Three Harlan Coben Novels

by Harlan Coben

  Loren Muse turned to him. “I never said I thought it was Lorraine Wolf.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sometimes the most obvious answer is the right one.”

  Myron shook his head. “I’m not following you.”

  “Go back a second,” Loren Muse said.

  “How far back?”

  “All the way to Edna Skylar on the streets of New York City.”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe we had it right all along. From the moment she called us.”

  “I’m still not following.”

  “Edna Skylar confirmed what we already knew: that Katie Rochester was a runaway. And at first, that’s what we all thought about Aimee Biel too, right?”

  “So?”

  Loren Muse said nothing.

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying you think Aimee Biel ran away?”

  “There are a lot of unanswered questions,” Loren said.

  “So ask them.”

  “Ask who?”

  “What do you mean, who? Ask Aimee Biel.”

  “We tried.” Loren Muse smiled. “Aimee’s lawyer won’t let us talk to her.”

  Myron sat back.

  “Don’t you find that odd?”

  “Her parents want her to put it behind her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was a traumatic experience for her,” Myron said.

  Loren Muse just looked at him. So did Lance Banner.

  “That story she told you,” Loren said. “About being drugged and held in some log cabin.”

  “What about it?”

  “There are holes.”

  A cold pinprick started at the base of Myron’s neck and slid south down his spine. “What holes?”

  “First off, we have the anonymous source who called me. The one who saw her tooling around with Drew Van Dyne. If Aimee were kidnapped, how could that be exactly?”

  “Your witness was wrong.”

  “Right. She happened to pick out the make of the car and described Drew Van Dyne to a tee. But hey, she’s probably wrong.”

  “You can’t trust anonymous sources,” Myron tried.

  “Fine, then let’s move on to hole two. This late-night abortion story. We checked at St. Barnabas. Nobody told her anything about parental notification. More than that, it’s not true. The laws might change on that subject, but either way, in her case—”

  “She’s eighteen,” Myron interrupted. Eighteen. An adult. That age again.

  “Exactly. And there’s more.”

  Myron waited.

  “Hole three: We found Aimee’s fingerprints at Drew Van Dyne’s house.”

  “They had an affair. Of course her prints were there. They could be weeks old.”

  “We found prints on a soda can. The can was still on the kitchen counter.”

  Myron said nothing, but he felt something deep inside of him start to give way.

  “All your suspects—Harry Davis, Jake Wolf, Drew Van Dyne. We checked them all out thoroughly. None of them could have pulled off a purported kidnapping.” Loren Muse spread her hands. “So it’s like that old axiom in reverse. When you’ve eliminated all the other possibilities, you have to go back to your first, most obvious solution.”

  “You think Aimee ran away.”

  Loren Muse shrugged, shifted in her chair. “Here she is, a confused young woman. Pregnant with a teacher’s child. Her dad is having an affair. She’s caught up in this cheating scandal. She must have felt trapped, don’t you think?”

  Myron found himself almost nodding.

  “There is no physical evidence—none at all—that Aimee was abducted. And think about it. Why would someone kidnap her anyway? What would be the motive in a case like this? The normal motives are, what, sexual assault, for one. We know that didn’t happen. Her doctor told us that much. There was no physical or sexual trauma. Why else are people kidnapped? For ransom. Well, we know that didn’t happen either.”

  Myron kept very still. It was almost exactly what Erik had said. If you wanted to keep Aimee quiet, you didn’t kidnap her. You killed her. But now she was alive. Ergo . . .

  Loren Muse kept pounding at him. “Do you have a motive for a kidnapping, Myron?”

  “No,” he said. “But what about the ATM machine? How do you figure that in?”

  “You mean both girls using the same one?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it was a coincidence after all.”

  “Come on, Muse.”

  “Okay, fine, then let’s turn it around.” She pointed at him. “How does that ATM transaction fit into a kidnapping scenario? Would Wolf know about it? Davis, Van Dyne?”

  Myron saw her point. “But there are other things too,” he countered. “Like that phone call from a pay phone in the subway. Or the fact that she was online.”

  “All of which fit into her being a runaway,” Loren said. “If someone did abduct her like she claims, why would they risk a call from a pay phone? Why would you put her on the Internet?”

  Myron shook his head. He knew that she was making sense. He just refused to accept it. “So that’s how this ends? It’s not Davis. It’s not Wolf or Van Dyne or anyone. Aimee Biel just ran away?”

  Loren Muse and Lance Banner exchanged another glance.

  Then Lance Banner said, “Yes, that’s the working theory. And remember: There’s no law against what she did. In the end a lot of people got hurt or even killed. But running away is not against the law.”

  Loren Muse kept quiet again. Myron didn’t like it. “What?” he snapped at her.

  “Nothing. What Banner said—the evidence all points that way. It might even explain why Aimee’s parents don’t want us talking to her. They don’t want all that coming out—her affair, her pregnancy, heck, like it or not, she was helped in the cheating scandal too. So keeping it all quiet. Making her look like a victim instead of a runaway. It’s the right move.”

  “But?”

