Back Spin

by Harlan Coben

  Chad nodded.

  "I need to know what happened to you. Everything. From the beginning."

  "A man car-jacked me," Chad said.

  "Just one man?"

  "Yeah."

  "Go on. Tell me what happened."

  "I was at a traffic light, and this guy just opens the passenger door and gets in. He's wearing a ski mask and sticks this gun in my face. He told me to keep driving."

  "Okay. What day was this?"

  "Thursday."

  "Where were you Wednesday night?"

  "At my friend Matt's house."

  "Matthew Squires?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, fine." Victoria Wilson's eyes did not wander from the boy's face. "Now where were you when this man got into your car?"

  "A couple of blocks from school."

  "Did this happen before or after summer school?"

  "After. I was on my way home."

  Myron kept quiet. He wondered why the boy was lying.

  "Where did the man take you?"

  "He told me to drive around the block. We pulled into this parking lot. Then he put something over my head. A burlap bag or something. He made me lie down in the back. Then he started driving. I don't know where we went. I never saw anything. Next thing I knew I was in a room someplace. I had to keep the bag on my head all the time so I didn't see anything."

  "You never saw the man's face?"

  "Never."

  "Are you sure it was a man? Could it have been a woman?"

  "I heard his voice a few times. It was a man. At least, one of them was."

  "There was more than one?"

  Chad nodded. "The day he did this ..." He lifted his bandaged hand into view. His face went totally blank. He looked straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. "I had that burlap bag over my head. My hands were handcuffed behind my back." His voice was as detached as Victoria's now. "That bag was so itchy. I used to rub my chin against my shoulder. Just for relief. Anyway, the man came in and unlocked the handcuffs. Then he grabbed my hand and put it flat on the table. He didn't say anything. He didn't warn me. The whole thing took less than ten seconds. He just put my hand on the table. I never saw a thing. I just heard a whack. Then I felt this weird sensation. Not even pain at first. I didn't know what it was. Then I felt a warm wetness. From the blood, I guess. The pain came a few seconds later. I passed out. When I woke up, my hand was wrapped. The throbbing was awful. The burlap bag was back over my head. Someone came in. Gave me some pills. It dulled the pain a little. Then I heard voices. Two of them. It sounded like they were arguing."

  Chad Coldren stopped as though out of breath. Myron watched Victoria Wilson. She did not go over and comfort him.

  "Were the voices both male?"

  "Actually, one sounded like a female. But I was pretty out of it. I can't say for sure."

  Chad looked back down at his bandages. He moved his fingers a bit. Testing them out.

  "What happened next, Chad?"

  He kept his eyes on the bandages. "There's not a lot to tell, Aunt Vee. They kept me that way for a few days. I don't know how many. They fed me mostly pizza and soda. They brought a phone in one day. Made me call Merion and ask for my dad."

  The ransom call at Merion, Myron thought. The kidnapper's second call.

  "They also made me scream."

  "Made you scream?"

  "The guy came in. He told me to scream and to make it scary. Otherwise, he would make me scream for real. So I tried different screams for, like, ten minutes. Until he was satisfied."

  The scream from the call at the mall, Myron thought. The one where Tito demanded a hundred grand.

  "That's about it, Aunt Vee."

  "How did you escape?" Victoria asked.

  "I didn't. They let me go. A little while ago someone led me to a car. I still had the burlap bag on my head. We drove a little. Then the car stopped. Someone opened the door and pulled me out. Next thing I knew, I was free."

  Victoria looked over at Myron. Myron looked back. Then she nodded slowly. Myron took that as his cue.

  "He's lying."

  Chad said, "What?"

  Myron turned his attention to him. "You're lying, Chad. And worse, the police will know you're lying."

  "What are you talking about?" His eyes sought Victoria's. "Who is this guy?"

  "You used your ATM card at 6:18 P.M. on Thursday on Porter Street," Myron said.

  Chad's eyes widened. "That wasn't me. It was the asshole who grabbed me. He took my wallet--"

  "It's on videotape, Chad."

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then: "They made me." But his voice was weak.

