by Harlan Coben
Loren opened the Lexus's door.
Was this a legal search? She thought it might be. The keys were in plain view in t he ignition. The car was unlocked. She was helping out here. That had to make i t legit somehow, right?
She pulled her sleeves up over her hands, forming makeshift mittens so she w ouldn't leave fingerprints. She dropped open the glove compartment and tried to p aw through the paperwork. It didn't take long. It was a company car, belonging t o MVD. But the paperwork from the Midas Muffler dealer showed that it had been b rought in by someone named Cingle Shaker.
Loren knew the name. The guys in the county office discussed her with a tad too m uch zeal. Said she had a body that could knock a movie rating from PG to R.
So what was her connection to Hunter?
Loren took the car keys with her-- no sense in giving Ms. Shaker a chance to run o ff without them having a little chat. She headed inside and approached the d esk. The man behind it was breathing in uneven gulps.
"You guys are back?" he asked.
"Back?"
Not her best line of interrogation, but it was a start.
"The other cops left, what, an hour ago maybe. With the ambulance."
"What other cops?'
"You're not with them?"
She approached him. "What's your name?"
"Ernie."
"Ernie, why don't you tell me what happened here?"
"It's like I told the other guys."
"Now tell me."
Ernie sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine, it's like this. First this guy comes d ashing into the hotel."
"When?" Loren interrupted.
"What?"
"What time was this?"
"I don't know. Two hours ago maybe. Don't you know all this?"
"Go on."
"So this guy, he goes into the elevator. He goes up. Couple minutes later, this b ig chick comes flying in and runs over to the elevator." He coughed into his f ist. "So, you know, I call out to her. Ask her if everything is okay. You know, d oing my job and all."
"Did you ask the guy if everything was okay?"
"What? No."
"But you asked the"-- Loren made quote marks with her fingers--"big chick?"
"Hold up a sec. She wasn't big really. She was tall. I don't want you to think s he was fat or anything. Give you the wrong idea. She wasn't. Not fat at all.
Just the opposite. Like a chick in one of those Amazon movies, you know?"
"Yeah, Ernie, I think I got the picture." Sounded like Cingle Shaker. "So you a sked Miss Amazon if everything was okay?"
"Right, yeah, like that. And this girl, this tall girl, she pulls a gun on me-- a g un!-- and tells me to call the cops."
He paused now, waiting for Loren's jaw to drop in shock.
"And that's what you did?"
"Hell, yeah. I mean, she pulled a gun on me. You believe that?"
"I'll try to, Ernie. So then what happened?"
"She's in the elevator, right? She holds the gun on me until the doors close. So t hen I called the cops. Like she said to do. Two Newark guys were eating next d oor. They were here in no time. I told them she'd gone up to the fifth floor.
So they went up."
"You said something about an ambulance?"
"They must have called for one."
"They? You mean, the cops?"
"Nah. Well, I mean, maybe. But I think it was the women in the room who made the c all."
"What room?"
"Look, I didn't go up there. I didn't see it or anything." Ernie's eyes narrowed i nto thin slits. "This is secondhand knowledge you're asking about now. Aren't y ou only supposed to ask me what I actually saw or have direct knowledge of?"
"This isn't a courtroom," she snapped. "What was going on upstairs?"
"I don't know. Someone got beaten up."
"Who?"
"I just said. I don't know."
"Man, woman, black, white?"
"Oh, I see what you mean. But I don't get it. Why are you asking me? Why can't y ou--?"
"Just tell me, Ernie. I don't have time to make a bunch of calls."
"Not a bunch of calls, but you could just radio the cops who were here before, t he Newark guys--"
Her voice was steel. "Ernie."
"Okay, okay, relax. It was a man, all right? White. I'd say mid-thirties. They w heeled him out on a stretcher."
"What happened to him?"
"Someone beat him up, I guess."
"And this all happened on the fifth floor?"
"I guess so, yeah."
"And you said something about women in the room. That they might have called the a mbulance."
