturneditandthenopenedIngrid’scloset.Towardtheback,thereweresixhangingbagswithvariousdresses.Heunzippedthefourthone,theonewithaconservativebluedress,andslidhishanddowntothebottomofthebag’sinterior.
Thatwaswheretheyhidthecash.
Hetookouttenthousanddollarsinwrappedbillsandstuffedtheminthebackpackwiththetoothbrushes.Thenhecheckedhisphonetomakesurethattherewasnothingimportantandheadedbackintothekitchen.Anyagotchangedforschool.ShegaveherfatheranotherhuggoodbyeandleftwithSuzyFiske.Whenheclosedthedoorbehindthem,SimonhadyetanotherofhisimaginaryconversationswithIngrid,thistimeaskingherwhatgifttheyshouldgetSuzywhenthiswasover—agiftcertificatetothatdumplingplaceoraspadayattheMandarinOrientalorsomethingmorepersonallikeapieceofjewelry?
Ingridwouldknow.
HerealizednowthathewashavingtheseimaginaryconversationswithIngridallthetime,runningwhathe’dlearnedbyherandseeingthereaction,evenholdingbacktheobviousquestionhewantedtoaskher,theonethatheandElenadancedaround,theonethathadbeengnawingonhimsincethiswholegenealogyangleraiseditsuglyhead.
Hethrewthebackpackoveroneshoulder.“Sam?Youready?”
Theyheadeddowntheelevatorandgrabbedapassingtaxi.Thedriver,likeprettymucheverytaxidriverinNewYorkCity,talkedquietlyintoanearpieceinaforeignlanguageSimoncouldnotdetect.Thatwasoldnews,ofcourse,everyonewasusedtothat,butSimonwonderedabouttheridiculouslystrongfamilybondsofsuchpeople.AsmuchashelovedIngrid(andevenhadimaginaryconversationswithher),hecouldn’timagineasituationinwhichhecouldstayonthephoneandtalktoheroranyoneelseforhoursonend.Whowerethesedriverstalkingtoallday?Howmuchmusttheybelovedtohavesomeone(or“someones”plural)whowantedtosharethatmuchnewswiththem?
“Momhadasetback,”Simonsaidtohisson,“butshe’sbetternow.”
Heexplained.Sambitdownonhislipandlistened.Whentheyarrivedatthehospital,Simonsaid,“Goupandsitwithyourmom.I’llmeetyouupthereinabit.”
“Whereareyougoing?”
“Ihavetorunanerrand.”
Samstaredathim.
“What?”
“YouletMomgetshot.”
Simonopenedhismouthtodefendhimself,butthenhestopped.
“Youshouldhaveprotectedher.”
“Iknow,”Simonsaid.“I’msorry.”
Simonmovedawayfromhissonthen,leavinghimaloneonthesidewalk.Heflashedbacktothatmoment.HesawLutheraimingthegun.HesawhimselfduckingoutofthewaysothatthebullethitIngridinsteadofhim.
Whatachickenshit.
Butwasthatwhathappened?
Hadhereallyduckedoutoftheway?Hedidn’tknow.Hedidn’tthinkthat“memory”wasreal,but…Steppingback,tryingtobeobjective,herealizedthathehadn’tseenanyofthat,thatguiltandtimewerereplacingrealmemorieswithonesthatwouldforeverwoundhim.
Couldhehavedonemore?Couldhehavesteppedinthewayofthebullet?
Maybe.
Partofhimrecognizedthatthisthoughtwasunfair.Ithadallhappenedsofast.Therewasnotimetoreact.Butthatdidn’tchangethereality.Heshouldhavedonemore.HeshouldhavepushedIngridaway.Heshouldhavejumpedinfrontofher.
“Youshouldhaveprotectedher…”
HeheadedintoShovlinPavilionandtooktheelevatortotheeleventhfloor.Thereceptionistledhimdownthecorridortothelab.AlabtechniciannamedRandySprattgreetedhimwithalatex-glovedhandshake.
“Idon’tknowwhywecouldn’tdothisthroughproperchannels,”Sprattbristled.
Simonopenedupthebackpackandhandedhimthethreeplasticbagsoftoothbrushes.HehadoriginallyplannedonbringingjustPaige’stoothbrush,butsomewherealongthewayhedecidedthatifhewasgoingtotraveldownthisdark,dankroad,hemightaswelltravelalltheway.
“IneedtoknowifI’mtheirfather.”SimonpointedtotheyellowtoothbrushthathadbeenPaige’s.“Thisoneisthepriority.”
Simondidn’tlikedoingthis,ofcourse.Itwasn’taquestionoftrust,Simontoldhimself.Itwasaquestionofreassurance.
Thenagain,Simonalsorealizedthatwasabigfatrationalization.
Didn’tmatter.
“Yousaidyoucouldrushtheresults,”Simonsaid.
Sprattnodded.“Givemethreedays.”
“Nogood.”
“Pardon?”
Simonreachedintothebackpackandpulledoutthewadofcash.
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Thisistenthousanddollarsincash.Getmetheresultsbytheendoftheday,andI’llgiveyoutenmore.”
ChapterTwenty-Seven
TheTruthwasdying.
AtleastitlookedthatwaytoAshfromthefootofhisbed.
CasperVartage’ssonsstoodoneithersideofthebed,twodevastatedsentinelsguardingtheirfatherinhisfinaldays.Sorrowemanatedfromthem.Youcouldfeelthegrief.Ashdidn’tknowthebrothers’realnames—hewasn’tsureanyonedid—nordidherememberorcarewhichonewastheVisitorandwhichtheVolunteer.
DeeDeestoodnexttoAsh,handsclasped,eyesloweredasthoughinprayer.Thetwobrothersdidthesame.Inthecorner,twogray-uniformedwomenquietlysobbedinunison,almostasifthey’dbeenorderedtoprovideasoundtrackforthescene.
OnlytheTruthkepthiseyesopenandup.Helayinthemiddleofthebedadornedinsomekindofwhitetunic.Hisgraybeardwaslong,sotoohishair.HelookedlikeaRenaissancedepictionofGod,likethecreationpanelintheSistineChapelthatAshhadfirstseeninabookintheschoollibrary.Thatimagealwaysfascinatedhim,theideaofGodtouchingAdam,asthoughhittingtheOnswitchformankind.
Godinthatmuralhadbeenmuscularandstrong.TheTruthwasnot.Hewasdecayingalmostinrealtime.Buthissmilewasstillradiant,hiseyesotherworldlyastheymetAsh’s.Foramoment,maybelonger,Ashunderstoodwhatwashappeninginthisplace.TheTruthwastweakinghimwithjusthisgaze.Theoldman’scharisma,evenashelaysickinthisbed,wasalmostsupernatural.
TheTruthliftedahandandbeckonedforAshtocomecloser.AshturnedtowardDeeDee,whonoddedthatheshouldgoahead.TheTruth’sheaddidn’tmove,buthiseyesfollowedAsh,againlikesomesortofRenaissancepainting.HetookAsh’shandinhis.Hisgripwassurprisinglystrong.
“Thankyou,Ash.”
Ashcouldfeelthepulloftheman,hismagnetism.Hewouldhaveneverboughtfullyintoit,ofcourse,butthatdidn’tmeanAshcouldn’tseewhatwashappeningandevenbemovedbyit.Weallhaveourtalents.Somerunfasterorarestrongerorbetteratmaththanothers.Wewatchathletesbecausetheyaweuswithwhattheycandowithaballorpuckorwhatever.Thisman,CasperVartage,likewisehadskills.Madskills.Youcouldgetlostinthoseskills,hypnotizedbythem,especiallyifyouwerethekindwhodidn’tfocusorwereofacertainmindframe.
Ashwasnotoneofthosekind.
Ashwasfocused,andrightnowhewascuriousandupset.Heworkedbyanonymity.Therewerepasswordsandanonymouscommunicationsviasecurewebsitesandapps.Henevercameface-to-facewiththosewhoemployedhim.Never.
DeeDeeknewthat.Sheknewthedangerstoo.
Heletgooftheoldman’shandandglaredatDeeDee.Theglarewasaskingwhyshebroughthimhere,andherresponse,aratherserenesmile,seemedtoindicatethatheshouldhavepatience.
Thetwosobbingwomenlefttheroom,andthetwoguards,includingthebastardwhohadhithimwiththebaton,entered.Onceagain,Ashdidn’tlikeit.Heespeciallydidn’tlikethesmuglookonGuardOne’sface.
Theoldmanstruggledtospeak,buthemanagedtosay,“ForeverbetheShiningTruth.”
Theothersintheroomchimedback,“ForeverbetheShiningTruth.”
Ritual.Ashhatedmindlessritual.
“Go,”theoldmansaidtoAsh.“TheTruthwillalwaysprevail.”
Therestoftheroom’sinhabitantsintoned,“TheTruthwillalwaysprevail.”
TheguardsmirkedatAsh,thenhelethiseyescrawlalloverDeeDee,thenhewiggledhiseyebrowsatAsh.Ashshowednothing.HeglancedatDeeDee.Sheknew.
Itwasstartingtomakesomesensenow.
OneofthebrothershandedAshakeyfob.“Anewcariswaitingforyou.Untraceable.”
Ashtookthekey.Firstchancehegot,he’dstopontheroadandswitchthelicenseplatewithasimilarcar,justtobeonthesafeside.Whentheycrossedstatelines,he’dprobablyswitchityetagain.
“Wetrustyoucantakecareofthis,”theotherbrothersaid.
Ashsaidnothingandstartedtowardthedoor.Theguardsmirkedathimthewholetime.TheguardwasstillsmirkingwhenAshreachedhim,turned,andfacedhim.TheguardwasstillsmirkingwhenAsh,whohadpalmedtheknife,slashedthebladeacrosstheguard’sthroat.
Ashdidn’tstepback.Heletthebloodfromthecarotidarterysprayhisface.Hedidn’tflinch.Hewaitedforthesurprisedgasps.Theycamequickly.
Ashsteppedtotheotherguard,stilllookingoninshock,andsnatchedhisweaponawayfromhim.
Thefirstguard,theonewiththeslicedcarotidartery,felltothefloor,tryinginvaintokeepthebloodfromgushingoutofhim.Itlookedasthoughhewerestranglinghimself.Thesoundscomingfromhimwereprimitive,guttural.
Noonemoved.Noonespoke.Theyalljustwatchedtheguardwritheandkickoutuntilhisconvulsionsslowedandthenstopped.
ThetwoVartagebrotherslookedstunned.Sotoothesurvivingguard.DeeDeehadthatsamesmileonherface.Thatdidn’tsurprisehim.WhatdidsurprisehimwastheknowinglookontheTruth’sface.
HadheknownwhatAshwasabouttodo?
TheTruthgaveAshahalfnodasthoughtosay,Messagereceived
ForAsh,thiswassimple.Theguardhadhurthim,ergotheguardpaidaprice.Youpunchme,Ipunchyoubackwayharder.Massiveretaliation.Massivedeterrent
Thiswasalsoamessagetothoseremainingintheroom.Ifyoumesswithme,I’llmesswithyouevenworse.Ashwoulddothejobhewashiredtodo.Hewouldgetpaidforit,andthenitwouldbeover.Therewouldbenobenefitintryingtocrosshim.
Infact,crossinghimwouldbeabigmistake.
Ashlookedtowardthebrothers.“Iassumeyouhavepeoplewhocancleanthisup?”
Theybothnodded.
DeeDeehandedhimatoweltowipethebloodoffhisface.Hedidsoquickly.
“Wecanshowourselvesout,”Ashsaid.
AshandDeeDeewalkeddownthebackpathtowardtheentrancegate.AnAcuraRDXwaswaitingforthem.HeopenedthepassengerdoorforDeeDee.Ashedid,helookedupintothedistanceandsawMotherAdionaonthetopofthehill.Shegazeddownathim,andevenfromthisdistance,hecouldseethepleadinginhereyes.
Sheshookherheadinanominousfashion.
Hedidnothing.
Ashcircledaroundandgotbehindthewheel.Hedrovethembackdownthetree-linedroad,watchingthegatesofTruthHavengrowsmallerintherearviewmirror.Heturnedontothemainroadandwhentheyhitthefirsttrafficlight,hetookoutthenotefromMotherAdiona,openedit,andreaditforthefirsttime:
DON’TKILLHIMPLEASE
Allincapsandblockletters.Thenincursiveunderneath:
Don’tshowthismessagetoanyone,notevenher.Youhavenoideawhat’sreallygoingon.
“What’sthat?”DeeDeeasked.
Hehandedherthenote.“MotherAdionaslippedthistomebeforesheleftmyroom.”
DeeDeereadit.
“Whatdoesshemeanby‘Youhavenoideawhat’sreallygoingon’?”Ashasked.
“Noclue,”DeeDeesaid.“ButI’mgladyoutrustme.”
“ItrustyoumorethanItrusther.”
“Mysneakingyouthatknifeprobablyhelped.”
“Itdidn’thurt,”Ashsaid.“DidyouknowI’dkillhim?”
“Massiveretaliation.Massivedeterrent.”
“Wereyouworriedabouthowyourleaderswouldreact?”
“TheTruthwillalwaysprovide.”
“Andkillingthatguardwasthetruth?”
Shelookedoutthewindow.“He’sdying.Youknowthat,right?”
“TheTruth,youmean?”
DeeDeesmiled.“TheTruthcannotdie.Butyes,thecurrentembodiment.”
“DoeshisdeathhaveanythingtodowithwhyIwashired?”
“Doesitmatter?”
Ashthoughtaboutit.“No,notreally.”
Shesatbackandhuggedherkneestoherchest.
“WhatdoyoumakeofMotherAdiona’snote?”heasked.
DeeDeestartedplayingwithatoo-longstrandofhairshe’dmissedduringherbathroomcut.“I’mnotsure.”
“AreyougoingtotelltheTruth?”Heheardthefunnywayitsounded—theplayonwordsthatistheman’smoniker—evenashesaidit.“Imean,areyougoingtotell—?”
“Yeah,Iknowwhatyoumeant.”
“Well?Areyougoingtotell?”
DeeDeethoughtaboutit.“Notrightnow.Rightnow,Iwantustoconcentrateondoingourjob.”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
WhenSimongotbacktotheICU,hewassurprisedtoseeDetectiveIsaacFagbenlewaitingforhim.Forasecond,maybetwo,hopefilledhischest—hadhefoundPaige?—buttheexpressiononFagbenle’sfaceindicatedthatthiswasn’tgoingtobegoodnews.Thehopefledevenfasterthanitcame,replacedbywhatevertheoppositeis.
Despair?Worry?
“It’snotaboutPaige,”Fagbenlesaid.
“Whatthen?”
Simonglancedoverthedetective’sshouldertowhereSamsatbedsideofIngrid.Nothingnewthere,soheturnedhisattentionbacktoFagbenle.
“It’saboutLutherRitz.”
Themanwhoshothiswife.“Whatabouthim?”
“He’sout.”
“What?”
“Onbail.Roccopostedabondforhim.”
“Lutherwasn’tremandedtotrial?”
“Presumptionofinnocence,EighthAmendment.Youknow,likewestilldoinAmerica?”
“He’sfree?”Simonletlooseabreath.“YouthinkthatputsIngridinanydanger?”
“Notreally.Thehospitalhasprettygoodsecurity.”
Anursepushedpastthem,givingthemanannoyedglancebecausetheyweresomewhatblockingtheentrance.Thetwomenmovedtotheside.
“Thethingis,”Fagbenlesaid,“thecaseagainstLutherisn’taslamdunk.”
“How’sthat?”
“Heclaimsyoushothimfirst.”
“Me?”
“You,yourwife,oneofyoutwo.”
“Didn’tyoudoaresiduetestonhim?”
“Yes.Heclaimstwothings.One,hewasshootingpracticeshots,nothingtodowithyou.Andtwo,ifyoudon’tbuythat,hefiredbackbecauseyoushothimfirst.”
Simonscoffed.“Who’sgoingtobelievethat?”
“You’dbesurprised.Look,Idon’tknowallthedetails,butLutherRitzisclaimingself-defense.That’sgoingtoleadtosometoughquestions.”
“Likewhat?”
“LikewhyyouandIngridweredownthereinthefirstplace.”
“Tofindourdaughter.”
“Right.Soyouwereagitatedandworried,right?Youwenttoadrugdenthatyourdaughterfrequented.Noonewouldtellyouwhereshewas.Somaybeyougotmorethanagitatedandworried.Maybeyouweredesperate,sodesperateyouoryourwifepulledagun—”
“Youcan’tbeserious.”
“—andheendedupshot.Luther,Imean.Sohefiredback.”
Simonmadeaface.
“Lutherisbackhomenow,convalescingfromaseriouswound—”
“Andmywifeis”—Simonfelthisfaceredden—“lyinginacomatenyardsfromus.”
“Iknowthat.Butyousee,someoneshotLuther.”
Fagbenlemovedincloser.NowSimongotit.Nowheunderstoodwhatwashappeninghere.
“Andaslongaswedon’tknowwhoshothim,Luther’sclaimofself-defensewillleadtoreasonabledoubt.Thewitnesses,ifthereareanywhocomeforward,won’tbebackingyourrecountingoftheevents.They’llbackLuther’s.”Fagbenlesmiled.“Youdidn’thaveanyfriendsinthatdrugden,didyou,Simon?”
“No,”Simonsaid,theliecomingquickandeasy.CorneliushadshotLutherandsavedthem,buttherewasnowaySimonwouldeveradmitthat.“Ofcoursenot.”
“Exactly.Sotherearenoothersuspects.Ergo,hisattorneywillclaim,youtookituponyourselftoshootLutherRitz.Youhadtimeafterthatwitheveryonescattering.Youhidthegun.Ifyouworegloves,yougotridofthem.Whatever.”
“Detective?”
“What?”
“Areyouarrestingme?”
“No.”
“Sothiscanallwait,right?”
“Iguessitcan.Idon’tbuyLuther’sstory.Justsowe’reclear.ButIdofindonethingodd.”
“What’sthat?”
“DoyourememberwhenwewentintohishospitalroomsoyoucouldmakeapositiveID?”
“Yes.”
“AndLuther,well,let’sjustsayhisdrivewaydoesn’tquitereachtheroad,ifyouknowwhatImean.Hewasdumbenoughtoadmitbeingshotatthescene,remember?”
“Yes.”
“Soheisn’tfastonhisfeet.”
“Right.”
“AndyetwhenIaskedLutherwhyhedidit,doyourememberthefirstthinghesaid?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“Hegesturedtowardyou,Simon,andhesaid,‘Whydon’tyouaskhimwhy?’”
Simonremembered.Herememberedthefeelingofangerthatcameoverhimthen,lookingatLuther,thatwasteofhumanitywho’dmadethedecisiontotrytoendIngrid’slife.Thegallofitall,thatsomeoneaslowasthatcouldholdsuchpower,hadenragedhim.
“Hewasgraspingatstraws,Detective.”
“Washe?”
“Yes.”
“Idon’tthinkhe’sthatsmart,Simon.IthinkLutherknowssomethinghehasn’tyettoldus.”
Simonconsideredthatforamoment.“Likewhat?”
“Youtellme,”Fagbenlesaid.Then:“WhoshotLuther,Simon?Whosavedyouguys?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“That’salie.”
Simonsaidnothing.
“Andthere’stherub,myfriend,”Fagbenlecontinued.“Onceonelieisletintheroom,evenforthebestofreasons,awholebunchmorewillrideinonitsback.Thenthoselieswillgangupandslaughterthetruth.SoI’llaskyouonemoretime:WhoshotLuther?”
Theywereeyetoeyenow,inchesapart.
“Itoldyou,”Simonsaidthroughgrittedteeth.“Idon’tknow.Isthereanythingelse?”
“No,Idon’tthinkso.”
“ThenI’dliketogositwithmywife.”
FagbenleslappedSimon’sshoulderinagesturethatwastryingtobebothfriendlyandintimidating.“I’llbeintouch.”
AsFagbenleheadeddownthecorridor,Simon’smobilerang.Hedidn’trecognizethenumberanddebatedlettingitgotovoicemail—toomanysolicitationsnowadays,evenonmobilephones—buttheareacodewasthesameasLanfordCollege’s.Hemovedtothesideandanswered.
“Hello?”
“Mr.Greene?”
“Speaking.”
“Igotyouremailandphonemessage,soI’mcallingyouback.ThisisLouisvandeBeek.I’maprofessoratLanfordCollege.”
Hehadalmostforgottenaboutleavingthosemessages.“Thanksforgettingbacktome.”
“Noproblem.”
“I’mcallingaboutmydaughterPaige.”
Therewassilenceontheotherend.
“Yourememberher?PaigeGreene.”
“Yes.”Hisvoicesoundedveryfaraway.“Ofcourse.”
“Doyouknowwhathappenedtoher?”
“Iknowshedroppedout.”
“She’smissing,Professor.”
“I’msosorrytohearthat.”
“Ithinksomethinghappenedtoheratschool.IthinksomethingatLanfordstartedallthis.”
“Mr.Greene?”
“Yes?”
“IfIrecallcorrectly,yourfamilylivesinManhattan.”
“That’sright.”
“Areyoutherenow?”
“Inthecity?Yes.”
“I’mteachingthissemesteratColumbiaUniversity.”
Simon’salmamater.
“Perhaps,”vandeBeekcontinued,“weshouldhavethisdiscussioninperson.”
“Icanbethereintwentyminutes.”
“I’llneedalittlemoretime.Doyouknowthecampus?”
“Yes.”
“There’sabigstatueonthestepsinfrontofthemainbuilding.”
ThemainbuildingwascalledLowMemorialLibrary.Thebronzestatue,oddlyenoughcalledAlmaMater,depictedtheGreekgoddessAthena.
“Iknowit.”
“Let’smeetthereinanhour.”
***
ThecopsshowedupattheGreen-N-LeenVeganCafébecausesomeonecalled911whenRaoulandhismanbunwentdownfromElena’skneekick.Atfirst,Raoul,whowasstillcuppinghiswoundednuts,wantedtopresscharges.
“Sheassaultedmyfamilyjewels!”Raoulkeptshouting.
Thecopsrolledtheireyes,buttheyalsoknewtheyhadtotakeastatement.ElenapulledRaoulandthemanbunintothecornerandsaidsimply,“Ifyoupresscharges,Ipresscharges.”
“Butyou—”
“—gotthebetterofyou,yesIknow.”
Raoulwasstillcradlinghiscrotchasifhe’dfoundawoundedbird.
“Butyouassaultedmefirst,”Elenasaid.
“What?Howdoyoufigure?”
“Raoul,you’renewatthis.I’mnot.Thesurveillancetapewillshowthatyoureachedoutandtouchedmefirst.”
“Youwererunningaftermyfriend!”
“Andyouassaultedmetostopthat,soIdefendedmyself.That’showthiswillplay.Andworse.Imean,lookatme,Raoul.”Elenaspreadherarms.“I’mshort,I’mchubby,andeventhoughI’msureyou’reveryintouchwithyourfemininesideandallkumbayaonfeminism,thattapeofasmallalbeitroundmiddle-agedwomankneeingyouintheballswillgoviral.”
Raoul’seyeswidened.Hehadn’tconsideredthat,thoughmaybehismanbunhad.
“Doyouwanttorollthosedice,Raoul?”
Hecrossedhisarmsoverhischest.
“Raoul?”
“Fine,”hesaidinthemostpetulanttoneimaginable.“Iwon’tpresscharges.”
“Yeah,butnowthatIstartthinkingaboutit,Imight.”
“What?”
Elenamadethetrade.AlisonMayflower’s“real”name—AllieMason—andcurrentaddressinexchangeforlettingbygonesbebygones.AlisonlivedonafarmoutsideofBuxton.Elenamadethedriveup.Noonewashome.Shedebatedsittingoutsidethehouseforabit,butitdidn’tlookasthoughanyonehadbeenhomeinalongtime.
BackattheHowardJohnson’s,Elenasatinaroomthatcouldn’tbemoremotelgenericandtriedtoplothernextmove.LoufromherhomeofficehaddiscoveredthatAllieMasonlivedinthatfarmhousewithanotherwomannamedStephanieMars.
WasStephanieMarsafriend?Arelative?Apartner?Diditmatter?
ShouldElenadrivethehalfhourtoBuxtonandtryagain?
TherewasnoreasontothinkAlisonMayflowerwouldbemorecooperativethistime,butthenagain,tryingdoggedlywaswhyElenamadethebigbucks.Literally.Anditwasn’tasthoughthefirstmeetinghadn’tbornefruit.Ithad.Therewasclearlysomethingshadygoingonwiththoseadoptions.Elenahadstronglysuspectedthatbefore,butafterherencounterwithAlisonMayflower,sheknewforsure.ShealsoknewthatatleastinAlisonMayflower’smind,thechildrenhadneededsaving.Andthebignewpieceofthiscockamamypuzzle,thoughElenahadzeroideahowitfit:
Alltheadoptedbabieswereboys.
Why?Whynotgirls?
Elenatookoutapadandpenandchartedouttheages.DamienGorsewastheoldest,HenryThorpetheyoungest.Still,theywerealmosttenyearsapartinage.Tenyears.ThatwasalongtimeforAlisonMayflowertobeinvolvedinallthis.
Thatmeantherinvolvementwasdeep.Superdeep.
Herphonerang.ItwasLoufromthehomeofficeonsomespecialapphe’dinstalledonherphone.Theappmadeallcallsuntraceableorsomethinglikethat.“TheleakersintheWhiteHouseuseit,”Louhadtoldher.“That’swhytheynevergetcaught.”
Loudidn’tuseitveryoften.
“Youalone?”heaskedwhenshepickedup.
“Youdidn’tcallforphonesex,didyou?”
“Uh,yeahno.Openupyourlaptop,wiseass.”
Shecouldheartheexcitementinhisvoice.“Okay.”
“Iemailedyoualink.Clickonit.”
Elenaopenedherbrowserandstartedtosignintoheremail.
“Youclickityet?”
“Givemeasecond,willyou?I’mtypinginmypassword.”
“Seriously?Youdon’thaveitsaved?”
“Howdoyousaveit?”
“Ugh,nevermind.Tellmewhenyouhavethelinkup.”
ElenafoundLou’semailandclickedthelink.AwebsitecalledAnce-Storycameup.
“Bingo,”shesaid.
“What,why?”
“Letmejustdouble-checksomething.”
Elenagrabbedherphoneandcheckedhertexts.TherewasonefromSimonGreene,who’dinformedherthathisdaughterPaigehadnochargesonhercreditcardforDNAYourStory,butthathehadfoundonefor$79to:
Ance-Story.
ShefilledLouinonSimon’stext.“Okay,”Lousaid,“sothisisgoingtobeevenbiggernewsthanIthought.”
Elena’seyestraveleddownthehomepage.Nodoubtaboutit—thiswasdefinitelyoneofthoseDNAgenealogysites.Therewereallkindsofphotographsofpeopleembracingandcutecatchphraseslike“DiscoverWhoYouReallyAre”or“OnlyYouAreYou—UncoverYourUniqueEthnicOrigins.”Therewereotherlinksthatcouldhelpthepotentialcustomer—likethethrilledpeopleintheembracingphotographs—“findnewrelatives.”
Belowthat,thepackagesthepotentialcustomercouldpurchaseweredisplayed.Thefirstoption,pricedat$79,offeredyouabreakdownofyourancestryandthechancetoconnectwithDNArelatives.Thesecondoptionwascalled“ForYourHealthToo.”Itofferedthesameaspackageone,butforanextraeightydollars,you’dreceivea“fullmedicalreportthatcouldmakeyouhealthier.”
ThewordRECOMMENDEDwasstampedinflashinglettersabovethemoreexpensivepackage.Whatasurprise.Thecompanyitselfwassuggestingyouspendmoremoneyontheirproducts.Gasp.
“Youonthehomepage?”Louasked.
“Yes.”
“ClickSignin.”
“Okay.”
“You’llseetwofields.UsernameandPassword.”
“Right.”
“Okay,thisisthepartwhereIgetlegalonyou.IcalledonthesecureappbecauseIfiguredouthowtogetintoHenryThorpe’sDNAaccount.”
“Howdidyoudothat?”
“Youreallywanttoknow?”
“No.”
“Iknowwecouldgetpermissionfromhisfather—”
“Buthehasnostanding.Ialreadyheardthistoday.”
“Sowhatwewouldbedoingbysigningin…well,I’mnotsureit’scompletelylegal.Thiscouldbeviewedtechnicallyashacking.Iwanttocautionyou.”
“Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“Givemetheusernameandpassword.”
Hedidso.Shetypedthemin.Apagecameupthatread:“Welcomeback,Henry.Here’syourethniccomposition.”