  "I saw the tape, Chad. You were smiling. You were happy. You were not alone. You also spent an evening at the sleazy motel next door."

  Chad lowered his head.

  "Chad?" It was Victoria. She did not sound pleased. "Look at me, boy."

  Chad slowly raised his eyes.

  "Why are you lying to me?"

  "It has nothing to do with what happened, Aunt Vee."

  Her face was unyielding. "Start talking, Chad. And now."

  He looked down again, studying the bandaged hand. "It's just like I said--except the man didn't grab me in my car. He knocked on my door at that motel. He came in with a gun. Everything else I told you is the truth."

  "When was this?"

  "Friday morning."

  "So why did you lie to me?"

  "I promised," he said. "I just wanted to keep her out of this."

  "Who?" she asked.

  Chad looked surprised. "You don't know?"

  "I have the tape," Myron said, giving a little bluff here. "I haven't shown it to her yet."

  "Aunt Vee, you have to keep her out of it. This could really hurt her."

  "Honey, listen to me now. I think it's sweet that you're trying to protect your girlfriend. But I don't have time for that."

  Chad looked from Myron to Victoria. "I want to see my mom please."

  "You will, honey. Soon. But first you have to tell me about this girl."

  "I promised that I would keep her out of it."

  "If I can keep her name out of this, I will."

  "I can't, Aunt Vee."

  "Forget it, Victoria," Myron said. "If he won't tell, we can all just watch the tape together. Then we can call the girl on her own. Or maybe the police will find her first. They'll have a copy of the tape too. They won't be so worried about her feelings."

  "You don't understand," Chad said, looking from Victoria Wilson to Myron, then back at Victoria again. "I promised her. She can get in serious trouble."

  "We'll talk to her parents, if need be," Victoria said. "We'll do what we can."

  "Her parents?" Chad looked confused. "I'm not worried about her parents. She's old enough...." His voice died away.

  "Who were you with, Chad?"

  "I swore I'd never say anything, Aunt Vee."

  "Fine," Myron said. "We can't waste time on this, Victoria. Let the police track her down."

  "No!" Chad looked down. "She had nothing to do with it, okay? We were together. She went out for a little while and that's when they grabbed me. It wasn't her fault."

  Victoria shifted in her seat. "Who, Chad?"

  His words came out slow and grudging. But they were also quite clear. "Her name is Esme Fong. She works for a company called Zoom."

  28

  It was all starting to make awful, horrible sense.

  Myron did not wait for permission. He stormed out of the office and down the corridor. It was time to confront Esme.

  A scenario was fast taking shape in Myron's mind. Esme Fong meets Chad Coldren while negotiating the Zoom deal with his mother. She seduces him. Why? Hard to say. For kicks maybe. Not important.

  Anyway, Chad spends Wednesday night with his buddy Matthew. Then on Thursday he meets up with Esme for a romantic tryst at the Court Manor Inn. They pick up some cash at an ATM. They have their fun. And then things get interesting.

  Esme
Fong has not only signed Linda Coldren, but she has managed to land Wunderkind Tad Crispin. Tad is playing wonderfully well in his first U.S. Open. After one round, he is in second place. Amazing. Great publicity. But if Tad could somehow win--if he could catch the veteran with a gigantic lead--it would give Zoom's launch into the golf business a nuclear boost. It would be worth millions.

  Millions.

  And Esme had the leader's son right in front of her.

  So what does the ambitious Esme Fong do? She hires Tito to grab the boy. Nothing complicated. She wants to distract Jack big-time. Make him lose that edge. What better way than kidnapping his kid?

  It all kinda fit together.

  Myron turned his attention to some of the case's more bothersome aspects. First of all, not demanding the ransom for so long suddenly made sense. Esme Fong is no expert at this and she doesn't want a payoff--that would just complicate matters--so the first few calls are awkward. She forgets to demand a ransom. Second, Myron remembered Tito's "chink bitch" call. How had he known Esme was there? Simple. Esme had told him when she would be there--to scare the hell out of the Coldrens and make them think they were being watched.