"Yeah. Yeah, I did say that." He smiled like he was proud of himself. Loren w anted to draw her gun too.
"How many women, Ernie?"
"What? Oh, two."
"Was one of them the tall girl who pulled the gun on you?"
"Yeah."
"And the other?"
Ernie looked left. He looked right. Then he leaned closer and whispered, "I t hink it might have been the guy's wife."
"The guy who got beaten up?"
"Uh huh."
"Why do you say that?"
His voice stayed soft. "Because she went with him. In the ambulance."
"So why are we whispering?"
"Well, I'm trying to be whatchya call discreet."
Loren matched the whisper. "Why, Ernie? Why are we being whatchya call d iscreet?"
"Because that other woman-- the wife, I mean-- she's been staying here for the p ast two nights. He, the husband, hasn't been." He leaned over the desk. Loren g ot a whiff of whatchya call chronic halitosis. "All of a sudden the husband r ushes in, there's a fight of some kind . . ." He stopped, raised both eyebrows a s though the implications were obvious.
"So what happened to the Amazon girl?"
"The one who pulled the gun on me?"
"Yes, Ernie," Loren said, fighting off her growing impatience. "The one who p ulled the gun on you."
"The cops arrested her. Cuffed her and everything."
"The woman you think might be the wife, the one who stayed here the past two d ays. You have a name?"
He shook his head. "No, sorry, I never heard it."
"Didn't she register?"
Ernie's eyes lit up. "Sure. Sure, she did. And we take an imprint of a credit c ard and everything."
"Great." Loren rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb.
"So-- shot in the dark here, Ernie-- why don't you look up the name for me?"
"Yeah, sure, I can do that. Let me see." He turned to the computer and started t yping. "I think she was in Room 522. . . . Wait, here it is."
He turned the monitor so Loren could see.
The occupant of Room 522 was named Olivia Hunter. Loren just stared at the s creen for a moment.
Ernie pointed to the letters. "It says Olivia Hunter."
"I can see that. What hospital did they go to?"
"Beth Israel, I think they said."
Loren handed Ernie her card with her cell phone number on it. "Call me if you t hink of anything else."
"Oh, I will."
Loren rushed out for the hospital.
Chapter 31
MATT HUNTER WOKE UP.
Olivia's face was there.
There was no question that this was real. Matt didn't have one of those moments w here you wonder if it's a dream or not. The color was drained from Olivia's f ace. Her eyes were red. He could see the fear and the only thing Matt could t hink-- not about answers, not about explanations-- the only thing he could think c learly was, "How do I make it better?"
The lights were bright. Olivia's face, still beautiful, was framed by what l ooked like a white shower curtain. He tried to smile at her. His skull throbbed l ike a thumb hit with a hammer.
She was watching him. He saw her eyes well up with tears. "I'm sorry," she w hispered.
"I'm fine," he said.
He felt a little la-
dee-dah. Painkillers, he thought. Morphine or something s imilar. His ribs ached but it was a dull ache. He remembered the man in the h otel room, Talley, he of the blue-black hair. He remembered the paralyzing f eeling, the dropping to the floor, the brass knuckles.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Emergency room, Beth Israel."
He actually smiled. "I was born here, you know." Yep, he was definitely on s omething-- a muscle relaxant, painkiller, something. "What happened to Talley?" h e asked.
"He ran away."
"You were in his room?"
"No. I was down the hall."
He closed his eyes for just a moment. That last part did not compute-- she was d own the hall?-- so he tried to clear his mind.
"Matt?"
He blinked a few times and tried to refocus. "You were down the hall?"
"Yes. I saw you go into his room, so I followed you."
"You were staying at that hotel?"
Before she could reply, the curtain was pulled open. "Ah," the doctor said. He h ad an accent-- Pakistani or Indian, maybe. "How are we feeling?"
"Like a million bucks," Matt said.
The doctor smiled at them. His name tag read PATEL. "Your wife told me that you w ere assaulted-- that she thought the perpetrator might have used a stun gun."