Henrywas98percentEuropean.Underthat,hewaslistedas58percentfromGreatBritain,20percentfromIreland,14percentAshkenaziJew,5percentScandinavian,andtheneverythingelsewasnegligible.
“Scandowntothebottomofthepage,”Lousaid.
ShetraveledpastsomethingcalledYourChromosomes.
“Youseethelinkthatsays‘YourDNARelatives’?”
Shesaidthatshedid.
“Clickit.”
Anewpagecameup.Onthetop,itread“SortedStrengthofRelationship.”Nexttothat,itnotedthat“Youhave898relatives.”
“Eighthundredandninety-eightrelatives?”Elenasaid.
“HenryThorpebettergetabiggerThanksgivingtable,right?That’snormal,maybeevenonthelowside.ThevastmajorityaredistantcousinswhoshareverylittleofyouruniqueDNA.ButclickPageOne.”
Shecouldheartheexcitementinhisvoice.
Elenaclicked.Thepagetookitstimeloadingnow.
“Youseeit?”
“Calmdown,I’musingaHowardJohnson’sWi-Fi.”
Andthenshedidindeedseeit.Thewholecasestartedtocometogether.Thatwashowitfelt.Likeawholebunchofthosebigpuzzlepiecessuddenlystartedtofit.
Fourpeoplewerelistedas:Half-Sibling(s)ofHenry.
“Holycrap,”shesaid.
“Yep.”
DamienGorseofMaplewood,NewJersey,waslistedfirst.Hisfullname.Justlikethat.ThemurderedownerofthetattooparlorwasahalfbrotherofElena’sclient.
Underthat,alsolistedasa“half-siblingmale,”werejustinitials.
“ACfromtheNortheast,”Elenasaid.Itdidn’ttakemuchtoguess.“AaronCorval.”
“Probably.”
“Anywaytoconfirm?”
“I’mworkingonit.See,thesitedoesn’tletpeoplejustlistthemselvesanonymously.Itgivesyoutwooptions.Fullname.Orinitials.Buttheyhavetobereal.I’dsayhalfthepeopledofullname,halfdoinitials.”
Next,alsolistedasahalf-siblingmale,weretheinitialsNBofTallahassee,Florida.
“AnywaytotracedownNB?”
“Nonethatarelegal.”
“Howaboutillegal?”
“Notreally.IcouldsendhimamessageasHenryThorpe,seeifhe’lltellmehisname.”
“Doit,”shesaid.
“Thatviolates—”
“Canitbetracedbacktous?”
“Don’tinsultme.”
“Thendoit,”Elenasaid.
“Itturnsmeonwhenyoubendtherules.”
“Super,great.Wealsoneedtocontacttheauthorities.Maybetheycangetawarrantoffwhatwehave,Idon’tknow.”
“Wecan’tgivethemwhatwehave,remember?”
“Right,okay.ButNB,ifwefindhisidentity,needstobewarned.Hecouldbenext.”
“Theremightbemore.”
“Whatdoyoumean,‘more’?Morewhat?”
“Siblings.”
“Howdoyoufigurethat?”sheasked.
“HenryThorpeputhisDNAintoatleastthreeofthesesites.”
“Whywouldhedothat?”
“Lotofpeopledo.Themoredatabasesyou’rein,thebetteryouroddsoffindingbloodrelatives.Mypointis,hefoundfourhalfsiblingsinAnce-Storyalone.Hemayhavefoundmoreelsewhere,Idon’tknow.”
“Theseareallhalfsiblings,right?”
“Right.Onthefather’sside.”
Sheglanceddownthepage.“Whataboutthislastguy,thefourthhalfsibling?”
“Whatabouthim?”
“He’slistedasaKevinGanofromBoston.Didyoucheckhimout?”
“Yeah.And—drumroll—thisisbig.Youready?”
“Lou.”
“Ganoisdead.”
She’dexpectedthatreply,andyetitstilllandedwithawallop.“Murdered?”
“Suicide.Italkedtothelocalcops.Nothingsuspiciousaboutthecase.Helosthisjob,seemeddepressed.Hewentintohisgarageandshothimselfinthehead.”
“Buttheyweren’tlookingforanythingsuspicious,”shesaid.“Hewasprobably…”
Shestopped.Herheartfell.
“Elena?”
Shedidn’tsayitoutloud,butsuddenlytheanswerseemedobvious.Asuicide.Twomurders.
Andadisappearance.
HenryThorpewasprobablydead.Ifthekillerwantedtomakesurehedidn’tlinktotheothers—ifhedidn’twantacoptostartlookingatanylinksbetweenmurdervictimson,say,aDNAsite—you’djustmakeoneofthevictimslooklikearunaway.
Damn.
WasElenasearchingforadeadman?
“Elena?”
“Yeah,I’mhere.Somethingelseweneedtolookat.”
“What’sthat?”
“WeknowPaigeGreenesignedupwithAnce-Storytoo.”
“Yeah,well,she’snotahalfsibling.That’sthetotallistthere.Allmale.”
“Maybesomeotherway.”
“There’sasearchengine.Useit.”
Shetypedin“PaigeGreene.”Nothing.Shetypedin“Greene”andherinitialsandafewotherwaysthatLousuggested.Nothing.Shelookedthroughtherelativeslist.Therewasonefirstcousin,alsomale,listedandthenseveralthirdcousins.
NoPaige.NoPG.
“PaigeGreeneisnotarelative,”Lousaid.
“Thenhowdoesshefitintothis?”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
AcommuterapptoldSimonthattakingthe1trainsouthtogettoColumbiaUniversitywouldtakeelevenminutestotal,whichwasconsiderablyfasterthanataxiorcar.SimonstoodwaitingfortheelevatorthatplummetsyouintothebowelsofWashingtonHeightswhenhismobilerang.
Thenumberwasblocked.
“Hello?”
“I’llhavethepaternityresultsintwohours.”
ItwasRandySprattfromthegeneticslab.
“Great,”Simonsaid.
“I’llmeetyouinthecourtyardbehindthepediatricwing.”
“Okay.”
“Mr.Greene,areyoufamiliarwiththeexpression‘paymentondelivery’?”
Man,itwasamazinghoweasilypeoplefellintosmallformsofcorruption.“I’llhavethecash.”
Spratthungup.SimonsteppedbackandcalledYvonne’smobile.
Yvonneansweredwithatentative“Hey.”
“Don’tworry,”hesaid,“I’mnotcallingtoaskaboutIngrid’sbigsecret.Ineedafavor.”
“What’sup?”
“Ineedtomakeacashwithdrawalofninethousandninehundreddollarsfromourbranchnearthehospital.”
Theamounthadtobeundertenthousanddollars.Foranyamountoverthat,youhadtofilloutaCTR—currencytransactionreport—withFinCEN.Inshort,itwouldbereportedtotheIRSorlawenforcement,andSimondidn’twanttodealwiththatrightnow.
“Willyouarrangeit,please?”
“Onit.”Then:“What’sthecashfor?”
“MaybeyouandIngridaren’ttheonlyoneswithsecrets.”
Itwasanimmaturethingtosay,butthereyougo.
Assoonashehungup,theelevatordoorsopenedrevealingadingyandpoorlylitcar.Commuterspiledinuntilanalarmofsomekindstartedtobeep.Subwayelevatorsplungingdownintotheearth’scoreareprobablytheclosesturbanitesgettowhatacoalminergoesthrough,which,ofcourse,wasn’tcloseatall.
The1trainwasprettymuchatcapacity,thoughnotsardine-canpacked.Simonchosetostand.Heheldontoapole.Heusedtocheckhisphoneorreadanewspaper,anythingtoescapetheclaustrophobicfeelingofbeinglockedinwithstrangers,butlately,Simonlikedtolookaroundatthefacesofhisfellowpassengers.Asubwaycarisamicrocosmofourplanet.Yousawallnationalities,creeds,genders,persuasions.Yousawpublicdisplaysofaffectionandarguments.Youheardmusicandvoices,laughterandtears.Therewererichpeopleinbusinesssuits(oftenSimonhimself)andtherewerepanhandlers.Youwereallequalsonthetrain.Youallpaidthesamefare.Youallhadthesamerighttothesameseats
Forsomereason,overthelastyearortwo,thesubwayhadn’tbeensomethingtoavoid.Ithadbecome,whenthereweren’tissueswithconstructionanddelays,somethingofarefuge.
SimonenteredtheColumbiaUniversitycampusatthecentergatesonBroadwayand116thStreet.Thiswasthesameentrancewayhehadfirstcrossedasahighschooljuniorvisitingforaprospectivetourwithhisfather.Hisfather,thegreatestmanSimonwouldeverknow,wasanelectricianwiththeIBEWunion,Local102.TheideathatachildofhiscouldonedaygotoanIvyLeagueschoolstunnedandintimidatedhim.
DadhadalwaysmadeSimonfeelsafe.
Thatwasthething.TwoweeksbeforeSimongraduated,DaddiedofamassivecoronarywhilehewasdrivingtoajobinMillburn,NewJersey.IthadbeenadevastatingblowtoSimon’sfamily—thebeginningoftheend,inmanyways.WhenSimonstartedtohavechildrenofhisown,hewouldtrytorememberhowhisownfatherhaddoneit,likeanapprenticetryingtostudythemaster,buthealwaysfeltasthoughhewasfallingshort.
DidSimon’schildrenlovetheirfatherasmuchasSimonhadlovedhis?
Didtheyrespecthimlikethat?
DidSimonmakethemfeelthatkindofsafe?
Andmostly:Wouldhisfatherhavetakenhiseyeofftheballandlethisdaughterbecomeajunkie?Wouldhehavestoodbyidlywhilehiswifegotshot?
ThosewerethethoughtsthathauntedSimonashesteppedonthecampuswherehe’dspentfouryears.
Studentshurriedbyhim,mostlywiththeirheadsdown.Hecouldmakethestandardwhiningobservationabouthowtheyoungsterswereallstaringattheirlittlescreenorhadheadphonesjammedintotheirears,howtheyallwantedtoshutouttheworldsothattheycouldbesurroundedbypeopleandyetcompletelyalone,buthisgenerationwasjustasbad,sowhatwasthepoint?
SimonspottedthebronzestatueofAthena,theGreekgoddessofwisdom,sittingonherthrone.Ifyoulookedclosely,Simonknew,youcouldfindatinyowlhiddeninhercloakbyherleftleg.Legendhaditthatthefirstmemberofanincomingclasstofindtheowlbecamethevaledictorian.Athena’sleftarmisoutstretched,purportedlytowelcomevisitors,butSimonsometimessawitasmorelikehisgrandmother’sshruggesturewhenshe’dsay,“Eh,whatcanyoudoaboutit?”
Hismobilerangagain.ThecallerIDtoldhimitwasElenaRamirez.
“Anythingnew?”heasked.
“Yeah,alot.”
Elenahitonlybrieflyontheactualreasonsshe’dgonetoMaine,justtosaythatsomethingwasclearlyfishywiththeadoptions.SheconcentratedinsteadonwhathertechguyhadhelpedherdiscoverabouttheDNAgenealogy.SimonmovedupthestepsofLowLibrary.Hehalfsat,halfcollapsedonthecoolmarbleandlistenedasElenaranthroughwhatshehadlearned—theadoptions,thehalfbrothersontheDNAwebsite,thesuddendeaths.
“Someoneiskillingthemoff,”Simonsaidatonepoint.
“Itseemsso,yes.”
Hewasn’tsurewhathefeltwhenshetoldhimthatPaige,whohadsignedupforthesameDNAgenealogytest,wasnotabloodrelative.Itshouldhavebeenacomfort—didn’titmeanthathewasindeedthefather?—butthenathoughtoccurredtohim.
“Wedon’tknowforsure,”hesaid.
“Don’tknowwhatforsure,Simon?”
“ThatPaigeisn’tahalfsiblingtoo.”
“Howso?”
“MaybePaigedidn’tlistherrealname.Ireadaboutafewcaseswherepeopleputinotherpeople’sDNAorfakenamesorwhatever.Somaybeshe’sthatothersibling,theonewithinitials.”
“NB?”
“Right.”
“No,Simon,thatcan’tbe.”
“Whynot?”
“He’slistedasamale.IfPaigeputherownDNAinhere,evenifsheusedafakename,they’dknowiftheDNAsamplecamefromamaleorafemale.Thiswasfromamale.SoNBcan’tbePaige.”
“Somaybesheusedanotherpseudonym.”
“Maybe.ButwenowcontrolHenryThorpe’spage.Itlistsallhisrelatives.Therearenofemalerelativeswhoarecloserthanathirdcousin.”
“SoIstilldon’tgetit.HowisPaigeinvolved?”
“ThroughAaronsomehow,butIdon’tknow.Maybewe’vebeenlookingatitthewrongway.”
“Howso?”
“Maybeyourdaughterputsomeoneelse’sDNAininsteadofherown.”
“Ithoughtaboutthat,butwhy?”
“Idon’tknow.Weneedtotrackdownhermovements.MaybePaigediscoveredsomething.Acrimeorsomethingthatmadenosense.SomethingthatledhertoAaron.”
Simonthoughtaboutit.“Let’stakeastepbackandseewhatweknowforsure.”
“Yeah,okay.”
“Firstoff,allofthesemencamefromthesamebiologicalfather.”
“Right.”
“TheywereallprobablyadoptedoutofthesamesmallagencyinMaine.”
“Right.”
“Andtherewassomekindofcover-up.Thefather’snameisn’tlistedontheadoptionreports.”
“Asfarasweknowrightnow,yeah,”Elenasaid.
Simonswitchedthephonefromhisrighthandtohisleft.“Haveyoureadaboutthosecaseswhereaninfertilitydoctorendsupusinghisownsementoimpregnatehispatients?TherewasonecaseinIndiana,Ithink,whereawomanfoundeightunknownsiblingsononeoftheseDNAsites,sortoflikewhatyou’resayinghere,andthenthesiblingsallgottogetherandfiguredouttheinfertilitydoctorhadbeenusinghisownspermandpretendingitcamefromabankorsomething.”
“Yeah,Iremember,”Elenasaid.“Thereareanumberofcaseslikethat.AbigoneinUtah,Canadatoo.”
“Yousoundskeptical.”
“Ijustdon’tseehowitwouldworkhere.Thewomeninthosecasesweren’tgivingupthebabiesforadoption.Theywantedthemmorethananything.”
Shehadapoint.
“We’restillmissingsomething,”hesaid.
“Agree.SoI’mgoingtotakeanotherrunatAlisonMayflowerbecauseshe’stheonewhosetuptheadoptions.I’mgoingtothreatenherwithprison,whateverittakes.IalsowanttotrytogettheFBIinterested,butI’llhavetodothatthroughabackdoorchannel.”
“Why?”
“AlltheinfoIjustgaveyou,youcan’ttellanyone.Someonecouldclaimthatitwasobtainedillegally—thefruitsofabadactorsomesuchthing.Eitherway,evenifwegotothefedstoday,itwon’tbeapriority.It’lltakedays,probablyweeks,justtogetitassignedtosomeone.Wedon’thave…”Therewasapause.“Simon,holdon,Ihaveanothercall.”
Simon’seyesdriftedacrossthecampus.Herememberedsomethingthathadimpressedhisfatherduringthetour.Themaincampus—whereSimonnowsatonthesesteps,acrossCollegeWalkwherehe’dentered,thenpasttheSouthFields—wasbookendedbyLowLibraryandButlerLibrary.
“Twolibraries,Simon,”hisfatherhadsaidwithashakeofhishead.“Whatbettersymboloflearning?”
Oddthoughttoconjureuprightnow,butitwaskeepingSimonfromallowingabigger,uglieronetoconsumehim:Evenifhecouldfigureoutwhatwasgoingonwiththesehalfbrothersandadoptions,howcouldthathelphimfindPaige?
Elenacamebackontheline.“Simon?”
Amanhurriedpasthimonthestepsonhisway,nodoubt,totheAlmaMaterstatue.Simonrecognizedthefacefromhisonlineprofile—ProfessorLouisvandeBeek.Withthephonestillagainsthisear,Simonstoodtofollow.
“Yeah,what’sup?”hesaid.
“Gottago.AlisonMayflowerwantstomeet.”
ChapterThirty
Ashparkedthecarbehindthehouse.Youcouldn’tseethecarfromtheroad,butDeeDeestillstoodguard,justincasesomeonemadetheturnintothelongdriveway.Ashcheckedthebackofthecar.Thebagswereallthere.Heunzippedthemandlaidtheweaponsacrossthebackseat.
Allpresentandaccountedfor.
Hegrabbedwhatheneeded,puttheotherweaponsbackinthebag,andwhistledwithtwofingers.WhenDeeDeecameback,hehandedheranFN5.7.
“Youhadtimetothink,”hesaid.
“About?”
“MotherAdiona’snote.Firstoff,whoisshe?”
“Sheservesinthechamber.That’sashighupasanywomancango.”
“Doyouthinkshe’sloyaltoyourcult?”
“Don’tcallitacult,”DeeDeesaid.“Andyes.Thereisonlyoneothermother,whoisknownasMotherAbeona.TheybothwereofsuchpureTruththattheyweretheoneshechosetocreatetheVisitorandtheVolunteer.”
“SoVartage’skids,”hesaid,“they’reonlyhalfbrothers?”
“Yes.”
“AndwhichoneisMotherAdiona’sson?”
“TheVolunteer.”
“SoMotherAdionaistheVolunteer’smother.AndMotherAbeonaistheVisitor’smother.”
“Yes.”Theystartedtowardthebackofthehouse.“Whydoyoucare,Ash?”
“Idon’t.ButIdon’tlikehavingsomeoneontheinsideworkingagainstus,doyou?”
“Ididn’treallythinkofitthatway.”
“MotherAdionahadsomeonetorturemetofindoutwhatwewereupto.Thensheslippedmeanotetellingmenottodoit.Thatdoesn’tworryyouatall?”
“Oh,itworriesme,”shesaid.
Ashcheckedthesurroundings.“DeeDee?”
“Yes.”
“WhydoIthinkyou’renottellingmeeverything?”
Shesmiledandfacedhimfull-on.Ashfelthisheartpickupthepace.“Youfeltit,didn’tyou?Whenyouwerewithhim.”
“Vartageischarismatic.I’llgiveyouthat.”
“AndTruthHaven?”
“It’speacefulandquiet,”heagreed.
“It’smorethanthat.It’sserene.”
“So?”
“YourememberwhatIwaslikebefore?”
Hedid.Amess.Butithadn’tbeenherfault.Toomanyfosterfathersandteachersandguidancecounselorsandspiritualadvisors,especiallythemostsanctimoniousofthem,couldnotkeeptheirhandsandimpurethoughtsawayfromher.
“Iremember,”hesaid.
“Don’tIseembetter,Ash?”
“Youdo.”Thesunwasinhiseyes,andhewantedtokeeplookingather,soheplacedhishandonhisforehead,halfsalute,halfvisor.“Butitdoesn’thavetobeeither-or.”
“Formeitdoes.”
“Wecanrunaway.”Heheardsomethingunfamiliarinhisvoicenow.Desperation.Longing.“Icanfindusaplace.Apeacefulplacelikeyourhaven.Quiet.Serene.”
“Wecoulddothat,”shesaid.“Butitwouldn’tstick.”
Hestartedtosaymore,butsheputasilencingfingertohislips.“Therealworldholdstoomanytemptationsforme,Ash.Evenbeingoutherenow,withyou,Ineedtofocus,bedisciplined,orI’llgethookedagain.I’llfall.AndIneedmore.”
“More?”
“Yes.”
“Andblindlybelievinginthistruthnonsensegivesyoumore?”
“Oh,Idon’tbelieveinit.”
“Wait,what?”
“Mostreligiouspeopledon’tbelievethedogma,Ash.Wetakefromitwhatwewant,wediscardwhatwedon’t.Weformwhatevernarrativewelike—kindGod,vengefulGod,activeGod,laid-backGod,whatever.Wejustmakesurewegetsomethingoutofit.Maybewegetlifeeverlastingwhilepeopleweresentburnforeternity.Maybewegetsomethingmoreconcrete—money,ajob,friends.Youjustchangethenarrative.”
“I’msurprisedtohearthat,”Ashsaid.
“Really?”
Hecuppedbothhandsaroundthebackwindowsohecouldpeerintothekitchen.Empty.Lightsout.Morethanthat,thekitchentablewascoveredinalongwhitecloth,thekindofthingyouputonwhenyou’reclosingupfortheseason.
DeeDeesaid,“WhentheTruthtraveledtoArizonatofindthathiddensymbolinthedesert—thesymbolthatistheentirebasisforourbeliefinoneTruth—doyouknowwhatfutureitforetold?”
Ashturnedawayfromthewindow.
“WhenthecurrentembodimentoftheTruthdiesandascendstothesecondlevel,hewouldbereplacednotbymen,buttheTruthwouldbeunifiedandstrengthenedbytwopeoplerepresentingallofhumanity.Aman.Andjoininghim,awoman.Aspecialwoman.”
DeeDeegrinned.
Ashlookedather.“You.”
Shespreadherarmstoindicatethathewascorrect.
“Andthesymbolreallyforetoldthis,thestuffaboutamanandnowawoman?”
“No,ofcoursenot,Ash.”
Hemadeafaceindicatinghedidn’tunderstand.
“Thisisarecent”—DeeDeemadequotemarkswithherhand—“‘interpretation.’”
“Soyouknow,”Ashsaid.
“Knowwhat?”
“Youknowit’sallnonsense.”
“No,Ash,youdon’tgetit.Likeeveryoneelse,IgetwhatIneedtooutofit.Itnourishesme.Knowingitisn’tliteraldoesn’tmakemybeliefsalesspotentforce.Itmakesthemstronger.Itputsmeincontrol.”
“Orinotherwords,”Ashsaid,“youfiguredanangletobecomeruler.”
“That’syourperspective.You’reentitledtoit.”DeeDeecheckedthetime.“Comeon.It’salmosttime.”
Shestartedupthehill.Ashfollowed.
“Thesejobsofours,”hesaid.“TheyencouragedtheTruthtoformhisnew,uh,interpretationinyourfavor,didn’tthey?”
DeeDeekeptwalking.“Godisn’ttheonlyonewhoworksinmysteriousways.”
***
Simonsaid,“ProfessorvandeBeek?”
“PleasecallmeLouis.”
VandeBeeklookedlikehisbiopage—young,pretty-boyish,waxy,toned.HeworethetightblackT-shirttoo,justashehadintheonlinephotograph.Hisgazeflittedawayastheyshookhands,butheflashedasmileanyway,one—Simoncouldn’thelpbutthinkuncharitably—thatworkedonwooingyourco-eds.Likehisdaughtermaybe.Orwassuchathoughtsexist?
“I’mreallysorryaboutPaige,”vandeBeeksaid.
“Inwhatway?”
“Pardon?”
“Yousaidyouweresorry.Sorryaboutwhat?”
“Didn’tyousayonthephoneshewasmissing?”
“Andthat’swhatyou’resorryabout,Louis?”
Themancringedatthetone,andSimoncursedhimselfforbeingtooaggressive.
“Myapologies,”Simonsaidinafarmoregenteelvoice.“It’sjust…mywife’sbeenshot.Paige’smother.”
“What?Oh,that’sawful.Isshe…?”
“Inacoma.”
Thecolorebbedfromhisface.
“Hi,Louis!”
Twostudents—bothmale,fortherecord—hadspottedhimontheirwayuptheLowLibrarysteps.Theystoppedtobeacknowledged,buttheirgreetinghadn’tregistered.
Theotherstudentsaid,“Louis?”
Simonhatedwhenpeoplecalledprofessorsbytheirfirstname.
VandeBeeksnappedoutofwhatevertrancehe’dputhiminto.“Ohhi,Jeremy,hi,Darryl.”
Hesmiledatthem,butthebrightbulbbehinditwasseriouslyflickering.Thestudentssheepishlycontinuedontheirway.
“Youwantedtotellmesomething?”Simonprompted.
“What?No,youleftmemessages.”
“Yes,andwhenyoucalledback,itwasclearyouhadsomethingyouwantedtosay.”
VandeBeekstartedgnawingonhislowerlip.
Simonadded,“YouwerePaige’sfavoriteprofessor.Shetrustedyou.”
Thiswas,atbest,third-handinformation,butitwasprobablyaccurateandattheveryleast,flattering.
“Paigewasawonderfulstudent,”hesaid.“Thekindthatweprofessorsthinkaboutwhenwegrowupwantingtoteach.”
Itfeltlikealinehe’dsaidplentyoftimesinthepast,butitalsosoundedlikehemeantit.
“Sowhathappened?”Simonasked.
“Idon’tknow.”
“Isentyouabright,inquisitiveyoungwoman.Itwasherfirsttimeonherown,awayfromtheonlyhomeandfamilyshe’deverknown.”Simonfeltsomethingriseinhim,somethinghecouldn’tquitedescribe—ablendofrage,sadness,regret,paternallove.“Itrustedyoutowatchoutforher.”
“Wetry,Mr.Greene.”
“Andfailed.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.Butifyou’reheretospreadblame—”
“I’mnot.I’mherebecauseIneedtofindher.Please.”
“Idon’tknowwheresheis.”
“Tellmewhatyouremember.”
Helookeddownfromtheirperchabovethecommons.
“Let’swalk,”vandeBeeksaid.“It’stooweirdjuststandingonthesestepslikethis.”
Hestarteddownthem.Simonstayedbyhisside.
“LikeIsaid,Paigewasagoodstudent,”hebegan.“Superengaged.Alotofkidscomeinthatway,ofcourse.They’realmosttoofiredup.Theywanttotakeadvantageofeveryopportunity,andtheystartburningthecandleatbothends.Doyourememberyourundergraduateyears?”
Simonnodded.“Ido.”
“Wheredidyougo,ifIcanask?”
“Here.”
“Columbia?”TheycrossedoverCollegeWalktowardButlerLibrary.“Didyouknowwhatyouwantedtobewhenyouarrived?”
“Notaclue.Istartedoffinengineering.”
“Peoplesaycollegeopenstheworldtoyou.Insomeways,ofcourse,that’strue.Butforthemostpart,itdoestheopposite.Youcomeinthinkingyoucandoanythingwhenyouleave.Youroptionsareendless.Pointoffactthough,youroptionsdwindleeverydayyou’rehere.Bythetimeyougraduate,again,realityhassplash-landed.”
“WhatdoesthishavetodowithPaige?”heasked.
Hestaredoff,asmileonhislips.“Shedidallthatquickly.Butinthebestway.Shefoundhercalling.Genetics.Shewantedtobeadoctor.Ahealerlikehermother.Sheknewthatwithinweeks.ShestartedcomingtoofficehoursasoftenasI’dlether.ShewantedtoknowwhattracktotaketobecomemyTA.Ithoughtshewasdoingreallywell.Andthensomethingchanged.”
“What?”
Hekeptwalking.“Therearerules,Mr.Greene.Ineedyoutounderstandthat.Aboutwhatwecantellparentsofstudents.Ifastudentasksforconfidentiality,wehavetogiveittothem—uptoalimit.AreyoufamiliarwiththecampusrulesonTitleIX?”
Simon’sbloodfroze.EileenVaughanhadsaidsomethingwhenhe’dvisitedheratLanford,somethingabouthowPaigeandEileen’smutualfriendJudyZyskindsuspectedPaigehadbeenthevictimofasexualassaultatafratparty.Simonhadsortofblockedonthatbecauseone,itwastooawfultoevenconsider,buttwo,moreimportantly,PaigehaddismisseditwhenJudyconfrontedheraboutit.ThatwasthepartthathadstuckwithSimon.JudyhadpushedPaige,andaccordingtoEileen,Paigehadnotonlydenieditbutfinallyendedtheconversation:
“Shesaidtherewereproblemsathome…”
Theyveeredoffthepathandreachedtheglass-enclosedstructurecalledLernerHall.Therewasacaféonthebottomfloor.VandeBeekreachedforthedoor,butSimongrabbedholdofhiselbow.
“Wasmydaughtersexuallyassaulted?”heasked.
“Ithinkso.”
“Thinkso?”
“Paigecametomeinconfidence.Shewasdistraught.Therehadbeenanincidentatacampusparty.”
Simonfelthishandstightenintofists.“Shetoldyouaboutit?”
“Shestartedto,yes.”
“Whatdoesthatmean,‘startedto’?”
“ThefirstthingIdid,beforeIlethergointodetails,wastoinformherthatI’dhavetofollowtheTitleIXguidelines.”
“Whatguidelines?”
“Mandatoryreporting,”hesaid.