  Yep. It fit. Everything had been going according to Esme Fong's plan. Except for one thing.

  Jack continued to play well.

  He maintained his insurmountable lead through the next round. The kidnapping may have stunned him a bit, but he had regained his footing. His lead was still huge. Drastic action was necessary.

  Myron got into the elevator and headed down to the ground-floor lobby. He wondered how it had happened. Maybe it had been Tito's idea. Maybe that was why Chad had heard two voices arguing. Either way, someone decided to do something that was guaranteed to throw Jack off his game.

  Cut off Chad's finger.

  Like it or not--Tito's idea or hers--Esme Fong took advantage. She had Linda's car keys. She knew what her car looked like. It wouldn't take much. Just a turn of the key, a quick drop on the car seat. Easy for her. Nothing suspicious. Who would notice an attractive, well-dressed woman unlocking a car with a key?

  The severed finger did the trick, too. Jack's game was left in shambles. Tad Crispin stormed back. It was everything she wanted. But, alas, Jack had one more trick up his sleeve. He managed to land a big putt on the eighteenth hole, forcing a tie. This was a nightmare for Esme. She could not take the risk of Tad Crispin losing to Jack, the ultimate choker, in a one-on-one situation.

  A loss would be disastrous.

  A loss would cost them millions. Maybe destroy her entire campaign.

  Man, did it fit.

  When Myron thought about it, hadn't he heard Esme voice that very viewpoint with Norm Zuckerman? Her Buffalo Bill analogy--hadn't he been standing right there when she said it? Now that she was trapped, was it so hard to believe that she'd go the extra mile? That she would call Jack on the phone last night? That she would set up a rendezvous at the course? That she would insist he come alone--right now--if he wanted to see his son alive?

  Ka-bang.

  And once Jack was dead, there was no reason to hold on to the kid anymore. She let him go.

  The elevator slid open. Myron stepped out. Okay, there were holes. But maybe after confronting Esme, he would be able to plug a few of them up. Myron pushed open the glass door. He headed into the parking lot. There were taxis waiting near the street. He was midway through the lot when a voice reached out and pulled him to a stop.

  "Myron?"

  An icy nerve-jangle punctured a hole through his heart. He had heard the voice only once before. Ten years ago. At Merion.

  29

  Myron froze.

  "I see you've met Victoria," Cissy Lockwood said.

  He tried a nod, but it wouldn't happen.

  "I called her as soon as Bucky told me about the murder. I knew she'd be able to help. Victoria is the best lawyer I know. Ask Win about her."

  He tried the nod again. Got a little motion going this time.

  Win's mother stepped closer. "I'd like a word with you in private, Myron."

  He found his voice. "It's not a good time, Ms. Lockwood."

  "No, I imagine not. Still, this won't take long."

  "Really, I should go."

  She was a beautiful woman. Her ash-blond hair was streaked with gray, and she had the same regal bearing as her blood niece Linda. The porcelain face, however, she had given almost verbatim to Win. The resemblance was uncanny.

  She took one more step forward, her eyes never off him. Her clothes were a bit odd. She wore a man's oversize shirt, untucked, and stretch pants. Annie Hall goes maternity shopping. It was not what he'd have expected, but then again, he had bigger worries than fashion right now.

  "It's about Win," she said.

  Myron shook his head. "Then it's none of my business."

  "True enough. But that does not make you immune to responsibility, does it? Win is your friend. I count myself lucky that my son has a friend who cares like you do."

  Myron said nothing.

  "I know quite a bit about you, Myron. I've had private investigators keep tabs on Win for years now. It was my way of staying close. Of course, Win knew about it. He never said anything, but you can't keep something like that from Win, now can you?"

  "No," Myron said. "You can't."

  "You're staying at the Lockwood estate," she said. "In the guest cottage."

  He nodded.

  "You've been there before."

  Another nod.

  "Have you ever seen the horse stables?"

  "Only from a distance," Myron said.

  She smiled Win's smile. "You've never been inside?"

  "No."

  "I'm not surprised. Win doesn't ride anymore. He used to love horses. More than golf even."

