The Myron Bolitar Series 7-Book Bundle (109 page)

Myron had to smile. “That’s reaching.”

“But that’s the way it is.” He could feel her eyes on him now. “No matter what you might want to do, morally and legally you are not allowed to talk to anyone.”

She was good.

Myron drove a bit faster. No one was tailing them; the police and the reporters had stuck to the house. The story was all over the radio. The anchorman kept repeating a one-line statement issued by Linda Coldren: “We are all saddened by this tragedy. Please allow us to grieve in peace.”

“You issue that statement?” Myron asked.

“No. Linda did it before I got there.”

“Why?”

“She thought it would keep the media off her back. She knows better now.”

They pulled up on Porter Street. Myron scanned the sidewalks.

“Up there,” Victoria Wilson said.

Myron saw him. Chad Coldren was huddled on the ground. The telephone receiver was still gripped in one hand, but he wasn’t talking. The other hand was heavily bandaged. Myron felt a little queasy. He hit the gas pedal. The car jerked forward. They pulled up to the boy. Chad stared straight ahead.

Victoria Wilson’s indifferent expression finally melted a bit. “Let me handle this,” she said.

She got out of the car and walked over to the boy. She bent down and cradled him. She took the receiver away from him, talked into it, hung up. She helped Chad to his feet, stroking his hair, whispering comforts. They both got into the backseat. Chad leaned his head against her. She made soothing shushing noises. She nodded at Myron. Myron put the car in drive.

Chad did not speak during the drive. Nobody asked him to. Victoria gave Myron directions to her office building in Bryn Mawr. The Coldren family doctor—a gray-haired, old family friend named Henry Lane—had his office there too. He unwrapped Chad’s bandage and examined the boy while Myron and Victoria waited in another room. Myron paced. Victoria read a magazine.

“We should take him to a hospital,” Myron said.

“Dr. Lane will decide if that’s necessary.” Victoria yawned and flipped a page.

Myron tried to take it all in. With all the activity surrounding the police accusation and Chad’s safe recovery, he had almost forgotten about Jack Coldren. Jack was dead. It was almost impossible for Myron to comprehend. The irony did not escape him: The man finally has the chance at redemption and he ends up dead in the same hazard that altered his life twenty-three years ago.

Dr. Lane appeared in the doorway. He was everything you wanted a doctor to look like—Marcus Welby without the receding hairline. “Chad is better now. He’s talking. He’s alert.”

“How’s his hand?” Myron asked.

“It’ll need to be looked at by a specialist. But there’s no infection or anything like that.”

Victoria Wilson stood. “I’d like to talk to him.”

Lane nodded. “I would warn you to go easy on him, Victoria, but I know you never listen.”

Her mouth almost twitched. Not a smile. Not even close. But there was a sign of life. “You’ll have to stay out here, Henry. The police may ask you what you heard.”

The doctor nodded again. “I understand.”

Victoria looked at Myron. “I’ll do the talking.”

“Okay.”

When Myron and Victoria entered the room, Chad was staring down at his bandaged hand like he expected the missing finger to grow back.

“Chad?”

He slowly looked up. There were tears in his eyes. Myron remembered
what Linda had said about the kid’s love of golf. Another dream lay in ashes. The kid did not know it, but right now he and Myron were kindred spirits.

“Who are you?” Chad asked Myron.

“He’s a friend,” Victoria Wilson replied. Even with the boy the tone was completely detached. “His name is Myron Bolitar.”

“I want to see my parents, Aunt Vee.”

Victoria sat across from him. “A lot has happened, Chad. I don’t want to go into it all now. You’ll have to trust me, okay?”

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.”

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.