“Meaning?”
“Ifastudenttellsmeaboutanincidentofsexualassault,nomatterwhatthatstudentwants,IhavetoreportittotheTitleIXcoordinator.”
“Evenifthevictimdoesn’twantyouto?”
“Evenif,that’sright.FranklyIdon’tlovethisrule.Igetit.Iunderstandthereasoning.ButIthinkitmakessomestudentslesslikelytoconfideinateacherbecausetheyknow,likeitornot,thattheteacherwillhavetoreportit.Sotheyclamup.Andthatwaswhathappenedhere.”
“Paigewouldn’ttalktoyou?”
“Shemoreorlessstormedout.Itriedtofollow,butsheranaway.Icalled.Itexted.Iemailed.Istoppedbyherroomonce.Shewouldn’ttalktome.”
Simonfelthisfingerstightenupalittlemore.“Andyoudidn’tthinktotellherparents?”
“Ithoughtaboutit,sure.Butagaintherearerulesaboutsuchthings.IalsocheckedwiththeTitleIXcoordinator.”
“Whatdidshesay?”
“Itwasahe.”
Forreal?“Whatdidhesay?”
“HetalkedtoPaige.Shedeniedanythinghappened.”
“Andyoustilldidn’tthinktocallherparents?”
“That’sright,Mr.Greene.”
“Soinsteadmydaughter,whowaspossiblyraped,justsufferedinsilence.”
“Thereareguidelines.Wehavetofollowthem.”
Thatwascrapandwhenthiswasallover,Simonwoulddowhathecouldtogetpayback,butrightnowhehadtofocusonthetaskathand.Hedidn’twantto.Hewantedtocollapseandcryforhisdaughter.
“SoisthatwhenPaigestartedtospiral?”
VandeBeekthoughtitover.Hisanswersurprisedhim.“No,notreally.Iknowhowthatsounds,butthenexttimeIsawher—”
“Whichwaswhen?”
“Afewdayslater.Paigeshowedupinclass.Sheseemedbetter.Irememberstandingbehindthelecternandlookingather,alittlesurprisedtoseeher,andshegavemethisnodlike‘I’mokay,don’tworryaboutit.’Afewdayslater,shestartedcomingtoofficehoursagain.Ican’ttellyouhowthrilledIwastoseeher.Itriedtoraisethetopic,butshesaiditwasnobigdeal,thatsheoverreacted.I’mnotsayingshewastotallyfine.Icouldseethatshewastryingtoblock.Iurgedhertogethelp,totalktosomeone.Oneofthehardestpartsisthatthegirlsarestillonthesamecampusastheirallegedattacker.”
“Rapist.”
“What?”
“Don’tcallhimanallegedattacker.Callhimarapist.”
“Idon’tknowwhathewas.”
“Butyoudoknowwho,right?”
Hestoodthere.
“Youdo,don’tyou?”
“Shedidn’ttellme.”
“Butyouknowthenameoftheboy.”
Helookedoff.“Ihaveaguess.AtleastIdonow.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
VandeBeekputhishandthroughhisthickhairandletloosealongbreath.“Thisiswherethestorytakesabizarreturn,Mr.Greene.”
Likeithasn’talready?Simonthought.
“Idon’tknowtheorder,”vandeBeekcontinued.“I’mnotsurewhatcamefirst—Paige’sdeteriorationor…”Hestopped.
“Orwhat?”
“Therewasanother”—hepaused,lookedupasthoughsearchingfortherightword—“incidentoncampus.”
“Incident,”Simonrepeated.
“Yes.”
“Doyoumeanrape?”
VandeBeekwinced.“Paigedidn’tusetheword‘rape.’Never.Justfortherecord.”
Now,Simonknew,wasnotthetimetogetintoasemanticsdebate.“Wasthereanotherassault?”
“Yes.”
“Wasitdonebythesameboy?”
Heshookhishead.“Justtheopposite.”
“Meaning?”
“TheboyIbelievemayhaveassaultedPaige,”vandeBeeksaid,hiswordscomingmoremeasurednow.“Hewasthevictimthistime.”
HemetSimon’sgaze.Simondidnotblink.
“HisnameisDougMulzer,asophomoreeconmajorfromPittsburgh.Hewasbeatenwithabaseballbatafterafratpartyoncampus.Brokenlegs.Andthen,thesmallerendofthebat,itwas…”Hestartedtostammer.“Well,thatpartoftheattackwasnevermadepublic.Thefamilydidn’twantitknown,buttherumorsspreadaroundcampus.He’sstillconvalescinginPittsburgh.”
Simoncouldfeelthechillworkitswayuphisspine.“AndyouthinkPaigehadsomethingtodowiththis?”
Heopenedhismouth,closedit,triedagain.Simoncouldseethathewasstrainingtobecarefulwithhiswords.“Ican’tsayforsure.”
“But?”
“Butinclassthenextday,Paigejustkeptsmiling.Everyoneelsewasupsetoverwhathadhappened.ButPaigekeptstaringatmeandgrinninginthisweirdway,andIcouldseeforthefirsttimethatshewasglassyeyed.Likeshewasonsomething.Likeshewashigh.”
“Soyourevidenceisthatshegothighandsmiled?”Simonasked.“Maybeshegothightonumbthepain.”
VandeBeeksaidnothing.
“Idon’tcarewhatshewason,”Simonsaid,picturingthesickeningassaultinhishead.“Paigewouldn’tdosomethinglikethat.”
“Iagree.”Anotherstudentwalkedbyandshoutedouta“Hi,Louis!”andvandeBeekgavehimanabsentmindednod.“Shewouldn’tdosomethinglikethat.Atleast,notonherown.”
Simonfroze.
“ButwhenPaigeleftclassthatday,Inoticedthattherewasamanwaitingforher.Notakid.Notastudent.AmanI’dguesswasabouttenyearsolder.”
Aaron,Simonthought.ItwasAaron.
ChapterThirty-One
AlltheinfoIjustgaveyou,youcan’ttellanyone,”Elenahadsaid.“Someonecouldclaimthatitwasobtainedillegally—thefruitsofabadactorsomesuchthing.Eitherway,evenifwegotothefedstoday,itwon’tbeapriority.It’lltakedays,probablyweeks,justtogetitassignedtosomeone.Wedon’thave…”
Elenaheardaclickonherline.Anothercallwascomingin.ThecallerIDwasblocked.Mostpeoplewouldsuspectthatitwassomekindofspamcall,butLouhadarrangedsomethingonthephonestopreventthat.Ifshegotacall,itwasusuallysomethingrelevant.
AndthelastpersonshehadgivenhercardtowasAlisonMayflower.
“Simon,holdon,Ihaveanothercall.”
Sheclickedover.“Hello?”
“Uh,hi.”Awoman’swhisper.NotAlisonMayflower.Thiswomansoundedyoung—twenties,maybethirties.“IsthisMissRamirez?”
“Thisisshe.Whoisthis?”
“Oh,mynameisn’timportant.”
“Couldyouspeakup?”
“Sorry,I’malittlenervous.I’mcalling…I’mcallingforafriendofmine.Youmethertodayatacertaincafé.”
“Goon.”
“Sheneedstoseeyou—boy,doessheneedtoseeyou—butshe’safraid.”
AlisonMayflower,Elenarecalled,livedwithanotherwomannamedStephanieMars.Couldbeherontheline.
“Iunderstand,”Elenasaidinhergentlestvoice.“Maybewecanmeetsomeplacewhereshe’dfeelcomfortable.”
“Yes.Alisonreallywantsthat.”
“Canyouholdonjustonesplitsecond?”
“Okay.”
Elenamovedfast.“Simon?”
“Yeah,what’sup?”
“Gottago.AlisonMayflowerwantstomeet.”
Elenaclickedbackover.“Iknowwhereyoutwolive.Icandrive—”
“No!”theyoung-soundingwomansaidinapanickedhush.“They’llfollowyou!Don’tyousee?”
Elenaactuallyputupacalminghand,whichofcoursemadenosensewhenyou’reonthephone.“Okay,sure,Isee.”
“They’rewatchingyou.They’rewatchingus.”
Thewomansoundedmorethanalittleparanoid,butthenagain,atleastthreepeopleweredead.
“Noworries,”Elenasaid,keepinghertoneevenandcasual.“Let’smakeaplan.Somethingyoutwoarebothcomfortablewith.”
Ittookabouttenminutesforthemtocomeupwithsomethingthatseemedtopacifythecaller.ElenawouldtakeanUbertotheCrackerBarrelOldCountryStorenearRoute95.Shewouldstandoutfront.Stephanie—shefinallysaidhernameoutloud—wouldflashherlightstwiceanddriveup.
“Whatkindofcarwillyoubedriving?”Elenahadasked.
“I’drathernotsay.Justincase.”
ElenawouldthengetinthecarandbetakentoseeAlisonata“secretlocation.”Yes,Stephanieactuallyusedthephrase“secretlocation.”
“Comealone,”Stephaniesaid.
“Iwill.Ipromise.”
“Ifweseesomeoneisfollowingyou,we’recallingitoff.”
TheyagreedthatStephaniewould“callandringonce”asasignalthatshewas“setup”attheCrackerBarrel.Whentheywereoffthephone,ElenasatonthebedandGoogledStephanieMars.Nothingmuchcameup.Elenachangedintoherotherblueblazer,theonewithalittlemorespaceforaholsterandgun.ShethoughtaboutcallingSimonbackbutchoseinsteadtosendatextlettinghimknowthatshehopedtomeetwithAlisonMayflowersoon.Herphonewascharging.SheletLouknowthatshe’dbegoingoutforameet.Louhadputahigh-endtrackeronherphone,sothehomeofficecouldknowherlocationifneedbe24/7.
Anhourpassedbeforetheblockednumbercalledagain.Elenawaited.Oneringandahangup.Thesignal.Elenahadbeenconstantlycheckingherride-shareapps.Oneshowedacareightminutesaway.Itarrivedinfifteen.
TheCrackerBarrelinSouthPortlandhadthesamefauxrusticexteriorthattheyalldid.Thefrontporchheldaplethoraofrockingchairs,allempty.Elenastoodandwaited.Itdidn’ttakelong.Avehicleflasheditsbeamsather.Elenasurreptitiouslytookaphotoofthecar,makingsureshegotthelicenseplate,andsentittoLou.
Justincase.Youneverknow.
Whenthecarpulledup,Elenaopenedthepassengerdoorandlookedinside.ThedriverwasanattractiveyoungwomanwearingaRedSoxbaseballcap.
“Stephanie?”
“Pleasegetin.Quickly.”
Elenawasn’tthemostagile,soittookalittletime.Assoonasshewasseated,evenbeforethedoorwasfullyclosed,StephanieMarshittheaccelerator.
“Doyouhaveaphone?”Stephanieasked.
“Yes.”
“Putitintheglovecompartment.”
“Why?”
“ThisisjustbetweenyouandAlison.Norecordings,nocalls,notexts.”
“I’mnotsureI’mcomfortablewithgivingupmyphone.”
Stephaniehitthebrake.“Thenwecallthisoffrightnow.You’recarryingagun,right?”
Elenadidn’tanswer.
“Putyourgunintheglovecompartmenttoo.Idon’tknowifyouworkforthemornot.”
“Whoisthem?”
“Nowplease.”
“Oneoftheadoptedboysismissing.Iworkforhisfather.”
“Andwe’rejustsupposedtotakeyourwordonthat?”Theyoungwomanshookherheadindisbelief.“Pleaseputyourphoneandgunintheglovecompartment.YoucanhavethembackafteryoutalktoAlison.”
Nochoice.Elenatookoutherphoneandgun.Shepoppedopentheglovecompartmentinfrontofher,droppedtheminside,andcloseditagain.Itwouldn’ttakelongtoretrievethemiftherewasanemergency.
ElenastudiedStephanieMars’sprofile.Shehadred-to-auburnhair,probablycutshort—hardtosayforsurewiththatbaseballcapon—andwas,inaword,beautiful.Highcheekbones.Flawlessskin.Shekeptbothhandsonthewheelattenandtwo,focusinghardontheroadasthoughshewerenewtodriving.
“BeforeIletyouseeAlison,Ineedtoaskyouafewquestions.”
“Okay,”Elenasaid.
“Whoexactlyhiredyou?”
Elenawasgoingtosaythatshewasnotatlibertytodivulge,butherclienthadalreadytoldherthatitwouldbeokay,thathedidn’tcarewhoknew.“SebastianThorpe.HeadoptedaboyhenamedHenry.”
“AndHenryismissing?”
“That’sright.”
“Anycluewhereheis?”
“That’swhatI’mworkingon.”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Don’tunderstandwhat?”
“HowoldisHenryThorpe?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Howcouldhisadoptionhaveanythingtodowithhislifenow?”
“Itmightnot.”
“She’sagoodperson,youknow.Alison,Imean.She’dneverhurtanyone.”
“AndIdon’twanttohurther,”Elenasaid.“Ionlywanttofindmyclient’sson.Butthat’sthething.IfAlisondiddosomethingillegal—”
“She’dnever.”
“Iknow.Butifsomethingabouttheseadoptionswasnotcompletelybythebook,andifshedoesn’tcooperate,well,thenit’sonher.Allthewallscomecrashingdown.”
“Thatsoundslikeathreat.”
“It’snotmeantto.It’smeanttoconveytheseverityofthesituation.I’mAlison’sbestchancetodotherightthing—andstayoutoflegaltrouble.”
StephanieMarsregrippedthesteeringwheel,herhandsshaking.“Idon’tknowwhat’sbest.”
“Idon’twanttohurteitheroneofyou.”
“Doyoupromiseyouwon’ttellanyoneaboutthis?”
Elenacouldn’treallymakethatpromise.ItdependedonwhatAlisonMayflowersaid.Still,asmalldeceptionatthisstagewastheleastofherworriesrightnow.“Yes,Ipromise.”
Thecarveeredtotheright.
“Whereisshe?”Elenaasked.
“MyauntSallyhasasummercabin.”Theyoungerwomanactuallymanagedasmile.“It’swhereAlisonandIfirstmet.They’refriends,AuntSallyandAlison.So,see,myaunthasabarbecuetoopentheseasoneveryyear,andsixyearsago,AlisonandIwerebothinvited.Iknowshe’solderthanIam,but,well,you’veseenher.She’syounginsomanyways.Wemetbythegrillinthebackyard—shemakesthebestskirtsteak…Alison,Imean—andwestartedtalkingand…”Sheshrugged,smiled,sneakedaglanceatElena.“Thatwasit.”
“Soundsnice,”Elenasaid.
“Youhavesomeone?”
Thepang.Alwaysthepang.
“No,”Elenasaid.Thensheadded,“Iusedto,buthedied.”
Elenacouldn’tsaywhyshetoldherthat.Couldbeasubconsciousploytobond.Couldbethatshejustfeltitneededtobesaid.
“HisnamewasJoel.”
“I’msorry.”
“Thankyou.”
“We’realmostthere.”
Theypulledintothedrive.Attheendofit,therewasalogcabin,thegenuinearticle,notthesnap-togetherlookorfaux-Cracker-Barrel-typesituation.Elenacouldn’thelpbutsmile.
“AuntSallyhasgoodtaste.”
“Yeah,shedoes.”
“Isshehere?”
“Sally?No.She’sstillinPhilly,won’tbeupformonths.Icomehereonmyownonceaweek,kindalikeacaretaker.Noonereallyknowsabouttheplace,andyoucanseecarscomingamileaway,soAlisonthoughtit’dbesafe.”SheputthecarintoparkandlookedatElenawithherbigeyes.
“We’reputtingourtrustinyou.Comeon.”
Astheygotoutofthecar,twowordscametomind:“green”and“quiet.”Elenatookinadeepbreathofseriouslyfreshair.Nice.Herlegached.Thatoldwound,herconstantcompanion.StephanieMarshadtoldheraboutherinitialchanceencounterwithAlisonatabarbecuehere.Fate,destiny,chaos,howevertwosoulsgetthrowntogether.JoellovedtoteasethatheandElenahadthebest“meetcute”inhistory,andwhileshe’dwavehimoff,maybeJoelwasright.
Duringaraidonawhite-supremacistmilitiacompoundoutsideBillings,Montana,Elenahadbeenshotinthe“highupperleg”—anicerwayofsaying“ass.”Theshotdidn’thurtasmuchasyoumightthink,atleastnotrightaway.Itwasmoreembarrassingthanpainful,andElena,beingoneoftherareHispanicwomenonthejob,hadfeltasthoughshe’dletdownherselfandherpeople.
Itwasatthenearbyhospital,whileshewasrecovering,herbuttproppedupononeofthoseinflatabletire-likedevicessotherewasnounduepressureonherwound,thatSpecialAgentJoelMarcusfirstcameintoherroom—andboom,intoherlife.
“LittledidIknow,”Joeloftenjoked,“howmuchI’denjoyseeingthatassupintheairinthefuture.”
ShehalfsmiledatthememoryasStephaniepushedopenthedoorandcalledout,“Alison?Honey?”
Noanswer.
Withoutconsciousthought,Elenastartedreachingforherpiece,butofcourse,itwasbackinthecar.StephanieMarshurriedinsidethehouse.Elenacamethroughthedoorrightbehindher.Stephanieveeredleftandmovedfaster.Elenaturnedherheadinthatdirectionandwasabouttofollow.
Buttheyoungerwomanhadstoppedmoving.SheslowlyturnedbacktowardElena.
Theyoungerwoman’sbeautifulfacebrokeintoasmile,justasElenafeltsomethingcoldpressagainstthebackofherskull.
Theireyesmet—Elena’ssadbrownandtheyoungwoman’swildgreen.
AndElenaknew.
ShethoughtofJoelwhensheheardtheclickandhoped,inthemomentbeforethegunexploded,thatshe’dbewithhimagain.
ChapterThirty-Two
AshstoodoverElena’sdeadbody.
She’dlandedfacedown,headturnedtothesideatanunnaturalangle,eyesopen.Bloodflowedoutofthebackofherhead,butAshhadalreadyputdownatarptomakecleanupeasier.DeeDeeputahandonhisarmandsqueezed.Helookedupatherandsawthatsmile.Amanknowshisgreatlove’svarioussmiles.Thatwaswhattheysaid—thesmilewhenshewashappyorthesmilewhenshewasgenuinelylaughingorthesmilewhenshepeeredintotheeyesofthemansheloved,allthat.
Ashknewthissmile—thesmileshesavedforextremeviolence—andhedidn’tlikeit.
“Isitdifferentforyou?”DeeDeeaskedhim.“Killingawomaninsteadofaman.”
Ashwasnotinthemood.“Where’sherphone?”
“It’sstillintheglovecompartment.”
Ashhadputabattery-operatedjammingdeviceintheglovecompartment,soifsomeonewastrackingherwhereabouts—andhesuspectedthattheymightbe—they’dbegettingano-signal.“Pullthecararoundbackandbringmethephone.”
DeeDeeputherhandsoneithersideofhisface.“Youokay,Ash?”
“I’mfine,butwehavetomovefast.”
Shegavehimaquickkissonthecheekandhurriedoutside.Ashstartedtowrapthebodyinthetarp.They’dalreadydugahole,sothatnoonewouldfindher.WhenDeeDeebroughthimElena’sphone,hewouldsendoutafew“I’mfine”textstoanyonelookingforher.Itwouldtakeafewdays,probablymore,beforesomeonestartedseriouslyinvestigatingElenaRamirez’sdisappearance.
Bythen,AshandDeeDeewouldbedonewiththejobs.There’dbenoclues.
“Ironic,”DeeDeehadsaidwhenAshtoldhertheplan.Andwhiletheactualmeaningoftheword“ironic”seemedelusivetoAsh—herememberedpeoplesayingthatAlanisMorissettehadgottenitwronginthatsong—itseemedtofithere.ElenaRamirezhadbeenhiredtofinda“missing”HenryThorpe.ButThorpehadbeendeadthewholetime.Andnow,ElenaRamirezwouldbe“missing”too.
DeeDeecamebackintothehousewiththephoneandjammer.“Hereyougo.”
“Finishwrappingherup.”
Shemock-salutedhim.“You’reinamood.”
AshbentdownnexttothebodyandpickedupElena’shand.Thereshouldstillbeenoughelectricalimpulsetravelingthroughherbody,sothatherthumbcouldstillunlockherphone.Hepressedthephoneagainstthepad.
Bingo.
Thephone’swallpaperwasaphotographofElenasmilingwidely,herarmswrappedaroundafartallermanwhowassmilingjustaswide.
DeeDeelookedoverhisshoulder.“Doyouthinkthat’sherJoel?”
“I’dsuspectso,yes.”AshhadlistenedtothewholeconversationinthecarbecauseDeeDeekeptherphoneon.“DoyouevenhaveanAuntSally?”heaskedher.
“No.”
Heshookhisheadinamazement.“You’regood.”
“DoyourememberourmiddleschoolproductionofWestSideStory?”
Ashhadworkedbuildingthesets.She’dbeenoneoftheSharksgirls.
“IshouldhavebeenMaria—Ikilledtheaudition—butMr.OrloffgaveittoJuliaFordbecauseherfatherownedthatLexusdealership.”
DeeDeedidn’tsaythiswithangerorpity.Shewasbeingaccurate.Ashwasenamored,nodoubtaboutit,butDeeDeehadrealstarquality.Youcouldjustseeit.Everyoneintheauditorium,eventhoughshe’djustbeeninthechorus,couldn’ttaketheireyesoffher.
DeeDeecouldhavebeenagreatactress,abigstar,butwhatkindofbreakwasshe,afosterbeautyconstantlyfendingoffmaleadults,goingtoget?
Histonewastender.“Youweregreatinthatplay,DeeDee.”
Sheworkedonthetarpnow,wrappingitaroundthebody.
“Imeanit.”
“Thankyou,Ash.”
HeclickedontheSettingskeyandthenfoundthePrivacyicon.Fromthere,hetappedLocationServicesandscrolledallthewaytothebottomtowhereitsaidSystemServices.HescrolledagainandfoundSignificantLocations.Whenhepressedtoseeit,thescreenaskedforthethumbagain.HegrabbedElena’sandusedit.Thenhechangedthepasswordsohecouldgetinwithoutthethumbnexttime.
Peopledon’trealizehowmuchoftheirprivacytheycasuallygiveaway.OnanyiPhoneatanytime,youcoulddowhatAshwasnowdoing:seethecompletehistoryofwherethephone’sowner—inthiscase,ElenaRamirez—hadrecentlyvisited
“Damn,”hesaid.
“What?”
“She’sbeentothetattooparlor.”
“Wehadtofigurethatwasapossibility,Ash.That’swhywehadtoactfast.”
HecheckedthroughthelistoflocationsandsawseveralspotsinNewYorkCity.Mostrecently,ElenaRamirezhadbeenatColumbiaMedicalCenternear168thStreet.Ashwonderedwhy.Thenhenoticedsomethingmoretroubling.
“She’sbeentotheBronx.”
DeeDeefinishedtyingtheropearoundthetarp.“Samelocation?”
Heclickeditandnodded.
“Oh,that’snotgood,”DeeDeesaid.
“Wehavetohurry.”
Hescannedthroughherphonelogandtexts.Themostrecenttext,comingineightminutesago,read:
HaveyoumetwithAlisonyet?Pleasefillmeinwhenyoucan.
DeeDeesawthelookonhisface.“Whatisit?”
“Someoneelseisgettingclose.”
“Who?”
Ashflippedthephonearound,soDeeDeecouldreadthescreen.“We’regoingtohavetodosomethingaboutaguynamedSimonGreene.”
ChapterThirty-Three
Simoncollapsedintoaseatonthesubway.Hestaredoutthewindowacrossthecarwithoutfocusing,lettingtheundergroundwhizbyinahazyblur.Hetriedtocomprehendwhathe’djustlearned.Nothingmadesense.He’dgottenmorepiecestothepuzzle,importantpieces,perhapsevenanexplanationofwhathadstartedhisdaughter’sspiralintodrugaddiction.Butthemorepieceshegot,thelessclearthefinalimagewasbecoming.
Whenhegotbackupontothestreet,atextcameinfromYvonne.
Moneyisready.You’llneedtosignforit.AskforToddRaisch.
ThebankwaslocatedbetweenaWendy’sandahigh-endbakery.Therewasnolineandjustoneteller.HegavehisnameandaskedtospeaktoToddRaisch.Raischwasallprofessional.HeshowedSimonintoabackroom.
“Arehundredsokay?”heasked.
Simonsaidthattheywere.Raischcountedoutthemoney.
“Wouldyoulikeabagforthat?”
Simonhadhisown,aplasticbagIngridhadsavedfromarecenttriptoZabar’s.Heputthecashinthatandthenjammedthebagintohisbackpack.HethankedRaischandstartedonhisway.
AsheheadedupBroadwaytowardthehospital,SimoncalledRandySpratt,thegeneticstech.Whenheanswered,Simonsaid,“Ihavethemoney.”
“Tenminutes.”
Hehungup.SimoncheckedtoseeiftherewereanymessagesyetfromElenaRamirez.Nothing.Itwasprobablytoosoon,buthesentaquicktextanyway:
HaveyoumetwithAlisonyet?Pleasefillmeinwhenyoucan.
Noimmediatereply.Nodancingdotsindicatingananswerwasforthcoming.
Simonkeptstaringathisphoneashewalked,mostlytodistracthimselffromthisupcomingrendezvous.He’drushedhimselfonthepaternitytest,panickedeven,withoutreallyconsideringtherepercussions.Butnowthathehadasecondortwo—nowthattheanswerwasaboutto,likeitornot,slaphimintheface—hewonderedwhathewoulddoifhelearnedtheworst.
Supposehewasn’tPaige’sbiologicalfather?
Supposehewasn’tSam’sorAnya’sfathereither?
Slowdown,hetoldhimself.
Buttherereallywasnotimetoslowdown,wasthere?Thetruth,onewayortheother,wasbarrelingtowardhimlikeafreighttrain.Hestillreallycouldn’tfathomit.Foronething,Samlookedjustlikehim,everyonesaidso,andthoughhecouldn’tseeithimself—couldanyparents?—heknew…
Heknewwhat?
Itsimplywasn’tpossible.Ingridwouldneverdothattohim.Andyetthatsmallnigglingvoicetauntedhim.Herememberedreadingsomestatisticthat10percentoffathersareunknowinglyraisinganotherman’schild.Orwasitreally2percent?Orwasthatallnonsense?
WhenSimonreachedtheclearingbehindthepediatricwing,RandySprattwasalreadyonabenchinthecorner.Sprattsatuprightwithhishandsjammeddeepinthepocketsofhistrenchcoat,hisgazedartingaboutlikeascaredrodent.
Simonsatnexttohim.Thetwomenstaredstraightahead.
“Yougotthemoney?”Sprattwhispered.
“Thisisn’taransomdrop,youknow.”
“Doyouhaveitornot?”
Simonreachedintohisbackpackfortheplasticbag.Hehesitated.Hedidn’thavetogothroughwithopeningthisparticularPandora’sbox.Maybeignorancewasblissinsomecases,no?He’dlivedhappilywithoutknowingIngrid’s“secretpast.”
Right,andlookwherethathadbroughtthem.
Simonhandedoverthecash.Forasecond,hefearedthatSprattwouldcountitrightthereandthen,buttheplasticbagquicklydisappearedintothetrenchcoat.
“Well?”Simonasked.
“Theoneyousaidwasapriority.Theyellowtoothbrush.”
Simonfelthismouthgodry.“Yes.”
“Irushedthatone,soit’stheonlyresultIhavewithascientificallydefinitiveconclusion.”
InterestingthatSpratthadn’ttoldhimthatbeforehegotpaid,butmaybethatdidn’tmatter.
“Andwhat’stheconclusion?”Simonasked.
“It’spositive.”
“Wait,doesthatmean…?”
“You’rethebiologicalfather.”
Relief,sweetrelief,floodedSimon’slungsandveins.
“Andforwhatit’sworth,eventhoughtheresultsareonlypreliminary,allindicationsarethatyou’rethebiologicalfatherforallthree.”
Withoutanotherword,RandySprattroseandwalkedaway.Simonjustsatthere,unabletomove.Hewatchedanoldwomanwearingthestandard-issuehospitalsmockandleaningonawalkermakeherwaytoaflowerbed.Shebentdownandsmelledtheflowers,bothliterallyandmetaphorically.Simondidthelatterbyjustsittingthereandwatching.Agroupofyoungmedicalresidentssatonthegrassandategyrosfromanearbyfoodtruck.Theyalllookedbothfrayedandhappy,likeIngriddidduringherresidency,whensheworkedridiculoushoursbutknewthatshewasoneoftheluckyfewwhofoundhercalling.