"I guess."
"That's good, in a way. Stun guns don't leave permanent damage. They only t emporarily incapacitate."
"Yeah," Matt said. "I live under a lucky star."
Patel chuckled, checked something on the chart. "You suffered a concussion. The r ib is probably cracked, but I won't know that until we do an X-ray. It doesn't m atter much-- bad bruise or break, you can only treat it with rest. I already g ave you something for the pain. You may need more."
"Okay."
"I'm going to keep you overnight."
"No," he said.
Patel looked up. "No?"
"I want to go home. My wife can look after me."
Patel looked at Olivia. She nodded. He said, "You understand I don't recommend t his?"
Olivia said, "We do."
On TV, the doctor always fights the "wanna-go-home" patient. Patel didn't. He s imply shrugged. "Okay, you sign the release forms, you're out of here."
"Thanks, Doc," Matt said.
Patel shrugged again. "Have a nice life then."
"You too."
He left.
"Are the police here?" Matt asked.
"They just left, but they'll be back."
"What did you tell them?"
"Not much," she said. "They assumed it was some kind of marital spat. You caught m e with another man, something like that."
"What happened to Cingle?"
"They arrested her."
"What?"
"She drew her gun to get past the clerk at the front desk."
Matt shook his aching head. "We have to bail her out."
"She said not to, that she'd take care of it."
He started to sit up. Pain tore down the back of his skull like a hot knife.
"Matt?"
"I'm okay."
And he was. He'd been beaten worse. Much worse. This was nothing. He could play t hrough it. He sat all the way up and met her eyes. She looked as if she were s teeling herself for a blow.
Matt said, "This is something bad, isn't it?"
Olivia's chest hitched. The tears welling began to escape. "I don't know yet," s he said. "But yeah. Yeah, it's pretty bad."
"Do we want the police involved?"
"No." The tears had started running down her cheeks. "Not until I tell you e verything."
He swung his feet off the bed. "Then let's hurry the hell out of here."
Loren counted six people on line at the ER reception desk. When she cut to the f ront, all six grunted their disapproval. Loren ignored them. She slammed her b adge down on the desk.
"You had a patient brought in here a little while ago."
"You're kidding." The woman behind the desk looked up over the half-moon reading g lasses and let her eyes travel over the packed waiting room. "A patient, you s ay?" She chewed gum. "Gee, I guess you caught us. We did have a patient brought i n here a little while ago."
The line snickered. Loren's face reddened.
"He was an assault victim. From Howard Johnson's."
"Oh, him. I think he's gone."
"Gone?"
"Checked himself out a few minutes ago."
"Where did he go?"
The woman gave her flat eyes.
"Right," Loren said. "Never mind."
Her cell phone rang. She picked it up and barked, "Muse."
"Uh, hi, are you the policewoman who was here before?"
Loren recognized the voice. "Yes, Ernie. What's up?"
There was a low moan. "You have to come back here."
"What is it? Ernie?"
"Something happened," he said. "I think . . . I think he's dead."
Chapter 32
MATT AND OLIVIA had filled out the necessary paperwork, but neither of them had a car. Matt's was still parked at the MVD lot. Olivia's was at the Howard Johnson's. They called a taxi and waited outside by the entrance.
Matt sat in a wheelchair. Olivia stood next to him. She looked straight forward, n ot at him. It was hot and sticky, but Olivia still stood with her arms wrapped a round herself. She wore a sleeveless blouse and khaki pants. Her arms were t oned and tan.
The taxi pulled up. Matt struggled to his feet. Olivia tried to help, but he w aved her off. They both got into the backseat. Their bodies did not touch. They d id not hold hands.
"Good evening," the driver said, eyes in the rearview. "Where to?"
The driver was dark-skinned and spoke with some sort of African accent. Matt g ave him their address in Irvington. The driver was chatty. He was from Ghana, h e told them. He had six children. Two of them lived here with him, the rest w ere back in Ghana with his wife.
