the Woods (2007)

by Harlan Coben

  "For a moment no one moved. They all just stood there. Then Wayne smiled at them and said, Thanks for the help/" I frowned, but maybe I was starting to understand. Camille had drawn Margot out, Gil had tied her up'a

  "Then Wayne lifted the blade. Gil said they could see how much Wayne liked what he had done. How he stared at Margot's dead body. He had a thirst now. He started toward them. And they ran. They ran in different directions. Wayne chased them. Gil ran for miles and miles. I don't know what happened exactly. But we can guess. Wayne caught up to Doug Billingham. He killed him. But Gil got away. And so did your sister."

  The nurse returned.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Copeland. I need to take your pulse and blood pressure.

  I nodded for her to come in. I needed to catch my breath. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Again. If I didn't calm down, they'd keep me in here forever.

  The nurse worked quickly and silently. Mrs. Perez looked around the room as if she'd just entered it, as if she'd just noticed where she was. I was afraid I was going to lose her.

  "It's okay," I said to her.

  She nodded.

  The nurse finished up. "You're being released this morning."

  "Great."

  She gave me a tight smile and left us alone. I waited for Mrs. Perez to continue.

  "Gil was terrified, of course. You can imagine. So was your sister.

  You have to see it from their viewpoint. They were young. They were nearly killed. They had watched Margot Green get slaughtered. But maybe most of all, Wayne's words haunted them. Thanks for the help.'

  You understand?"

  "He had made them a part of it."

  "Yes."

  "So what did they do?"

  "They just hid. For more than twenty-four hours. Your mother and I were worried sick. My husband was home in Irvington. Your father was at camp too. But he was out with the search parties. Your mother and I were together when the call came in. Gil knew the number of the pay phone in the back of the kitchen. He dialed it three different times but he hung up when someone else answered. Then, more than a day after they went missing, I picked it up."

  "Gil told you what happened?"

  "Yes."

  "You told my mother?"

  She nodded. I was starting to see it.

  "Did you approach Wayne Steubens?" I asked.

  "We didn't have to. He'd already approached your mother."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing incriminating. But he made it clear. He had set up an alibi for that night. And you see, we knew already. Mothers are like that." "You knew what?"

  "Gil's brother, my Eduardo, was serving time. Gil had a small arrest record-he and some friends stole a car. Your family was poor, my family was poor. There would be fingerprints on the rope. The police would wonder why your sister had led Margot Green into the woods. Wayne had gotten rid of the evidence against him. He was rich and well liked and could hire the best attorneys. You're a prosecutor, Mr. Copeland. You tell me. If Gil and Camille came forward, who would have believed them?"

  I closed my eyes. "So you told them to stay hidden."

  Yes.

  "Who planted their clothes with the blood?"

  "I did that. I met Gil. He was still in the woods."

  "Did you see my sister?"

  "No. He gave me the clothes. He cut himself, pressed his shirt against the wound. I told him to stay hidden until we came up with a plan. Your mother and I tried to figure a way to turn it around, to get the police to learn the truth. But nothing came to us. Days passed. I knew how the police could be. Even if they did believe us, Gil was still an accomplice. So was Camille."

  I saw something else.

  "You had a handicapped son."

  "Yes."

  "And you needed money. To take care of him. And maybe to pay for Glenda to go to a decent school." My eyes found hers. "When did you realize that you could cash in with that lawsuit?"

  "That wasn't part of our original thinking. That came later-when Billingham's father started screaming about how Mr. Silverstein didn't protect his son."

  "You saw an opportunity."

  She shifted in her seat. "Mr. Silverstein should have watched them. They would have never gone in those woods. He wasn't blameless in this. So yes, I saw an opportunity. So did your mother."

  My head was spinning. I tried to make it stop just long enough to accept this new reality. "Are you telling me'a" I stopped. "Are you telling me that my parents knew that my sister was alive?"