Beingaphysician,Simonknew,wasindeedacalling.
Weirdthought,butthereyougo.Ormaybenotsoweird.SimonhadrecentlylearnedthatPaigehadsharedhermother’scalling.Undernormalcircumstances,itwouldmeantheworldtohim.Insomeways,itstilldid.
Hehadtofindher.
Hecheckedhisphone,hopingtoseesomethingfromElenaRamirez.Nonewmessage.Hetypedheranotherone:
DNAtestshowsI’mPaige’sfather.Stilldon’tknowhowshehookedupwithAaron,butIthinkit’sabouttheillegaladoptions.CallmewhenyoufinishwithAlisonMayflower.
ItwastimetoheadbacktoIngrid’sroom.Hestoodup,tiltedhisfacetothesky,closedhiseyes.Hejustneededanothermomentortwo.HeandIngridhadtakenafewyogaclassesasamaritalbondingthing,andtheinstructorhadbeenallabouttheimportanceofbreathing.Sohetookadeepinhale,heldit,letitoutslowly.
Didn’thelp.
Hefelthisphonevibrate.Elenawasreplying:
HeadingoverthebordertoCanadaforthismeet,soImightbeoutoftouchforafewdays.Wherewillyoube?
Canada?Hewasn’tsurewhattomakeofthat.
Hetyped:Athospitalfornow,butthatcouldchange.
HehitSendandwaited.Thedancingdotsstartedup,showingthatElenawastyping.
Letmeknowofanynewdevelopments.It’svitaltokeepmeintheloop,evenifIcan’treply.
SimonwrotebackthathewouldashecheckedinwithhospitalsecurityandtooktheelevatoruptotheICU.HewastemptedtoaskElenawhyCanadaorwhyshemightnotbeabletoreply,buthefiguredthatshe’dtellhimwhatheneededtoknow.Astheelevatordoorsopened,theterribleachefromwhatvandeBeekhadtoldhimreturnedtenfold.
WhathadhappenedtoPaigeonthatcampus?
Block,hetoldhimself.Blockoryouwon’tbeabletotakeanotherstep.
ThenurseswereinwithIngrid,bathingherandchangingherclothes,soSampacedthecorridor.Hespottedhisfatherandgavehimaquick,hardhug.
“Sorry,”Samsaid.
“It’sokay.”
“Ididn’tmeanit.AboutyougettingMomshot.”
“Iknow.”
Samgavehisfatherawearysmile.“YouknowwhatMomwouldsayifsheheardmeblameyou?”
“What?”
“She’dsayIwasbeingsexist.She’dsayIwouldneverhaveblamedherifyougotshot.”
Simonlikedthat.“Youknowwhat?Ithinkyou’reright.”
“Wherewereyou?”Samasked.
Simonwantedtoprotecthisson,onlynatural,buthealsodidn’twanttocoddlehim.“IjusttalkedtooneofPaige’sprofessors.”
Samlookedathim.
HeusedthevaguesttermspossibletoletSamknowaboutthesexualassault—hemaynotwanttocoddle,buthedidn’twanttojustchuckhissoninthedeependeither.Samlistenedwithoutinterrupting.Hefoughttoremainstoic,butSimonrecognizedthetelltalequiverofhislowerlip.
“Whenwasthisexactly?”Samaskedwhenhisfatherhadfinished.
“I’mnotsure.Towardtheendoffirstsemester.”
“Shecalledmeonenight.Paige.Outoftheblue.Imean,Idon’tthinkwe’dexchangedmorethanafewtexts,andwenevercalledeachother.”
“Whatdidshesay?”
“Shejustsaidshewantedtotalk.”
“About?”
“Idon’tknow.”Samgaveatoo-bigshrug.“ItwaslateonaFridaynight.TherewasapartyatMartin’s.Ididn’treallylisten.Ijustwantedtogetherofftheline.Soyeah,that’swhatIdid.”
Simonputhishandonhisson’sshoulder.“Itmightnothavebeenthesamenight,Sam.”
“Right,”Samsaidinthemostunconvincingvoicehecouldmuster.“Mightnothavebeen.”
Simonwasabouttofollowupmore,butheheardsomeoneclearhisthroat.HeturnedandwassurprisedtoseethemanwhosavedIngrid’slifestandingbehindhim.
“Cornelius?”
Hestillworetherippedjeansandtheunrulywhite-graybeard.
“How’sIngriddoing?”Corneliusasked.
“Hardtosay.”SimonbroughtSamintothefold.“Sam,thisisCornelius.He…”Simoncouldn’ttellhimthatCorneliushadshotLutherandthussavednotjustIngridbutSimonaswell.“CorneliusownsthebuildingwherePaigelivedintheBronx.He’sbeenabighelptous.”
Samstuckouthishand.“Nicetomeetyou.”
“Youtoo,youngman.”CorneliusfacedSimon.“CanItalktoyouasecond?”
“Sure.”
“Ineedtousethebathroomanyway,”Samsaidbeforemovingdownthecorridor.
SimonturnedtoCornelius.“What’sup?”
“Ineedyoutocomewithme,”Corneliussaid.
“Where?”
“Backtomyapartment.Roccoisgoingtobethere.WithLuther.Theygotsomethingyouneedtohear.”
ChapterThirty-Four
AshandDeeDeehadprepared,sotheymovedfast.
TheytossedElena’sbodyinawheelbarrowbythebackdoor.AshmaneuveredthewheelbarrowintothewoodswhileDeeDeestayedatthecabinandfinishedthecleanup.
Diggingaholetakesawhile.Fillingitin,notsomuch.
Astheydrovesouth,DeeDeekeptgoingthroughElena’sphone.
“Notmuchhere,”shetoldAsh.“ElenaRamirezisabigwigatVMBInvestigations.Wealreadyknewthat.HerclientwasHenryThorpe’sfather.Wealreadyknewthat.”Shelookedup.“It’sapproved,bytheway.”
“What’sapproved?”
“SimonGreene.You’llbegiventhesamepaymentastheothers.”
“Googlehim,”Ashsaid.“Iwanttoseewhatwecanlearn.”
Shestartedtyping.Itdidn’ttakelong.ThePPGWealthManagementgroupwebsitecameup,completewithSimonGreene’sbiography.Thereweretwophotosofhim—aheadshotandagrouppicturewiththeentirePPGteam.
Theypassedthestateline.
“Twelvepercentbatteryleft,”DeeDeesaid.“Dowehaveachargerforthiskindofphone?”
“Checkthepocketbehindmyseat.”
DeeDeewasjuststretchingtodothatwhenElena’sphonevibrated.AnewmessagecameinfromSimonGreene.ShereaditoutloudtoAsh:
DNAtestshowsI’mPaige’sfather.Stilldon’tknowhowshehookedupwithAaron,butIthinkit’sabouttheillegaladoptions.CallmewhenyoufinishwithAlisonMayflower.
Ashaskedhertoreaditagain.Thenhesaid,“Ifwedon’tanswerhim,hemaystarttoworryaboutElenaRamirezandmakecalls.”
“Howabout…?”Shestartedtyping:
HeadingoverthebordertoCanadaforthismeet,soImightbeoutoftouchforafewdays.Wherewillyoube?
Ashnodded.
DeeDeestaredatthescreenasAshhittheaccelerator.“He’stypingareply,”shesaid.
“Weshouldprobablygetoffthemessagingappwhenyou’redonewiththis.”
“Why?”
“Theremightbeawaytotraceit,Idon’tknow.”
Thephonevibratedagain:
Athospitalfornow,butthatcouldchange.
“Hospital,”DeeDeerepeated.“ShouldIaskwhichone?”
“No,he’llgetsuspicious.Besides,weknowalready.Elena’shistoryhadrecentvisitstooneinupperManhattan.”
“Goodpoint.Howabout…?”
Shetypeditupandthenreaditoutloudtohim:“Letmeknowofanynewdevelopments.It’svitaltokeepmeintheloop,evenifIcan’treply.”
AshnoddedandtoldhertohitSend.Shedid.
“Nowshutitdown.”
TheydroveinsilenceforafewmoreminutesbeforeDeeDeesaid,“What?”
“Youknowwhat.”
“Ireallydon’t.”
“SimonGreene’stext,”Ashsaid.
“Whataboutit?”
“IassumetheAaronisAaronCorval?”
“Iassumethesame.”
“SowhoisPaige?”
“Aaron’sgirlfriend,right?”
“Whywouldherfatherbeinvolved?”
“Idon’tknow.”DeeDeeturnedtowardhim,tuckingherfeetunderherbutt.“Ithoughtyoudidn’tcareaboutthewhys,Ash.”
“Inormallydon’t.”
“Youdidn’tlikekillingthatwoman,”DeeDeesaid.“Menarefinetokill,butawoman?”
“Willyoustop?It’snotthat.”
“Thenwhat?”
“Someoneconnectedthedots.Thatmakesthemotivesanddetailsmybusinessnow.”
DeeDeeturnedandlookedoutthewindow.
“Unlessyoudon’ttrustme,”hesaid.
“YouknowItrustyou.Itrustyoumorethananyoneintheworld.”
Ashfeltasmallpinginhischest.“So?”
“AsitwaswrittenintheSymbols,theVisitorandtheVolunteermustbethefirsttwomalechildrenbornfromtheTruth,”shebegan.“Beingmaleis,ofcourse,paramount.Daughters—andtheTruthhasatleasttwenty—don’treallymatterintermsofleadership.Butmalebloodisthepurestbondbecauseitistheonlyonewithaphysicalcomponent.Aspousedoesn’tshareyourblood.Neitherdoestheclosestfriend.Sointermsofscientificproof—”
“Dee?”
“Yes?”
“Skipthejargon.Igetit.Vartage’stwosonsinherittheleadership.”
“Theyinheriteverything.That’sthepoint.ThatishowitiswrittenintheSymbols:‘Thetwosonswillrise.’”
“Sowhatdoesthathavetodowithallthis?”
“Itisalsowritten,”shesaid,“thatTruthHavenandalloftheTruth’spossessionswillbeequallydividedamongsthismaleheirs.”
“Okay,so?”
“Itdidn’tspecify‘justtheoldesttwo.’DoyougetwhatI’msaying?”
Ashwasstartingtoseeit.“Vartagehadmorethanthesetwosons?”
“Yes.”
“Andtheothersons—”
“—wereputupforadoption,yes,”DeeDeesaid.“Soldreally.Daughterswerekept.They’dbeuseful.Butthesonscouldinheritandruintheprophesies.Thiswasallyearsago—beforemytime.”
“SoVartagejustsoldhisothersonsoff?”
“Itwaswin-win,Ash.Wekeepthetwo-sonprophesy—andwemakeagreatdealofmoneyfortheHaven.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.”
“Andthemotherswouldjustagreewiththis?”
“Somewould,”DeeDeesaid,“andsomewouldn’t.”
“Sohowdidthatwork?”
“TheTruthsleptwithalotofwomen.Obviously,somegotpregnant.Theyweretoldthatiftheirbabiesweremale,theywouldbedestinedforbetterthings.ThatmeantgoingtotheGreaterHaveninArkansas.Itwouldbebestforthemalechild.”
“There’sanotherhavenin—?”
“No,Ash,there’snot.”
Hejustshookhishead.“Andthemothersjustboughtthis?”
“Somedid,somedidn’t.ItwasaninternalstruggleforthesemothersbetweenthewayoftheTruthandtheirmaternalinstincts.TheTruthusuallywon.”
“Andwhenthematernalinstinctswon?”
“Themothersweretoldthattheirbabiesdiedinchildbirth.”
Ashwasn’tstunnedoften.Hewasnow.“Seriously?”
“Yes.Therewasabigfuneralandeverything.Someofthemothersbelievedthatthestillbirthsweretheirfault,thatiftheyhadjustagreedtosendtheirchildtotheGreaterHaven…”
“MyGod.”
DeeDeenodded.“Themalebabiesweresold.Doyouhaveanyideahowmuchahealthywhitemalebabycouldfetch?Beaucoupbucks.AlisonMayflower,whoisstillloyaltotheTruth,workedasthego-between.”
“HowmanybabiesdidtheTruthsell?”
“Allmale.”
“Gotit.Howmany?”
“Fourteen.”
Hekepthishandonthewheel.“AndnowtheTruthisdying.”
“Yes.”
“AndtheVartageboys—theVisitorandtheVolunteerorwhatever—areafraidthesebiologicalsonsaregoingtoclaimashareoftheinheritance.”
“Foryears,theTruth,theVolunteer,andtheVisitor—allofus,really—hadnothingtofear.TherewasnowaytoconnecttheadoptedboystoTruthHavenatall.Theywerescatteredaboutthecountry,andjusttobeonthesafeside,AlisonMayflowerdestroyedalltherecords.SotheTruthcouldneverfindhissons—andmoreimportant,ofcourse,thesonscouldneverfindtheTruth.”
“Sowhatwentwrong?”Ashasked.
“HaveyouheardaboutthesenewDNAwebsiteslike23andMeorAnce-Story?”
Hehad.
“TonsofadoptedpeopleputtheirDNAinthebankandhopeforahit,”DeeDeesaid.
“SoIassumesomeoftheTruth’ssons—”
“Foundoutabouteachother,yes.”
“AndthensomehowlinkeditbacktoVartage?”
“Yes.”
“Sotwosonsgoonthesamesite,forexample.Theyrealizethattheyarehalfbrothers.”
“Right.Thenathird.Thenafourth.Allfairlyrecent.”
“Andsomeoneinyourcultdecidesthatthebestwaytoeliminatetheproblemisto,uh,eliminatetheproblem.”Ashlookedather.DeeDeesmiledagain.“Inexchangeforaleadershipposition?”
“Somethinglikethat.”
Hehadtoshakehisheadinawe.“HowmuchisTruthHavenworth,Dee?”
“Hardtoestimate,”shesaid,“butprobablyclosetofortymilliondollars.”
Thatopenedhiseyes.“Whoa.”
“Butthisisn’tjustaboutthemoney.”
“Yeah,okay.”
“Stopbeingcynicalforasecond.JustimaginewhatwouldhappentoTruthHaveniffourteenmoresonscomeforwardwithclaims.Itwill,ineffect,destroytheTruth.”
“Comeon,Dee.”
“What?”
“WillyoustopwiththeTruth?Youknowthat’sallalotofnonsense.Youjustadmittedthattome.”
DeeDeeshookherhead.“You’resoblind,Ash.IlovetheTruth.”
“Andyou’reusingittogetwhatyouwant.”
“Yes,ofcourse.Thosetwothingsaren’tcontradictory.Noonebelieveseverypassageofaholybook—theypickandchoose.Andeverypastorwhomakesmoneyfromhisreligion—ifhebelievesinwhathepreachesornot—isgettingsomethingoutofit.That’slife,mylove.”
Thatwaswildrationalization,butonsomelevel,itwasalsoabsolutetruth.
Itwasgettinghotinthecar.AshturneduptheAC.“Soweonlyhavetwomoresonstoeliminate.”
“Yes.OneintheBronx,oneinTallahassee.”ThenDeeDeeadded:“Oh,andnowwealsohavetogetridofSimonGreene.”
ChapterThirty-Five
SimonandCorneliusstoodoutsidethesamebankbranchwhereafewhoursearlierSimonhadwithdrawnthemoneyfortheDNAtest.RoccohadsentCorneliustomakesureSimonunderstoodthathewasn’tgettingthisinformationforfree.SohereSimonwas,backatthebank,lookingtotakeoutmorecash.
Becausehe’dalreadywithdrawnasomewhatlargeamountofmoneyanddidn’twanttodrawmoreattentiontohimself,he’dcalledYvonneforhelp.Hespottedhernow,walkingtowardhim.
“Anyissues?”heasked.
“No.”YvonneglancedoveratCornelius,thisblackmanwiththethreadbareT-shirtandthethickwhitebeard,thenbackatSimon.“Whoisthis?”
“Cornelius,”Simonsaid.
Yvonneturnedtohim.“Andwhoareyou,Cornelius?”
“Justafriend,”Corneliussaid.
Shelookedhimupanddownandthenasked,“Andwhatdoyouneedthismoneyfor?”
“It’snotforhim,”Simonsaid.“He’shelpingme.”
“Helpingyouwhat?”
SimonquicklyexplainedaboutRoccoandLuther.HenaturallyleftoffthefactthatCorneliushadbeentheonewhosavedhisandIngrid’slives.Whenhefinished,hebracedforYvonne’scounterarguments.Nonecame.
“Stayoutofsight,”Yvonnesaid.“I’llgetthecashfrommyaccount.”
SimonwantedtotellYvonnethathe’dpayherback,butYvonnewasIngrid’ssisterandwouldgetpissedoffifhemadetheoffer,sohejustnodded.WhenYvonneentered,SimonandCorneliuswalkeddowntheblocksotheyweren’tloiteringdirectlyinfrontofthebank.
“Goodtimetofillmein,”Corneliussaid.
Sohedid.
“That’smessedup,”Corneliussaidwhenhefinished.
“Yup.”Then:“Whydidyouhelpus,Cornelius?”
“Whynot?”
“I’mserious.”
“SoamI.Notalotofchancestobeaheroinreallife.Yougottostepupwhentheopportunitypresentsitself.”
Corneliusshruggedasiftoemphasizeitwasano-brainerandthatsimple,andSimonbelievedthatmaybeitwas.
“Thankyou.”
“AlsoIngrid,shewasnicetome.”
“Whenshewakesup,I’mgoingtotellherwhatyoudid,ifthat’sokay.”
“Yeah,that’sokay,”Corneliussaid.“YoustillgotthegunIgaveyou?”
“Yes.Youthinkwe’llneedit?”
“Neverknow.Butno,Idon’tthinkyou’llneedit.Still,wewillmakeprovisions.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaningwedon’tjustwalkinwiththousandsofdollarsunarmed.”
“Gotit.”
“Andoneotherthing,”Corneliussaid.
“What’sthat?”
“Don’tletmebetheblackfriendwhogetskilled.Ihatethatinmovies.”
Simonlaughedforthefirsttimeinwhatfeltlikemonths.
Cornelius’sphonebuzzedsohesteppedaside.Yvonnecameoutofthebankandhandedhimthecash.“Iaskedforninethousandsixhundredandfivedollars.”
“Whythatamount?”
“Soit’snottheexactsameasyoursandtripsupacomputersomewhere.Sixhundredandfive,sixfive.Junefifth.Youknowthedate?”
Hedid.Simon’sgodsonDrew,Yvonne’soldestkid,wasbornonthatday.
“Ithoughtmaybeitwouldbringyouluck,”shesaid.
Corneliuscameback.“ThatwasRocco.”
“What’sup?”Simonasked.
“He’llbeatmyplaceinacoupleofhours.HeneedstolocateLuther.”
CorneliuswaitedoutsidethehospitalwhileSimonandYvonneheadedbackuptoIngrid’sroom.TheygreetedSam.ThethreeofthemsatnearthebedforoveranhourandwaitedforRoccotogiveCorneliustheokay.Whenthenurseschangedshifts,thenewnurse,asticklerfortherules,cameintheroomandsaid,“Onlytwopeoplearesupposedtobeintheroomatanyonetime.Doyoumindrotating?Oneofyoucanstayinthewaitingareadownthecorridor?”
Samstood.“Ineedtodosomestudyinganyway.”
“Youshouldheadbacktoschool,”Simonsaid.“Yourmotherwouldwantthat.”
“Maybeso,”Samsaid,“butIdon’twantthat.Iwanttobehere.”
Heturnedandleft.
Yvonnesaid,“He’sspecial.”
“Yes.”Then:“IspoketooneofPaige’sprofessorstoday.”
“Oh?”
“HethinksPaigemighthavebeenrapedoncampus.”
Yvonnesaidnothing.Shejuststaredathersisterinthebed.
“Didyouhearme?”
“Yeah,Iheardyou,Simon.”
Hewatchedherfaceforatell.“Wait,youknew?”
“I’mhergodmother.She…sheusedtoconfideinme.”
Hecouldfeeltheredrushtohisface.“Andyoudidn’tthinktotellme?”
“Shemademepromisenotto.”
“SoifDrewcametomewithahugeproblemandtoldmenottotellyou—”
“Iwouldexpectyoutokeepyourpromise,”Yvonnesaid.“I’dtrustthatIpickedyoutobehisgodfathersoDrewwouldhavesomeonetotalktowhenhedidn’twanttogotoRobertorme.”
Itwaspointlesstoargueaboutitrightnow.“Sowhathappened?”Simonasked.
“IhelpedPaigegetprivatecounseling.”
“No,Imean,whatexactlyhappenedwiththisrapist?”
“It’salongstory.”
“Seriously,Yvonne?”
“Paigewashavingtroublerememberingthedetails.Hemayhaveslippedhersomething,Idon’tknow.Shedidn’treportitfordays,sotherapekitdidn’thelpverymuch.Thetherapywashelpingher,Ithink.Shewastryingtoremember,workthroughitslowly.”
“Howaboutchargingthebastard?”
“Iencouragedthat.Butshewasn’tready.Shehadnomemoryofit.Shecouldn’tevensayforcertainifsheconsentedornot.”Yvonneheldupherhandtostophisnextquestion.“Itwasmessy,Simon.”
Heshookhishead.“Youshouldhavetoldme.”
“IbeggedPaigeto.Idid.Evenaftersheshutmeout.Butyeah,atsomepointshestoppedtalkingtometoo.Shesaidshewasfinenow,thatitwastakencareof.Idon’tknowwhathappened.Paigestoppedtakingmycalls,shestartedupwiththatAaronguy…”
“Andyoujustkeptthisfromus?She’sspiralinglikethis,andyoustillneversaidaword.”
“Ineversaidaword.Toyou.”
Hecouldn’tbelievewhatshewassaying.“Ingrid?”
Therewasaknockonthedoorbehindthem.Simonspuntowardit.Corneliusopenedthedoorandleanedhisheadinside.
“Comeon,”hesaid.“Rocco’swaiting.”
ChapterThirty-Six
AshtooktheMajorDeeganExpresswaysouthofftheCrossBronx.
“Youhavetoassume,”AshsaidtoDee,“thatmoreofthefourteensonsaregoingtosendtheirDNAtothosegenealogysites.”
DeeDeenodded,flippingthephonebackontocheckformessages.
“Sowhatthen?”
“TheTruthwon’tsurvivetheweek.Idon’tunderstandallthelegalstuff,butoncehisestategoesintoprobate,it’shardertomakeaclaim.”
“Still,”Ashsaid.“Someoneisboundtoputthistogether.”
“Howso?”
“AnotheroneoftheTruth’ssonsputshisDNAintothesystem.”
“Okay.”
“Heseeshehasthreeorfourotherbrothers—andthey’realldead.”
“Right.Onewasshotinarobbery.Onecommittedsuicide.Oneisjustmissing,probablyarunaway.Oneshouldbe,Idon’tknow,stabbed,maybebyadrug-addledhomelessnut.Horriblesetofcoincidences.Andthat’sifhe’sabletotrackthemdown.Whichisn’teasy.Theiraccountsstayactiveaftertheirdeaths.Sofirstanynewsonwouldemailhisdeadhalfbrothers.Theywouldn’twriteback.He’dprobablyjustdropitthere,butevenifhesomehowtracksthemalldownandfiguresouttheconnectionandsomehowgetslawenforcementfromvariousstatestocooperateontheseoldcrimes,whatwilltheyfind?”
DeeDeehadthoughtthisthrough.
“Ash?”
“They’dfindnothing,”hesaid.
“Right,so—Oh,holdup.”
“What?”
“AtextcamefromSimonGreene.”Shereaditaloud:
HeadingtoCornelius’sapartmentwherewefirstmet.Mayfindalead.How’sitbyyou?
“AnythoughtsonwhoCorneliusis?”Ashasked.
“None.”
“Thisisn’tgood.”
“It’llbefine.”
“Andwhat’sthedealwithMotherAdiona?”heasked.
“ThatIdon’tknow.”
“Shetoldmenottotrustyou.”
“Butyoudo,Ash.”
“Ido,DeeDee.”
Shesmiledathim.“Wecanworryaboutherlater,okay?”
TheyfoundaspotinfrontofsomeconcretebarriersintheMottHavensectionoftheBronx.Theybothhadgunsonthem.Theyalsobothhadknives.Thisonewastolooklikeastabbing—something,Ashthought,thatprobablyoccurredalotamongstthevariousdrugfactionsonthesestreets.
Hewasabouttoopenhisdoorwhenheheardhersay,“Ash?”
Hertonestoppedhim.Helookedtowardher.Shegesturedwithherchinupahead.Shetookoutherphoneandhelduptheimageshe’dscreenshotfromthePPGWealthManagementwebsite.
“That’shim,right?”sheasked.
Ashtookalook.Noquestion.SimonGreenewaswalkingintothebuilding.
“Whoisthatwithhim?”
“Myguess?Cornelius.”
DeeDeenodded.“I’mthinkingthisisn’tgoingtobeastabbing,Ash.”
“Yep.”
Sheglancedtowardtheweaponsbaginthebackseat.“I’mthinkingit’sgoingtobemorelikeagunmassacre.”
***
Roccowasthekindofgiganticitwashardtofathom,sothateachtimeyousawhim,youwerestruckanewbythesheersizeofhim.WhenhestrolledaroundCornelius’sapartment,Simonhalfexpectedtohearfee-fie-fo-fumàla“JackandtheBeanstalk.”
Roccosquintedatthebooksontheshelves.“Youreadallthese,Cornelius?”
“Ihave.Youshouldtryit.Readinggivesyouempathy.”
“Isthatafact?”Roccograbbedabookofftheshelf,pagedthroughit.“Doyouhavethefiftygrand,Mr.Greene?”
“Doyouhavemydaughter?”Simoncountered.
“No.”
“ThenIdon’thavefiftygrand.”
“Where’sLuther?”Corneliusasked.
“Staycool,Cornelius.He’scloseby.”Roccoliftedhismobilephone.“Luther?”
Avoicecamethroughthephone’stinnyspeaker.“I’mhere,Rocco.”
“Juststayput,”Roccosaid.“Ourfriendheredoesn’thavethemoney.”
“Ihavemoney,”Simonsaid.“It’snotfiftygrand,butifwhateveryoutellmehelpsmefindmydaughter,yougetthefullamount.Youhavemyword.”
“Yourword?”Roccowasabigmanandhadalaughtomatch.“Andwhat,I’mjustsupposedtotrustyoubecauseyouwhiteguysaresotrustworthy?”
“No,noneofthat,”Simonsaid.
“Thenwhy?”
“BecauseI’mafather.”
“Oooo.”Roccowiggledhisfingers.“Youthinkthatimpressesme?”
Simonsaidnothing.
“Onlythingthatimpressesmerightnowiscashmoney.”
Simondroppedthecashonthecoffeetable.“Almosttenthousand.”
“That’snotenough.”
“It’sallIcouldgetonthisshortofnotice.”
“Thenbuh-bye.”
Corneliussaid,“Comeon,Rocco.”
“Iwantmore.”
“You’llgetmore,”Simonsaid.
Roccohemmedandhawedabit,butthecashonthecoffeetablewascallingtohim.“Sohere’showitis:Igotsomethingtotellyoufirst.It’sprettybig.ButthenmyboyLuther…Luther,youstillthere?”
Fromthephone:“Yeah.”
“Okay,youstaythere.Justincasetheytrysomething.Alittleinsurance.”Roccoflashedhisteeth.“SowhenI’mdone,I’mgoingtotellLuthertocomeinhere,becausehe’sgotsomethingwaybiggertosay.”
Corneliussaid,“We’relistening.”
Roccopickedupthecash.“IgotaconfirmedsightingofPaige.”
Simonfelthispulsequicken.“When?”
Roccostartedcountingoutthebills.“Twodaysafterheroldmangotmurdered.Seemsyourdaughterstayedaroundhereforawhile.Hidmaybe,Idon’tknow.Thenshegotonthesix.”
Thesixtrain,Simonthought.Closestsubwaystop.
“Someonewasprettysureofthat,”Roccosaid,stillcounting.“Notdefinite.Butprettysure.Myotherboythough,he’sconvincedhesawher.Nodoubtatall.”
“Where?”Simonasked.
Roccofinishedcounting,frowned.“Thisislessthantengrand.”
“I’llgetyouanothertentomorrow.WheredidheseePaige?”
RoccolookedatCornelius.Corneliusnodded.
“PortAuthority.”
“Thebusterminal?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyideawhereshewasgoing?”
