Caught (2010)

by Harlan Coben

  Jenna shrugged. "Every time I want to feel sorry for myself, I think about Ted and Marcia. You know what I mean?"

  "I do."

  Silence.

  "I heard you're moving," Wendy said.

  "Who did you hear that from?"

  "It's a small town."

  Jenna smiled without a trace of joy. "Aren't they all? Yes, we're moving. Noel is going to be chief of cardiac surgery at Cincinnati Memorial Hospital."

  "That was quick."

  "He's very much in demand. But the truth is, we started planning this months ago."

  "When you first started defending Dan?"

  Again she tried to smile. "Let's just say that didn't help our standing in the community," she said. "We hoped to stay until the end of the school year--so Amanda could graduate with her class. But I guess that's not meant to be."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Again, Ted and Marcia. This isn't that big of a deal."

  Wendy guessed not.

  "So why are you here, Wendy?"

  "You defended Dan."

  "Yep."

  "I mean, from start to end. When the show first aired. You seemed so sure that he was innocent. And last time we talked you said that I destroyed an innocent man."

  "So what do you want me to say--my bad? I was wrong, you were right?"

  "Were you?"

  "Was I what?"

  "Were you wrong?"

  Jenna just stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

  "Do you think Dan killed Haley?"

  The lobby fell silent. Jenna looked as though she was about to respond but she shook her head instead.

  "I don't understand. You think he's innocent?"

  Wendy wasn't sure how to reply to that one. "I think there are still some pieces missing."

  "Like what?"

  "That's what I'm here to find out."

  Jenna looked at her as though expecting more. Now it was Wendy who looked away. Jenna deserved a better answer. So far, Wendy had handled this whole case as a reporter. But maybe she was more than that here. Maybe it was time to come clean, admit the truth, say it out loud.

  "I'm going to confess something to you, okay?"

  Jenna nodded, waited.

  "I work with facts, not intuition. Intuition usually just screws me up. Do you know what I mean?"

  "More than you can imagine."

  There were tears in Jenna's eyes now. Wendy imagined that they were in hers too.

  "Factually I knew that I had Dan nailed. He tried to seduce my imaginary thirteen-year-old girl online. He showed up at the house. There was all that stuff in his house and on his computer. Even his job--I can't tell you how many of these creeps work with teenagers, supposedly helping them. It all added up. And yet my intuition kept screaming that something was wrong."

  "You sounded pretty certain when we spoke."

  "Almost too certain, don't you think?"

  Jenna considered that and a small smile came to her face. "Like me, when you think about it--both of us so sure. Of course, one of us had to be wrong. But now I think the truth is, you can never be certain about another person. Obvious, but I think I needed a reminder. Do you remember how I said that Dan was secretive?"

  "Yes."

  "Maybe you were right about why. He kept something from me. I knew that. We all do that, don't we? No one knows us entirely. In the end, it's kind of a cliche, but maybe you never really know a person."

  "So you were wrong this whole time?"

  Jenna chewed on her lip for a moment. "I look back now. I think about his secretiveness. I thought it had something to do with being an orphan, you know? The obvious trust issues. I thought that's what ultimately drove us apart. But now I wonder."

  "Wonder what?"

  A tear rolled down her cheek. "I wonder if it was more, if something bad happened to him. I wonder if there was a darkness there, inside of him."

  Jenna stood and crossed the room. There was a coffee urn. She grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it. Wendy rose and followed her. She got some coffee too. When they returned to their seats, it was as though the moment had passed. Wendy was okay with that. She had dealt with the intuition part. It was time to return to the facts.

  "When we met last time, you said something about Princeton. That something happened to him when he was there."

  "Right, so?"

  "So I'd like to look into that."

  Jenna looked confused. "You think Princeton has something to do with all this?"

  Wendy really didn't want to get into it. "I'm just following up."

  "I don't understand. What could his college years have to do with anything?"

  "It's just an aspect of the case I need to know about."

  "Why?"

  "Can you just trust me on this one, Jenna? You were the one who raised it last time we talked. You said something happened to him in college. I want to know what."

  She didn't answer for a few moments. Then: "I don't know. That was part of the secretiveness--maybe the biggest part, now that I think about it. That's why I mentioned it to you."

  "And you have no idea what it was?"

  "Not really. I mean, it ended up not making much sense."

  "Could you at least tell me about it?"

  "I don't see the point."

  "Humor me, okay?"

  Jenna brought the coffee up to her mouth, blew on it, took a small sip. "Okay, when we first started going out, he'd disappear every other Saturday. I don't want to make it sound as cryptic as all that. But he'd just take off and not say where he was going."

  "I assume you asked?"

  "I did. He explained to me early in the relationship that this was something he did and that it was his private time. He said it was nothing to worry about, but he wanted me to understand he needed to do it."

  She stopped talking.

  "What did you make of that?"

  "I was in love," Jenna said simply. "So at first, I rationalized it. Some guys play golf, I told myself. Some guys bowl or meet the boys in a bar or whatever. Dan was entitled to his time. He was so attentive in every other way. So I simply let it go."

