The Myron Bolitar Series 7-Book Bundle

by Harlan Coben

  Mr. Etiquette.

  “So you decided to blackmail her,” Myron said.

  “No way. Unh-unh.”

  “We know about it, Horty. We know she paid you for the pictures.”

  Horty made a snorting sound. “Aw, shit, that ain’t blackmail. That’s a business transaction. I just called her one day and told her I might have to knock her down a few pegs. And then I said a picture was worth a thousand words. She kinda agreed with all that and said she’d be willing to pay for such wonderful pictures. I told her they was real valuable to me. Had a lot of sentimental value and shit. But we finally reached an agreement. A mutually beneficial agreement,” he stressed, “not blackmail.” He took hold of his leg and winced. “End of story, man.”

  “You left something out.”

  “What?”

  “The gang-rape in the locker room.”

  He did not seem surprised. He half-smiled and said, “Rape? Man, you ain’t listening. This woman had Horty’s Three H’s: Hot, Horny, Ho. Shit, she’d jump naked into a rock pile if she thought there’d be a snake in it. She loved it. We all had a good time.”

  Win looked at Myron. The look said Keep your cool.

  “How many of you?” Myron asked.

  “Six.”

  “Why,” he said in a low voice, “didn’t you just take the money, Horty? Why did you have to rape her?”

  “I just told you, man—”

  “She didn’t come to that locker room for consensual sex with six people. You raped her.”

  “Can’t be, man,” he said with a shake of his head. “She a ho through and through. And once a ho, always a ho. That just the way it is. Fucking cunt acting all high and prissy and shit. Quarterback’s girl. Miss fucking all-American cheerleader. Who the fuck did she think she was? So yeah, I showed her. I reminded her where she come from, what she really is. Not some fucking prom queen. A slut. A dick-loving ho.”

  Win now stepped in front of Myron. Preventive measure.

  “’Sides,” Horty continued, “I owed her boyfriend. Big-time.”

  “Christian Steele?”

  “Yeah. He did me wrong. I did him wrong. Passed around his little ho. Just a little payback, my man. To the prick who got me thrown off the team.”

  “No,” Myron said. “It wasn’t Christian.”

  “What you talking about?”

  “I spoke with Coach Clarke. Two guys showed up for a game high. That’s why you were thrown off. Christian had nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh,” Horty said with a shrug. “Ain’t that something.”

  “Your remorse,” Myron said, “is very touching.”

  “I gotta get to a doctor, man. My leg is killing me.”

  “Weren’t you worried about getting caught?”

  “What?”

  “Weren’t you afraid she’d report the rape?”

  Horty made a face as if Myron had suddenly started speaking Japanese. “You crazy, man? Who she gonna tell? She just gave me major cash to keep it all quiet. She say anything, it all gets out. The whole ugly truth. Everyone would know—Christian, her mammy, her pappy, her teachers. Everyone would know what she just paid all that money to hide. And what if she was dumb enough to tell? There were pictures and witnesses of her doing Willie and me at the party. Who gonna believe she was raped after seeing that?”

  Dean Gordon had made the same argument, Myron remembered. Great minds thinking alike.

  “Hey, look, man, my leg’s killing me.”

  “Did you ever see Kathy again?” Myron managed.

  “Nope.”

  “Were you the one who threw away the panties?”

  “Nope. One of the other guys had them. Thought he’d keep them as a souvenir. When he heard she was missing, he got scared, threw them away.”

  “Who?”

  “I ain’t giving names.”

  “Yes,” Win said. “You are.” He rested his foot against the broken tibia. That was enough.

  “Okay, okay. Like I said, they was six of us. Three brothers, two white dudes, one chink.”

  Equal opportunity rapists.

  “One was the place kicker. Guy named Tommy Wu. Then there was Ed Woods, Bobby Taylor, Willie and me.”

  “That’s five.”

  Horty hesitated. “Give me a break, man. The other dude was the one who threw away the panties. But he’s a friend, man. Still gives me money when I’m down, you know. I can’t just give him up. He’s big-time.”