Roccocoughedintohisfist.“Tellyouwhat,Mr.Greene.I’mgoingtoanswerthatquestion.ThenLuther—Luther,getready,okay?—isgoingtotellyoutherest.ForfiftyK.I’mnotgoingtonegotiateeither.Youknowwhy?”
Corneliussaid,“Rocco,comeon.”
Roccospreadthosehugehandswide.“BecausewhenyouhearwhatLutherhastosay,you’llgiveusthemoneytokeepourmouthsshut.”
Simon’seyeslockedonRocco’s.Neithermanblinked.ButSimoncouldsee.Roccomeantit.WhateverLutherhadtosaywouldbehuge.
“Butfirst,letmeansweryourquestion.Buffalo.Yourdaughter—andthisisconfirmedbyareliablesource—gotonabusforBuffalo.”
SimonscouredhisbrainforanyoneheorhisdaughterknewintheBuffaloarea.Nothingcametohim.Ofcourse,shecouldhavegottenoffearlier,reallyanyplaceinupstateNewYork,buthestillcouldn’tcomeupwithanybody.
“Luther?”
“Yeah,Rocco.”
“Comeup,okay?”
Roccodisconnectedthephone.ThenhesmiledatCornelius.“Itwasyou,wasn’tit,Cornelius?”
Corneliussaidnothing.
“YoutheonewhoshotLuther.”
Corneliusjuststaredhimdown.Roccolaughedandhelduphishands.
“Whoa,whoa,don’tworry,Iain’tgoingtotellhim.Buthere’sthethingyou’reabouttofindout.Hehadhisreasons.”
“Whatreasons?”Simonasked.
Roccomovedtowardthedoor.“Self-defense.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Iwasn’tgoingto—”
“Notyou,man.”
Simonjustlookedathim.
“Thinkaboutit.Lutherdidn’tshootyou.Heshotyourwife.”
Roccosmiledandreachedforthedoorknob.
Severalthingshappenedatonce.
Fromthecorridor,Lutherscreamed,“Rocco,lookout!”
Rocco,workingoninstinct,flungopenthedoor.
Andthenthebulletsstartedtofly.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Fiveminutesearlier,Ashpushedopenthedoorloadedwithgraffiti.
Heenteredthepoorlylitfoyerfirst.DeeDeefollowed.Theydidn’thavetheirweaponsout.Notyet.Buttheirhandswerepoisednearthemjustincase.
“WhywouldSimonGreenebehere?”Ashwhispered.
“Visitinghisdaughter,Iimagine.”
“SowhynotsaythatinhistexttoElenaRamirez?WhytalkaboutthisCorneliusguy?”
Deeputherfootonthericketystep.“Idon’tknow.”
“Weshouldstepback,”Ashsaid.“Domoreresearch.”
“Youstepbackthen.”
“Dee.”
“No,Ash,listentome.ElenaRamirezandSimonGreenearecancers.Weneedtogetthemnoworthey’llspread.Youwanttobemorecautious?Fine.Gobacktothecar.Ihaveenoughfirepowertohandlethis.”
“That’snotgoingtohappen,”Ashsaid.“Andyouknowthat.”
Asmallsmiletoyedwithherlips.“Areyoubeingsexistagain?”
“Youwouldn’tleavemeeither.”
“That’strue.”
“Thisplace,”hesaid.“Youknowwhatitremindsmeof?”
DeeDeenodded.“Mr.Marshall’sbrewery.Thesmellofstalebeer.”
Hewasamazedthatshe’dremember.JoJoMarshallhadbeenoneofAsh’sfosterfathers,nothers.HemadeAshworkthefermenters.DeeDeehadvisitedhimthereafewtimesandclearly,likehim,hadnevergottenoverthatstink.
Shestartedupthestairs.Ashdidalittlehop-step,sohecouldtakethelead,butsheblockedhimoffwithherbodyanddisapprovingglare.Sohestayedonestepback.Noonepassedthemonthestairs.Inthedistancetheycouldhearthefainthumofsomeoneplayingatelevisiontooloudly.
Otherthanthat,notasound.
AshglanceddownthecorridorofthesecondfloorasDeeDeecontinuedtoascend
Noone.Thatwasgood.
Whentheyreachedthethirdfloor,DeeDeelookedbackathim.Ashnodded.Theybothtookouttheirguns.Theykeptthemlow,bytheirsides,andmaybeifsomeoneopenedadoorrightnow,whatwiththecrappylightinginthisplace,maybethatpersonwouldn’tseethattheywerebothcarryingFN5.7swithtwenty-roundmags.
TheymadetheirwaytoapartmentB.Ashknockedontheheavymetaldoor.
Theywereready.
Noanswer.
Heknockedagain.Nothing.
“Someonehastobehome,”DeeDeewhispered.“WesawGreenecomein.”
Ashtookalookattheheavymetaldoor,puton,nodoubt,tofortifyagainstbreak-ins,butithadbeendonestupidly.Thedoorwasmadeofsteel,butthedoorframewaswood.
NotstrongwoodbasedonwhatAshhadseenofthisplace.
AshtookouthisgunandnoddedforDeeDeetogetready.Heraisedhisfootandkickedinthespotwheretheboltslidintothewood.
Thewoodgavewayasifitweremadeofdriedtwigs.
Thedoorflewopen.AshandDeeDeerushedinside.
Noone.
Twosinglemattresseslayoneithersideofthefloor.Thereweredriedbloodstainsonthefloor.Ashtookitallin,tookitinfast,andknewsomethingwasseriouslywrong.Helookedonthefloor.Hebentdown.
“What?”DeeDeewhispered.
“Yellowtape.”
“What?”
“Thiswasacrimescene.”
“Thatdoesn’tmakeanysense.”
Theyheardadoornearbyopen.
DeeDeemovedfast.Shedroppedherweaponontothemattress,steppedoutside,andclosedwhatwasleftofthedoorbehindher.Amanhadexitedhisapartment.Heworeearbudswithmusicturnedupsoloud,DeeDeecouldhearitfromfifteenfeetaway.
Hewasnearthestairs,almostreadytostartheadingdown,andhehadn’tseenheryet.Shestayedfrozen,hopingthathewouldn’tturntowardher.
Buthedid.
Whenthemansawher,hepulledouthisearbuds.
DeeDeerewardedhimwithherfull-wattagesmile.
“Hello,”shesaid,almostmakingthissimplegreetingadoubleentendre.“I’mlookingforCornelius.”
“Wrongfloor.”
“Oh?”
“Corneliusisonthesecondfloor.ApartmentB.”
“Sillyme.”
“Yeah.”
Helookedasthoughhewasgoingtocometowardher.Thatwouldn’tbegood.Sheslippedherhandintoherbackpocketandreadiedtheswitchblade.
She’dhavetoslicethisguy’sthroat.Doitquicklyandquietly.
DeeDeewavedathim.“Thanksforthehelp.Takecarenow.”
Themanlookedasthoughhemightkeepwalkingbacktowardher,butitwasalmostasthoughsomethingprimitivetoldhimitwasbesttomoveon.
“Yeah,”hesaid,pullingup.“Youtoo.”
Theylookedateachotheranotherlongmomentbeforethemanturnedandhurrieddownthestairs.DeeDeelistenedforasecond,wonderingwhetherhemightstoponthesecondfloorandwarnCornelius.Butshecouldhearhimreachthegroundfloorandpushopenthatgraffiti-filleddoor.
Whenhewasgone,AshexitedtheapartmentdoorandhandedDeeDeehergun.He’dhearditall.Theymovedsilentlytothestairwellandmadetheirwaytothesecond-floorapartmentB.Ashputhisearnearthedoor.
Voices.Severalofthem.
Ashgavethesignal.Theygotthegunsready.Theplanwassimple.Burstinwithgunsa-blazing.Killanyandallinhabitants.
Hepointedthegunatthelocksoastoshootit—noneedforanykindofsubtlety—butsuddenlytwothingshappenedatonce.
Thedoorknobstartedtoturn.
Andfromdownthecorridor,amanshouted,“Rocco,lookout!”
***
“Rocco,lookout!”
SimonheardthefirstburstofgunfireasRoccopulledopenthedoor.
Theysaytimeslowsdownattimesofgreatdanger,almostlikeNeobeingabletoseeanddodgebulletsinTheMatrix.Thatwasjustanillusion,ofcourse.Timeisconstant.ButSimonrememberedreadingthatthisparticulartimeillusionwascausedbyhowwestorememory.Thericheranddenserthememoryofanevent—forexample,duringmomentswhenyouareterrified—thelongeryouperceivethateventlasted.
Thisphenomenonalsoexplainswhytimeseemstogofasterasyouage.Whenyou’reachild,experiencesarenewandsoyourmemoriesarefreshandintense—soagaintimeseemstoslowdown.Asyougrowolder,especiallywhenyouarestuckinaroutine,veryfewneworvibrantmemoriesarebeinglaidandsotimefliesby.That’swhywhenachildlooksbackonsummer,itseemedtolastforever.Foradults,it’sbarelyablink.
Sonow,asSimonheardaman—Luther—screamthroughthebulletblasts—timeseemedtobeknee-deepinmolasses.
Roccopulledthedoorallthewayopen.
SimonstoodafewfeetbehindRocco,sothebigman’sbroadbackandshouldersblockedhisview.Hecouldseenothing.
Buthecouldhearthebullets.
Rocco’sbodyconvulsed.Hehitchedandjerked,almostasifheweredoingsomekindofmacabredance.Hisfeetstartedbackpedaling.
Morebulletslanded.
Whenthebigmanfinallydroppedonhisback,thebuildingshook.Rocco’seyeswereopenandstaredunseeingattheceiling.Bloodblanketedhischest.
NowSimoncouldseethedoorway.
Twopeople.
Amanapproximatelythirtywasturnedtohisleft,firinghisweapondownthecorridor,probablyinthedirectionofthenow-silentLuther.Awomanwithshortredhair,maybeafewyearsyoungerthantheman,aimeddownandfiredtwomorebulletsintoRocco’shead.
ThensheraisedtheguntowardCornelius.
Simonyelled,“No!”
Corneliuswasalreadymoving,alreadyreacting,butitwasn’tgoingtobeenough.Thewomanwastooclose,theshottooeasy.
Shewouldnotmiss.
Simonlaunchedhimselftowardher,tryingtogettothewomanbeforeshecouldshoot.Hescreamed,hopingtodistracther,hopingtobuyCorneliustenthsofasecond.
Justasthewomanbegantopullthetrigger,Simonreachedthedoorandshovedhard.Theedgeofthedoorslammedagainstherforearm,throwingoffthewoman’saimjustenough.
Notimetohesitate.
WhenSimonlandedonhisfeet,hereachedaroundthedoorforthewoman’swrist.Hisfingersfoundskin—somepartofthearmmaybe—andhishandstartedtoencircleit.Healmosthadagriponher,agoodgrip,butthensomeone,maybetheman,crashedhisbodyagainsttheothersideofthedoor.
ThedoorsmashedintoSimon’sface,sendinghimspiraling.
SimontumbledontoRocco’sdeadbody.
TheyoungwomansteppedintotheroomandaimedthegunatCornelius,whowastryingtogethisgunoutofhispocketwhilerunningforthefire-escapewindow.
ButCorneliuswastoolate.
Hehadnochance.
Simondidn’tknowiftimewasslowingdownorifthecalculationsrunningthroughhisbrainhadspedup.Buthecouldseethetruthnow.
TherewasnowaybothheandCorneliuscouldsurvive.
Noway.
WhichleftSimonwithnochoice.
Fromhisspotontheground,hekickedthedoor,sothatitwouldcloseonthewoman.Almostcasually,thewomanstoppeditwithherfoot.IthadseemedaweakeffortonSimon’spart,apoorattempttostopherentry.
ButithadboughtSimontime.
Notenoughtimetostopthecarnage.
ButenoughtimeforSimontoscramble-jumptowardCornelius.
Themovehadsurprisedthewoman.ShehadexpectedSimontocomeather.Buthe’dgonetheotherdirection.Itwouldn’tsaveSimon.Justtheopposite,infact.Itputhiminthepathofthegunfire.
Hisbodywasallthatstoodbetweenthewoman’sbulletsandCornelius.
Shefiredanyway.
Simonfeltthesearingpainasabulletsmackedhislowerbackontheleft.
Hedidn’tstop.
Hefeltanotherhithimintherightshoulder.
SimonflunghimselftowardCorneliuslikeadefensiveendonablindsideblitz,wrappinghisarmsaroundhisfriend’swaist.
HetackledCorneliusintothewindow.
TimemusthavesloweddownforCorneliustoo.Corneliusdidn’tfighthisnaturalinstincts.Hewentwiththetackle,lettinghisbodyfallback,usingthetimetopullhisgunallthewayout.
Thetwomenbothfellbackward.Thewindowshattereduponimpact.
Corneliushadhisgunoutnow.HereachedoverSimon’sshoulderandfiredastheystartedtofall.
Somewhereinthehailofgunfire,Simonheardamangruntandawomanscream,“Ash!”
CorneliusandSimon,stillentwined,landedhardonthefire-escapegrate—Corneliusonhisback,Simon,hisgripslackening,ontopofhim.
TheimpactknockedthegunfromCornelius’shand.Simonwatchedthegunplummettowardhardasphalt.
Thewomanagain,hercrypained:“Ash!No!”
Simon’seyesstartedtoflutter.Hismouthfilledwithsomethingcoppery,andherealizedthatitwasblood.HemanagedthentorolloffCornelius.Simontriedtospeak.HewantedtotellCorneliustorun,thattheredheadedwomanwasn’thitandthatshe’dbeonthemsoon.
Butthewordswouldn’tcomeout.
HelookedatCornelius.Corneliusshookhishead.
Hewouldn’tleave.
Thiswholething—fromRoccoturningtheknobtonow—tookfewerthanfiveseconds.
Frominsidetheroom,thewomanletlooseaprimitive,gutturalscream.
Andnow,eveninthisstate,evenashecouldfeelsomesortoflifeforceleavinghisbody,Simonrealizedthattheyoungwomanwascomingtowardthem.
Go,SimontriedtotellCornelius.
Hewouldn’t.
Simoncouldseetheredheadedwomanreachingthewindow.Thegunwasinherhand
Again:nochoice.
Usingwhateverstrengthhehadleft—andperhapstheelementofsurprise—SimonpushedCorneliusdownthefire-escapesteps.
Corneliusstartedtumblingdownthem,headfeet,headfeet,likeasomersault.
Itmighthurt,Simonthought.Itmightbreakafewbones.
Butitprobablywouldn’tkillhim.
Therewasnothingleftnow.Simonknewthat.Hecouldhearthesirensnearing,butthey’dbetoolate.Hedroppedontohisbackandlookedupintotheyoungwoman’sgreeneyes.He’dmaybeheldoutaglimmerofhopethattherewouldbesomemercyinthem,somehesitation,butoncehesawthem,oncehisgazemethers,heknewthatwhateverlasthopehehadwasgone.
Shewouldkillhim.Andshewouldenjoyit.
Sheleanedherbodyoutthewindow.Shepointedthegunathishead.
Andthenshewasgone.
Frombehindher,someonehadpushedheroutthewindow.Simonheardthescreamandthenasicksplatasshelandedontheasphalt.
Simonlookedupandsawanotherwoman—anoldwomanwearinganoddgrayuniformwithredstripes—appear.Shelookedathimwithconcern,hurriedouttothefireescape,andtriedtostemthebleeding.
“It’sover,”thewomansaidtohim.
Hewantedtoaskherwhoshewas,ifsheknewPaige,anything,buthismouthhadtoomuchbloodinit.Hefelthisbodyweakeningandslackening,hiseyesrollingback.Asthedarknessdescended,hecouldstillhearthesirens.
“Ourchildrenwillbesafenow.”
Andthentherewasnothing.
ChapterThirty-Eight
Onemonthpassed.
Simon’sinjuriesrequiredthreeoperations,eighteendaysinthesamehospitalasIngrid,severalmorphinedrips,andtwoweeks(thusfar)ofphysicaltherapy.Therewaspainanddamageandperhaps,inanoddreminderofElenaRamirez,hewouldwalkwithalimporevenacanefortheremainderofhisdays,buthisinjuriesendedupnotbeinglife-threatening.
Corneliuscameoutofitallwithasprainedankleandminorbruises.RoccoandLutherhadbothbeenkilledbygunfire.SamewithahiredhitmannamedAshley“Ash”Davis.Hispartner,ayoungcultmembernamedDiane“DeeDee”Lahoy,hadlandedheadfirst,crackingherskull.Shehadnotyetregainedconsciousnessandallindicationswerethatsheneverwould.
DetectiveIsaacFagbenletriedtoexplainittohim,thoughitwastakingsometimeforvariouslawenforcementauthoritiestoputitalltogether.TherewassomethingaboutacultcalledTruthHavenandsecretadoptionsandhiredhits.
Butdetailswerebeyondsketchy.
Tocomplicatematters,CasperVartage,theleaderofTruthHaven,haddiedofnaturalcauses.Histwosonsclaimedcompleteinnocenceandhadtop-notchlawyersprotectingthem.Maybe,thelawyersclaimed,CasperVartagehaddonesomething—thattheycouldn’tsay—buthewasdeadnowandhissonsknewnothing.
“We’llgetthem,”FagbenlehadtoldSimon.
ButSimonwasn’tsosure.ThetwokillerswhocouldbesttestifyastowhattheVartagesonsmayhavedonewerebothoutofcommission.Thepolice’sbesthopeseemedtobethewomanwhohadsavedSimon’slife,awomanwhoidentifiedherselfasMotherAdiona.Theycouldn’tfindarealnameforher.Thatwashowlongshe’dbeeninthecult.Andtheyreallycouldn’tholdher.ShehadcommittednocrimeotherthanmaybesavingSimon’slife.
Therewasotherstuff,ofcourse.WhenElenaRamirezlearnedabouttheillegaladoptions,AshandDeeDee,thepoliceconcluded,hadkilledher.TherewasCCTVofherataCrackerBarrelOldCountryStoregettinginacardrivenbyDeeDeeLahoy.Itwasbelievedthatshewasthentakentoanemptycabinandmurderedthere,butherbodyhadnotyetbeenfound.WhenthekillersthenlookedatthetextsonElena’smobilephoneandsawhercommunicationswithSimon,theyknewthathehadtobesilencedtoo.Therewasmore—howthehalfbrothers,includingAaronCorval,haddiscoveredeachother,howtheysworetokeeptheirrelationshipasecretuntiltheyfoundtheirfather,howonenamedHenryThorpediscoveredhismothertooandthatshehadbeenaformercultmemberwhoendedupconfrontingandthustippingofftheVartages.
ButtherehadbeennothingnewaboutPaige.
DuringSimon’sfifthnightinthehospital,whenthepainwasprettybadandhe’dhitthemorphinepumpforallhewasworth,hewokeupinasemi-dazetoseeMotherAdionasittingbyhisbedside.
“Theywereslaughteringallthesons,”MotherAdionasaidtohim.
Simonknewthis,thoughthemotiveremainedmurky.Maybethecultwastryingtocoveruptheirpastcrimeofsellingbabies.Ormaybethemurdersofthesemenwerepartofsomeweirdritualorprophesy.Nooneseemedtoknow.
“IbelieveintheTruth,Mr.Greene.Itsustainsme.Ihavebeenitsservantforalmostmyentirelife.Ibirthedason,andtheTruthtoldmethathewouldbeoneofournextleaders.Iraisedhimassuch.IbirthedanothersonandwhentheTruthtoldmethatthissonwouldnotbeabletostaywithus,Ilethimgo,eventhoughthatmeantIwouldneverseemyownboyagain.”
Simonwatchedherthroughthehazygauzeofhispainkillers.
“Butlastyear,IusedaDNAsitebecauseIwantedtoknowwhatbecameofmyson.Harmlessenough.Justalittleknowledge.Alittle”—shealmostsmiled—“truth.DoyouknowwhatIfound?”
Simonshookhishead.
“Myson’snameisNathanBrannon.HewasraisedbyHughandMariaBrannon,twoschoolteachers,inTallahassee,Florida.HegraduatedwithhonorsfromFloridaState.Hemarriedhishighschoolsweetheartandhasthreeboys—theoldestisten,andthensix-year-oldtwins.He’snowaschoolteachertoo—fifthgrade—andbyallaccountsisagoodman.”
Simontriedtositup,butthedrugshadlefthimtooexhausted.
“Hewantedtomeetme.Myson,Imean.ButIturnedhimdown.Canyouimaginehowhardthatwas,Mr.Greene?”
Simonshookhisheadandmanagedtosay,“No,Ican’t.”
“Butyousee,itwasenoughformetoknowthatmysonwashappy.Ithadtobe.ItwaswhattheTruthwanted.”
Simonmovedhishandclosertohers.Theolderwomantookit.Theysatthereforamoment,inthedark,therustleofthehospitaldistantbackgroundmusic.
“ButthenIfoundoutthattheywantedtomurdermyboy.”Shefinallylookeddownandmethiseye.“Ispentmywholelifebendingformybeliefs.Butthis…youbendtoofar,youbreak.Doyouunderstand?”
“Ofcourse.”
“SoIhadtostopthem.Ididn’twanttohurtanyone.ButIhadnochoice.”
“Thankyou,”Simonsaid.
“Ihavetogobacknow.”
“Backwhere?”
“TruthHaven.It’sstillmyhome.”
MotherAdionaroseandmovedtowardthedoor.
“Please.”Simonswallowed.“Mydaughter.Shewasdatingoneofthesesons.”
“SoIheard.”
“She’smissing.”
“Iheardthattoo.”
“Pleasehelpme,”Simonsaid.“You’reaparent.Youunderstand.”
“Ido.”MotherAdionaopenedthedoor.“ButIdon’tknowanythingmore.”
Andthenshewasgone.
Aweeklater,SimonbeggedFagbenletolethimstudythefiles.Fagbenle,perhapspityinghim,acquiesced.
Ingridseemedtobeimproving,sotherewassomeglimmeroflightthere.Despitewhatyouseeontelevision,youdon’tjustcomeoutofacoma.Theprocessismoretwostepsup,onestepback.Ingridhadregainedconsciousnessandspokentohimtwiceinshortspurts.Inbothcases,Ingridhadbeenencouraginglylucid.Butthelastonewasoveraweekago.Therehadbeennoimprovementsincethen.
Fromthedayhewasshot,Simonkeptdiggingbecausethebiggestquestionremainedunanswered.
WherewasPaige?
Hedidn’tgettheanswerfordays,thenweeks.
Ittook,infact,amonth.
***
Amonthafterhehadbeenshot,whenSimonwasfinallywellenough,heheadedtoPortAuthorityandtookabustriptoBuffalo.Hestaredoutthewindowallsevenhours,hopingagainsthopethatsomethinghe’dseewouldsparkathought.
Nothingdid.
Whenhearrived,hewalkedaroundthebusterminalfortwohours.Simonwassurethatifhejustcircledtheblockafewtimes,he’dfindaclue.
Hedidn’t.
Withhisbodyaching—thetripwasprobablytoomuchtoofast—Simonclimbedbackonthebus,squeezedintohisseat,andtooktheseven-hourtripback.
Againhestaredoutthewindow.
Andagainnothing.
ItwasalmosttwointhemorningwhenthebuspulledbackintoPortAuthority.SimontooktheAtrainnorthtothehospital.Ingridwasoutofintensivecarenowandinaprivateroom,thoughsheremainedunconscious.Therewasacotintheroom,sothathecouldsleepwithhiswife.Somenights,SimonfeltthatSamandAnyaneededhimhome.Butmostnights,likethisone,hemadehiswayuptoWashingtonHeightsandkissedhiswifeontheforeheadandsleptonthecotnexttoher.
Tonightthough,onemonthafterhewasshot,therewassomeoneelseinIngrid’sroomwhenhearrived.
Thelightswereoff,sohecouldonlyseehersittinginsilhouettenexttoIngrid’sbed.
Hefrozeinthedoorway.Hiseyesopenedwide.Simonputhishandonhismouth,buthismuffledcrieswerestillaudible.Hefelthiskneesstarttobuckle.
ThatwaswhenPaigeturnedaroundandsaid,“Dad?”
AndSimonburstintotears.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Paigehelpedherfatherupandintoachair.
“Ican’tstay,”Paigesaid,“butit’sbeenamonth.”
Simonwasstillputtinghimselfbacktogether.“Amonth?”
“Clean.”
Andshewas.Hecouldseeit.Hisheartleapt.Hisbabylookeddrawnandpaleandharried,butshealsolookedclear-eyedandsoberand…Hefeltthetearscomeagain,thistimeforjoy,buthebitthemback.
“I’mnotthereyet,”shewarned.“Imayneverbe.ButI’mbetter.”
“Sothiswholetime—”
“Ididn’tknowanyofthis.Wearen’tallowedelectronics.Noaccesstofamilyorfriendsortheoutsideworldatall.That’stherules.Nothingforafullmonth.Itwasmybestchance,Dad.Myonlychancereally.”
Simonwasjustnumb.
“Ihavetogobacktotheretreat.Youneedtounderstandthat.I’mnotreadyfortherealworld.Weagreedonatwenty-four-hourpass,andthat’sjustbecauseofthisemergency.Ineedtogoback.Evenbeingherethisshortofatime,Icanfeelthepullstronger—”
“You’llgoback,”Simonsaid.“I’lldriveyou.”
Paigeturnedtowardhermother’sbed.“Thisisbecauseofme.”
“No,”Simonsaid.“Youcan’tthinkthatway.”
Simonmovedclosertoher.Shestilllookedsofragile,sodamnfragile,andnowheworriedthatifPaigeblamedherself,ifshetookonthatguilt,maybethatwouldmakeherwanttoslipbackintotheworldofoblivion.
“It’snotyourfault,”hesaid.“Nooneblamesyou,leastofallyourmotherandme.Okay?”
Shenoddedalittletoohesitantly.
“Paige?”
“Yes,Daddy.”
“Doyouwanttotellmewhathappened?”
“WhenIcamebacktotheroomandsawAarondead…Ihid.Ithought…IthoughtthepolicewouldthinkIkilledhim.Itwasawful,seeingwhatwasdonetohim,butpartofme,Idon’tknow,Aaronwasgone.Finallygone.Partofmefeltfree.DoyouknowwhatImean?”
Simonnodded.
“SoIcametotheretreat.”
“Howdidyouknowabouttheplace?”heasked.
Sheblinkedandlookedaway.
“Paige?”
“I’dbeentherebefore,”shesaid.
“When?”
“DoyourememberwhenyousawmeinCentralPark?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Ihadbeenattheretreatbeforethat.”
“Wait,when?”
“Rightbefore.Togetclean.Andit’dbeenworking.That’swhatIthought.ButthenAaronfoundme.Hesneakedintomyroomonenight.ShotmeupwhileIwasasleep.Idisappearedwithhimthenextday.”
Simon’sheadspun.“Holdup,youwereinrehabrightbeforeIsawyouinthepark?”
“Yes.”
“Idon’tunderstand.Howdidyoufindthisretreat?”
Paigelookedtowardthebed.
Simoncouldn’tbelieveit.“Yourmother?”
“Shetookme.”
SimonlookedtowardIngridtoo,asifmaybeshewouldwakeuprightnowandexplain.
“Icametoher,”Paigesaid.“Myonelasthope.Sheknewthisplace.She’dbeentherebefore,yearsago.Theydothingsdifferently,shetoldme.SoItriedit.Anditwasworking.Ormaybeitwasn’t.It’seasytoblamesomeoneelse,butmaybe…”
Simontooktheblowsfromthesenewrevelations,tryingtofocusonwhatwasimportant.
Hisdaughterwasback.Hisdaughterwasback,andshewasclean.
Heaskedthenextquestionasgentlyaspossible.“Whydidn’tMomtellmeshewashelpingyou?”
“Itoldhernotto.Thatwaspartofthedeal.”
“Whydidn’tyouwantmetoknow?”
Paigeturnedtohim.Helookedintohisbaby’spainedeyesandwonderedhowlongithadbeensincehelookedather,reallylookedather,likethis.“Yourface,”shesaid.
“What?”
“WhenIfailedbefore,whenIletyoudown,yourface,thelookofdisappointment…”Shestopped,shookherheadasthoughtoclearit.“IfIfailedagainandsawyourface,IthoughtmaybeI’dkillmyself.”
Simonputhishandbacktohismouth.“Oh,honey.”
“I’msorry.”
“Don’tbe.Please?I’msorryifIevermadeyoufeelthatway.”
Paigestartednervouslyscratchingatherarms.Simoncouldseetheneedlemarks,thoughtheyseemedtobefading.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Ineedtogetbacknow.”
“I’lldriveyou.”