  She looked at Banner. He sighed and shook his head. Loren Muse started fiddling with her fork. “But both Jake and Lorraine Wolf wanted to take the blame for shooting Drew Van Dyne.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t find that odd?”

  “No. We just explained why. Lorraine killed him. Jake wants to take the fall to protect her.”

  “And the fact that they were cleaning up the evidence and moving the body?”

  Myron shrugged. “That would be the natural reaction.”

  “Even if you killed in self-defense?”

  “In their case, yes. They were trying to protect it all. If Van Dyne is found dead in their house, even if they shot him in self-defense, all the stuff about Randy would come out. The drugs, the cheating, all of it.”

  She nodded. “That’s the theory. That’s what Lance here believes. And that’s probably what happened.”

  Myron tried not to sound too impatient. “But?”

  “But maybe that’s not how it happened. Maybe Jake and Lorraine came home and found the body there.”

  Myron stopped breathing. There is something inside of you. It can bend. It can stretch. But then, every once in a while, you can feel it pulling too far. If you let it go there, you will break inside. You will snap in two. You know that. Myron had known Aimee his whole life. And right now, if he was right about where Loren Muse was going, he was close to breaking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Maybe the Wolfs came home and saw a body. And maybe they assumed that Randy had done it.” She leaned closer. “Van Dyne was Randy’s drug supplier. He had also stolen Randy’s girlfriend. So maybe Mom and Dad saw the body and figured that Randy shot him. Maybe they panicked and loaded the body in his car.”

  “What, you think Randy killed Drew Van Dyne?”

  “No. I said that’s what they thought. Randy has an alibi.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “If Aimee Biel hadn’t been kidnapped,” Muse said, “if she ran away and
stayed with Drew Van Dyne, maybe she was with him in the house. And maybe, just maybe, Aimee, our scared little girl, really did want to put it all behind her. Maybe she was ready for college, ready to move on and cut off all ties, except this guy, this Drew Van Dyne, wouldn’t let go. . . .”

  Myron closed his eyes. That little thing inside of him—it was being pulled hard. He stopped it, shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

  She shrugged. “Probably.”

  “I’ve known this girl all my life.”

  “I know, Myron. She’s a young, sweet girl, right? Young sweet girls can’t be killers, can they?”

  He thought about Aimee Biel, the way she laughed at him in his basement, the way she climbed up the jungle gym when she was three. He remembered her blowing out candles at her birthday party. He remembered watching her in a school play when she was in eighth grade. He remembered it all and he felt the anger starting to mount.

  “You’re wrong,” Myron said again.

  He waited on the sidewalk across the street from their house.

  Erik came out first. His face was tight, grim. Aimee and Claire followed. Myron stood there and watched. Aimee spotted him first. She smiled at him and waved. Myron studied that smile. It looked the same to him. The same smile he’d seen on the playground when she was three. The same one he’d seen in the basement a few weeks ago.

  There was nothing different.

  Except now the smile gave him a chill.

  He looked at Erik and then at Claire. Their eyes were hard, protective, but there was something else there, something beyond exhaustion and surrender, something primitive and instinctive. Erik and Claire walked with their daughter. But they did not touch her. That was what Myron noticed. They were not touching their own daughter.

  “Hi, Myron!” Aimee shouted.

  “Hi.”

  Aimee ran across the street. Her parents did not move. Neither did Myron. Aimee threw her arms around him, almost knocking him over. Myron tried to hug her back. But he couldn’t quite do it. Aimee gripped him harder.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He didn’t say anything. Her embrace, it felt the same. It felt warm and strong. No different than before.

  And yet he wanted it to end.

  Myron felt his heart drop and shatter. God help him, he just wanted her to let go, to get her away from him. He wanted this girl he’d loved for so long to be gone. He took hold of her shoulders and gently pushed her off.

  Claire was behind her now. She said to Myron, “We’re in a rush. We’ll get together soon.”

  He nodded. The two women walked away. Erik waited by the car. Myron watched them. Claire was next to her daughter, but she still wouldn’t touch her. Aimee got in the car. Erik and Claire glanced at each other. They did not speak. Aimee was in the back. They both sat in the front. Natural enough, Myron supposed, but it still seemed to him as if they were trying to keep their distance from Aimee, as if they wondered—or perhaps knew—about the stranger who now lived with them. Claire looked back at him.

  They know, Myron thought.

  Myron watched the car pull away. As it disappeared down the street, he realized something:

  He hadn’t kept his promise.

  He hadn’t brought home their baby.

  Their baby was gone.

  CHAPTER 57

  Four Days Later

  Jessica Culver did indeed marry Stone Norman at Tavern on the Green.

  Myron was in his office when he read about it in the paper. Esperanza and Win were both there too. Win was standing near a full-length mirror, checking out his golf swing. Win did that a lot. Esperanza watched Myron carefully.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  “I am.”

  “You realize that her getting hitched is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you?”

  “I do.” Myron put the paper down. “I came to a realization that I wanted to share with both of you.”

  Win stopped his air swing midway. “My arm isn’t straight enough.”

  Esperanza waved him quiet. “What?”

