Three Harlan Coben Novels (59 page)

“The cops might be listening in, so let’s not stay on the line too long,” Zia said.

“Okay.”

“Our friend Detective Regan came to my house. He told me that he thought you used my car to leave the hospital. I called Lenny. Lenny told me to neither confirm nor deny any allegation. You can probably guess the rest.”

“Thanks.”

“You being careful?”

“Always.”

“Sure. By the way, the cops aren’t stupid. They figure that if you used one friend’s car, maybe they would look for another.”

I got her meaning—don’t use Lenny’s car.

“Better hang up now,” she said. “Love you.”

The phone went dead. I moved back inside. Verne had unlocked his gun cabinet using a key. He was checking weapons. On the other side of the room, he had a safe with ammunition. It opened by combination. I looked over his shoulder. Verne wiggled his eyebrows at me. He had enough firepower to overthrow a European country.

I told them about my conversation with Zia. Verne did not hesitate. He slapped my back and said, “I have just the vehicle for you.”

Ten minutes later, Katarina, Rachel, and I drove off in a white Camaro.

We found the
pregnant girl right away.

Before we vroomed off in Verne’s ride, Rachel jumped in the shower to rinse off the blood and grime. I quickly changed her bandage. Katarina loaned her a summer dress with a flower print, the kind that fits loose but clings just right. Rachel’s hair was wet and kinky, still dripping when we reached the car. Forget the bruises and swelling—I am not sure that I ever saw a more beautiful woman in my life.

We started driving. Katarina insisted on taking the fold-down seat in the back. That left Rachel and me in the front. For a few minutes, nobody spoke. We were, I think, decompressing.

“What Verne said,” Rachel began. “About getting the secrets out of the way and wiping the slate clean.”

I kept driving.

“I didn’t kill my husband, Marc.”

She didn’t seem to care that Katarina was in the car. Neither did I. “The official word is that it was an accident,” I said.

“The official word is a lie.” She let out a long breath. She needed time to gather herself. I gave it to her.

“It was Jerry’s second marriage. He had two kids from his first. His son, Derrick, has cerebral palsy. The expenses are ridiculous. Jerry was never good with finances or anything like that, but he did his best there. He even set up a large life-insurance policy in case something happened to him.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see her hands. They didn’t move or tighten into fists. They just sat primly in her lap.

“Our marriage fell apart. There were a lot of reasons. I mentioned
some before. I really didn’t love him. I think he sensed that. But most of all, Jerry was a manic depressive. When he stopped taking his medication, it got worse. So I finally filed for divorce.”

I peeked over at her. She was biting her lip and blinking.

“On the day they served him papers, Jerry shot himself in the head. I was the one who found him slumped over our kitchen table. There was an envelope with my name on it. I recognized Jerry’s handwriting right away. I opened it up. There was just a single sheet of paper with one word written on it. ‘Bitch.’ ”

Katarina put a comforting hand on Rachel’s shoulder. I concentrated hard on the road.

“I think Jerry did it like that on purpose,” she said, “because he knew what I’d have to do.”

“What was that?” I asked

“A suicide would mean that the life insurance wouldn’t pay. Derrick would be financially devastated. I couldn’t let that happen. I called one of my old bosses, a friend of Jerry’s named Joseph Pistillo. He’s a big deal in the FBI. He brought down a few of his men, and we made it look like an accident. The official line was, I mistook him for a burglar. The local cops and the insurance company were both pressured into signing off on it.” She shrugged.

“So why did you leave the bureau?” I asked.

“Because the rank-and-file never bought it. They all thought that I must be sleeping with someone powerful. Pistillo couldn’t protect me. It would look bad. I couldn’t defend myself, for that matter. I tried to tough it out, but the FBI is not a place for the unwanted.”

Her head dropped back against the pad. She looked out the passenger window. I didn’t know what to make of the story. I didn’t know what to make of any of this yet. I wished that I could say something comforting. I couldn’t. I just kept driving until we mercifully arrived at the motel in Union City.

Katarina approached the check-in desk, pretending to speak only Serbian, gesturing like mad, until the clerk, figuring that it was the only way to settle her down, told her the room number of the only other person on the premises who seemed to speak that language. We were in business.

The pregnant girl’s room was more a low-end efficiency unit than something you’d find in a normal highway motel. I refer to her as a
pregnant “girl” because Tatiana—that was what she said her name was—claimed to be sixteen. I suspected that she was younger. Tatiana had the sunken eyes of a child who’d just stepped out of a war newsreel, which in this situation, may have literally been the case.

