by Harlan Coben
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?”
“It’s a summary of my father’s KGB file.”
His shoulders slumped. “You can’t 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 Popi, 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. Instead…”
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.”
&nbs
p; “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….”
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…” 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…
“Paul, we still need to find her….”
Did he mean Camille’s body? Or Camille herself?
“My father found out my sister was still alive,” I said.
“It’s not that simple.”
“What do you mean, it’s not that simple? Did he find out or not? Did my mother tell him?”
“Natasha?” Sosh made a noise. “Never. You talk about brave, about being able to withstand hardships. Your mother wouldn’t speak. No matter what your father did to her.”
“Including strangling her to death?”
Sosh said nothing.
“Then how did he find out?”
“After he killed your mother, your father searched through her papers, through phone records. He put it together—or at least he had his suspicions.”
“So he did know?”
“Like I said, it’s not that simple.”
“You’re not making sense, Sosh. Did he search for Camille?”
Sosh closed his eyes. He moved back around his desk. “You asked me before about the siege of Leningrad,” he said. “Do you know what it taught me? The dead are nothing. They are gone. You bury them and you move on.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sosh.”
“You went on this quest. You wouldn’t leave the dead alone. And now where are you? Two more have been killed. You learned that your beloved father murdered your mother. Was it worth it, Pavel? Was it worth stirring up the old ghosts?”
“It depends,” I said.
“On what?”
“On what happened to my sister.”
I waited.
My father’s last words came to me:
“Did you know?”
I’d thought he was accusing me, that he saw guilt on my face. But that wasn’t it. Did I know about the real fate of my sister? Did I know what he’d done? Did I know that he murdered my own mother and buried her in the woods?
“What happened to my sister, Sosh?”
“This is what I meant when I said it’s not so simple.”
I waited.
“You have to understand. Your father was never sure. He found some evidence, yes, but all he knew for certain was that your mother was going to run with the money and take you with her.”
“So?”
“So he asked me for help. He asked me to look into his evidence. He asked me to find your sister.”
I looked at him.
“Did you?”
“I looked into it, yes.” He took a step toward me. “And when I was finished, I told your father that he got it wrong.”
“What?”
“I told your father that your sister died that night in the woods.”
I was confused. “Did she?”
“No, Pavel. She didn’t die that night.”
I felt my heart start to expand in my chest. “You lied to him. You didn’t want him to find her.”
He said nothing.
“And now? Where is she now?”
“Your sister knew what your father had done. She couldn’t come forward, of course. There was no proof of his guilt. There was still the matter of why she had disappeared in the first place. And of course, she feared your father. How could she just return to the man who murdered her mother?”
I thought about the Perez family, the charges of fraud and all that. It would have been the same with my sister. Even before you add my father into the equation, it would have been difficult for Camille to come home.
Hope again filled my chest.
“So you did find her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I gave her money.”
“You helped her hide from him.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“We lost touch years ago. You have to understand, Camille didn’t want to hurt you. She thought about taking you away. But that was impractical. She knew how much you loved your father. And then later, when you became a public figure, she knew what her return, what this scandal, would do to you. You see, if she came back, it would all have to come out. And once that happened, your career would be over.”
“It already is.”
“Yes. We know that now.”
We, he said. We.
“So where is Camille?” I asked.
“She’s here, Pavel.”
The air left the room. I couldn’t breathe. I shook my head.
“It took a while to find her after all these years,” he said. “But I did. We talked. She didn’t know your father had died. I told her. And that, of course, changed everything.”
“Wait a second. You…” I stopped. “You and Camille talked?”
It was my voice, I think.
“Yes, Pavel.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When you came in, that was her on the phone.”
My body went cold.
“She’s staying at a hotel two blocks away. I told her to come over.” He looked at the elevator. “That’s her now. On her way up.”
I slowly turned and watched the numbers climb above the elevator. I heard it ding. I took one step toward it. I didn’t believe it. This was another cruel trick. Hope was having its way with
me again.
The elevator stopped. I heard the doors begin to open. They didn’t slide. They moved grudgingly as though afraid to surrender their passenger. I froze. My heart hammered hard against my chest. I kept my eyes on those doors, on the opening.
And then, twenty years after vanishing into those woods, my sister, Camille, stepped back into my life.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
LUCY DOES NOT WANT ME TO TAKE THIS TRIP.
“It’s finally over,” she says to me, right before I head to the airport.
“Heard that before,” I counter.
“You don’t need to face him again, Cope.”
“I do. I need some final answers.”
Lucy closes her eyes.
“What?”
“It’s all so fragile, you know?”
I do.
“I’m afraid you’ll shift the ground again.”
I understand. But this needs to be done.
An hour later, I am looking out the window of a plane. Over the past month, life has returned to quasi-normal. The Jenrette and Marantz case took some wild and weird twists toward its rather glorious ending. The families did not give up. They applied whatever pressure they could on Judge Arnold Pierce and he broke. He threw out the porno DVD, claiming we didn’t produce it in a timely enough fashion. We appeared to be in trouble. But the jury saw through it—they often do—and came back with guilty verdicts. Flair and Mort are appealing, of course.
I want to prosecute Judge Pierce, but I’ll never get him. I want to prosecute EJ Jenrette and MVD for blackmail. I doubt I’ll get that either. But Chamique’s lawsuit is going well. Rumor has it that they want her out of the way quickly. A seven-figure settlement is being bandied about. I hope she gets it. But when I peer into my crystal ball, I still don’t see a great deal of happiness for Chamique down the road. I don’t know. Her life has been so troubled. Somehow I sense that money will not change that.
My brother-in-law, Bob, is out on bail. I caved in on that one. I told the federal authorities that while my recollections were “fuzzy,” I do believe Bob told me that he needed a loan and that I approved it. I don’t know if it will fly. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing or the wrong thing (probably the wrong) but I don’t want Greta and her family destroyed. Feel free to call me a hypocrite—I am—but that line between right and wrong grows so blurry sometimes. It grows blurry here in the bright sunshine of the real world.