  The lobby door opened. A family of five staggered in and approached the front desk. The man gave their name and handed the receptionist his credit card.

  "You said 'at first,' " Wendy said.

  "Yes. Well, more than simply at first. I think we'd been married a year when I pushed him on it. Dan said not to worry, it was no big deal. But now it was, of course. The curiosity was eating me up. So one Saturday, I followed him."

  Her voice drifted off and a small smile came to her face.

  "What?"

  "I've never told anyone this. Not even Dan."

  Wendy sat back, gave her room. She took a sip of her coffee and tried to make herself look as nonthreatening as possible.

  "Anyway there isn't that much more to the story. I followed him for about an hour, hour and a half. He got off at the exit for Princeton. He parked in town. He went into a coffee shop. I felt so silly following him. He sat by himself for maybe ten minutes. I kept waiting for the other woman to show up. I imagined she was some sexy college professor, you know, with glasses and dark black hair. But nobody showed up. Dan finished his coffee and got up. He started walking down the block. It was so weird, following him like that. I mean, I loved this man. You have no idea how much. And yet, like I said, there was something about him I couldn't reach and now I'm skulking around, trying to keep out of sight, and I'm feeling like now, finally, I'm close to learning the truth. And it's terrifying me."

  Again Jenna lifted the cup to her lips.

  "So where did he go?"

  "Two blocks away, there was a lovely old Victorian home. It was in the heart of faculty housing. He knocked on the door and entered. He stayed an hour and left. He walked back to town, got in his car, and drove back."

  The hotel receptionist told the family that check-in wasn't until four PM. The father pleaded for an earlier time. The receptionist remained f
irm.

  "So whose house was it?"

  "That's the funny thing. It belonged to the dean of students. A man named Stephen Slotnick. He was divorced at the time. He lived there with his two kids."

  "So why would he visit him?"

  "I have no idea. I never asked. That was it. I never raised it with him. He wasn't having an affair. It was his secret. If he wanted to tell me, he would."

  "And he never did?"

  "Never."

  They drank coffee, both lost in their own thoughts.

  "You have nothing to feel guilty about," Jenna said.

  "I don't."

  "Dan is dead. One thing we had in common, neither of us believed in an afterlife. Dead is dead. He wouldn't care about being rehabilitated now."

  "I'm not trying to do that either."

  "Then what are you trying to do?"

  "Damned if I know. I guess I need answers."

  "Sometimes the most obvious answer is the right one. Maybe Dan is everything people think he is."

  "Maybe, but that doesn't answer one key question."

  "That being?"

  "Why was he visiting the dean of students at his alma mater?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Aren't you curious?"

  Jenna thought about it. "You plan on finding out?"

  "I do."

  "It might have destroyed our marriage."

  "Might have."

  "Or it might have nothing to do with anything."

  "More likely," Wendy agreed.

  "I think Dan killed that girl."

  Wendy did not reply to that. She waited for Jenna to say more, but she didn't. Admitting that had sucked the energy out of her. She sat back, seemingly unable to move.

  After some time had passed, Wendy said, "You're probably right."

  "But you still want to know about the dean?"

  "I do."

  Jenna nodded. "If you find out what it was, will you let me know?"

  "Sure."

  Caught

  Chapter 30

  WENDY GOT OFF THE ELEVATOR and headed to Vic's office. On her way, she passed Michele Feisler--the new young anchorwoman--working at her cubicle. The cubicle had photographs of Walter Cronkite, Edward R. Murrow, Peter Jennings. Again Wendy thought, Oy.

  "Hi, Michele."

  Michele was busy typing. She gave a half-wave, no more. Wendy peered over the woman's shoulder. She was Tweeting on Twitter. In this case, someone had commented: "Your hair looked great on last night's broadcast!" Michele was re-Tweeting it to her followers with a "Using a new conditioner--will tell more soon. Stay tuned!"

  Edward R. Murrow would be so proud.

  "How's that guy who got both knees shot?" Wendy asked.

  "Yeah, it's your kind of story," Michele said.

  "How's that?"

  "Seems he's something of a perv." She turned away from her computer, but only for a moment. "Isn't that your specialty--pervs?"

  Nice to have a specialty, Wendy thought. "What do you mean 'pervs'?"

  "Well, you're our resident sex perv, aren't you?"

  "Meaning?"

  "Oops, can't talk now," Michele said, back typing away. "Busy."

  Standing there, Wendy couldn't help but notice that Clark had been right: Michele did indeed have a gigantic head, especially in contrast to that wisp of a body. It looked like a helium balloon on the end of a string. It looked like her neck might collapse under the weight.

  Wendy checked her watch. Three minutes until twelve sharp. She hurried down the corridor to Vic's office. His secretary, Mavis, was there.

  "Hey, Mavis."

  This woman too barely looked up at her. "What can I do for you, Ms. Tynes?"

  First time she'd called her that. Maybe someone had sent down a directive to be more formal since her firing. "I'd like to speak to Vic for a second."

  "Mr. Garrett is not available." Her tone, usually so friendly, was pure ice.

  "Will you tell him I'm headed up to the sixth floor? I should be back soon."

  "I will let him know."