  "Not your parents," she said.

  And I felt the cold gust hit my heart.

  Oh no'a

  She said nothing.

  "She didn't tell my father, did she?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because she hated him."

  I just sat there. I thought about the fights, the bitterness, the unhappiness. "That much?" "What?" "It's one thing to hate a man," I said. "But did she hate my father so much that she'd let him think his own daughter was dead?"

  She didn't respond.

  "I asked you a question, Mrs. Perez."

  "I don't know the answer. I'm sorry."

  "You told Mr. Perez, right?"

  "Yes."

  "But she never told my father."

  No answer.

  "He used to go out in those woods and search for her," I said. "Three months ago, as he lay on his deathbed, his last words were that he wanted me to keep looking. Did she hate him that much, Mrs. Perez?"

  "I don't know," she said again.

  It started to hit me, like heavy raindrops. Big thuds. "She bided her time, didn't she?"

  Mrs. Perez didn't respond.

  "She hid my sister. She never told anyone-not even'a not even me. She was waiting until the settlement money came through. That was her plan. And as soon as it did'a she ran. She took enough money and ran and met up with my sister."

  "That was'a that was her plan, yes."

  I blurted out the next question. "Why didn't she take me?"

  Mrs. Perez just looked at me. I thought about it. Why? And then I realized something. "If she took me, my father would never stop looking. He'd get Uncle Sosh and all his old KGB cronies on it. He might let my mother go-he had probably fallen out of love with her too. He thought my sister was dead so that wouldn't be a draw. But my mother knew that he'd never let me go."

  I remembered what Uncle Sosh said, about her returning to Russia. Were they both there? Were they both there right now? Did that make sense?

  "Gil changed his name," she went on. "He traveled around. His life was less than spectacular. And when those private detectives came around to our house and asked questions, he got wind of it. He saw it as a way of cashing in again. You see, it was odd. He blamed you too."

  "Me?"

  "You didn't stay on guard duty that night."

  I said nothing.

  "So part of him blamed you. He thought that maybe this was a good time for payback." It added up. It fit in perfectly with what Raya Singh had told me. She stood. "That's all I know." "Mrs. Perez?" She looked at me. "Was my sister pregnant?" "I don't know." "Did you ever see her?" "Excuse me?" "Camille. Gil told you she was alive. My mother told you she was alive. But did you ever see her yourself?"

  "No," she said. "I never saw your sister."

  Chapter 41

  I didn't know what to think. There was almost no time either. Five minutes after Mrs. Perez left my room, Muse entered."You got court."

  We checked out of the hospital without fuss. I had an extra suit in my office. I changed into it. And then I headed to Judge Pierces chamber. Flair Hickory and Mort Pubin were already there. They had heard about my episode the night before, but if they cared, they weren't about to show it today.

  "Gentlemen," the judge said. "I'm hoping we can find a way of settling this case." I was in no mood. "That's what this is about?"

  It IS. I looked at the judge. He looked at me. I shook my head. It made sense. If they had tried to pre
ssure me by digging up dirt, what would have stopped them from doing the same with the judge?"The People aren't interested in a deal," I said.

  I stood.

  "Sit down, Mr. Copeland," Judge Pierce said. "There maybe problems with your DVD evidence. I may have to exclude it."

  I started for the door.

  "Mr. Copeland!"

  "I'm not staying," I said. "Its on me, Judge. You did your part. Blame me."

  Flair Hickory frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  I didn't reply. I reached for the doorknob.

  "Sit down, Mr. Copeland, or be in contempt."

  "Because I don't want to settle?"

  I turned and looked at Arnold Pierce. There was a quiver in his lower lip. Mort Pubin said, "Will somebody explain to me what the hell is going on?"

  The judge and I ignored him. I nodded to Pierce that I understood. But I wasn't about to give in. I turned the knob and left. I started down the hallway. My wounded side ached. My head throbbed. I wanted to sit down and cry. I wanted to sit down and ponder what I had just learned about my mother and my sister.

