The Myron Bolitar Series 7-Book Bundle (117 page)

“I’m sorry, Norm.”

He breathed deeply and forced up a tired smile. “Maybe it’s for the best,” Norm said. “Look at Dennis Rodman. He cross-dresses, for crying out loud. Hasn’t hurt him any, has it?”

“No. It hasn’t.”

Norm Zuckerman lifted his eyes toward Myron. “Hey, once I got to this country, I became the most in-your-face Jew you ever saw. Didn’t I? Tell me the truth. Am I not the most in-your-face Jew you’ve ever met, or what?”

“In my face,” Myron said.

“Bet your skinny
melinka
of a butt I am. And when I first started out, everyone told me to tone it down. Stop being so Jewish, they said. So ethnic. You’ll never be accepted.” His face had true hope now. “Maybe I can do the same for us closet
faygelehs
, Myron. Be in the world’s face again, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I do,” Myron said softly. Then he asked, “Who else knew about you and Jack?”

“Knew?”

“Did you tell anybody?”

“No, of course not.”

Myron gestured toward Esme. “How about one of those beautiful girlfriends on your arm? How about someone who practically lived with you? Wouldn’t it have been easy for her to find out?”

Norm shrugged. “I suppose so. You get this close to someone, you trust them. You drop your guard. So maybe she knew. So what?”

Myron looked at Esme. “You want to tell him?”

Esme’s voice was cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me what?”

Myron kept his eyes on hers. “I wondered why you’d seduce a sixteen-year-old boy. Don’t get me wrong. You gave a bravo performance—all that talk about being lonely and Chad being sweet and disease-free. You waxed quite eloquent. But it still rang hollow.”

Norm said, “What the hell are you talking about, Myron?”

Myron ignored him. “And then there was the matter of the bizarre coincidence—you and Chad showing up at the same motel at the same time as Jack and Norm. Too weird. I just couldn’t buy it. But of course, we both know that it wasn’t a coincidence. You planned it that way, Esme.”

“What plan?” Norm interjected. “Myron, will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Norm, you mentioned that Esme used to work on Nike’s basketball campaign. That she quit that job to come to you.”

“So?”

“Did she take a cut in salary?”

“A little.” Norm shrugged. “Not much.”

“When exactly did she hook up with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Within the past eight months?”

Norm thought a moment. “Yeah, so?”

“Esme seduced Chad Coldren. She set up a liaison with him
at the Court Manor Inn. But she wasn’t bringing him there for sex or because she was lonely. She brought him there as part of a setup.”

“What kind of setup?”

“She wanted Chad to see his father with another man.”

“Huh?”

“She wanted to destroy Jack. It was no coincidence. Esme knew your routine. She learned about your affair with Jack. So she tried to set it up so Chad would see what his father was really about.”

Esme remained silent.

“Tell me something, Norm. Were you and Jack supposed to meet Thursday night?”

“Yeah,” Norm said.

“What happened?”

“Jack called it off. He pulled into the lot and got spooked. He said he saw a familiar car.”

“Not just familiar,” Myron said. “His son’s. That’s where Esme screwed up. Jack spotted the car. He left before Chad had a chance to see him.”

Myron stood and walked toward Esme. She remained still. “I almost had it right from the beginning,” he told her. “Jack took the lead at the Open. His son was there, right in front of you. So you kidnapped Chad to throw Jack’s game off. It was just like I thought. Except I missed your real motive. Why would you kidnap Chad? Why would you crave such vengeance against Jack Coldren? Yes, money was part of the motive. Yes, you wanted Zoom’s new campaign to succeed. Yes, you knew that if Tad Crispin won the Open, you’d be heralded as the marketing genius of the world. All that played into it. But, of course, that never explained why you brought Chad to the Court Manor Inn in the first place—
before
Jack had the lead.”

Norm sighed. “So tell us, Myron. What possible reason could she have for wanting to hurt Jack?”

Myron reached into his pocket and pulled out a grainy photograph. The first page of the wedding album. Lloyd and Lucille Rennart. Smiling. Happy. Standing side by side. Lloyd in a tux.
Lucille holding a bouquet of flowers. Lucille looking stunning in a long white gown. But that wasn’t what had shocked Myron to the core. What shocked him had nothing to do with what Lucille wore or held; rather, it was what she was.