  “What do you mean, big-time?”

  “Plays pro ball and shit. I can’t give you his name.”

  Win put the slightest pressure on the leg. Horty bucked.

  “Ricky Lane.”

  Myron froze. “The running back for the Jets?” Dumb question. How many Ricky Lanes who now play pro football went to Reston University?

  “Yeah. Now look, man, that’s all I know.”

  Win said to Myron, “Do you have any other questions for him?”

  Myron shook his head.

  “Then leave,” Win said.

  Myron did not move.

  “I said,” Win continued, “leave.”

  “No.”

  “You heard what he said. You’ll never convict him. He pushes drugs to kids, rapes innocent women, blackmails, steals, whatever, and laughs about it.”

  Horty sat up. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Leave,” Win repeated.

  Myron hesitated.

  “Yo, man, I told you everything I know.” There was a tremble in Horty’s voice.

  Myron did not move.

  Horty shouted, “Don’t leave me alone with this crazy motherfucker!”

  “Leave,” Win said.

  Myron shook his head. “No. I’ll stay.”

  Win studied Myron. Then he nodded and approached Horty, who was trying to claw away but not getting far.

  “Don’t kill him,” Myron said.

  Win nodded. He went to work with the careful precision of a surgeon. His face never changed expression. If he heard Horty’s cries, he never showed it.

  After a short time Myron told him to stop. Reluctantly Win stepped away.

  They left.

  Chapter 39

  Ricky Lane lived in a New Jersey condo development similar to Christian’s. Win waited in the car. As Myron approached the door, he felt rather than heard the bass from Ricky’s stereo. It took three rings of the bell and several knocks before Ricky appeared.

  “Hey, Myron.”

  He was wearing a silk shirt that was either very fashionable or a pajama top. Hard to tell. The shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a well-defined physique. His pants were held up by a drawstring. He was also wearing slippers. Maybe they were pajamas. Or lounging clothes. Or he was trying out for a walk-on role on I Dream of Jeannie.

  “We need to talk,” Myron said.

  “Come on in.”

  The music was deafening and awful. Made Pap Smear sound like Brahms. The motif was sleek modern. Lots of fiberglass. Lots of black and white. Lots of rounded edges. The stereo took up a whole wall. The lights on the equalizer looked like something on Star Trek.

  Ricky flipped the stereo off. The silence was abrupt. Myron felt his chest stop vibrating.

  “So what’s up?” Ricky asked.

  Myron tossed him a glass jar. Ricky caught it, looked a question.

  “Pee in it,” Myron said.

  “What?”

  “I want you to urinate into this jar.”

  Ricky looked at the jar. Then at Myron. “I don’t get it.”

  “Your new size,” Myron said. “You’re taking steroids.”

  “No way, man. Not me.”

  “Then give me a urine sample. Right now. I’ll have it tested at a lab.”

  Ricky stared at the jar. He said nothing.

  “Go ahead, Ricky. I don’t have all day.”

  “You’re my agent, Myron. You ain’t my mother.”

  “True enough. Are you taking steroids?”

  “It’s none of y
our business.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Take it any way you’d like.”

  “Did Horty sell them to you? Or have you gotten a new supplier since college?”

  Silence.

  Ricky said, “You’re fired, Myron.”

  “I’m devastated. Now tell me about raping Kathy Culver.”

  More silence. Ricky was struggling to look casual, but his body language was all wrong.

  “I know all about it,” Myron continued. “Your buddy Horty told all. Nice guy, by the way. A real sweetheart.”

  Ricky stumbled back. He put the jar down on a shiny cube that Myron guessed was a table. He turned away. His voice was barely audible. “I never touched her.”

  “Bullshit. You and five other guys jumped her in the locker room. You took turns raping her.”

  “No. That’s not how it happened.”

  Myron waited. Ricky buttoned his shirt, his back still facing Myron. He took a CD out of the stereo and tucked it back into its case.