  "I didn't think it would work."

  I turned. It was EJ Jenrette.

  "I'm just trying to save my son," he said.

  "Your son raped a girl."

  "I know."

  I stopped. He had a manila folder in his hand.

  "Sit a second," Jenrette said.

  "No."

  "Imagine your daughter. Your Cara. Imagine that one day she grows up. Maybe she has too much to drink at a party. Maybe she drives and hits someone with the car. Maybe they die. Something like that. She makes a mistake."

  "Rape is not a mistake."

  "Yeah, it is. You know he'd never do it again. He screwed up. He thought he was invincible. He knows better now." "We're not getting into this again," I said. "I know. But everyone has secrets. Everyone makes mistakes, commits crimes, does whatever. Some people are just better about burying them."

  I said nothing.

  "I never went after your child," Jenrette said. "I went after you. I went after your past. I even went after your brother-in-law. But I never went near your child. That was my own personal line."

  "You're a prince," I said. "So what do you have on Judge Pierce?"

  "It's not important."

  He was right. I didn't need to know.

  "What can I do to help my son, Mr. Copeland?"

  "That horse is out of the barn," I said.

  "You really believe that? You think his life is over?"

  "Your son will probably serve five, six years tops," I said. "What he does while he's in there, and what he does when he gets out, that'll decide what his life is." EJ Jenrette held up the manila envelope. "I'm not sure what to do with this."

  I said nothing.

  "A man does what he can to protect his children. Maybe that was my excuse. Maybe that was your father's." "My father's?" "Your father was KGB. Did you know that?" "I don't have time for this." "This is a summary of his file. My people translated it into English."

  "I don't need to see that."

  "I think you should, Mr. Copeland." He held it out. I didn't take it. "If you want to see how far a father might go to make a better life for his children, you should read this. Maybe you'll understand me a little better."

  "I don't want to understand you." EJ Jenrette just held the file out. Eventually I took it. He walked away without another word.

  I headed back to my office and closed the door. I sat at my desk and opened the file. I read the first page. Nothing surprising. Then I read the second page and yet again, just when I thought I couldn't hurt any more, the words tore open my chest and shredded me apart.

  Muse came in without knocking.

  "The skeleton they found at that camp," she said. "It's not your sister." I couldn't speak. "See, this Dr. O'Neill found something called a hyoid bone. That's in the throat, I guess. Shaped like a horseshoe. Anyway, it was snapped in half. That means the victim was probably manually strangled. But see, the hyoid bone isn't this brittle in young people-it's more like a cartilage, I guess. So O'Neill ran some more ossification tests with X-rays. In short, it is much more likely that the skeleton belonged to a woman in her forties, maybe even her fifties, than someone Camille's age."

  I said nothing. I just stared at the page in front of me.

  "Don't you get it? It's not your sister."

  I closed my eyes. My heart felt so damn heavy.

  "Cope?"

  "I know," I said.

  "What?"

  "It's not my sister in the woods," I said. "It's my mother."

  Chapter 42

  Sosh wasn't surprised to see me."You knew, didn't you?"

  He was on the phone. He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

  "Sit down, Pavel."

  "I asked you a question."

  He finished his call and put the phone back in the cradle. Then he saw the manila envelope in my hand. "What's that?"

  "Its a summary of my fathers KGB file."

  His shoulders slumped. "You cant believe everything in those," Sosh said, but there was nothing behind his words. It was as though he'd read them off a teleprompter. "On page two," I said, trying to quiet the tremor in my voice, "it says what my father did."

  Sosh just looked at me.

  "He turned in my Noni and Pope, didn't he? He was the source that betrayed them. My own father."

  Sosh still wouldn't speak.

  "Answer me, dammit."

  "You still don't understand."

  "Did my own father turn my grandparents in, yes or no?"

  "Yes."

