Harlan Coben 3 Novel Collection Page 19

  “The cops arrested her. Cuffed her and everything.”

  “The woman you think might be the wife, the one who stayed here the past two days. You have a name?”

  He shook his head. “No, sorry, I never heard it.”

  “Didn’t she register?”

  Ernie’s eyes lit up. “Sure. Sure, she did. And we take an imprint of a credit card and everything.”

  “Great.” Loren rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. “So—shot in the dark here, Ernie—why don’t you look up the name for me?”

  “Yeah, sure, I can do that. Let me see.” He turned to the computer and started typing. “I think she was in Room 522. . . . Wait, here it is.”

  He turned the monitor so Loren could see.

  The occupant of Room 522 was named Olivia Hunter. Loren just stared at the screen for a moment.

  Ernie pointed to the letters. “It says Olivia Hunter.”

  “I can see that. What hospital did they go to?”

  “Beth Israel, I think they said.”

  Loren handed Ernie her card with her cell phone number on it. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  Loren rushed out for the hospital.

  Chapter 31

  MATT HUNTER WOKE UP.

  Olivia’s face was there.

  There was no question that this was real. Matt didn’t have one of those moments where you wonder if it’s a dream or not. The color was drained from Olivia’s face. Her eyes were red. He could see the fear and the only thing Matt could think—not about answers, not about explanations—the only thing he could think clearly was, “How do I make it better?”

  The lights were bright. Olivia’s face, still beautiful, was framed by what looked like a white shower curtain. He tried to smile at her. His skull throbbed like a thumb hit with a hammer.

  She was watching him. He saw her eyes well up with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  He felt a little la-dee-dah. Painkillers, he thought. Morphine or something similar. His ribs ached but it was a dull ache. He remembered the man in the hotel room, Talley, he of the blue-black hair. He remembered the paralyzing feeling, the dropping to the floor, the brass knuckles.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Emergency room, Beth Israel.”

  He actually smiled. “I was born here, you know.” Yep, he was definitely on something—a muscle relaxant, painkiller, something. “What happened to Talley?” he asked.

  “He ran away.”

  “You were in his room?”

  “No. I was down the hall.”

  He closed his eyes for just a moment. That last part did not compute—she was down the hall?—so he tried to clear his mind.

  “Matt?”

  He blinked a few times and tried to refocus. “You were down the hall?”

  “Yes. I saw you go into his room, so I followed you.”

  “You were staying at that hotel?”

  Before she could reply, the curtain was pulled open. “Ah,” the doctor said. He had an accent—Pakistani or Indian, maybe. “How are we feeling?”

  “Like a million bucks,” Matt said.

  The doctor smiled at them. His name tag read PATEL. “Your wife told me that you were assaulted—that she thought the perpetrator might have used a stun gun.”

  “I guess.”

  “That’s good, in a way. Stun guns don’t leave permanent damage. They only temporarily incapacitate.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “I live under a lucky star.”

  Patel chuckled, checked something on the chart. “You suffered a concussion. The rib is probably cracked, but I won’t know that until we do an X-ray. It doesn’t matter much—bad bruise or break, you can only treat it with rest. I already gave you something for the pain. You may need more.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to keep you overnight.”

  “No,” he said.

  Patel looked up. “No?”

  “I want to go home. My wife can look after me.”

  Patel looked at Olivia. She nodded. He said, “You understand I don’t recommend this?”

  Olivia said, “We do.”

  On TV, the doctor always fights the “wanna-go-home” patient. Patel didn’t. He simply shrugged. “Okay, you sign the release forms, you’re out of here.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Matt said.

  Patel shrugged again. “Have a nice life then.”

  “You too.”

  He left.

  “Are the police here?” Matt asked.

  “They just left, but they’ll be back.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Not much,” she said. “They assumed it was some kind of marital spat. You caught me with another man, something like that.”

  “What happened to Cingle?”

  “They arrested her.”

  “What?”

  “She drew her gun to get past the clerk at the front desk.”