  “I was there,” Ricky began, his voice low. “In the locker room. I was stoned. We all were. Stoned out of our minds. Horty had just gotten in a new supply, and …” He sort of shrugged away the rest of the sentence.

  “It started as a dare, you know. We knew we’d never go through with it. We figured we’d walk right to the edge but never jump. We kept waiting for someone to call it off.” He stopped again.

  Myron said, “But no one called it off.”

  He nodded slowly. “It stopped. But too late. It stopped when it was my turn, and I said no.”

  “After all the others had gone?”

  “Yes. I stood there and watched them. I even cheered.”

  Silence.

  “You kept her panties?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you heard the police were investigating, you tossed them in that garbage bin.”

  He faced Myron. “No,” he said with something close to a hint of a smile. “I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave them on top of a Dumpster. I’d have burned them.”

  Myron considered that for a moment. It was, he thought, an excellent point. “Then who threw them away?”

  Ricky shrugged. “Kathy, I guess. I gave them to her.”

  “When?”

  “Later.”

  “What time later?”

  “Around midnight, I think. After it happened … after she left the locker room, it was like someone had given us the antidote. Or like someone turned on the lights, and we finally saw what we’d done. We all went silent and just drifted away. Except Horty. He was laughing like a goddamn hyena, getting more and more stoned. The rest of us went back to our rooms. None of us said one word. I got into bed, for a little while anyway. Then I got dressed and went back out. I didn’t have a plan. Not really. I just wanted to find her. Say something to her. I just wanted to … shit, I don’t know.”

  His fingers were playing with his hair, twisting it like a little kid. He looked smaller now. “I finally found her.”

  “Where?”

  “Crossing the campus.”

  “Where specifically?”

  “The middle, I guess. On the commons.”

  “What direction was she walking in?”

  He thought a moment. “South.”

  “Like maybe she was coming from the faculty housing?”

  “Yes.”

  After she left Dean Gordon’s, he thought.

  “Go on.”

  “I approached her. Called out her name. I thought she’d just run away, you know. It was dark and all. But she didn’t. She just turned and stared at me. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t shaking. She just stood there and stared me down. I said I was sorry. She didn’t say anything. I gave her the panties. I told her she could use them as evidence. I even told her I’d testify. I didn’t plan on saying that. It just came out. Kathy took the panties and walked away. She never said anything.”

  “Was that the last time you saw her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “Wearing?”

  “When you last saw her?”

  He looked up, trying to recall. “Something blue, I think.”

  “Not yellow?”

  “No. Definitely not yellow.”

  “She hadn’t changed clothes since the rape?”

  “I don’t think so. No, they were the same clothes.”

  Myron headed for the door. “You’re going to need more than a new agent, Ricky. You’re also going to need a good lawyer.”

  Chapter 40

  Jake was sitting next to Esperanza in the waiting area. He stood when Myron and Win entered.

  “Got a minute?”

  Myron nodded. “My office.”

  Jake said, “Alone.”

  Without a word Win spun and left.

  “Nothing personal,” Jake said. “But the guy gives me the creeps.”

  “Come on in.” He stopped at Esperanza’s desk.

  “Did you reach Chaz?”

  “Not yet.”

  He handed her an envelope. “There’s a photograph inside. Bring it to Lucy. See if she recognizes him.”

  Esperanza nodded.

  Myron followed Jake into his office. The air conditioning was on full blast. It felt good.

  “So what brings you to the Big Apple, Jake?”

  “I was over at John Jay,” he said, “checking something out.”

  “The crime lab?”

  “Yup.”

  “Find something?” Myron asked.

  Jake did not reply. He examined the pictures on the client wall, leaning forward and squinting. “Heard of some of these guys,” he said. “But no superstars up here.”

  “No, no superstars.”

  “Nothing like Christian Steele.”

  Myron sat down. He threw his legs up on the desk. “You still think he killed Nancy Serat?”