***
Theystoppedbytheapartmentontheway.Paigewokeuphertwosiblings.SimonusedhisiPhoneandfilmedtheecstatictearsashisthreechildrenbrieflybutintenselyreunited.He’dplaythevideoforIngrid.Itdidn’tmatterwhethershehearditthroughthecomaornot.Hewouldplayitforherandhimselfoverandover.
Thedrivebackupnorthwasalongone.Hedidn’tmind.Forthefirsthours,Paigeslept.
ThatleftSimonalonewithhisownthoughts.
Somanyemotionsricochetedthroughhim.HefeltjoyandreliefatseeingPaige—cleanPaige!—again.Thatwastheoverridingemotion.Herodethatwaveandtriedtoignoretheothers—theworryaboutwhatwouldcomenext,thesorrowthathe’dmadePaigefeelsuchdreadabouthisreaction,theconfusionaboutwhyIngridkeptthishugesecretfromhim.
Howcouldshe?
HowcouldIngridhavenottoldhimabouttakingPaigetorehab?Howcouldshehavenotsaidanythingaboutitafterhe’dseenherintheparkandhadthatconfrontationwithAaron?Itwasonethingtokeepyourpromisetoyourchild.Hegotthat.Butthatwasn’thowtheyoperatedasacouple.
Theytoldeachothereverything.
Orsohethought.
SimonwasjustrememberingwhatRoccosaid,abouthowLuthershotIngrid,whenPaigewokeupandreachedforthewaterbottle.
“Howareyoufeeling?”heaskedher.
“Okay.Thisissuchalongride,Dad.Icouldhavejusttakenthebusback.”
“Yeah,thatwasn’tgoingtohappen.”
Simonshotherawearysmile.Shedidn’treturnit.
“Youcan’tvisitmeattheretreat,”Paigesaid.“Notforanothermonth.Novisitors.”
“Okay.”
“TheyletmecomedownbecauseIdidn’twantyoutoworry.”
“Thankyou.”
Hedrovesomemore.
“Sohowdiditwork?”heaskedher.
“Howdidwhatwork?”
“Whenyourfirstmonthwasup,thisretreatletyoucontactus?”
“Yes.”
“Youreadaboutwhathappened?”
Paigenodded.“Mycounselorattheclinichadseenanewsreport.Shetoldmeaboutit.”
“When?”
“Lastnight.”
“Soyourcounselorknewandkeptitfromyou?”
“Yes.Itwasmyonlychance,Dad.Totalisolation.Pleaseunderstand.”
“Ido.”Simonchangedlanes.“YouknowwebecamefriendswithyouroldlandlordCornelius.”
Paigeturnedtowardhim.
“Hesavedyourmother’slife.”
“How?”
HefilledherinontheirvisittotheBronx—thewholestoryofhowthey’dgonetoherapartmentandmetCorneliusandgonetoRocco’splaceinthatbasement
“Corneliuswasreallynicetome,”Paigesaidwhenhefinished.
“HealsotoldusyouranoutwithbloodonyourfacetwodaysbeforeAaronwaskilled.”
Paigeturnedawayfromhimandlookedouthersidewindow.
“DidAaronbeatyou?”
“Justthatonce.”
“Badly?”
“Yes.”
“Soyouranaway.Andthen,accordingtothepolice,thathitmankilledhim.”
Paige’stonewasoffwhenshesaid,“Iguess.”
Andhecouldhearthelieinhisdaughter’svoice.
Simonknewtherewassomethingwrongwiththepolice’stheoryonAaronCorval’smurder.Ontheonehand,itmadeperfectsense,itwassimple,itfit.Sortof.Thecultwaskillingtheboyswhowereillegallyadopted.AaronCorvalwasoneofthosebabies,ergohe’dbeenoneoftheirtargets.AshandDeeDeehadreturnedtothescenebecausetheyneededtokillSimon.
ButhowcouldtheyhaveknownSimonwouldbethere?
Simonhadscouredthroughalltheinformation.He’dseentheE-ZPassrecordsandnotedthatAshandDeeDee’scarhadnevergonenearthehospital.Sotheycouldn’thavefollowedhim.
ThensomethingelsecaughtSimon’seye.
Awitness,Cornelius’stenantEnriqueBoaz,claimedtohaveseenDeeDeeonthethirdfloorrightbeforetheshootingonthesecondfloorinCornelius’sapartment.
Why?Whywouldshebeonthethirdfloor?
Tothepolicethishadbeenasmallanomaly,nobigdeal:Everycasehasinconsistencieslikethis.ButitniggledatthebackofSimon’sbrain.SoSimonwentback.WithCorneliusbyhisside,hequestionedEnriqueanduncoveredapossibleclue:
DeeDeehadbeenstandingrightinfrontofAaronandPaige’sroom.
Again:Why?IfyoualreadykilledAaron,whywouldyougobacktohisroom?Whywouldyou,asCorneliushadnoticedafterthecopsleft,kickdownthedoortogetin?
Itdidn’taddup.
Unlessyouhadn’tbeentherebefore.
“Paige?”
“Yes?”
“WhatdidyoudoafterAaronbeatyou?”
“Iran.”
“Where?”
“I…Iwenttogetafix.”
Thenhejustaskedit.“Youdidn’tcallMom?”
Silence.
“Paige?”
“Pleaseletthisgo.”
“DidyoucallMom?”
“Yes.”
“Andwhatdidshesay?”
“I…”Shesqueezedhereyesshut.“ItoldherwhatIdid.ItoldherIhadtorunaway.”
“Whatelsedidyousay,Paige?”
“Dad.Please.Pleaseletthisgo.”
“Notuntilwebothtellthetruth.AndPaige?Thetruthneverleavesthiscar.Never.Aaronwasscum.Hisdeathwasn’tmurder—itwasself-defense.Hewaskillingyoueveryday.Poisoningyou.Andwhenyoutriedtobreakfree,hewentbackandpoisonedyouagain.Doyouunderstand?”
Hisdaughternodded.
“Sowhathappened?”
“Aaronbeatmethatday,Dad.Withhisfists.”
Simonfeltthatrageengulfhimagain.
“Icouldn’ttakeitanymore.ButIknewIcouldpulloutofit—Icouldbefree—ifhewasjust…”
“Gone,”Simonsaid,finishingthethoughtforher.
“Rememberwhatyousawinthepark?ThewayIlooked?”
Henodded.
“Ihadtobreakhisholdonme.”
Simonwaited.Paigestaredstraightoutthewindshieldinfrontofthem.
“Soyeah,Dad,Ikilledhim.Ikilledhimandmadeitallbloody.ThenIranaway.”
Simonjustkeptondriving.Hegrippedthewheelsotightlyhefearedhemightripitrightoutofthedashboard.
“Dad?”
“You’remydaughter.I’llalwaysprotectyou.Always.AndI’mproudofyou.You’retryingtodotherightthing.”
Shemovedinnexttohim.Simonputhisarmaroundher,kepttheotherhandonthewheel.
“Butyoudidn’tkillAaron.”
Hecouldfeelherstiffenunderhisarm.
“Thebeatingwastwodaysbeforehewasmurdered.”
“Dad,pleaseletitgo.”
HowSimonwishedthathecould.“Youcalledyourmother.Justlikeyousaid.Youaskedforhelp.”
Paigehuddledcloser.Hecouldfeelherquivering.Itworriedhim,pushingherlikethis,buttheyhadtogetthere.
“DidMomtellyoutostayawaythatnight?”
Hervoicewasweak.“Dad,please.”
“BecauseIknowyourmom,andIwouldhaveseenthesituationthesameway.We’dpickyouupagainandtakeyoutothisgreatrehabplace—butaslongasAaronwasalive,whatevertwistedbondyoutwoshared,well,he’dfindyouagain.YoutwowereentangledinsomewayI’llneverunderstand.Aaronwaslikeaparasitewhohadtobekilled.”
“Sothat’swhatIdid,”Paigesaid.Shetriedtosayitwithbravadoandconfidence,butitjustfellflat.
“No,sweetheart,youdidn’t.ThatwaswhyLuthershotMom.Hesawherthatnight.Thatwaswhathewasgoingtotellmebeforehegotkilled.Luthersawherleaveyourapartmentormaybehesawtheactualkilling,Idon’tknow.Sothenafewdayslater,whenheseesyourmothernearRocco,hefiguresmaybeshe’sgoingtokillhimtoo.AaronworkedforRocco,right?That’swhyLutherpulledouthisgun.That’swhyheshotMomfirst,notme.That’swhyhekeptinsistingitwasself-defense.”
Fagbenlehadbeenrightfromthebeginning.
“Occam’srazor.Youknowit?”
“I’mnotinthemood,Detective.”
“Itstates—”
“Iknowwhatitstates—”
“—thatthesimplestexplanationisusuallytherightone.”
“Andwhat’sthesimplestexplanation,Detective?”
“YoukilledAaronCorval.Oryourwifedid.Iwouldn’tblameeitherofyou.Themanwasamonster.Hewasslowlypoisoningyourdaughter,killingherrightinfrontofyoureyes.”
FagbenlehadevennotedthatIngridcouldhavesneakedovertotheBronxduringaworkbreak.TheyhadheronCCTVleaving.Ingridknewthetiming.ShemadesurethatAaronwasalone.
“Paige?”
“Ididn’tknowMomwasgoingtokillhim.”
Shepulledawayfromhimnowandsatallthewayup.
“Icamebacktotheapartmentearlyandsaw…Momworehospitalscrubs.Theywerecoveredinblood.Iguessshedumpedthemlater.ButwhenIsawher,Ifreakedout.Iran.”
“Where?”
“Anotherbasement.LikeRocco’s.Igottwofixes.Laiddownthereforhours,Ididn’tevenknowhowlong.AndwhenIwokeup,Ifinallysawthetruth.”
“Whattruth?”
“Mymomhadkilledsomeone.Thinkaboutthatforasecond.Theysayyouneedtohitbottombeforeyoucangetbetter.Whenyourealizethatyoumadeyourmotherkillaman,that’srockbottom.”
Theyweresilentforawhile.
ThenSimonasked,“HowcomeMomdidn’tcalltheretreatandseeifthat’swhereyou’dgone?”
“Maybeshedid.ButIwasn’tthereyet.Ittookmedaystomakemywayup.”
Andbythenshewasinacoma.
“Dad?”
“What,sweetheart?”
“Canwepleaseletthisgonow?”
Simonthoughtaboutit.“Ithinkso.”
“Anditneverleavesthiscar?”
“Never.”
“ThatmeansMomtoo.”
“What?”
“Don’ttellheryouknow.Okay?Justletitgo.”
ChapterForty
Intheweeksthatpassed,asIngridstartedtorecoverandlifegotbetter,Simonwonderedabouthisdaughter’srequest.
Shouldwhattheysaidneverleavethecar?Wasitreallybestnottotellhiswifeheknewthatshehadkilledaman?
Wasitbesttolivewiththatsecret?
Onthesurface,theanswerseemedtobeyes.
Simonwatchedhiswifecomebacktohimandhisfamily.
EventuallyIngridregainedenoughstrengthtocomehome.
Weeksturnedintomonths.
Goodmonths.
Paigecontinuedtoimprovetoo.Eventuallytheretreatlethercomehome.
SamheadedbacktoAmherstwiththestartofanewsemester.Anyawasdoingwellinschool.Simonwasbackatwork.Soontoo,Ingridreturnedtoherpatients.
Lifewasmorethanreturningtonormal.
Lifewasgood.Reallygood.Andwhenlifeisgood,maybeit’sbesttoletsleepingdogslie.
Therewaslaughterandjoyintheirlives.ThereweregorgeouswalksthroughCentralPark.Thereweredinnerswithfriendsandnightsatthetheater.Therewasloveandlightandfamily.
IngridandSimonbothembracedPaige’sreturn.Theygaveherallthesupporttheycould,whileworryingthatwhateverdemonAaronhadplacedinherbodymaybeweakordormant,butitwasstillthere,stillwaitingtopounce.
Becausedemonsneverdie.
Butneitherdosecrets.
Thatwastheproblem.Allofthosegoodthingswereintheroom.Butsotoowasthatsecret.
Onenight,duringtheirwalkthroughCentralPark,IngridandSimonstoppedinStrawberryFields.Simonnormallyavoidedthisroute.Thishadbeenwherehe’dseenPaigestranglingoutthatBeatlestune.Whichsongwasitagain?Hedidn’tremember.Strikethat.Hedidn’twanttoremember.
ButIngridwantedtositonthebench.Outofhabithereadtheinscription:
ThisisforJersey,thegooddog,whowouldbehappytosharethisbenchwithyou
Ingridtookhishandandstaredoutandsaid,“Youknow.”
“Yes.”
“YouunderstandwhyIdidit.”
Henodded.“Ido.”
“Itwaslikeshewasdrowning.Andeverytimeshecametothesurfacehewoulddragherbackunderagain.”
“Youdon’thavetojustifyittome.”
Ingridtookhishand.Hesqueezedhersandheldon.
“Youplannedit,”hesaid.
“Assoonasshecalled.”
“Andyoumadeitviolentandbloody—”
“—sothepolicewouldthinkitwasadrughit,”shesaid.
Helookedoff,thenbackather.“Whydidn’tyouaskmetohelp?”
“Threereasons,”shesaid.
“I’mlistening.”
“One,myjobistoprotectyoutoo.BecauseIloveyou.”
“Iloveyoutoo.”
“Two,ifIgotcaught,Iwantedoneofustobefreetoraisethechildren.”
Simonhadtosmileatthat.“Practical.”
“Yes.”
“Andthree?”
“Ithoughtmaybeyou’dtalkmeoutofit.”
Hesaidnothing.WouldhehavereallygonealongwithaplantomurderAaronCorval?
Hedidn’tknow.
“Someadventure,”hesaid.
“Yes.”
Hestaredathiswifeandgotthe“overwhelms”again.
“Iloveourfamily,”Ingridsaid.
“Idotoo.”
Sheputherheadonhisshoulderasshehaddoneamilliontimesbefore.
Therearefewmomentsofpureblissinthislife.Mostofthetime,youdon’trealizethatyouarehavingoneofthosemomentsuntiltheyareover.Butthatwasn’tthecaserightnow.Rightnow,asSimonsatwiththewomanheloved,heknew.
Andsheknew.
Thiswasbliss.
Anditwouldn’tlast.
Epilogue
ThestatepolicefoundElenaRamirez’sbodyalmostayearafterhermurder.
TherewasafuneralforherinChicago.SimonandCorneliusdecidedtoattend.Theychosetodriveratherthanfly.Corneliusplannedtheroute,findingweirdmuseumsandroadsidesitessotheycouldmakestops.
ElenawaslaidtorestnexttoamannamedJoelMarcus.
TheyovernightedatahoteloutsideChicago.Onthedrivehomethenextmorning,Simonasked,“DoyoumindifwestopinPittsburgh?”
“Notatall,”Corneliussaid.Then,noticingthelookonSimon’sface,headded,“What’sup?”
“Ijustneedtovisitsomeone.”
WhenSimonknockedonthedoor,ayoungmanopeneditandpeeredout.“DougMulzer?”
“Yes.”
MulzerhadnotbeenablephysicallyoremotionallytoreturntoLanfordCollegeafterhisordeal.Simondidn’tcare.Ormaybehedid.Maybetherehadbeenenoughvigilantejustice.
“MynameisSimonGreene.I’mPaige’sfather.”
***
WhentheygotbacktoNewYorkCity,SimondroppedoffCorneliusandheadedtoPPGWealthManagement’soffice.Itwaslateintheday,butYvonnewasstillthere.Hepulledherasideandsaid,“IthinkIknowwhatIngrid’ssecretis.”
***
Thatnight,whenhereachedhisapartmentbuilding,SuzyFiskewasholdingtheelevatordoorforhim.Shegreetedhimwithabigsmileandakissonthecheek.
“Hey,”shesaid,“IseeSamishomefromAmherst.”
“Yeah,hecamebacktonightforbreak.”
“Soyougotallthreehome?”
“Yup.”
“Thatmustbegreat.”
Simonsmiled.“Itis.”
“AndIhearPaigeenrolledatNYU.”
“Yes.Butshe’sstillgoingtoliveathome.”
“I’mreallyhappyforyouguys.”
“Thankyou,Suzy.IknowI’vealreadythankedyouamilliontimes—”
“AndgaveusthatgiftcardforRedFarm.Whichwastoogenerous.We’veeatentherelikefourtimesalready.”
TheelevatorstoppedatSimon’sfloor.Hegotoutandopenedthedoorwithhiskey.BadWolves’versionof“Zombie”wasplayingoveraBluetoothspeakerinthekitchen.Ingridwassingingthechorus:
“What’sinyourhead,inyourhead,zombie…”
Simonleanedagainstthekitchendoorframe.Ingridturnedandsmiledathim.
“Hi,”Ingridsaid.
“Hi.”
“Howwasthetrip?”
“Good,”hesaid.“Sad.”
“Yoursonishome.”
“SoIheard.Whatareyoucooking?”
“MyfamousAsiansalmonrecipe.Hisfavorite.”
“Iloveyou,”hesaid.
“Iloveyoutoo.”
“Where’sPaige?”
“She’sinherroom.Fiveminutestodinner,okay?”
“Okay.”
Heheadeddownthecorridorandknockedonherbedroomdoor.Paigesaid,“Comein.”
Hisdaughterstilllookedpaleanddrawnandharried,evenafterallthistime,andhewonderedwhetherthatwouldeverleaveher.Therehadbeenbadnightsandsweatsandnightmaresandtears.Itwasastruggleandhewasn’tsurethatPaigewouldeverwinit—heknewtheodds—butmaybeshewould.HehadwonderedaboutAaron’sinfluenceonPaige,theirbizarreandtwistedbond.Maybeagainitwasallsimple.LikeFagbenlehadsaid.
Youkillamantoprotectyourchild.
Youkillaman,yousaveanaddict.
“IneverunderstoodhowyoufirstconnectedwithAaron,”hesaid.“ThatwasthepartIcouldn’tshake.ElenaRamirezsawHenryThorpe’sDNAtest.Itshowedallthehalfbrothers,includingAaron.ButyoutookthatDNAtesttoo,Paige,didn’tyou?”
“Yes.”
“SoIneverunderstood—whatwasyourconnectiontoAaron?Whatwouldmakeyousoattachedtosomeonesoawful?”
Paigehadbeenpullingahoodieoutofherdrawer.Nowshestoppedandwaited.
“YouknowwhatstruckmeasweirdaboutyourapartmentintheBronx?”hecontinued.“Thereweretwosinglemattresses—oneoneithersideoftheroom.”Hespreadhishands.“Whatkindofyoungcoupledoesn’tshareabed?”
“Dad.”
“Letmejustfinishthis,okay?IwenttoseeDougMulzertodayinPittsburgh.Weneedtotalkaboutthatatsomepoint,aboutwhathedidtoyou,ormaybeyouhaveinyourtherapysessions.”
“Ihave.”
“Okay,butsee,hewasattacked.Viciously.”
“Thatwaswrong,”Paigesaid.
“Maybe,maybenot.That’snotmypoint.ButDougtoldmethatamanwithaskimaskassaultedhim.ItwasAaron,right?”
“Yes.IshouldhavenevertoldhimwhatDougdidtome.”
“Whydidyou?”
Paigesaidnothing.
“Icouldn’tfigurethatout.ButthenMulzertoldmewhatAaronkeptscreamingathimduringthebeating.”
TearscametoPaige’seyes.TheycametoSimon’stoo.
“‘Noonehurtsmysister.’”
Paige’sshouldersslumped.
“WhenyoutooktheDNAtest,youdidindeedfindoutthatAaronwasyourhalfbrother,butnotonyourfather’sside.”Simoncouldfeelhimselfshaking.“Youbothhadthesamemother.”
Ittookafewseconds,butPaigemanagedtoraiseherchinandlookathim.“Yes.”
“IcheckedwithyourauntYvonne.Yourmom’sbigsecret?Shedidn’tmodeloverseaswhenshewasseventeen.Shefellinwithacult.Shegotpregnantbytheleader.Buttheytoldher…theytoldherthatthebabywasstillborn.Shethoughtmaybetheyintentionallykilledthebaby.Shebecamesuicidal.Herfamily,yourgrandparents,theygrabbedherandgotherdeprogrammed.Ataretreat.Thesameoneshetookyouto.”
Hisdaughtercrossedtheroomandsatonherbed.Simonjoinedher.
“Hewassodamaged,”Paigesaid.“Hisfatherabusedhimfromaveryyoungage.”
“Aaron,youmean?”
Shenodded.“AndyouhavetorememberwhereIwas.I’dbeenassaultedbyDougMulzeratschoolandthenItakethisDNAtestanditwaslikemywholelifehadbeenabiglie.Ifeltlost,scared,confused.AndnowIhadthisnewbrother.Wetalkedforhours.Itoldhimabouttheassault.Sohetookcareofthat.Itwasawful,butIalsofelt,Idon’tknow,protectedmaybe.ThenAarongotmehighanditwaslike…Ilikedit.No,Ilovedit.Itletmeescapefromeverything.AaronmadesureIgothighagainandagain,and…”Shestopped,wipedhereyes.“Ithinkheknewwhathewasdoing.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“IthinkAaronlovedtheideaofasister.Hedidn’twanttoloseme.HeneededtokeepmehookedsoIdidn’tabandonhim—andmaybe,maybehealsowantedtogetrevengeonhisbirthmother.Hewasthechildshethrewaway—whynotdestroytheoneshekept?”
“Andyouneverconfrontedyourmother?”
“No,Idid.”Shetookadeepbreath.“IcamehomeandaskedMomifsheeverhadachild.Shesaidno.Ibeggedhertotellmethetruth.Shefinallybrokedown.Shetoldmeaboutthecult.Shesaidshe’dbeenimpregnatedbyanawfulman,butthebabydied.”
BasedonwhatYvonnehadjusttoldhim,Ingridstillbelievedthat.
“Ithoughtshewasstilllyingtome.Butyousee,Ididn’tcareanymore.Iwasajunkiebythen.Ionlycaredaboutmynextfix.SoIstoleherjewelry—andwentbacktomybrother.”
Thatsick,twistedbond—itwasforgedinblood.
“Youtalkedabouthittingrockbottom,”Simonsaid,feelingsomethinghardeninhischest,somethingthatmadeitnearlyimpossibletobreathe,“thefactthatyou’dforcedyourmothertokillsomeone…”
Paigesqueezedhereyesshuttightly,sotightly,asthoughtryingtowishthisallaway.
“…butshedidn’tjustkill‘someone’…”
Theybothknewwhatwascoming.Paigekepthereyesclosed,bracingfortheblow
“…shekilledherownson.”
“Wecan’ttellher,Dad.”
Simonshookhishead,rememberedwhatheandIngridsaidonthatbenchinCentralPark.“Nomoresecrets,Paige.”
“Dad—”
“YourmothereventoldmethetruthaboutkillingAaron.”
Paigeslowlyturnedtofacehim,andSimonthoughtthatshehadneverlookedsoclear-eyed.“Thissecretisn’tlikethat.Thissecretwilldestroyher.”
Throughthedoor,theyheardIngridcalloutinahappysingsongvoice,“Dinner’sready!Washup,everyone.”
“Wecan’ttellher,Dad.”
“Itmightcomeoutanyway.Shemayevenalreadyknow.”
“Shedoesn’tknow,”Paigesaid.“Theadoptionagencydoesn’thavetherecords.Onlyweknowthetruth.”
Theyheadedtothetable.Thefiveofthem—Simon,Ingrid,Paige,Sam,andAnya—tooktheirseats.Samstartedtellingthemaboutthisgoofynewlabpartnerhehadinpsych.Itwasafunnystory.Ingridlaughedsohard,hereyesglistening.IngridcaughtSimon’seyeandgavehimthatlook,thatlookthatsaidhowluckyandblessedtheywere,thatlookthatsaidhey,rememberthatmomentinthepark?Thisisoneofthosemomentsofblisstoo.Thisoneisevenbetterbecausewearewithourchildren.Weareinthatmomentnow,thatpurebliss,andwearefortunateenoughtorealizeit.
SimonlookedacrossthetableatPaige.Paigelookedbackathim.
Thesecretwasatthetabletoo.
IfSimonkeptquiet,thesecretwouldalwaysbewiththem.
Hewonderedwhatwouldbeworse—havingtoliveforeverhauntedbythissecretorlettingthewomanhelovedfindoutthatshehadmurderedherownson.
Theanswerseemedclear.Itmaychangetomorrow.Butfortonightheknewwhathehadtodo.
SimonmightnothavesteppedinfrontofthebulletwhenLuthershotIngrid.Buthewouldstepinfrontofthebulletnow—nomatterhowmuchithurt.Helistenedtohiswife’sbeautifullaugh,andheknewthathewouldpayanypricetokeephearingit.
Sohemadeasolemnvow.Therewouldbenomoresecrets.
Exceptthisone.
Acknowledgments
Theauthor(whoeveryonceinawhilelikestorefertohimselfinthethirdperson)wouldliketothankthefollowingpeopleinnoparticularorder:BenSevier,DavidEagleman,RickFriedman,DianeDiscepolo,SelinaWalker,AnneArmstrong-Coben,and,ofcourse,theboysattheBMVGroup—PietervanderHeide,DanielMadonia,andJohnByren—forhelpingmeunderstandSimon’soccupation.
Theauthor(stillme)alsowantstoacknowledgeMannyAndrews,MariquitaBlumberg,LouisvandeBeek,HeatherGrewe,MaishIsaacson,RobertandYvonnePrevidi,RandySpratt,EileenVaughan,andJudyZyskind.Thesepeople(ortheirlovedones)madegenerouscontributionstocharitiesofmychoosinginreturnforhavingtheirnamesappearinthenovel.Ifyouwouldliketoparticipateinthefuture,pleasevisitHarlanCoben.comoremailgiving@harlancoben.comfordetails.
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AConversationwithHarlanCoben
WhatwasthefirstideayouhadthatledtoRUNAWAY?Diditstartwiththecharactersortheplot?
IwassittinginStrawberryFieldsinCentralPark—justlikemycharacterSimonintheopeningpage—andIwaswatchingaraggedstreetmusicianmangleaJohnLennonsong.Istartedtoask,asIalwaysdo,“Whatif?”WhatifthisstreetmusicianwassomeoneIknewandevenloved?Whatifthisstreetmusicianwasmyownchildwho’dbeenmissingforsixmonths?SupposeIapproachedher,triedtosaveher,andeverythingwentwrong…?
Thatwasthestart.
ThemainconflictofRUNAWAYstemsfromSimonandPaige’semotionallychargedfather-daughterrelationship,asSimonattemptstosavehisdaughter,despiteherrefusaltobesaved.Didyoufindyourselfthinkingofyourownrelationshipwithyourchildrenwhilewriting?Doyouoftenwriteaboutparent-childdynamics?
Thereisnobondliketheonebetweenaparentandachild.Whenyourfirstchildisborn,yourentireworldshrinksdowntothiseight-poundmass.That’sit.Period,theend.Whenyoufirsthaveachild,youknowadifferentkindofcaringandloving—andwiththat,comesfear.Iwriteaboutthatalot.
You’vebeenwritingthrillerssinceyourearlytwenties.Howhaveyouchangedasawriterandstorytellersincethen?
I’malwaystryingtoimprove.Partofwritingistryingtowritethe“perfect”bookorreachastateofNirvanainyourwritingthatyousimplycan’treach.Sothenyoutryagain.Iknowthissoundsself-serving,butIthinkRUNAWAYismybestbook.Itcertainlyhasmymostsurprisingandultimatelydisturbingending.Iwantthatendingtolingerandhaunt.Iwantyoutotalkaboutitwithafriend.
Aftermorethanthirtynovelstoyourname,doyoufindyourselfreturningtocertainelementsorrecurringthemes?
Allwritersdo,don’tthey?I’mastorytelleratheart.Imostlywriteaboutfamilyandrelationships—andyes,thereareotherthemes,buttheyallhavetobeslavestothestory.Ialsostillwanttokeepyouupallnight.That’smymainjob.IwantyoutotakeRUNAWAYonvacation,butyou’dratherstayinyourhotelroombecauseyouhavetoknowwhathappenstoSimonandIngridandPaige.
