Promise Me (31 page)

W
in stood a few feet behind Myron. Just in case. But he could see right away that Jake Wolf was not about to make a move. He was surrendering. For now. There might be something else, something later. Win had dealt with men like Jake Wolf. They never really believe that it’s over. They look for an out, an escape hatch, a loophole, a legal maneuver, something.

A few minutes earlier, they’d spotted Van Dyne’s car in the Roosevelt Mall lot. Myron and Win had run ahead, leaving Lorraine Wolf and Erik Biel in the car. Erik still had a few nylon cuffs he’d bought at the same store where he’d picked up the ammunition. So they cuffed Lorraine’s hands behind her back and hoped like hell that Erik wouldn’t do something stupid.

Not long after Myron and Win disappeared into the dark, Erik got out of the backseat. He moved toward Van Dyne’s car. He opened the front door. He didn’t know what he was doing exactly. He just knew he had to do something. He slid into the driver’s seat. There were guitar picks on the floor. He remembered his own daughter’s collection, how much she loved them, how her eyes would close when she strummed the strings. He remembered Aimee’s first guitar, a crappy thing he’d bought at a toy store for ten bucks. She’d been only four years old. She banged on it and did a wonderful rendition of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” More like Bruce Springsteen than something you’d see from a preschooler. He and Claire had clapped like mad when she finished.

“Aimee rocks,” Claire had declared.

They had all been smiling. They had all been so happy.

Erik looked out the windshield, back toward his car, back toward Lorraine Wolf. Their eyes met. He had known Lorraine for two years
now, since Aimee had first started dating her son. He liked her. Truth be told, he had even semi-fantasized about her. Not that he would have ever done anything about it. Not like that. Just a harmless fantasy for an attractive woman. Normal stuff.

He looked in the backseat now. There was sheet music, handwritten. He froze. His hand moved slowly. He saw the handwriting and realized that it was Aimee’s. He picked it up, brought it closer, holding it as if it were strands of porcelain.

Aimee had written this.

Something caught in his throat. His fingertips touched down on the words, the notes. His daughter had held this paper. She had scrunched up her face the way she always did and delved into her life experiences and produced this. It was a simple thought, really, but suddenly it meant the world to him. His anger was gone. It would be back. He knew that. But at that moment, his heart just felt heavy. There was no anger. Just pain.

That was when Erik decided to pop the trunk.

He looked back over at Lorraine Wolf. Something crossed her face. He didn’t know what. He opened the car door and stepped back into the night. He moved toward the trunk, took hold of the hatch with one hand, began to lift it. He heard rustling from the field. He turned and saw Myron come flying into view.

“Erik, wait. . . .”

Erik opened the trunk then.

The black tarp. That was what he saw first. Something wrapped in black tarp. His knees buckled, but he held on. Myron started toward him, but Erik held up a hand as if telling him to stay back. He tried to rip the tarp. It wouldn’t give. He pulled and tugged. The tarp held in place. Erik started to panic now. His chest heaved. His breath caught.

He took out his key chain and dug the end of a key into the plastic. It made a hole. There was blood. He slit the tarp and reached his hands in. They grew wet and sticky. Erik desperately pulled at the tarp, ripping at it as if he were trapped inside, running out of air.

He saw the dead face and fell back.

Myron was next to him now.

“Oh my God,” Erik said. He collapsed. “Oh thank you. . . .”

It wasn’t his daughter in the trunk. It was Drew Van Dyne.

L
orraine Wolf said, “I shot him in self-defense.”

In the distance Myron could hear the police sirens. Myron stood next to the trunk with Erik Biel and Lorraine Wolf. He had called the police. They’d be here soon. He looked across the field. He could see distant silhouettes of Win and Jake Wolf. Myron had run ahead. Win had taken care of securing their suspect.

“Drew Van Dyne was in the house,” she went on. “He pulled a gun on Jake. I saw it. He was yelling all kinds of crazy stuff about Aimee—”

“What stuff?”

“He said that Jake didn’t care about her. That she was just some dumb slut to him. That she was pregnant. He was ranting.”

“So what did you do?”

“We keep guns in the house. Jake likes to hunt. So I got a rifle. I pointed it at Drew Van Dyne. I told him to put down the gun. He wouldn’t. I could see that. So . . .”