  “I’ve always tried to run away from what I now see are my natural instincts,” Myron said. “You know. Playing the hero. You both warn me against it. And I’ve listened. But I’ve figured something out. I’m supposed to do it. I’ll have my defeats, sure, but I’ll have more victories. I’m not going to run away from it anymore. I don’t want to end up being cynical. I want to help people. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Win turned toward him. “Are you done?”

  “I am.”

  Win looked at Esperanza. “Should we applaud?”

  “I think we should.”

  Esperanza stood and applauded wildly. Win put down his air club and offered up a polite golf clap.

  Myron bowed and said, “Thank you so very much, you’re a beautiful audience, don’t forget your waitress on the way out, hey, try the veal.”

  Big Cyndi popped her head through the doorway. She’d gone heavy on the rouge this morning and looked like a traffic light.

  “Line two, Mr. Bolitar.” Big Cyndi batted her eyes. Picture two scorpions trapped on their backs. Then she added, “It’s your new sweetie pie.”

  Myron picked up the phone. “Hey!”

  Ali Wilder said, “What time are you coming over?”

  “I should be there about seven.”

  “How about pizza and a DVD with the kids?”

  Myron smiled. “Sounds great.”

  He hung up. He was smiling. Esperanza and Win exchanged a glance.

  “What?” Myron said.

  “You’re so doofy when you’re in love,” Esperanza said.

  Myron looked at his watch. “It’s time.”

  “Good luck,” Esperanza said.

  Myron turned to Win. “You want to come along?”

  “No, my friend. This one is all yours.”

  Myron stood. He kissed Esperanza on the cheek. He hugged Win. Win was surprised by the gesture, but he took it. Myron drove back to New Jersey. It was a glorious day. The sun shone like it’d just been created. Myron fiddled with the radio dial. He kept hitting all his favorite songs.

  It was that kind of day.

  He did not bother stopping at Brenda’s grave. He thought that she’d understand. Actions speak louder and all that.

  Myron parked at St. Barnabas Medical Center. He headed up to Joan Rochester’s room. She was sitting up when he got there, ready to leave.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Joan Rochester said.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Are you going home?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not going to press charges?”

  “That’s right.”

  Myron figured as much. “Your daughter can’t run forever.”

  “I know that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Katie came home last night.”

  So much for the happy ending, Myron thought. He closed his eyes. This was not what he’d wanted to hear.

  “She and Rufus had a fight. So Katie came home. Dominick forgave her. It’s all going to be okay.”

  They looked at each other. It wouldn’t be okay. He knew that. She knew that.

  “I want to help you,” Myron said.

  “You can’t.”

  And maybe she was right.

  You help those you can. That was what Win had said. And you always, always keep a promise. That was why he had come today. To keep his promise.

  He met up with Dr. Edna Skylar in the corridor outside the cancer ward. He had hoped to see her in her office, but this would be okay.

  Edna Skylar smiled when she saw him. She wore very little makeup. The white coat was wrinkled. No stethoscope hung around her neck this time.

  “Hello, Myron,” she said.

  “Hi, Dr. Skylar.”

  “Call me Edna.”

 
“Okay.”

  “I was just on my way out.” She pointed with her thumb toward the elevator. “What brings you here?”

  “You, actually.”

  Edna Skylar had a pen tucked behind her ear. She took it out, made a note on a chart, put it back. “Really?”

  “You taught me something when I was here last time,” Myron said.

  “What’s that?”

  “We talked about the virtuous patient, remember? We talked about the pure versus the sullied. You were so honest with me—about how you’d rather work with people who seemed more deserving.”

  “A lot of talk, yes,” she said. “But at the end of the day, I took an oath. I treat those I don’t like too.”

  “Oh I know. But you see, you got me thinking. Because I agreed with you. I wanted to help Aimee Biel because I thought she was . . . I don’t know.”

  “Innocent?” Skylar said.

  “I guess.”

  “But you learned that she’s not.”

  “More than that,” Myron said. “What I learned was, you were wrong.”

  “About?”

  “We can’t prejudge people like that. We become cynical. We assume the worst. And when we do that, we start to see only the shadows. You know that Aimee Biel is back home?”

  “I heard that, yes.”

  “Everyone thinks she ran away.”

  “I heard that too.”

  “So nobody listened to her story. I mean, really listened. Once that assumption came about, Aimee Biel was no longer an innocent. You see? Even her parents. They had her best interests at heart. They wanted so much to protect her that even they couldn’t see the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “Innocent until proven guilty. It’s not just for the courtroom.”

  Edna Skylar made a production of checking her watch. “I’m not sure I see what you’re getting at.”

  “I believed in that girl her whole life. Was I wrong? Was it a lie? But at the end of the day, it’s like her parents said—it’s their job to protect her, not mine. So I was able to be more dispassionate. I was willing to risk learning the truth. So I waited. When I finally got Aimee alone, I asked her to tell me the whole story. Because there were too many holes in the other one—the one where she ran away and maybe killed her lover. That ATM machine, for one. That call from the pay phone, for another. Stuff like that. I didn’t want to just shove it all aside and help her get on with her life. So I talked to her. I remembered how much I loved and cared for her. And I did something truly strange.”