Lucille Rennart was Asian.

“Lloyd Rennart was your father,” Myron said. “You were in the car that day when he crashed into a tree. Your mother died. You were rushed to the hospital too.”

Esme’s back was rod-straight, but her breathing was coming out in hitches.

“I’m not sure what happened next,” he continued. “My guess would be that your father had hit rock bottom. He was a drunk. He had just killed his own wife. He felt washed-up, useless. So maybe he realized that he couldn’t raise you. Or he didn’t deserve to raise you. Or maybe an arrangement was reached with your mother’s family. In return for not pressing charges, Lloyd would give Lucille’s family custody of you. I don’t know what happened. But you ended up being raised by your mother’s family. By the time Lloyd straightened himself out, he probably felt it would be wrong to tear you out by the roots. Or maybe he was afraid that his daughter wouldn’t take back the father who’d been responsible for killing her mother. Whatever, Lloyd kept quiet. He never even told his second wife about you.”

Tears were streaming down Esme’s cheeks now. Myron felt like crying too.

“How close am I, Esme?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“There’ll be records,” Myron said. “Birth certificates, for certain. Probably adoption papers. It won’t take the police long to trace.” He held up the photograph, his voice soft.

“The resemblance between you and your mother is almost enough.”

Tears continued to flow, but she was not crying. No sobs. No hitching. No quivering facial muscles. Just tears. “Maybe Lloyd Rennart was my father,” Esme said. “But you still have nothing. The rest is pure conjecture.”

“No, Esme. Once the police confirm your parentage, the rest
will be easy. Chad will tell them that it was you who suggested you go to the Court Manor Inn. They’ll look closely into Tito’s death. There’ll be a connection there. Fibers. Hairs. It’ll all come together. But I have one question for you.”

She remained still.

“Why did you cut off Chad’s finger?”

Without warning, Esme broke into a run. Myron was caught off guard. He jumped over the couch to block her path. But he had misjudged her. She had not been heading for an exit; she was going into a bedroom. Her bedroom. Myron hurdled back over the couch. He reached her room, but he was a little late.

Esme Fong had a gun. She pointed it at Myron’s chest. He could see in her eyes that there’d be no confession, no explanations, no talk. She was ready to shoot.

“Don’t bother,” Myron said.

“What?”

He pulled out his cell phone and handed it to her. “This is for you.”

Esme did not move for a moment. Then, with her hand still on the gun, she reached out and took the phone. She pressed it against her ear, but Myron could hear just fine.

A voice said, “This is Detective Alan Corbett from the Philadelphia Police Department. We are standing outside your door listening to every word that has been said. Put down the gun.”

Esme looked back at Myron. She still had the gun aimed at his chest. Myron felt a bead of sweat run down his back. Looking into the barrel of a gun was like staring into the cavern of death. Your eyes saw the barrel, only the barrel, as though it were growing impossibly larger, preparing to swallow you whole.

“It would be dumb,” he said.

She nodded then and lowered the gun. “And pointless.”

The weapon dropped to the floor. Doors burst open. Police swarmed in.

Myron looked down at the gun. “A thirty-eight,” he said to Esme. “That the gun you killed Tito with?”

Her expression gave him the answer. The ballistics tests would be conclusive. She would be prosecutorial toast.

“Tito was a lunatic,” Esme said. “He chopped off the boy’s finger. He started making money demands. You have to believe that.”

Myron gave a noncommittal nod. She was testing out her defense, but it sort of sounded like the truth to Myron.

Corbett snapped handcuffs onto her wrists.

Her words were spilling out fast now. “Jack Coldren destroyed my entire family. He ruined my father and killed my mother. And for what? My father did nothing wrong.”

“Yes,” Myron said, “he did.”

“He pulled the wrong club out of a golf bag, if you believe Jack Coldren. He made a mistake. An accident. Should it have cost him so much?”

Myron said nothing. It was no mistake, no accident. And Myron had no idea what it should have cost.