I stayed back, almost out of the room. So did Rachel. Tatiana did not speak English. We let Katarina handle it. The two of them talked for about ten minutes. After that, there was a brief silence. Tatiana sighed, opened the drawer under the phone, and gave Katarina a piece of paper. Katarina kissed her cheek and then came over to us.

“She’s scared,” Katarina said. “She only knew Pavel. He left her yesterday and said not to leave the room under any circumstances.”

I glanced over at Tatiana. I tried to give her a reassuring smile. It fell, I’m certain, way short.

“What did she say?” Rachel asked.

“She doesn’t know anything, of course. Like me. She only knows that her baby will find a good home.”

“What was that piece of paper she gave you?”

Katarina lifted the slip of paper into view. “It’s a phone number. If there is an emergency, she’s supposed to call and dial in four nines.”

“A beeper,” I said.

“Yes, I believe so.”

I looked at Rachel. “Can we trace it?”

“I doubt it will lead anywhere. It’s easy to get beepers using a phony name.”

“So let’s call it,” I said. I turned to Katarina. “Has Tatiana met anyone else besides your brother?”

“No.”

“Then you make the call,” I said to her. “You say you’re Tatiana. You tell whoever answers that you’re bleeding or in pain or something.”

“Whoa,” Rachel said. “Slow down a second.”

“We need to get someone here,” I said.

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, then what? You interrogate them. Isn’t that what you do, Rachel?”

“I’m not a fed anymore. And even if I was, we can’t just bulldoze them over like that. Pretend you’re one of them for a second. You show up and I confront you. What would you do if you were involved in something like this?”

“Cut a deal.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’d just clam up and ask for a lawyer. Then where would we be?”

I thought about that. “If the person asks for a lawyer,” I said, “you leave them alone with me.”

Rachel stared at me. “Are you serious?”

“We’re talking about my daughter’s life.”

“We’re talking about a lot of children now, Marc. These people buy babies. We need to put them out of business.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“We page them. Like you said. But Tatiana will have to do the talking. She’ll have to say whatever to get them here. They’ll examine her. We check their license plate. We follow them when they leave. We find out who they are.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why can’t Katarina make the call?”

“Because whoever comes will want to examine the person they talked to on the phone. Katarina and Tatiana don’t sound alike. They’ll know what we’re up to.”

“But why do we need to go through all that? We’ll have them here. Why risk following them home?”

Rachel closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Marc, think. If they find out we’re on to them, how will they react?”

I stopped.

“And I want to be clear about something else. This isn’t about just Tara anymore. We need to bring these guys down.”

“And if we just jump them here,” I said, seeing her true point now, “they’ll be forewarned.”

“That’s right.”

I wasn’t sure how much I cared about that. Tara was my priority. If the FBI or cops want to build a legal case against these people, I was all for it. But that sat way off my personal radar.

Katarina talked to Tatiana about our plan. I could see it wasn’t taking. The young girl was petrified. She kept shaking her head no. Time passed—time we really didn’t have. I snapped and decided to do something fairly stupid. I picked up the phone, dialed the beeper number, and pressed the nine button four times. Tatiana went still.

“You’ll do it,” I said.

Katarina translated.

No one spoke for the next two minutes. We all just stared at Tatiana. When the phone rang, I did not like what I saw in the young girl’s eyes. Katarina said something, her tone urgent. Tatiana shook her head and crossed her arms. The phone rang a third time. Then a fourth.

I took out my gun.

Rachel said, “Marc.”

I kept the gun at my side. “Does she know we’re talking about my daughter’s life?”

Katarina burst off something in Serbian. I looked Tatiana hard in the eyes. There was no reaction. I raised the gun and fired. The lamp exploded, the sound reverberating too loudly in the room. Everyone jumped. Another stupid move. I knew that. I just wasn’t sure I cared.

“Marc!”

Rachel put her hand on my arm. I shook it off. I looked at Katarina. “Tell her if the caller hangs up . . .”

I never finished the thought. Katarina started talking quickly. I gripped the gun, but it was back at my side now. Tatiana still had her eyes on me. Sweat popped up on my forehead. I felt my body shake. As Tatiana watched me, something in her face began to soften.

“Please,” I said.

On the sixth ring Tatiana snatched up the receiver and started talking.

I glanced over at Katarina. She listened to the conversation and then she nodded at me. I moved back to the other side of the room. I still had the gun in my hand. Rachel stared at me. But I stared back.