Inchapter8,SimonreflectsthatheusedtoalwayshidehistearsfromPaigeinsteadoflettingherseehissensitivity:“Itwasjustthatshecriedsodamneasily,anditgotunderhisskinbecausethetruth,thetruthheneverhadthecouragetotellher,wasthathecriedeasilytoo—tooeasily—pretendingsomethingwaswrongwithhiscontactlensorthathehadnonexistentallergiesorleavingtheroomaltogetherratherthanadmittingit.Maybeifhehad,itwouldhavemadeiteasierforherandshecouldhavefoundsomekindofoutletorwaytobondwithherfatherwhochosetokeepupsomekindoffalsemachismo,somekindofideathatifherdaddidn’tcry,maybeshe’dfeelsafe,moreprotected.Insteaditjustmadehermorevulnerableintheend.”Whatinspiredyoutowritethis?
HereI’mtalkingabouthowdifficultparentingisandthatwealwayssecond-guessourselves.Childrendon’tcomeoutofthewombwithaparentinghandbook—andonesizeneverfitsallwhenitcomestoraisingthem.Whensomethinggoeswrong,weoftenlookbackandfindfaultinourselves.RUNAWAYisalsoabouthowwefindblameinouractions,evenwhenit’sunwarranted,andhowweseekredemption.
Manyofyournovelstakeusintouniqueworlds,likethecultfeaturedinRUNAWAYortheabandonedNikemissilesitesthatcanstillbefoundaroundthecountryfeaturedinDon’tLetGo.Doyoudoalotofresearchinwritingyournovels?
Idosome.Iintentionallydon’toverdoitbecauseIliketocreatemyownrealityandIdon’twanttobogdownthestorywithtoomanyunnecessarydetails.Lessisoftenmorewiththiskindofthing.Itellnewwritersnottodotoomuchresearch,whichmayseemodd,butthetruthis,researchcanbemorefunandthusdistractingthanactuallywritingyourbook.Youprocrastinatewritingachapterbecauseyouwanttokeepdoingmoreresearch.That’sadanger.
Whenwritingathrillerfilledwithtwistsandturns,doyoubeginwithplottwistsalreadyinmind,ordotheycometoyounaturallyasyouwrite?
IknewthelasttwistinRUNAWAYbeforeIstarted—andman,ohman,ifthisisn’ttooimmodesttosay,Ichallengeyoutofigureitoutbeforethoselastfewpages.IalwaysknowtheendingbeforeIstart.Imayknowafewofthetwistsonthejourneytoo,butmostareorganic.
Doyourememberthefeelingoftypingthewords“TheEnd”onyourfirstmanuscript?Canyoudescribeit?WasthefeelingthesamewhenyoufinishedRUNAWAY,yourthirty-firstnovel?
It’saninterestingmixofsatisfaction(“Wow,Ididit!”)andtrepidation(“Willanyonelikeit??”).Thestakesaredifferent,butIthinkthosefeelingsarestillthere.Ialsofeelcompletelyexhausted.Iwritehardattheend.It’slikebeingaboxerstillthrowingpunchesinthefinalround.Whenthebellsounds,yousimplycollapse.
You’vemetsomanyofyourreadersandfansovertheyears.Doyouhaveanyfavoritememoriesofmeetingfansthatwereparticularlyfunnyortouching?
Therearesomany—Ireallyappreciatethemall—butmypersonalfavoritescomefromthesoldiersservingoverseas.DuringtheIraqWar,agroupofsoldierssentmeaphoto[ofthem]infullgearholdingupmybooksandahandwrittensignreadingCOBENBOOKCLUB—BAGHDADBRANCH.Ihavethatpichungupinmyhouse.Itreallymovedme.
You’vebeenwritingfortelevisionandfilmrecently—whatarethedifferencesbetweenconceivingandexecutingstoriesforthepageversusstoriesforthescreen?
ThebiggestdifferencebetweenthebooksandtheTV/filmisthatthelatterisacollaborationwhilenovelwritingisallme-me-me.IcreatedthecharacterofTominNetflix’sSafe—butthenitwentthroughtheprismofMichaelC.Hallinterpretingit.Icreatedtheten-episodeworldofNetflix’sTheFive—butthenanentirecrew,overahundredpeople,bringittolifeinawayIneverquiteenvisioned.Ienjoythat.
Theotherthingis,well,I’vewrittensomethinglikethirtynovels.That’salotoftimealoneinaroom.Ilovethat,ofcourse.Butit’snicetobeletoutofthatroomforalittlebit.Ialsothinkoneactivityfuelstheother—whenIamoutfortoolong,Ican’twaittogetbackintomyquietcoveandwritemorebooks.Paradoxically,doingbothTV/filmandnovelsmakesmemoreproductive,notless.
Whatareyouwritingnext?
AnotherbookandanotherTVshowforNetflix.Butlet’sfocusonthehereandnow,okay?LetmeknowwhatyouthinkofRUNAWAYorSafeonNetflix.IcanbereachedatTwitterorInstagram@harlancobenoronFacebook@harlancobenbooks.Andyes,ifyoucommentorpost,I’llreadit.
HARLANCOBENRETURNSWITHANEWPAGE-TURNINGTHRILLER
THEBOYFROMTHEWOODS
AVAILABLEMARCH2020
Pleaseturnthepageforapreview.
FromtheNorthJerseyGazette
April18,1986
ABANDONED“WILDBOY”FOUNDINTHEWOODS
HugeMysterySurroundingDiscoveryof“Real-LifeMowgli”
WESTVILLE,N.J.—Inoneofthemostbizarrecasesinrecenthistory,awild-hairedyoungboy,estimatedtobebetweensixandeightyearsold,wasdiscoveredlivingonhisownintheRamapoMountainStateForestnearthesuburbofWestville.Evenmorebizarre,authoritieshavenoideawhotheboyisorhowlonghehadbeenthere.
“It’slikeMowgliintheJungleBookmovie,”WestvilleDeputyPoliceChiefOrenCarmichaelsaid.
Theboy—whospeaksandunderstandsEnglishbuthasnoknowledgeofhisname—wasfirstspottedbyhikersfromClifton,N.J.“Wewerecleaningupfromourpicnicwhenweheardarustlinginthewoods.AtfirstIworrieditwasabear,butthenwecaughtsightofhimrunning,clearasday.”
Parkrangers,alongwithlocalpolice,foundtheboy,thinandcladintatteredclothes,inamakeshiftcampsitethreehourslater.“Atthistime,wedon’tknowhowlonghe’sbeeninthestateforestorhowhegothere,”saidNewJerseyStateParkPoliceChiefTonyAurigemma.“Hedoesn’trecallanyparentsoradultfigures.We’recurrentlycheckingwithotherlawenforcementauthorities,butsofar,therearenomissingchildrenwhomatchhisageanddescription.”
Forthepastyear,hikersintheRamapoMountainareahavereportedseeinga“feralboy”or“LittleTarzan”matchingtheboy’sdescription,butmostpeoplechalkedupthesightingstourbanlegend.
SaidahikerfromMorristown,N.J.,“It’slikesomeonejustbirthedhimandlefthiminthewild.”
“It’sthestrangestsurvivalcaseanyofushaveeverseen,”ChiefAurigemmasaid.“Wedon’tknowiftheboyhasbeenoutheredays,weeks,monthsorheck,evenyears.”
Ifanyonehasanyinformationontheyoungboy,theyareaskedtocontacttheWestvillePoliceDepartment.
“Someoneouttherehastoknowsomething,”DeputyChiefCarmichaelsaid.“Theboydidn’tjustappearintheforestbymagic.”
CHAPTERONE
Thirty-FourYearsLater
Howdoesshesurvive?
Howdoesshemanagetogetthroughthistormenteverysingleday?
Dayafterday.Weekafterweek.Yearafteryear.
Shesitsintheschoolassemblyhall,hereyesfixed,unseeing,unblinking.Herfaceisstone,amask.Shedoesn’tlookleftorright.Shedoesn’tmoveatall
Shejuststaresstraightahead.
Sheissurroundedbyclassmates,includingMatthew,butshedoesn’tlookatanyofthem.Shedoesn’ttalktoanyofthemeither,thoughthatdoesn’tstopthemfromtalkingtoher.Theboys—Ryan,Crash(yes,that’shisrealname),Trevor,Carter—keepcallinghernames,harshlywhisperingawfulthings,jeeringather,laughingwithscorn.Theythrowthingsather.Paperclips.Rubberbands.Flicksnotfromtheirnoses.Theyputsmallpiecesofpaperintheirmouths,wadthepaperintowetballs,propeltheminvariouswaysather.
Whenthepaperstickstoherhair,theylaughsomemore.
Thegirl—hernameisNaomi—doesn’tmove.Shedoesn’ttrytopullthewadsofpaperoutofherhair.Shejuststaresstraightahead.Hereyesaredry.Matthewcouldrememberatime,twoorthreeyearsago,whenhereyeswouldmoistenduringtheseceaseless,unrelenting,dailytaunts.
Butnowhereyesstaybonedry.
Matthewwatches.Hedoesnothing.
Theteachers,usedtothis,barelynotice.Onewearilycallsout,“Okay,Crash,that’senough,”butneitherCrashnoranyoftheothersgivethewarningtheslightestheed.
MeanwhileNaomijusttakesit.
Matthewshoulddosomethingtostopthebullying.Buthedoesn’t.Notanymore.Hetriedonce.
Itdidnotendwell.
MatthewtriestorememberwhenitallstartedtogowrongforNaomi.Shehadbeenahappykidinelementaryschool.Alwayssmiling,that’swhatheremembered.Yeah,herclotheswerehand-me-downsandshedidn’twashherhairenough.Someofthegirlsmademildfunofherforthat.ButithadbeenokayuntilthatdayshegotviolentlyillandthrewupinMrs.Walsh’sclass,fourthgrade,justprojectilevomitricochetingofftheclassroomlinoleum,thewetbrownchipssplashingonKimRogersandTaylorRussell,thesmellsobad,sorancid,thatMrs.Walshhadtocleartheclassroom,allthekids,Matthewoneofthem,andsendthemallouttothekickballfieldholdingtheirnosesandmakingpee-uwsounds.
Andafterthat,nothinghadbeenthesameforNaomi.
Matthewalwayswonderedaboutthat.Hadshenotfeltwellthatmorning?Didherfather—hermomwasalreadyoutofthepicturebythen—makehergotoschool?IfNaomihadjuststayedhomethatday,woulditallhavegonedifferentlyforher?Washerthrowing-upherslidingdoormoment,orwasitinevitablethatshewouldenduptravelingdownthisrough,dark,torturouspath?
Anotherspitballsticksinherhair.Morename-calling.Morecrueljeers.
Naomisitsthereandwaitsforittoend.
Endfornow,atleast.Fortodaymaybe.Shehastoknowthatitwon’tendforgood.Nottoday.Nottomorrow.Thetormentneverstopsforverylong.Itisherconstantcompanion.
Howdoesshesurvive?
Somedays,liketoday,Matthewreallypaysattentionandwantstodosomething.
Mostdays,hedoesn’t.Thebullyingstillhappensonthosedays,ofcourse,butitissofrequent,socustomary,itbecomesbackgroundnoise.Matthewhadlearnedanawfultruth:Yougrowimmunetocruelty.Itbecomesthenorm.Youacceptit.Youmoveon.
HasNaomijustacceptedittoo?Hasshegrownimmunetoit?
Matthewdoesn’tknow.Butshe’sthere,everyday,sittinginthelastrowinclass,thefirstrowatassembly,atacornertableallaloneinthecafeteria.
Untiloneday—aweekafterthisassembly—she’snotthere.
Oneday,Naomiisgone.
AndMatthewneedstoknowwhy.
CHAPTERTWO
Thehipsterpunditsaid,“Thisguyshouldbeinprison,noquestionsasked.”
Onlivetelevision,HesterCrimsteinwasabouttocounterpunchwhenshespottedwhatlookedlikehergrandsoninherperipheralvision.Itwashardtoseethroughthestudiolights,butitsureashelllookedlikeMatthew.
“Whoa,strongwords,”saidtheshow’shost,aonce-cutepreppywhosemaindebatetechniquewastofreezeabaffledexpressiononhisfaceasthoughtheguestwasanidiotnomatterhowmuchsensetheymade.“Anyresponse,Hester?”
Matthew’sappearance—ithadtobehim—hadthrownher.
“Hester?”
Notagoodtimetodwellwhenyou’reonair,sheremindedherself.Focus.
“You’regross,”Hestersaid.
“Pardon?”
“Youheardme.”SheaimedhernotoriouswitheringgazeatHipsterPundit.“Gross.”
WhyisMatthewhere?
Hergrandsonhadnevercometoherworkunannouncedbefore—nottoheroffice,nottoacourtroom,andnottothestudio.
“Caretoelaborate?”PrepsterHostasked.
“Sure,”Hestersaid.ThefieryglarestayedonHipsterPundit.“YouhateAmerica.”
“What?”
“Seriously,”Hestercontinued,throwingherhandsupintheair,“whyshouldwehaveacourtsystematall?Whoneedsit?Wehavepublicopinion,don’twe?Notrial,nojury,nojudge—lettheTwittermobdecide.”
HipsterPunditsatupalittlestraighter.“That’snotwhatIsaid.”
“It’sexactlywhatyousaid.”
“There’sevidence,Hester.Averyclearvideo.”
“Ooo,avideo.”Shewiggledherfingersasthoughsheweretalkingaboutaghost.“Soagain:Noneedforajudgeorjury.Let’sjusthaveyou,asbenevolentleaderoftheTwittermob—”
“I’mnot—”
“Hush,I’mtalking.Oh,I’msorry,Iforgetyourname.IkeepcallingyouHipsterPunditinmyhead,socanIjustcallyouTodd?”Heopenedhismouth,butHesterpushedon.“Great.Tellme,Todd,what’safittingpunishmentformyclient,doyouthink?Imean,sinceyou’regoingtopronounceguiltorinnocence,whynotalsodothesentencingforus?”
“Myname”—hepushedhishipsterglassesuphisnose—“isRick.Andweallsawthevideo.Yourclientpunchedamanintheface.”
“Thanksforthatanalysis.Youknowwhatwouldbehelpful,Todd?”
“It’sRick.”
“Rick,Todd,whatever.Whatwouldbehelpful,super-helpfulreally,wouldbeifyouandyourmobjustmadeallthedecisionsforus.Thinkofthetimewe’dsave.Wejustpostavideoonsocialmediaanddeclareguiltorinnocentfromthereplies.Thumbs-uporthumbs-down.There’dbenoneedforwitnessesortestimonyorevidence.JustJudgeRickToddhere.”
HipsterPundit’sfacewasturningred.“Weallsawwhatyourrichclientdidtothatpoorman.”
PrepsterHoststeppedin:“Beforewecontinue,let’sshowthevideoagainforthosejusttuningin.”
Hesterwasabouttoprotest,butthey’dalreadyshownthevideocountlesstimes,wouldshowitcountlessmoretimes,andhervoicinganyoppositionwouldbebothineffectiveandonlymakeherclient,awell-to-dofinancialconsultantnamedSimonGreene,appearevenmoreguilty.
Moreimportant,HestercouldusethefewsecondswiththecameraoffhertocheckonMatthew.
Theviralvideo—threemillionviewsandcounting—hadbeenrecordedonatourist’siPhoneinCentralPark.Onthescreen,Hester’sclient,SimonGreene,wearingaperfectlytailoredsuitwithaperfectlyWindsoredHermèstie,cockedhisfistandsmasheditintothefaceofathreadbare,disheveledyoungmanwho,Hesterknew,wasadrugaddictnamedAaronCorval.
BloodgushedfromCorval’snose.
TheimagewasirresistiblyDickensian—Mr.RichPrivilegedGuy,completelyunprovoked,suckerpunchesPoorStreetUrchin.
HesterquicklycranedhernecktowardMatthewandtried,throughthehazeofthestudiospotlights,tomeethiseye.Shewasafrequentlegalexpertoncablenews,andtwonightsaweek,“fameddefenseattorney”HesterCrimsteinhadherownsegmentonthisverynetworkcalledCrimsteinonCrime,thoughhernamewasnotpronouncedCrime-Rhymes-with-Prime-StinebutratherKrim-Rhymes-with-Prim-Steen,butthealliterationwasstillconsidered“televisionfriendly”andthetitlelookedgoodonthebottomscroll,sothenetworkranwithit.
Matthewstoodintheshadows.Hestercouldseethathergrandsonwaswringinghishands,justlikehisfatherusedtodo,andshefeltapangsodeepinherchestthatforamomentshecouldn’tbreathe.SheconsideredquicklycrossingtheroomandaskingMatthewwhyhewashere,butthepunchvideowasalreadyoverandHipsterRickToddwasfoamingatthemouth.
“See?”Spittleflewoutofhismouthandfoundahomeinhisbeard.“It’sclearasday.Yourrichclientattackedahomelessmanfornoreason.”
“Youdon’tknowwhatwentonbeforethattaperolled.”
“Itmakesnodifference.”
“Sureitdoes.That’swhywehaveasystemofjustice,sothatvigilanteslikeyoudon’tirresponsiblycallformobviolenceagainstaninnocentman.”
“Whoa,noonesaidanythingaboutmobviolence.”
“Sureyoudid.Ownitalready.Youwantmyclient,afatherofthreewithnorecord,inprisonrightnow.Notrial,nothing.Comeon,RickTodd,letyourinnerfascistout.”Hesterbangedthedesk,startlingPrepsterHost,andbegantochant:“Lockhimup,lockhimup.”
“Cutthatout!”
“Lockhimup!”
Thechantwasgettingtohim,hisfaceturningscarlet.“That’snotwhatImeantatall.You’reintentionallyexaggerating.”
“Lockhimup!”
“Stopthat.Nooneissayingthat.”
Hesterhadsomethingofagiftformimicry.Sheoftenuseditinthecourtroomtosubtlyifnotimmaturelyundermineaprosecutor.DoingherbestimpressionofRickTodd,sherepeatedhisearlierwordsverbatim:“Thisguyshouldbeinprison,noquestionsasked.”
“Thatwillbeuptoacourtoflaw,”HipsterRickToddsaid,“butmaybeifamanactslikethis,ifhepunchespeopleinthefaceinbroaddaylight,hedeservestobecanceledandlosehisjob.”
“Why?BecauseyouandDeplorableDentalHygienistandNailDaLadiesonTwittersayso?Youdon’tknowthesituation.Youdon’tevenknowifthetapeisreal.”
PrepsterHostarchedaneyebrowoverthatone.“Areyousayingthevideoisfake?”
“Couldbe,sure.Look,Ihadanotherclient.Someonephotoshoppedhersmilingfacenexttoadeadgiraffeandsaidshewasthehunterwhokilledit.Anex-husbanddidthatforrevenge.Canyouimaginethehateandbullyingshereceived?”
Thestorywasn’ttrue—Hesterhadmadeitup—butitcouldbetrue,andsometimesthatwasenough.
“WhereisyourclientSimonGreenerightnow?”HipsterRickToddasked.
“Whatdoesthathavetodowithanything?”
“He’shome,right?Outonbail?”
“He’saninnocentman,afineman,acaringman—”
“Andarichman.”
“Nowyouwanttogetridofourbailsystem?”
“Arichwhiteman.”
“Listen,RickTodd,Iknowyou’reall‘woke’andstuff,whatwiththecoolbeardandthehipsterbeanie—isthataKangol?—butyouruseofraceandyoureasyanswersareasbadastheotherside’suseofraceandeasyanswers.”
“Wow,deflectingusing‘bothsides.’”
“No,sonny,that’snotbothsides,solistenup.Whatyoudon’tseeis,youandthoseyouhate?Youarequicklybecomingoneandthesame.”
“Reversethisaround,”RickToddsaid.“IfSimonGreenewaspoorandblackandAaronCorvalwasrichandwhite—”
“They’rebothwhite.Don’tmakethisaboutrace.”
“It’salwaysaboutrace,butfine.Iftheguyinragshittherichwhitemaninasuit,hewouldn’thaveHesterCrimsteindefendinghim.He’dbeinjailrightnow.”
Hmm,Hesterthought.ShehadtoadmitRickToddhadaprettygoodpointthere.
PrepsterHostsaid,“Hester?”
Timewasrunningoutinthesegment,soHesterthrewupherhandsandsaid,“IfRickToddisarguingI’magreatattorney,whoamItodisagree?”
Thatdrewlaughs.
“Andthat’sallthetimewehavefornow.Comingupnext,thelatestcontroversysurroundingupstartpresidentialcandidateRustyEggers.IsRustypragmaticorcruel?Staywithus.”
Hesterpulledouttheearpieceandunclippedthemicrophone.TheywerealreadyheadedtocommercialbreakwhensheroseandcrossedtheroomtowardMatthew.Hewassotallnow,againlikehisfather,andanotherpangstruckhard.
Hestersaid,“Yourmother…?”
“She’sfine,”Matthewsaid.“Everyoneisokay.”
Hestercouldn’thelpit.Shethrewherarmsaroundtheprobablyembarrassedteen,wrappinghiminabearhug,thoughshewasbarelyfivetwoandhehadalmostafootonher.Moreandmoreshesawtheechoesofthefatherintheson.Matthewhadn’tlookedmuchlikeDavidwhenhewaslittle,whenhisfatherwasstillalive,butnowhedid—theposture,thewalk,thehandwringing,thecrinkleoftheforehead—anditallkilledhernow.Itshouldn’t,ofcourse.Itshould,infact,offersomemeasureofcomfortforHester,seeingherdeadson’sechoinhisboy,likesomesmallpartofDavidthatsurvivedthecrashandstilllivedon.Butinstead,theseghostlyglimmersripather,tearthewoundswideopenanew,evenafteralltheseyears,andHesterwonderedwhetherthepainwasworthit,ifitwasbettertofeelthispainthanfeelnothing—thatfeelingnothingorsomedaybeing“overit”feltliketheworstbetrayalofall.
Sosheheldhergrandsonandsqueezedhereyesshut.Theteenpattedherback,almostasthoughhewerehumoringher.
“Nana?”
Thatwaswhathecalledher.Nana.“You’rereallyokay?”
“I’mfine.”
Matthew’sskinwasbrownerthanhisfather’s.Hismother,Laila,wasblack,whichmadeMatthewblacktooorapersonofcolorormixedraceorwhatever.Agewasnoexcuse,butHester,whowasinherseventiesbuttoldeveryoneshestoppedcountingatsixty-nine—goahead,makeajoke,she’dheardthemall—foundithardtokeeptrackofthecorrectterminologyorracialdefinitions.
“Where’syourmother?”Hesterasked.
“Atwork,Iguess.”
“What’sthematter?”Hesterasked.
“There’sthisgirlinschool,”Matthewsaid.
“Whatabouther?”
“She’smissing,Nana.Iwantyoutohelp.”
CHAPTERTHREE
HernameisNaomiPine,”Matthewsaid.
TheywereinthebackseatofHester’sCadillacEscalade.Matthewhadtakenthehour-longtrainrideinfromWestville,changingattheFrankLautenbergstationinSecaucus,butHesterfiguredthatitwouldbeeasierandsmartertodrivehimbacktoWestville.Shehadn’tbeenouttovisitinamonth,muchtoolong,andsoshecouldbothhelpherdistraughtgrandsonwithhisproblemandspendsometimewithhimandhismom,killingtheallegoricaltwobirdswithonestone,whichwasareallyviolentandweirdimagewhenyoustoppedandthoughtaboutit.Youthrowastoneandkilltwobirds—andthisisagoodthing?
Lookatme,throwingastoneatabeautifulbird.Why?Whywouldapersondosuchathing?Idon’tknow.IguessI’mapsychopath,andwhoa—Ihittwobirdssomehow!Yay!Twodeadbirds!
“Nana?”
“ThisNaomi,”Hestersaid,pushingthesillyinnerrantaway.“She’syourfriend?”
Matthewshruggedasonlyateenagercan.“I’veknownhersincewewere,like,six.”
Notadirectanswer,butshe’dallowit.
“Howlonghasshebeenmissing?”
“For,like,aweek.”
Like,six.Like,aweek.ItdroveHestercrazy—the“likes,”the“youknows”—butnowwashardlythetime.
“Didyoutrytocallher?”
“Idon’tknowherphonenumber.”
“Arethepolicelookingforher?”
Teenageshrug.
“Didyoutalktoherparents?”
“Sheliveswithherdad.”
“Didyouspeaktoherdad?”
Hemadeafaceasthoughthatwasthemostridiculousthingimaginable.
“Sohowdoyouknowshe’snotsick?Orawayonvacationorsomething?”
Noreply.
“Whatmakesyouthinkshe’smissing?”
Matthewjuststaredoutthewindow.Tim,Hester’slongtimedriver,veeredtheEscaladeoffRoute17andintotheheartofWestville,NewJersey,lessthanthirtymilesfromManhattan.TheRamapoMountains,whichareactuallypartoftheAppalachiansineveryway,roseintoview.Thememories,astheyhaveahabitofdoing,swarmedinandattacked.
SomeoneoncetoldHesterthatmemoriessting,thegoodonesmostofall.Asshegotolder,Hesterrealizedjusthowtruethatwas.
Hesterandherlatehusband,Ira—gonenowsevenyears—hadraisedthreeboysinthe“mountainsuburb”(that’swhattheycalledit)ofWestville.Theiroldestson,Jeffrey,wasnowaDDSinLosAngelesandonhisfourthwife,arealestateagentnamedSandy.SandywasthefirstofJeffrey’swiveswhohadn’tbeenaninappropriatelyyoungerdentalhygienistinhisoffice.Progress,shehoped.Theirmiddleson,Eric,likehisfatherbeforehim,workedinthenebulousworldoffinance—Hestercouldneverunderstandwhateitherman,herhusbandorson,actuallydid,somethingwithmovingpilesofmoneyfromAtoBtofacilitateC.Ericandhiswife,Stacey,hadthreeboys,agedtwoyearsapart,justasHesterandIrahaddone.ThefamilyhadrecentlymoveddowntoRaleigh,NorthCarolina,whichseemedalltheragenowadays.
Theiryoungestson—andtruthbetold,Hester’sfavorite—hadbeenMatthew’sfather,David.
HesteraskedMatthew,“Whattimewillyourmombehome?”
Hismother,Laila,likegrandmotherHester,workedinamajorlawfirminParamus,thoughshespecializedinfamilylaw.She’dstartedhercareerasHester’sassociateduringsummerswhileattendingColumbiaLawSchool.ThatwashowLailahadfirstmetHester’sson.
LailaandDavidhadfalleninloveprettymuchrightaway.They’dgottenmarried.TheyhadasonnamedMatthew.
“Idon’tknow,”Matthewsaid.“Wantmetotexther?”
“Sure.”
“Nana?”
“What,hon?”
“Don’ttellMomaboutthis.”
“About…?”
“AboutNaomi.”
“Whynot?”
“Justdon’t,okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Stopit,”Hestersaidwithalittlesnapthatheneededhertosaythis.Then,moregently:“Ipromise.Ofcourse,Ipromise.”
MatthewfiddledwithhisphoneasTimmadethefamiliarrightturn,thenleft,thentwomorerights.Theywereonastorybook-greencul-de-saccalledDowningLanenow.Upaheadwasthegrandlog-cabin-stylehomeHesterandIrahadbuiltforty-twoyearsago.ItwasthehomewheresheandIraraisedJeffrey,Eric,andDavid,andthen,fifteenyearsago,withtheirsonsgrown,HesterandIradecideditwastimetoleaveWestville.They’dlovedtheirhomeinthefoothillsoftheRamapoMountains,IramorethanHesterbecause,Godhelpher,IrawasanoutdoorsmanwholovedhikingandfishingandallthosethingsthatmennamedIraCrimsteinwerenotsupposedtolike.Butithadbeentheirtimetomoveon.TownslikeWestvillearemeantforraisingchildren.Yougetmarried,youmoveoutfromthecity,youhaveafewbabies,yougototheirsoccergamesanddancerecitals,yougetoverlyemotionalattheirgraduationsandcommencements,theygotocollege,theyvisitandsleepinlate,andthentheystopdoingeventhatandyou’realoneandreally,likeanylifecycle,it’stimetoputthisbehindyou,sellthehousetoanotheryoungcouplewhomoveoutfromthecitytohaveafewbabies,andstartanew.
TherewasnothingforyouintownslikeWestvillewhenyougotolder—andtherewasnothingwrongwiththat.
SoHesterandIradidindeedmoveon.TheyfoundanapartmentonRiversideDriveontheUpperWestSideofManhattanfacingtheHudsonRiver.Theylovedit.ForalmostthirtyyearstheyhadcommutedonthatsametrainMatthewhadtakentoday,changinginHobokenbackinthosedays,andnow,intheiradvancingyears,tobeabletowakeupandwalkorquicklysubwaytoworkwasheaven.
HesterandIrarelishedlivinginNewYorkCity.