Matt tried to be responsive. Olivia stared out her window and said nothing. At o ne point Matt reached for her hand. She let him take it, but it felt lifeless.
"Did you visit Dr. Haddon?" Matt asked her.
"Yes."
"And?"
"Everything is fine. It should be a normal pregnancy."
From the front seat, the driver said, "Pregnancy? You're having a baby?"
"Yes, we are," Matt said.
"Is this your first?"
"Yes."
"Such a blessing, my friend."
"Thank you."
They were in Irvington now, on Clinton Avenue. Up ahead the light turned red.
The driver cruised to a stop.
"We make a right here, yes?"
Matt had been glancing out the window, preparing to say yes, when something s nared his gaze. Their house was indeed down the street on the right. But that w asn't what had captured his attention.
There was a police car parked on the street.
"Hold up a second," Matt said.
"Pardon me?"
Matt cranked open the window. The police car's engine was running. He wondered a bout that. He looked to the corner. Lawrence the Wino was staggering with his c ustomary brown bag, singing the old Four Tops classic "Bernadette."
Matt leaned out the window. "Hey, Lawrence."
". . . And never find the love I've found in y--" Lawrence stopped mid-lyric. He c upped his hand over his eyes and squinted. A smile broke out on his face. He s tumbled toward them. "Matt, mah man! Look at you, all fine and fancy in a t axi."
"Yep."
"You been out drinking, right? I remember from before. Didn't want to drink and d rive, am I right?"
"Something like that, Lawrence."
"Whoa." Lawrence pointed to the bandage on Matt's head. "What happened to you?
You know who you look like, with your head wrapped like that?"
"Lawrence--"
"That dude marching in that old picture, the one playing the flute. Or is it the o ne on the snare? I can never rem
ember. Had his head wrapped, just like you.
What was that picture called again?"
Matt tried to get him on track. "Lawrence, do you see that cop car over there?"
"What"-- he leaned closer--"he did that to you?"
"No, nothing like that. I'm fine, really."
Lawrence was perfectly positioned to block the car's view of Matt's face. If the c op happened to look this way, he'd probably figure Lawrence was panhandling.
"How long has he been parked there?" Matt asked.
"I don't know. Fifteen, twenty minutes maybe. Time flies by now, Matt. Older you g et, the faster it goes by. You listen to Lawrence."
"Has he gotten out of the car?"
"Who?"
"The cop."
"Oh, sure. Knocked on your door too." Lawrence smiled. "Oh, I see. You in t rouble, ain't you, Matt?"
"Me? I'm one of the good guys."
Lawrence loved that one. "Oh, I know that. You have a good night now, Matt." He l eaned into the window a little. "You too, Liv."
Olivia said, "Thank you, Lawrence."
Lawrence saw her face and paused. He looked at Matt and straightened up. His v oice grew softer. "You take care now."
"Thanks, Lawrence." Matt sat forward and tapped the driver. "Change of d estination."
The driver said, "Will I get in trouble for this?"
"Not at all. I was in an accident. They want to talk to me about how I got hurt.
We'd rather wait until morning."
The driver wasn't buying it, but he didn't seem ready to argue either. The light t urned green. The taxi started up, heading straight instead of right.
"So where to?"
Matt gave him the address of MVD in Newark. He figured that they could pick up h is car and find a place to go and talk. The question was, where? He checked his w atch. It was three in the morning.
The driver pulled into MVD's lot. "This is good, yes?"
"Fine, thanks."
They got out of the car. Matt paid the man. Olivia said, "I'll drive."
"I'm fine."
"Right, fine. You just got beaten up and you're high on meds." Olivia put out h er palm. "Give me the keys."
He did. They got into the car and started out.
"Where are we going?" Olivia asked.
"I'm going to call Marsha, see if we can crash there."
"You're going to wake up the kids."
He managed a small smile. "Grenades in their pillows wouldn't wake up those t wo."
"And what about Marsha?"