  Matt shook his aching head. “We have to bail her out.”

  “She said not to, that she’d take care of it.”

  He started to sit up. Pain tore down the back of his skull like a hot knife.

  “Matt?”

  “I’m okay.”

  And he was. He’d been beaten worse. Much worse. This was nothing. He could play through it. He sat all the way up and met her eyes. She looked as if she were steeling herself for a blow.

  Matt said, “This is something bad, isn’t it?”

  Olivia’s chest hitched. The tears welling began to escape. “I don’t know yet,” she said. “But yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

  “Do we want the police involved?”

  “No.” The tears had started running down her cheeks. “Not until I tell you everything.”

  He swung his feet off the bed. “Then let’s hurry the hell out of here.”

  Loren counted six people on line at the ER reception desk. When she cut to the front, all six grunted their disapproval. Loren ignored them. She slammed her badge down on the desk.

  “You had a patient brought in here a little while ago.”

  “You’re kidding.” The woman behind the desk looked up over the half-moon reading glasses and let her eyes travel over the packed waiting room. “A patient, you say?” She chewed gum. “Gee, I guess you caught us. We did have a patient brought in here a little while ago.”

  The line snickered. Loren’s face reddened.

  “He was an assault victim. From Howard Johnson’s.”

  “Oh, him. I think he’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Checked himself out a few minutes ago.”

  “Where did he go?”

  The woman gave her flat eyes.

  “Right,” Loren said. “Never mind.”

  Her cell phone rang. She picked it up and barked, “Muse.”

  “Uh, hi, are you the policewoman who was here before?”

  Loren recognized the voice. “Yes, Ernie. What’s up?”

  There was a low moan. “You have to come back here.”

  “What is it? Ernie?”

  “Something happened,” he said. “I think . . . I think he’s dead.”

  Chapter 32

  MATT AND OLIVIA had filled out the necessary paperwork, but neither of them had a car. Matt’s was still parked at the MVD lot. Olivia’s was at the Howard Johnson’s. They called a taxi and waited outside by the entrance.

  Matt sat in a wheelchair. Olivia stood next to him. She looked straight forward, not at him. It was hot and sticky, but Olivia still stood with her arms wrapped around herself. She wore a sleeveless blouse and khaki pants. Her arms were toned and tan.

  The taxi pulled up. Matt struggled to his feet. Olivia tried to help, but he waved her off. They both got into the backseat. Their bodies did not touch. They did not hold hands.

  “Good evening,” the driver said, eyes in the rearview. “Where to?” />
  The driver was dark-skinned and spoke with some sort of African accent. Matt gave him their address in Irvington. The driver was chatty. He was from Ghana, he told them. He had six children. Two of them lived here with him, the rest were back in Ghana with his wife.

  Matt tried to be responsive. Olivia stared out her window and said nothing. At one point Matt reached for her hand. She let him take it, but it felt lifeless.

  “Did you visit Dr. Haddon?” Matt asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Everything is fine. It should be a normal pregnancy.”

  From the front seat, the driver said, “Pregnancy? You’re having a baby?”

  “Yes, we are,” Matt said.

  “Is this your first?”

  “Yes.”

  “Such a blessing, my friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  They were in Irvington now, on Clinton Avenue. Up ahead the light turned red. The driver cruised to a stop.

  “We make a right here, yes?”

  Matt had been glancing out the window, preparing to say yes, when something snared his gaze. Their house was indeed down the street on the right. But that wasn’t what had captured his attention.

  There was a police car parked on the street.

  “Hold up a second,” Matt said.

  “Pardon me?”

  Matt cranked open the window. The police car’s engine was running. He wondered about that. He looked to the corner. Lawrence the Wino was staggering with his customary brown bag, singing the old Four Tops classic “Bernadette.”

  Matt leaned out the window. “Hey, Lawrence.”