AsfortheoldmountainhomeonDowningLane,theyendedupsellingittoDavidandLaila,who’djusthadtheirfirstchild—Matthew.HesterthoughtitmightbeoddforDavid,livinginthesamehousehe’dgrownupin,butheclaimedthatitwouldbetheperfectplacetostartandraiseafamilyofhisown.HeandLailadidanentirerenovation,puttingtheirownstamponthehouse,makingtheinterioralmostunrecognizabletoHesterandIraduringtheirvisitsouthere.
Matthewwasstillstaringdownathisphone.Shetouchedhisknee.Helookedup.
“Didyoudosomething?”sheasked.
“What?”
“WithNaomi.”
Heshookhishead.“Ididn’tdoanything.That’stheproblem.”
Timpulledtoastopinherolddrivewayatheroldhouse.Thememoriesdidn’tbotherswarminganymore—theyjustfull-onassaulted.Timputthecarinparkandturnedtolookather.Timhadbeenwithherfornearlytwodecades,sincehe’dfirstimmigratedfromtheBalkans.Soheknew.Hemethereye.Shegavehimtheslightestofnodstolethimknowthatshe’dbeokay.
MatthewhadalreadythankedTimandgottenout.HesterreachedforthedoorhandlebutTimstoppedherwithaclearofhisthroat.HesterrolledhereyesandwaitedwhileTim,abigslabofaman,rolledhiswayoutofhisseatintoastandingpositionandopenedthedoorforher.Itwasacompletelyunnecessarygesture,butTimfeltinsultedwhenHesteropenedthedooronherown,andreally,shefoughtenoughbattleseveryday,thankyouverymuch.
“Notsurehowlongwe’llbe,”shesaidtoTim.
Hisaccentremainedthick.“I’llbehere.”
Matthewhadopenedthefrontdoorofthehousewithhiskeyandleftitajar.HestersharedonemorelookwithTimbeforewalkingupthecobblestonepath—thesameonesheandIrainstalledthemselvesoveraweekendthirty-threeyearsago—andheadinginsidethehome.Sheclosedthedoorbehindher.
“Matthew?”
“Inthekitchen.”
Shemovedtothebackofthehouse.ThedoorofthehugeSub-Zerorefrigerator—thathadn’tbeenthereinherday—wasopen,andagainsheflashedbacktohisfatheratthatage,toallherboysduringtheirhighschoolyears:Jeffrey,Eric,andDavid,alwayswiththeirheadsintherefrigerator.Therewereneverenoughgroceriesinthehouse.Theyateliketrashcompactorswithfeet.Ifsheboughtfood,itwasgonethenextday.
“Youhungry,Nana?”
“No,I’mgood.”
“Yousure?”
“I’msure.Tellmewhat’sgoingon,Matthew.”
Hisheadcameintoview.“DoyoumindifIjustmakealittlesnackfirst?”
“I’lltakeyououttodinner,ifyouwant.”
“Igottoomuchhomework.”
“Suityourself.”
HesterwanderedintothedenwiththeTV.Shesmelledburntwood.Someonehadrecentlyusedthefireplace.Thatwasstrange.Ormaybeitwasn’t.Shecheckedoutthecoffeetable.
Itwasneat.Tooneat,shethought.
Magazinesstacked.Coastersstacked.Everythinginitsproperplace.
Hesterfrowned.
WithMatthewbusyeatinghissandwich,shetiptoeduptothesecondlevel.Thiswasnoneofherbusiness,ofcourse.Davidhadbeendeadfortenyears.Lailadeservedtobehappy.Hestermeantnoharm,butshealsocouldn’thelpherself.
Sheenteredthemasterbedroom.
David,sheknew,hadsleptonthefarsideofthebed,Lailabythedoor.Thekingbedwasmade.Immaculately.
Tooneat,shethoughtagain.
Alumpformedinherthroat.Shecrossedtheroomandcheckedthebathroom.Immaculatetoo.Stillnotabletostopherself,shecheckedthepillowonDavid’sside.
David’sside?Yoursonhasbeengonefortenyears,Hester.Leaveitbe.
Ittookafewseconds,buteventuallyshelocatedalight-brownhaironthepillow.
Alonglight-brownhair.
Leaveitbe,Hester.
Thebedroomwindowlookedontothebackyardandthemountainbeyond.Thelawnblurredintotheslopeandthenfadedawayintoafewtrees,thenmoretrees,thenafull-onthickforest.Herboyshadplayedthere,ofcourse.IrahadhelpedthembuildatreehouseandfortsandLordknewwhat.Theymadesticksintogunsandknives.Theyplayedhide-and-seek.
Oneday,whenDavidwassixyearsoldandsupposedlyalone,Hesterhadoverheardhimtalkingtosomeoneinthosewoods.Whensheaskedhimaboutit,littleDavidtensedupandsaid,“Iwasjustplayingwithme.”
“ButIheardyoutalkingtosomeone.”
“Oh,”heryoungsonhadsaid,“thatwasmyinvisiblefriend.”
Ithadbeen,asfarasHesterknew,theonlylieDavidhadevertoldher.
Fromdownstairs,Hesterheardthefrontdooropen.
Matthew’svoice:“Hey,Mom.”
“Where’syourgrandmother?”
“Righthere,”hesaid.“Uh,Nana?”
“Coming!”
Feelingbothpanickedandlikeatotalidiot,Hesterquicklyslippedoutofthebedroomandintothehallwaybathroom.Sheclosedthedoor,flushedthetoilet,andevenranthewatertomakeitlookgood.Thensheheadedtowardthestairs.Lailawasatthebottom,staringupather.
“Hey,”Hestersaid.
“Hey.”
Lailawasgorgeous.Therewasnowayaroundit.Shedazzledinthefittedgraybusinesssuitthathuggedwhereitshould,whichinhercasewaseverywhere.Herblousewasavibrantwhite,especiallyagainstthedarknessofherskin.
“Youokay?”Lailaasked.
“Oh,sure.”
Hestermadeittherestofthewaydownthestairs.Thetwowomenhuggedbriefly
“Sowhatbringsyouout,Hester?”
Matthewcameintotheroom.“Nanawashelpingmewithaschoolreport.”
“Really?Onwhat?”
“Thelaw,”hesaid.
Lailamadeaface.“Andyoucouldn’taskme?”
“And,uh,alsobeingonTV,”Matthewaddedclumsily.Notagoodliar,Hesterthought.Again,likehisdad.“Uh,like,nooffense,Mom,beingafamouslawyer.”
“Thatafact?”
LailaturnedtoHester.Hestershrugged.
“Okaythen,”Lailasaid.
HesterflashedbacktoDavid’sfuneral.Lailahadstoodthere,holdinglittleMatthew’shand.Hereyesweredry.Shedidn’tcry.Notoncethatday.NotonceinfrontofHesteroranyoneelse.Laterthatnight,HesterandIratookMatthewoutforahamburgeratABG’sinAllendale.Hesterhadleftearlyandcomeback.Shewalkedintothebackyard,intotheopeninginthewoodswhereshe’dseenDaviddisappearcountlesstimestogoseeWilde,andevenfromthere,evenatthatdistancewiththenightwindhowling,shecouldhearthegutturalcriesofLailaaloneinherbedroom.Thecriesweresoraw,soripping,sopainedthatHesterthoughtthatmaybeLailawouldbreakinawaynoonecouldeverfix.
Lailahadnotremarried.Iftherewereothermeninthepasttenyears—andtherehadtohavebeenmany,manyoffers—shehadnottoldHesteraboutthem.
Butnow,therewasthistoo-neathouseandthislongbrownhair.
Leaveitbe,Hester.
Withoutwarning,HesterreachedoutwithbotharmsandpulledLailainclose.
Surprised,Lailasaid,“Hester?”
Leaveitbe.
“Iloveyou,”Hesterwhispered.
“Iloveyoutoo.”
Hestersqueezedhereyesshut.Shecouldn’tkeeptearsback.
“Areyouokay?”Lailaasked.
Hestergatheredherself,tookastepback,smoothedherclothes.“I’mfine.”Shereachedintoherpurseandgrabbedoutatissue.“Ijustget…”
Lailanodded.Hervoicewassoft.“Iknow.”
Fromoverhismother’sshoulder,HesterspottedMatthewshakinghishead,remindingherofwhathe’dsaid.
Hestersaid,“Ibettergo.”
Shekissedthembothandhurriedoutthedoor.
Timwaswaitingforherwiththedooropen.Heworeablacksuitandchauffeurcaptoworkeveryday,whatevertheweatherorseason,eventhoughHestertoldhimhedidn’thavetoandneitherthesuitnorthecapeverseemedtofithimright.Itcouldbehisbulkyframe.Itcouldbethathecarriedagun.
Thatwouldexplaintheill-suitedsuitanyway.Thecap,whoknew?
Assheslidintothebackseat,Hesterturnedforonelastlookatthehouse.Matthewstoodinthedoorway.Helookedather.Ithitheranew:
Hergrandsonwasaskingforherhelp.
Hehadneverdonethatbefore.Hewasn’ttellingherthewholestory.Notyet.Butasshewallowedinherownpity,inherownmisery,inthisawfulholeinherownlife,sheremindedherselfthatitwasamuchbiggerandmoreawfulholeforMatthew,growingupwithoutafather,growingup,especially,withoutthatfather,withoutthatgoodandkindmanwhohadbeenthebestofHesterandevenmoreIra—Ira,whodiedofaheartattack,shewasconvinced,becausehecouldnevergetovertheheartbreakoflosinghissoninthatcrash.
Timslidbackintothedriver’sseat.
“YouheardwhatMatthewsaid?”sheasked.
“Yes.”
“Whatdoyouthink?”
Timshrugged.“He’shidingsomething.”
Hesterdidnotreply.
“Sobacktocity?”Timasked.
“Notyet,”Hestersaid.“Let’sstopattheWestvillepolicestationfirst.”
CHAPTERFOUR
Well,well,well,asIliveandbreathe.HesterCrimsteininmylittlestation.”
ShesatintheofficeofWestvillepolicechiefOrenCarmichael,who,nearingretirementatageseventy,remainedwhathe’dalwaysbeen—agrade-Aprimesliceoftop-shelfbeefcake.
“Nicetoseeyoutoo,Oren.”
“Youlookgood.”
“Sodoyou.”Grayhairworkedsowellonmen,Hesterthought.Damnunfair.“How’sCheryl?”
“Leftme,”hesaid.
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Cherylalwayshitmeasdumb.”
“Right?”
“Nooffense.”
“Nonetaken.”
“Shewasbeautiful,”Hesteradded.
“Yes.”
“Butdumb.Isthatinsensitive?”
“Cherylmightthinkso.”
“Idon’tcarewhatshethinks.”
“Meneither.”OrenCarmichael’ssmilestunned.“Thisback-and-forthisfun.”
“Isn’tit?”
“ButIsomehowdon’tthinkyou’rehereformymiddlingrepartee.”
“Icouldbe.”Hestersatback.“Whatdothekidscallitwhenyoudomorethanonethingatatime?”
“Multitasking.”
“Right.”Shecrossedherlegs.“Somaybethat’swhatI’mdoing.”
Hesterwouldsayshe’sasuckerforamaninauniform,butthatwassuchacliché.Still,OrenCarmichaellookedmightyfitinthatuniform.
“Doyourememberthelasttimeyouwerehere?”Orenasked.
Hestersmiled.“Jeffrey.”
“Hewasdroppingeggsoncarsfromtheoverpass.”
“Goodtimes,”Hestersaid.“WhydidyoucallIratopickJeffreyupinsteadofme?”
“Iradidn’tscareme.”
“AndIdid?”
“Ifyouwanttousethepasttense,sure.”OrenCarmichaeltiltedhischairback.“Doyouwanttotellmewhyyou’rehere,orshouldwekeepwiththebanter?”
“Thinkwe’llgetbetteratit?”
“Thebanter?Can’tgetworse.”
Thirty-fouryearsago,Orenhadbeenonthepossethatfoundtheyoungboyinthewoods.Everyone,includingHester,thoughtthatmysterywouldbesolvedquickly,butnooneeverclaimedWilde.Nooneeverfoundoutwholefthiminthewoodsorhowhe’dgottenthereinthefirstplace.Nooneeverfiguredouthowlongthelittleboyhadlivedonhisownorhowhehadsurvived.
Noone—still,afteralltheseyears—knewwhothehellWildereallywas.
ShethoughtnowofaskingOrenaboutWilde,justtogetanupdateonhim,maybeusethatasawaytoeaseintotherest.
ButWildewasn’therbusinessanymore.
Shehadtoleavethatalone,soshedoveintotherealreasonshewashere.
“NaomiPine.Youknowwhosheis?”
OrenCarmichaelfoldedhishandsandrestedthemonthatflatstomach.“DoyouthinkIknoweveryhighschoolgirlinthistown?”
“Howdidyouknowshe’sahighschoolgirl?”Hesterasked.
“Can’tgetanythingpastyou.Let’ssayIknowher.”
Hesterwasn’tsurehowtoputit,butagainthedirectrouteseemedthebest.“Asourcetellsmeshe’smissing.”
“Asource?”
Okay,sonotsodirect.ByGod,Orenwashandsome.“Yes.”
“Hmm,isn’tyourgrandsonaboutNaomi’sage?”
“Let’spretendthat’sacoincidence.”
“He’sagoodkid,bytheway.Matthew,Imean.”
Shesaidnothing.
“Istillcoachthebasketballteam,”hecontinued.“Matthewishardworkingandscrappylike…”
HestoppedbeforehecouldsayDavid’sname.Neitherofthemmoved.Forafewmoments,thesilencesuckedsomethingoutoftheroom.
“Sorry,”Orensaid.
“Don’tbe.”
“ShouldIpretendagain?”heasked.
“No,”Hestersaidinasoftvoice.“Never.NotwhenitcomestoDavid.”
Oren,inhiscapacityaspolicechief,hadgonetothescenethenightofthecrash.
“Toansweryourquestion,”Orensaid,“no,Idon’tknowanythingaboutNaomibeingmissing.”
“Noonecalleditinoranything?”
“No,why?”
“She’sbeenoutofschoolforaweek.”
“So?”
“Socouldyoujustmakeacall?”
“You’reworried?”
“That’sputtingittoostrongly.Let’sjustsayacallwouldputmymindatease.”
Orenscratchedhischin.“IsthereanythingIshouldknow?”
“Otherthanmyphonenumber?”
“Hester.”
“No,nothing.I’mdoingthisasafavor.”
Orenfrowned.Then:“I’llmakesomecalls.”
“Great.”
Helookedather.Shelookedathim.
Orensaid,“Iguessyoudon’twantmetodothislaterandcallyouwiththeresults?”
“Why,areyoubusyrightnow?”
Hesighed.OrencalledNaomi’shousefirst.Noanswer.Thenhecalledtheschool’struantofficer.Thetruantofficerputhimonhold.Whentheofficercamebackontheline,shesaid,“Sofar,thestudent’sabsenceshavebeenverified.”
“Youspoketoaparent?”
“Notme,butsomeoneintheoffice.”
“Whatdidtheparentsay?”
“It’sjustmarkedasexcused.”
“Nothingelse?”
“Why?AreyourequestingthatItakearideoutthere?”
OrenlookedoverthephoneatHester.Hestershookherhead.
“No,I’mjustcheckingalltheboxes.Anythingelse?”
“Justthatthisgirlwillprobablyneedtoeitherrepeatthegradeordoextensivesummerschool.She’sbeenabsentalotthissemester.”
“Thankyou.”
Orenhungup.
“Thanks,”Hestersaid.
“Sure.”
Shethoughtaboutit.“IgethowyouknowMatthew,”shesaidslowly.“Fromme.FromDavid.Fromthebasketballteam.”
Hesaidnothing.
“AndIknowyou’reveryactiveinthecommunity,whichiscommendable.”
“Butyou’rewonderinghowIknowNaomi.”
“Yes.”
“Iprobablyshouldhavesaidwhyfromthestart.”
“I’mlistening.”
“RememberthemovieBreakfastClub?”heasked.
“No.”
Orenlookedsurprised.“Youneversawit?”
“No.”
“Really?Man,mykidshaditonallthetime,eventhoughitwasbeforetheirtime.”
“Isthereapoint?”
“DoyouremembertheactressAllySheedy?”
Shebitbackasigh.“No.”
“Notimportant.Inthemovie,AllySheedyplaysahighschooloutcastwhoremindsmeofNaomi.Inoneconfessionalscene,thecharacterletsdownherguardandsays,‘Myhomelifeisunsatisfying.’”
“Andthat’sNaomi?”
Orennodded.“Thiswouldn’tbethefirsttimeshe’srunaway.Herfather—andthisisconfidential—hasthreeDUIs.”
“Anysignsofabuse?”
“No,Idon’tthinkthat’sit.Morelikeneglect.Naomi’smotherwalkedout,Idon’tknow,five,tenyearsago.Hardtosay.Thedadworkslonghoursinthecity.Ithinkhe’sjustinoverhisheadraisingthegirlalone.”
“Okay,”Hestersaid.“Thanksfortellingme.”
“Letmewalkyouout.”
Whentheyreachedthedoor,theyturnedtoeachotherfullon.Hesterfeltablushcometohercheeks.Ablush.Areyouevertooold?
“SodoyouwanttotellmewhatMatthewsaidtoyouaboutNaomi?”Orenasked.
“Nothing.”
“Please,Hester,let’spretendthatI’matrainedlawenforcementofficerwhohasbeenonthejobforfortyyears.Youcasuallystopbymyofficeandaskaboutatroubledgirlwhohappenstobeaclassmateofyourgrandson’s.ThedetectiveinmewonderswhyandconcludesthatMatthewmusthavesaidsomethingtoyou.”
Hesterwasgoingtodenyit,butthatwouldn’tdoanygood.“Offtherecord,yes,Matthewaskedmetolookintoit.”
“Why?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Hewaited.
“Ireallydon’t.”
“Okaythen.”
“Heseemsworriedabouther.”
“Worriedhow?”
“Again,Idon’tknow.Butifyoudon’tmind,I’mgoingtolookintoitalittle.”
Orenfrowned.“Lookintoithow?”
“IthinkI’llstopbyherhouse.Talktothefather.Thatokay?”
“WoulditmatterifIsaiditwasn’t?”
“No.Andno,Idon’tthinkthereisanythingtoit.”
“But?”
“ButMatthewhasneveraskedmeforanythingbefore.Doyouunderstand?”
“IthinkIdo,yes,”hesaid.“Andifyoulearnanythingwhilelookingintoit…”
“I’llcallyouimmediately,promise.”Hestertookoutherbusinesscardandhandedittohim.“That’smycellnumber.”
“Youwantmine?”
“Thatwon’tbenecessary.”
Hekepthiseyesonthecard.“Butdidn’tyoujustsayyou’dcallme?”
Shecouldfeelherheartbeatinginherchest.Agewasafunnything.Whenyourheartstartsbeatinglikethis,you’reinhighschoolalloveragain.
“Oren?”
“Yes?”
“Iknowwearesupposedtobeallmodernandwokeandallthat.”
“Right.”
“ButIstillthinktheguyshouldcallthegirl.”
Heheldupherbusinesscard.“Andbycoincidence,Inowhaveyourphonenumber.”
“Smallworld.”
“Takecare,Hester.”
***
“Justthebasics,”Timsaid,handingsheetsbacktoHester.“Morecomingsoon.”
TheystoredaprinterinthetrunkthathookeduptoalaptopTimkeptintheglovecompartment.SometimesHester’sparalegalsdownloadedinformationtoherphone,butHesterstillpreferredthetactilereadingexperienceofpaper.Shelikedtomakenoteswithapenorunderlineimportantphrases.
Oldschool.Orjustold.
“YouhavetheaddressforNaomiPine?”sheaskedhim.
“Ido.”
“Howfaraway?”
TimlookedattheGPS.“Two-point-sixmiles,eightminutes.”
“Let’sgo.”
SheskimmedthenotesasTimdrove.NaomiPine,sixteenyearsold.Parentsdivorced.Father,Bernard.Mother,Pia.Fatherhadsolecustody,whichwasinterestinginandofitself.Infact,Motherhadgivenupallparentalclaims.Unusual,toputitmildly.
Thehousewasoldandworn.Thepainthadatonetimebeenwhite,butitwasmoreacream-to-brownnowinawaythatsuggesteddirtandmold.Everywindowwasblockedbyeitherathickshadeorclosedalbeitbrokenshutters.
“Whatdoyouthink?”HesteraskedTim.
Timmadeaface.“Lookslikeasafehousefromtheoldcountry.Ormaybesomeplacetotorturedissidents.”
“Waithere.”
AredAudiA6inmintcondition,probablyworthmorethanthehouse,satinthedriveway.Asshegotclosertothedoor,HestercouldseethatthehousehadatonepointbeenagrandVictorian.Therewasawraparoundporchanddetailedbutworncrownmoldingdetails.Thehousehadbeen,shebet,whattheyusedtocallaPaintedLady,thoughthepaintwasscantandwhateverfemininecharmsshehadoncepossessedhadlonggonetoseed.
Hesterknockedonthedoor.Nothing.Sheknockedsomemore.
Aman’svoicesaid,“Justleavewhateveratthedoor.”
“Mr.Pine?”
“I’mbusyrightnow.IfIhavetosignforit—”
“Mr.Pine,I’mnothereforadelivery.”
“Whoareyou?”
Hisvoicehadalittleslurinit.Hehadstillnotopenedthedoor.
“MynameisHesterCrimstein.”
“Who?”
“Hester—”
Thedoorfinallyopened.
“Mr.Pine?”
“HowdoIknowyou?”heasked.
“Youdon’t.”
“Yeah,Ido.You’reonTVorsomething.”
“Right.MynameisHesterCrimstein.”
“Whoa.”BernardPinesnappedhisfingersandpointedather.“You’rethatcriminallawyerthat’salwaysonthenews,right?”
“Right.”
“Iknewit.”Hestartledbackhalfastep,nowwary.“Wait,whatdoyouwantwithme?”
“I’mhereaboutyourdaughter.”
Hiseyeswidenedabit.
“Naomi,”Hesteradded.
“Iknowmydaughter’sname,”hehalfsnapped.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“She’sbeenabsentfromschool.”
“So?Areyouatruantofficer?”
“No.”
“Sowhatdoesmydaughterhavetodowithyou?Whatdoyouwantfromme?”
Helookedthepartofthemanwho’djustcomehomefromahardday’swork.Thesuitjacketwasoff.Thecuffsofhissleeveswereunbuttoned.Thetiewasloosened.Thereweretwoidenticalpensclippedtohischestpocket.Hisfive-o’clockshadowwasclosertoseveno’clock,hiseyesrimmedwithred;hisverybeingemanatedexhaustion.Hesterwouldbettherewasaglassofsomethinginthespiritfamilyalreadypoured.
“MayIspeaktoNaomi?”
“Why?”
“I’m…”Hestertriedonherlegendarydisarmingsmile.“Look,Idon’tmeananyharm.I’mnothereinanysortoflegalcapacity.”
“Thenwhyareyouhere?”
“Iknowthisisoutoftheordinary,butisNaomiokay?”
“Idon’tunderstand—whyismydaughteranyofyourbusiness?”
“She’snot.Idon’tmeantopry.”Hestertriedtoconsideralltheanglesonthisanddecidedtogowiththemostpersonalandtruthfulreply.“NaomigoestoschoolwithmygrandsonMatthew.Maybeshe’smentionedhim?”
Pine’slipstightened.“Whyareyouhere?”
“I…MatthewandIjustwantedtomakesurethatshewasokay.”
“She’sfine.”
Hestartedtoclosethedoor.
“CanIseeher?”
“Areyouserious?”
“Iknowshe’sbeenoutofschool.”
“So?”
Enoughwiththedisarming.Sheputatouchofsteelinhervoice.“SowhereisNaomi,Mr.Pine?”
“Whatrightdoyou—”
“None,”Hestersaid.“Noright.Zero,zilch.ButafriendofNaomi’sisworriedabouther.”
“Afriend?”Hemadeascoffingnoise.“Soyourgrandsonisherfriend,ishe?”
Hesterwasn’tsurewhattomakeofhistone.“I’mjustaskingtoseeher.”
“She’snothere.”
“Whereisshe,then?”
“That’sreallynotyourbusiness.”
Alittlemoresteelinthetonenow:“Yousaidyou’veseenmeonTV.”
“So?”
“Soyouprobablyknowthatyoudon’twanttogetonmybadside.”
Sheglaredathim.Hesteppedback.
“Naomiisvisitinghermother.”Hisgripontheknobofthedoortightened.“AndMs.Crimstein?Mydaughterdoesn’tconcernyouoryourgrandson.Getoffmypropertynow.”
Heclosedthedoor.Then,asthoughtoaddemphasis,heboltedthelockwithanaudibleclick.
Timwasoutsideandwaiting.Heopenedthecardoorassheapproached.
“Douche-nozzle,”shemuttered.
Timdidn’taskfordetails.Ifheneededtoknow,Hesterwouldtellhim.Shewouldn’tneedprompting.
Itwasgettinglate.Nighthadfallen.Thelightingouthere,especiallynearthemountains,wasnearnonexistent.TherewasnothingmoretobedoneaboutNaomiPinetonight.
Timslidintothedriver’sseatandstartedupthecar.“Weshouldprobablystartheadingback,”hesaid.“Yoursegmentstartsintwohours.”
Timmethereyeintherearviewmirrorandwaited.
“Howlonghasitbeensincewe’vebeentoWilde’s?”Hesterasked.
“It’llbesixyearsinSeptember.”
Sheshouldhavebeensurprisedathowmuchtimehadpassed.SheshouldhavebeensurprisedthatTimrecalledtheyearandmonthsoquickly.
Shouldhavebeen.Butwasn’t.
“Doyouthinkyoucouldstillfindhisroad?”
“Thistimeofnight?”Timconsideredit.“Probably.”
“Let’stry.”
“Youcan’tcall?”
“Idon’tthinkhehasaphone.”
“Hemayhavemoved.”
“No,”Hestersaid.
“Orhemaynotbehome.”
“Tim.”
Heshiftedthecarintodrive.“Onourway.”
AbouttheAuthor
Withmorethanseventymillionbooksinprintworldwide,HarlanCobenisthe#1NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofnumeroussuspensenovels,includingDon’tLetGo,Home,andFoolMeOnce,aswellasthemultiaward-winningMyronBolitarseries.Hisbooksarepublishedinforty-threelanguagesaroundtheglobeandhavebeennumberonebestsellersinmorethanadozencountries.HelivesinNewJersey.
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“Coben’sworkisfulloftheunexpected…easilymovesbackandforthbetweenheartbreakingandheart-pounding.”
―CrimeReads
“Atwisty,edge-of-your-seatthriller…tosaymorewouldruinthesheergeniusof…anabsolutelybrilliant,tautthrillerthatbegstobereadinonesitting.”
—LibraryJournal(starredreview)
“I’mahugeHarlanCobenfan,andIjustfinishedRunAway—maybemyall-timefavoriteofhis!Inadditiontotheincredibletwistsandsurprisesthatheisfamousfor,thebookisapowerfulandemotionalportraitofafather’sanguishatlosinghisdaughterandthelimitlesslengthsthatparentswillgoinordertosavetheirchildfromdanger.Impossibletoputdown!”
—S.A.Lelchuk,EntertainmentWeekly
“RunAwaybyHarlanCobenprovesonceagainheisamasterstoryteller…excitingandriveting.Readerswillbeunabletoputthebookdown.”
—CrimespreeMagazine
“Yetanotherfantasticthrillerfromthemaster.”
—Bookstr.com
“Whenitcomestomisdirectionandcatchingreadersoffguard,noone’sbetterthanHarlanCoben,whocontinuestolandunexpectedtwistsandshockingreveals.Fast-pacedandhelplesslyentertaining,RunAwayiseverythinghisreadershavecometoexpectandthensome.”
—RealBookSpy
AlsobyHarlanCoben
PlayDead
MiracleCure
DealBreaker
DropShot
FadeAway
BackSpin
OneFalseMove
TheFinalDetail
DarkestFear
TellNoOne
GoneforGood
NoSecondChance
JustOneLook
TheInnocent
PromiseMe
TheWoods
HoldTight
LongLost
Caught
LiveWire
Shelter
StayClose
SecondsAway
SixYears
MissingYou
Found
TheStranger
FoolMeOnce
Home
Don’tLetGo
TableofContents
Title
Copyright
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
ChapterForty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
DiscoverMoreHarlanCoben
AConversationwithHarlanCoben
HarlanCobenReturnsWithANewPage-TurningThrillerTHEBOYFROMTHEWOODS
AbouttheAuthor
PRAISEFORRUNAWAY
AlsobyHarlanCoben