“No!” It was Wolf who had said that. They were close enough to hear. “I shot Van Dyne!”

Everyone stared at him. The police sirens sounded.

“I shot him in self-defense,” Jake Wolf insisted. “He pulled a gun on me.”

“So why did you stick the body in the trunk?” Myron asked.

“I was afraid no one would believe that. I was going to bring him home, dump him in his own house. Then I realized that would be stupid.”

“When did you realize that?” Myron said. “When you saw us?”

“I want a lawyer,” Jake Wolf said. “Lorraine, don’t say anything else.”

Erik Biel stepped forward. “I don’t care about any of this. My daughter. Where the hell is my daughter?”

No one moved. No one spoke. The night stayed silent except for the scream of sirens.

Lance Banner was the first cop out of his car, but dozens of squad cars descended on the Roosevelt Mall parking lot. They kept the flashing lights on. Everyone’s face went from blue to red. The effect was dizzying.

“Aimee,” Erik said softly. “Where is she?”

Myron tried to keep calm, tried to concentrate. He stepped to the side with Win. Win’s face, as ever, remained unruffled.

“So,” Win said, “where are we?”

“It’s not Davis,” Myron said. “We checked him out. It doesn’t look like it was Van Dyne. He pulled a gun on Jake Wolf because he thought that he’d done it. And the Wolfs claim, somewhat convincingly, that it wasn’t them.”

“Any other suspects?”

“Not that I can think of.”

Win said, “Then we need to look at them again.”

“Erik thinks she’s dead.”

Win nodded. “That’s what I mean,” he said. “When I say we need to look at them again.”

“You think one of them killed her and got rid of the body?”

Win did not bother replying.

“My God,” Myron said. He looked back over at Erik. “Have we been looking at this wrong from the beginning?”

“I can’t see how.”

Myron’s cell phone chirped. He looked down at the caller ID and saw the number was blocked.

“Hello?”

“It’s Investigator Loren Muse. Do you remember me?”

“Of course.”

“I just got an anonymous call,” she said. “Someone claimed they spotted Aimee Biel yesterday.”

“Where?”

“On Livingston Avenue. Aimee was in the passenger seat of a Toyota Corolla. The driver pretty much fits the description of Drew Van Dyne.”

Myron frowned. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what she said.”

“He’s dead, Muse.”

“Who?”

“Drew Van Dyne.”

Erik came over and stood next to Myron.

And that was when it happened.

Erik’s cell phone rang.

He brought the phone up. When he saw the number on the caller ID, Erik nearly screamed.

“Oh my God. . . .”

Erik snapped the phone to his ear. His eyes were wet. His hand shook so badly he hit the wrong button to answer. He tried again and brought the phone back up. His voice was a panicked scream. “Hello?”

Myron leaned in close enough to hear. There was a moment of static. And then a voice, a teary voice, a familiar voice said, “Daddy?”

Myron’s heart stopped.

Erik’s face collapsed, but his voice was all father. “Where are you, honey? Are you all right?”

“I don’t . . . I’m fine, I think. Daddy?”

“It’s okay, honey. I’m here. Just tell me where you are.”

And she did.

M
yron drove. Erik stayed in the passenger seat.

The ride was not a long one.

Aimee had said that she was behind the Little Park near the high school—that same park that Claire had taken her to when she was only three. Erik would not let her off the line. “It’s okay,” he kept saying. “Daddy’s on his way.”

Myron cut time by taking the circle in the wrong direction. He drove over two curbs. He didn’t care. Neither did Erik. Speed was the thing here. The lot was empty. The headlights danced through the night and then, as they made the final turn, the lights landed on a solitary figure.

Myron hit the brake.

Erik said, “Oh my God, oh my sweet dear God. . . .”

He was out of the car. Myron was out fast too. They both started sprinting. But somewhere along the way, Myron let up. Erik took the lead. That was how it should be. Erik swept his daughter into his arms. He took careful hold of her face, as though fearing it was only a dream, a puff of smoke, and that she might vanish again.

Myron stopped and watched. Then he picked up his own cell phone and called Claire.

“Myron? What the hell is going on?”

“She’s okay,” he said.

“What?”

“She’s safe. We’re bringing her home to you now.”

In the car, Aimee was groggy.

“What happened?” Myron asked.

“I think,” Aimee began. Her eyes went wide. Her pupils were dilated. “I think they drugged me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know who kidnapped you?”