Rachel blinked first.

We parked the Camaro in a restaurant lot next door and waited.

There was not a lot of chitchat. The three of us looked everywhere but at each other, as if we were all strangers on an elevator. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure what I felt. I had fired a gun and come pretty close to threatening a teenage girl. Worse, I don’t think I cared very much. The repercussions, if there were any, seemed far away, storm clouds that might gather and then again might disperse.

I flipped on the radio and dialed into the local news station. I half expected someone to say, “We interrupt this program with this special bulletin,” and then announce our names and give out descriptions and
maybe warn that we were armed and dangerous. But there were no stories on a shooting in Kasselton or a police search for us.

Rachel and I were still in the front while Katarina lay across the fold-down seat in the back. Rachel had her Palm Pilot out. The stylus was in her hand, poised to tap. I debated calling Lenny, but I remembered Zia’s warning. They’d be listening in. I had nothing much to report anyway—just that I had threatened a pregnant sixteen-year-old girl with an illegal handgun taken off the corpse of a man who’d been murdered in my backyard. Lenny the Lawyer would certainly not relish the details.

“Do you think she’ll cooperate?” I said.

Rachel shrugged.

Tatiana had promised that she was now with us. I didn’t know if we could believe her or not. To be on the safe side, I unplugged her phone and took the cord with me. I searched the room for papers and writing material, so she couldn’t sneak her visitor a note. I found nothing. Rachel also put her cell phone on the window ledge to be used as a listening device. Katarina had the phone to her ear now. Again she would translate.

Half an hour later, a gold-toned Lexus SC 430 roared into the lot. I whistled low. A colleague at the hospital had just bought the same car. It put him back sixty grand. The woman who emerged sported a short, spiky shock of white hair. She wore a too-tight, hair-matching white shirt and, keeping with the theme, white pants so tight they seemed to be hovering below skin level. Her arms were toned and tan. The woman had that look. You know the one. She brought on memories of the hot mother strutting around the tennis club.

Rachel and I both turned to Katarina. Katarina nodded solemnly. “That’s her. That’s the woman who delivered my baby.”

I saw Rachel begin working her Palm Pilot. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Putting in the license plate and make. We should know who the car is registered to in a matter of minutes.”

“How do you do that?”

“It’s not hard,” Rachel said. “Every law enforcement officer makes connections. And if you don’t, you pay off someone at the DMV. Five hundred bucks usually.”

“Are you online or something?”

She nodded. “Wireless modem. A friend of mine named Harold Fisher, he’s a tech geek who works freelance. He didn’t like how the feds pushed me out.”

“So he helps you now?”

“Yes.”

The white-haired woman leaned back in and pulled out what might have been a medical bag. She threw on a pair of designer sunglasses and hurried toward Tatiana’s room. The woman knocked, the door opened, Tatiana let her in.

I turned around in my seat and watched Katarina. She had the phone on mute. “Tatiana is telling her that she feels better now. The woman is annoyed she called for nothing.” She paused.

“Have you heard a name yet?”

Katarina shook her head. “The woman is going to examine her.”

Rachel stared at her tiny Palm Pilot screen as if it were a magic eight ball. “Bang.”

“What?”

“Denise Vanech, Forty-seven Riverview Avenue, Ridgewood, New Jersey. Forty-six years of age. No outstanding parking violations.”

“You got it that fast?”

She shrugged. “All Harold has to do is type the license plate. He’s going to see what he can dig up on her.” Her stylus started up again. “Meanwhile I’m going to plug the name into Google.”

“The search engine?”

“Yup. You’d be surprised what you can find.”

I knew about that, actually. I once put my own name in. I don’t remember why. Zia and I were drunk and did it for fun. She calls it “ego surfing.”

“Not much speaking now.” Katarina’s face was a mask of concentration. “Maybe she’s examining her?”

I looked over at Rachel. “Two hits on Google,” she said. “The first is a Web site for the Bergen County planning board. She requested a variance to subdivide her lot. It was rejected. The second, however, is more interesting. It’s an alumni site. It lists past graduates that they’re trying to locate.”

“What school?” I asked.

“University of Philadelphia Family Nurse and Midwifery.”

That fit.

Katarina said, “They’re done.”

“Fast,” I said.

“Very.”

Katarina listened some more. “The woman is telling Tatiana to take care of herself. That she should eat better, for the baby. That she should call if she feels any further discomfort.”