The police cleaned up. Corbett had questions, but Myron was not in the mood. He left as soon as the detective was distracted. He sped to the police station where Linda Coldren was about to be released. He took the cement steps three or four at a clip, looking like a spastic Olympian timing the triple jump.

Victoria Wilson almost—the key word being
almost
—smiled at him. “Linda will be out in a few minutes.”

“Do you have that tape I asked you to get?”

“The phone call between Jack and the kidnapper?”

“Yes.”

“I have it,” she said. “But why—”

“Please give it to me,” Myron said.

She heard something in his tone. Without argument, she reached into her handbag and pulled it out. Myron took it. “Do you mind if I drive Linda home?” he said.

Victoria Wilson regarded him. “I think maybe that would be a good idea.”

A policeman came out. “She’s ready to leave,” he said.

Victoria was about to turn away, when Myron said, “I guess
you were wrong about digging into the past. The past ended up saving our client.”

Victoria held his eye. “It’s like I said before,” she began. “You never know what you will find.”

They both waited for the other to break the eye contact. Neither did until the door behind them opened.

Linda was back in civilian clothes. She stepped out tentatively, like she’d been in a dark room and wasn’t sure her eyes could handle the sudden light. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw Victoria. They hugged. Linda dug her face into Victoria’s shoulder and rocked in her arms. When they released, Linda turned and hugged Myron. Myron closed his eyes and felt his muscles unbunch. He smelled her hair and felt the wondrous skin of her cheek against his neck. They embraced for a long time, almost like a slow dance, neither wanting to let go, both perhaps a little bit afraid.

Victoria coughed into her fist and made her excuses. With the police leading the way, Myron and Linda made it to the car with a minimum of press fuss. They strapped on their seat belts in silence.

“Thank you,” she said.

Myron said nothing. He started the car. For a while neither of them spoke. Myron switched on the air-conditioning.

“We have something here, don’t we?”

“I don’t know,” Myron said. “You were worried about your son. Maybe that’s all it was.”

Her face said that she was not buying. “How about you?” Linda asked. “Did you feel anything?”

“I think so,” he said. “But part of that might be fear, too.”

“Fear of what?”

“Of Jessica.”

She gave a weary grin. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who fears commitment.”

“Just the opposite. I fear how much I love her. I fear how much I want to commit.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Jessica left me once before. I don’t want to be exposed like that again.”

Linda nodded. “So you think that’s what it was? Fear of abandonment?”

“I don’t know.”

“I felt something,” she said. “For the first time in a very long time. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had affairs. Like with Tad. But that’s not the same thing.” She looked at him. “It felt nice.”

Myron said nothing.

“You’re not making this very easy,” Linda said.

“We have other things to talk about.”

“Like what?”

“Victoria filled you in on Esme Fong?”

“Yes.”

“If you remember, she had a solid alibi for Jack’s murder.”

“A night clerk at a big hotel like the Omni? I doubt that will hold up on scrutiny.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Myron said.

“Why do you say that?”

Myron did not answer. He turned right and said, “You know what always bothered me, Linda?”

“No, what?”

“The ransom calls.”

“What about them?” she asked.

“The first one was made on the morning of the kidnapping. You answered. The kidnappers told you that they had your son. But they made no demands. I always found that odd, didn’t you?”

She thought about it. “I guess so.”

“Now I understand why they did that. But back then, we didn’t know what the real motive for the kidnapping was.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Esme Fong kidnapped Chad because she wanted revenge on Jack. She wanted to make him lose the tournament. How? Well, I’d thought that she’d kidnapped Chad to fluster Jack. Make him lose his focus. But that was too abstract. She wanted to make sure Jack lost. That was her ransom demand right from the beginning.
But you see, the ransom call came in a little late. Jack was already at the course. You answered the phone.”

Linda nodded. “I think I see what you’re saying. She had to reach Jack directly.”

“She or Tito, but you’re right. That’s why she called Jack at Merion. Remember the second call, the one Jack got after he finished the round?”

“Of course.”

“That was when the ransom demand was made,” Myron said. “The kidnapper told Jack plain and simple—you start losing or your son dies.”

“Hold up a second,” Linda said. “Jack said they didn’t make any demands. They told him to get some money ready and they’d call back.”