  "Ms. Lockwood--"

  "Please call me Cissy."

  "I really don't feel comfortable hearing this."

  Her eyes hardened a bit. "And I do not feel comfortable telling you this. But it must be done."

  "Win wouldn't want me to hear it," Myron said.

  "That's too bad, but Win cannot always have what he wants. I should have learned that long ago. He did not want to see me as a child. I never forced it. I listened to the experts, who told me that my son would come around, that compelling him to see me would be counterproductive. But they did not know Win. By the time I stopped listening to them it was too late. Not that it mattered. I don't think ignoring them would have changed anything."

  Silence.

  She stood proud and tall, her slender neck high. But something was going on. Her fingers kept flexing, as if she were fighting off the desire to make fists. Myron's stomach knotted up. He knew what was coming next. He just didn't know what to do about it.

  "The story is simple," she began, her voice almost wistful. She was no longer looking at Myron. Her gaze rose above his shoulder, but he had no idea what she was actually seeing. "Win was eight years old. I was twenty-seven at the time. I married young. I never went to college. It was not as though I had a choice. My father told me what to do. I had only one friend--one person I could confide in. That was Victoria. She is still my dearest friend, not unlike what you are to Win."

  Cissy Lockwood winced. Her eyes closed.

  "Ms. Lockwood?"

  She shook her head. The eyes slowly opened. "I am getting off track," she said, catching her breath. "I apologize. I'm not here to tell you my life story. Just one incident in it. So let me just state it plainly."

  A deep breath. Then another.

  "Jack Coldren told me that he was taking Win out for a golf lesson. But it never happened. Or perhaps they had finished far earlier than expected. Either way, Jack was not with Win. His father was. Somehow Win and his father ended up going into the stables. I was there when they entered. I was not alone. More specifically, I was with Win's riding instructor."

  She stopped. Myron waited.

  "Do I need to spell this out for you?"

  Myron shook his head.

&nbs
p; "No child should see what Win saw that day," she said. "And worse, no child should ever see his father's face under those circumstances."

  Myron felt tears sting his eyes.

  "There is more to it, of course. I won't go into it now. But Win has never spoken to me since that moment. He also never forgave his father. Yes, his father. You think he hates only me and loves Windsor the Second. But it is not so. He blames his father, too. He thinks that his father is weak. That he allowed it to happen. Utter nonsense, but that is the way it is."

  Myron shook his head. He didn't want to hear any more. He wanted to run and find Win. He wanted to hug his friend and shake him and somehow make him forget. He thought of the lost expression on Win's face as he watched the horse stables yesterday morning.

  My God. Win.

  When Myron spoke, his voice was sharper than he'd expected. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because I am dying," she replied.

  Myron slumped against a car. His heart ripped anew.

  "Again, let me put this simply," she said in too calm a voice. "It has reached the liver. It is eleven centimeters long. My abdomen is swelling from liver and kidney failure." That explained the wardrobe--the untucked, oversize shirt and the stretch pants. "We are not talking months. We are talking perhaps weeks. Probably less."

  "There are treatments," Myron tried lamely. "Procedures."

  She simply dismissed this with a shake of her head. "I am not a foolish woman. I do not have delusions of engaging in a moving reunion with my son. I know Win. That will not happen. But there is still unfinished business here. Once I am dead, there will be no chance for him to disentangle himself again. It will be over. I do not know what he will do with this opportunity. Probably nothing. But I want him to know. So that he can decide. It is his last chance, Myron. I do not believe he will take it. But he should."

  With that, she turned away and left. Myron watched her walk away. When she was out of sight, Myron hailed a taxi. He got in the back.

  "Where to, bud?"

  He gave the man the address where Esme Fong was staying. Then he settled back in the seat. His eyes stared blankly out the window. The city passed by in a misty, silent blur.

  30

  When he thought that his voice would not betray him, Myron called Win on the cell phone.

  After a quick hello, Win said, "Bummer about Jack."

  "From what I hear, he used to be your friend."

  Win cleared his throat. "Myron?"

  "What?"

  "You know nothing. Remember that."