  She made her way to the elevator. Maybe it was her imagination but there seemed to be a weird tension in the air.

  Wendy had been in this building--the network offices--a zillion times, but she had never been on the sixth floor before. Now she sat in an office of startling white, a cubist wonder, with a little waterfall running in the corner. One wall was dominated by a painting of black-andwhite swirls. The other walls were empty. The swirls were facing her and very distracting. Across the glass table, in front of the swirls, sat three suits. Two men, one woman--all lined up against her. One man was black. The woman was Asian. Nice balance, though the one in charge, the one who sat in the middle and did all the talking, was the white man.

  "Thank you for coming in to see us," the man said. He had introduced himself--had, in fact, introduced all three--but she hadn't been paying attention to names.

  "Sure thing," she said.

  Wendy noticed that her chair was at least two inches lower than the others'. Classic--albeit amateur--intimidation move. Wendy crossed her arms and actually slid lower. Let them think they have the advantage.

  "So," Wendy said, trying to cut through this, "what can I do for you folks?"

  The white man looked at the Asian woman. She took out a sheet of paper and slid it across the glass tabletop. "Is this your signature?"

  Wendy looked at it. It was her original employment contract. "Looks like it."

  "Is that your signature or not?"

  "It is."

  "And you've read this document, of course."

  "I guess."

  "I don't want you to guess--"

  She stopped him with a wave of her hand. "I read it. So what's the problem?"

  "I would like you to refer to section seventeen point four on page three."

  "Okay." She started turning pages.

  "It references our strict policy about romantic and/or sexual relationships in the workplace."

  That made her pull up. "What about it?"

  "You've read it?"

  "Yes."

  "And you understand it?"

  "Yes."

  "Well," the white man said, "it has come to our attention that you broke this rule, Ms. Tynes."

  "Uh, no, I assure you that I did not."

  The white man sat back, crossed his arms, and tried to look judgmental. "Do you know a man named Victor Garrett?"

  "Vic? Sure, he's the news manager."

  "Have you ever had sexual relations with him?"

  "With Vic? Come on now."

  "Is that a yes or no?"

  "It's a big-time no. Why don't you bring him in here and ask him yourself?"

  The three of them started conferring with one another. "We plan on doing that."

  "I don't understand. Where did you hear that Vic and I . . ." She tried not to look disgusted.

  "We've received reports."

  "From?"

  They didn't answer right away--and suddenly the answer was obvious. Hadn't Phil Turnball warned her?

  "We aren't at liberty to say," the white man said.

  "Too bad. You are leveling a serious accusation. Either you have some evidence to show me or you don't."

  The black man looked at the Asian woman. The Asian woman looked at the white man. The white man looked at the black man.

  Wendy spread her hands. "Do you guys rehearse this?"

  They bent toward one another and whispered like senators during a hearing. Wendy waited. When they finished, the Asian woman opened another file and slid it across the glass surface.

  "Perhaps you should read this."

  Wendy opened the file. It was a printout from a blog. Wendy felt her blood boil as she read:

  I work at NTC. I can't say my real name because I'll get fired. But Wendy Tynes is horrible. She is a no-talent prima donna who rose to the top the old-fashioned way: She slept her way there. Currently she is screwing our boss Vic Garrett. Because of that, she gets to do w
hatever she wants. She was, in fact, fired last week for incompetence, but got hired back because Vic is afraid of a harassment suit. Wendy has had tons of plastic surgery, including nose, eyes, and boobs . . .

  On and on it went. Again Wendy remembered Phil's warning. She remembered what these viral psychos had done to Farley Parks, to Steve Miciano--and now to her. The implications were beginning to sink in: her career, her livelihood, her ability to take care of her son. Rumors always hardened to facts. Accusations are convictions in the public mind. You are guilty until proven innocent.

  Hadn't Dan Mercer told her something like that?

  Eventually the white man cleared his throat and said, "Well?"

  With as much as bravado as she could muster, Wendy stuck out her chest. "They're real. You can squeeze one if you want."

  "This isn't funny."

  "And I'm not laughing. But I am offering you proof these are lies. Go ahead. Quick squeeze."

  The white man made a harrumph noise and gestured toward the file. "Maybe you should look at the comments. They're on the second page."

  Wendy tried to keep up the confident facade, but she felt as though her world was starting to teeter. She turned the paper over and scanned down to the first comment.

  Comment: I worked with her at her last job and I totally agree. Same thing happened there. Our married boss got canned and divorced. She's trash.Comment: She slept with at least two college professors, one when she was pregnant. Broke up his marriage.

  Now Wendy felt her face burn. She had been married to John when she was at that job. He had, in fact, been killed during her last weeks working there. That lie, in particular, enraged her more than any others. It was so obscene, so unfair.

  "Well?" the white man asked.

  "These," she said, through gritted teeth, "are total lies."

  "It's all over the Web. Some of these blogs have been sent to our sponsors. They were threatening to pull their ads."

  "It's all lies."

  "And furthermore we would like you to sign a release."

  "What kind of release?"

  "Mr. Garrett is your superior. While I don't think you have a case, you could sue for sexual harassment."

  "Are you kidding?" Wendy said.