  Jake did something with his shoulders. Might have been a shrug. “Let’s just say Christian is no longer our main suspect.”

  “Who is?”

  Jake moved away from the client wall. He sat down and crossed his legs. “I’ve been poking into Adam Culver’s homicide. Found out something interesting. Seems the cops concentrated solely on the murder scene and surrounding neighborhood. No reason for them to check anything else. They were convinced he was a victim of random street violence. I took a different avenue. I canvassed Culver’s neighborhood in Ridgewood. Nice town. Real white. No brothers at all. You been there, I assume?”

  Myron nodded.

  “Anyway, I talked to a guy who lives two houses down from the Culvers. He says he was walking his dog on the night in question. He wasn’t sure of the time, but he guessed it was eight o’clock or so. Seems he heard a big fight going on at the Culvers’ house. Major blowup. He said he’d never heard anything like that before. It was so bad he almost called the cops, but he didn’t want to pry. They’d been neighbors for twenty years and all. So he just let it slide.”

  “Did he know what the fight was about?”

  Jake shook his head. “Nope. Just loud voices. Adam’s and Carol’s.”

  Myron sat quietly, still leaning back in his chair. Adam and Carol Culver had fought hours before Adam’s murder. Myron tried to put it together with what he already knew. For the first time things were beginning to fit.

  “What else do you got?” Myron asked.

  “On Adam Culver’s murder? Nothing.”

  Silence.

  “There were,” Jake continued, “a few hairs found at Nancy Serat’s murder scene. On the body itself. More specifically, clutched in Nancy’s hand.”

  Myron sat up. “Like maybe she tore them off the killer?”

  “Maybe,” Jake said. “But we checked the hairs at our own facilities and got a confirmation this morning at John Jay. There’s no question. The hairs belong to Kathy Culver.”

  Myron felt his flesh turn to cold stone. He couldn’t speak.

  “We had some
of her hairs on file,” Jake continued. “From before. In case we ever found a body or wanted to check a location. Got them from her hairbrush at school. Both labs have done every comparison test conceivable. Neither one has any doubt. They’re Kathy’s hairs.”

  Myron shook his head. He felt dizzy. Inside his head the Robot from Lost in Space was shouting “That does not compute!” over and over again.

  “You have any thoughts on this, Myron?”

  “Just the same ones you’re having.”

  Jake nodded. “What Christian said.”

  “ ‘Time for sisters to reunite,’ ” Myron quoted.

  “Yup. Kinda takes on a whole new meaning now, don’t it.”

  “But it still doesn’t explain anything,” Myron said. “Let’s assume Kathy Culver is alive. Let’s assume that Nancy Serat knows this. Why would Kathy kill her?”

  Jake shrugged. “Sounds to me like Kathy may have gone off the deep end. I mean, first she’s got this whole weird past. Then she falls in love with a guy. Then she’s blackmailed. Then she’s gang-raped. Then the dean turns his back on her. She cracks. Has a breakdown. Runs away. Maybe she tells Nancy Serat, maybe she doesn’t. But somehow Nancy finds out. Nancy arranges a reunion—probably a surprise reunion—between sisters. Kathy gets there early. She’s not happy about Nancy’s surprise.”

  “So she kills her?”

  “Could be,” Jake said. “Kathy’s loony-tunes. She doesn’t want to be found. Shit, she probably killed her old man for the same reason. She’s nuts. Maybe she wants revenge for some reason. On her father, on her best friend—even on Christian and Dean Gordon and whoever else she sent that nutty magazine to.”

  Didn’t feel right to Myron. “Then what about the big fight between Adam and Carol Culver? How does that fit in?”

  “Hell if I know,” Jake said. “I’m making this shit up as I go along. Maybe the fight was just a coincidence. Maybe ol’ Adam was on edge because he was about to meet with his daughter. Maybe the mother knows more than she’s saying.”

  Myron thought about it. It was confusing, but the last part made sense. Maybe Carol Culver did know more than she was saying. More than maybe. Myron even had some idea now of what she was hiding.