She shook her head.

Erik sat in the back with Aimee. He held her. He stroked her hair. He told her over and over again that it was okay now, everything was okay.

Myron said, “Maybe we should take her to a doctor.”

“No,” Erik said. “She needs to go home first.”

“Aimee, what happened?”

“She’s been through hell, Myron,” Erik said. “Give her a chance to catch her breath.”

“It’s okay, Daddy.”

“Why were you in New York?”

“I was supposed to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“About . . .” Her voice faded. Then she said, “This is tough to talk about.”

“We know about Drew Van Dyne,” Myron said. “We know you’re pregnant.”

She closed her eyes.

“Aimee, what happened?”

“I was going to get rid of it.”

“The baby?”

She nodded. “I went to the corner of Fifty-second Street and Sixth. That’s what they told me to do. They were going to help me out. They pulled up in a black car. They told me to get money from the ATM.”

“Who?”

“I never saw them,” Aimee said. “The windows were tinted. They were always in disguise.”

“Disguise?”

“Yes.”

“They. There was more than one?”

“I don’t know. I know I heard a woman’s voice. That much I’m sure.”

“Why didn’t you just go to St. Barnabas?”

Aimee hesitated. “I’m so tired.”

“Aimee?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Someone from St. Barnabas called. A woman. If I went there, my parents would find out. Something about shield laws. I just . . . I’d made so many mistakes. I just wanted to . . . But then I wasn’t so sure. I got the money. I was going to get in the car. But then I panicked. That’s when I called you, Myron. I wanted to talk to someone. It was going to be you, but, I don’t know, I know you were trying, but I thought maybe it would be better to talk to someone else.”

“Harry Davis?”

Aimee nodded. “I know this other girl,” she said. “Her boyfriend got her pregnant. She said Mr. D was really helpful.”

“That’s enough,” Erik said.

They were almost at Aimee’s house. Myron did not want to let this go. Not yet.

“So what happened then?”

“The rest is fuzzy,” Aimee said.

“Fuzzy?”

“I know I got into a car.”

“Whose?”

“The same one that was waiting for me in New York, I think. I felt so deflated after Mr. D sent me away. So I thought I might as well go with them. Get it over with. But . . .”

“But what?”

“It’s all fuzzy.”

Myron frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was drugged almost the whole time. I only remember waking up for a few minutes at a time. Whoever it was, they held me in some kind of log cabin. That’s all I remember. It had this fireplace with white and brown stone. And then suddenly I was in that field behind the playground. I called you, Daddy. I don’t even know . . . how long was I gone?”

She started crying then. Erik put his arms around her.

“It’s okay,” Erik said. “Whatever happened, it’s over now. You’re safe.”

Claire was in the yard. She sprinted up to the car. Aimee managed to get out, but she could barely stand. Claire let out a primordial cry and grabbed for her daughter.

They hugged, they cried, they kissed, the three of them. Myron felt like an intruder. They started toward the door then. Myron waited. Claire looked back. She caught Myron’s eyes. She ran back to him.

Claire kissed him. “Thank you.”

“The police are still going to need to talk to her.”

“You kept your promise.”

He said nothing.

“You brought her home.”

Then she ran back to the house.

Myron stood there and watched them disappear inside. He wanted to celebrate. Aimee was home. She was healthy.

But he didn’t feel in the mood.

He drove again to the cemetery that overlooked a schoolyard. The gate was open. He found Brenda’s grave and sat next to it. The night closed in. He could hear the swishing of highway traffic. He thought about what had just happened. He thought about what Aimee had just said. He thought about her being home, safe and with her family, while Brenda lay in the ground.

Myron sat there until another car pulled up. He almost smiled as Win stepped into view. Win kept his distance for a moment. Then he approached the headstone. He looked down at it.

“Nice to have one in the win column, no?” Win said.

“I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?”

“I still don’t know what happened.”

“She’s alive. She’s home.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough.”

Win gestured toward the stone. “If you could go back in time, would you need to know everything that happened? Or would it be enough if she were alive and home?”

Myron closed his eyes, tried to imagine that bliss. “It would be enough if she were alive and home.”

Win smiled. “There you go then. What else is there?”

He stood. He didn’t know the answer. He only knew that he had spent enough time with ghosts, with the dead.