  I stopped.

  "Your father had been accused of botching a delivery. I don't know if he did or not. It makes no difference. The government wanted him. I told you all the pressure that they can apply. They would have destroyed your entire family."

  "So he sold out my grandparents to save his own skin?"

  "The government would have gotten them anyway. But yes, okay, Vladimir chose to save his own children over his elderly in-laws. He didn't know it would go so wrong. He thought that the regime would just crack down a little, flex a little muscle, that's all. He figured they'd hold your grandparents for a few weeks at the most. And in exchange, your family would get a second chance. Your father would make life better for his children and his children's children. Don't you see?"

  "No, I'm sorry, I don't."

  "Because you are rich and comfortable."

  "Don't hand me that crap, Sosh. People don't sell out their own family members. You should know better. You survived that blockade. The people of Leningrad wouldn't surrender. No matter what the Nazis did, you took it and held your head high."

  "And you think that was smart?" he snapped. His hands formed two fists. "My God, you are so naive. My brother and sister starved to death. Do you understand that? If we had surrendered, if we'd given those bastards that damn city, Gavrel and Aline would still be alive. The tide still would have turned against the Nazis eventually. But my brother and sister would have had lives-children, grandchildren, grown old. In stead'a"

  He turned away.

  "When did my mother find out about what he'd done?" I asked.

  "It haunted him. Your father, I mean. I think part of your mother always wondered. I think that was why she had such contempt for him. But the night your sister vanished, he thought that Camille was dead. He crumbled. And so he confessed the truth."

  It made sense. Horrible sense. My mother had learned what my father had done. She would never forgive him for betraying her beloved parents. She would think nothing of making him suffer, of letting him think that his own daughter was dead.

  "So," I said, "my mother hid my sister. She waited until she had enough money from the settlement. Then she planned on disappearing with Camille."

  "Yes."

  "But that begs the central question, doesn't it?"

  "What question?"

  I spread my hands. "What about me, her only son? How could
my mother just leave me behind?" Sosh said nothing. "My whole life," I said. "I spent my whole life thinking my mother didn't care enough about me. That she just ran off and never looked back. How could you let me believe that, Sosh?"

  "You think the truth is better?"

  I thought of how I spied on my father in those woods. He dug and dug for his daughter. And then one day he stopped. I thought that he stopped because my mother ran off. I remembered the last day he had gone out to those woods, how he told me not to follow him: "Not today, Paul Today I go alone'a" He dug his last hole that day. Not to find my sister. But to bury my mother.

  Was it poetic justice, placing her in the ground where my sister supposedly died, or was there also an element of practicality-who would think to look in a place where they had already searched so thoroughly?

  "Dad found out she planned to run."

  "Yes."

  "How?"

  "I told him."

  Sosh met my eye. I said nothing.

  "I learned that your mother had transferred a hundred thousand dollars out of their joint account. It was common KGB protocol to keep an eye on one another. I asked your father about it."

  "And he confronted her."

  "Yes."

  "And my mother'a" There was a choke in my voice. I cleared my throat, blinked, tried again. "My mother never planned on abandoning me," I said. "She was going to take me too."

  Sosh held my gaze and nodded.

  That truth should have offered me some small measure of comfort. It didn't. "Did you know he killed her, Sosh?" "Yes." "Just like that?" Again he went quiet. "And you didn't do anything about it, did you?" "We were still working for the government," Sosh said. "If it came out that he was a murderer, we could all be in danger."

  "Your cover would have been blown."

  "Not just mine. Your father knew a lot of us."

  "So you let him get away with it."

  "It was what we did back then. Sacrifice for the higher cause. Your father said she threatened to expose us all." "You believed that?" "Does it matter what I believed? Your father never meant to kill her.

  He snapped. Imagine it. Natasha was going to run away and hide. She was going to take his children and disappear forever."

  I remembered now my father's last words, on that deathbed'a