  “. . . And never find the love I’ve found in y—” Lawrence stopped mid-lyric. He cupped his hand over his eyes and squinted. A smile broke out on his face. He stumbled toward them. “Matt, mah man! Look at you, all fine and fancy in a taxi.”

  “Yep.”

  “You been out drinking, right? I remember from before. Didn’t want to drink and drive, am I right?”

  “Something like that, Lawrence.”

  “Whoa.” Lawrence pointed to the bandage on Matt’s head. “What happened to you? You know who you look like, with your head wrapped like that?”

  “Lawrence—”

  “That dude marching in that old picture, the one playing the flute. Or is it the one on the snare? I can never remember. Had his head wrapped, just like you. What was that picture called again?”

  Matt tried to get him on track. “Lawrence, do you see that cop car over there?”

  “What”—he leaned closer—“he did that to you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m fine, really.”

  Lawrence was perfectly positioned to block the car’s view of Matt’s face. If the cop happened to look this way, he’d probably figure Lawrence was panhandling.

  “How long has he been parked there?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t know. Fifteen, twenty minutes maybe. Time flies by now, Matt. Older you get, the faster it goes by. You listen to Lawrence.”

  “Has he gotten out of the car?”

  “Who?”

  “The cop.”

  “Oh, sure. Knocked on your door too.” Lawrence smiled. “Oh, I see. You in trouble, ain’t you, Matt?”

  “Me? I’m one of the good guys.”

  Lawrence loved that one. “Oh, I know that. You have a good night now, Matt.” He leaned into the window a little. “You too, Liv.”

  Olivia said, “Thank you, Lawrence.”

  Lawrence saw her face and paused. He looked at Matt and straightened up. His voice grew softer. “You take care now.”

  “Thanks, Lawrence.” Matt sat forward and tapped the driver. “Change of destination.”

  The driver said, “Will I get in trouble for this?”

  “Not at all. I was in an accident. They want to talk to me about how I got hurt. We’d rather wait until morning.”

  The driver wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t seem ready to argue either. The light turned green. The taxi started up, heading straight instead of right.

  “So where to?”

  Matt gave him the address of MVD in Newark. He figured that they could pick up his car and find a place to go and talk. The question was, where? He checked his watch. It was three in the morning.

  The driver pulled into MVD’s lot. “This is good, yes?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  They got out of the car. Matt paid the man. Olivia said, “I’ll drive.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Right, fine. You just got beaten up and you’re high on meds.” Olivia put out her palm. “Give me the keys.”

  He did. They got into the car and started out.

  “Where are we going?” Olivia asked.

  “I’m going to call Marsha, see if we can crash there.”

  “You’re going to wake up the kids.”

  He managed a small smile. “Grenades in their pillows wouldn’t wake up those two.”

  “And what about Marsha?”

  “She won’t mind.”

  But Matt suddenly hesitated. He really didn’t worry about waking Marsha—there had been plenty of late-night calls over the years—but now he wondered if she would be alone tonight, if maybe he wouldn’t be interrupting something. He also—and this was really weird—started worrying about something else right now.

  Suppose Marsha got remarried.

  Paul and Ethan were still young. Would they call the guy Daddy? Matt wasn’t sure if he could handle that. More to the point, what role would Uncle Matt have in this new life, this new family? All of this was silly, of course. He was getting way ahead of himself. It was hardly the time either, what with his other problems right now. But the thoughts were there, in his head, knocking to come out of some back closet.

  He pulled out his cell phone and pushed the second number on his speed dial. As they hit Washington Avenue, Matt noticed two cars going past them in the opposite direction. He turned and watched them pull into the MVD lot. The cars were from the Essex County prosecutor’s office. They were the same make and model Loren had been using earlier in the evening.

  This couldn’t be good.

  The phone was picked up on the second ring.

  Marsha said, “I’m glad you called.” If she’d been sleeping, she hid it pretty well.

  “Are you alone?”

  “What?”

  “I mean . . . I know the kids are there—”

  “I’m alone, Matt.”

  “I don’t mean to pry. I just want to make sure I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “You’re not. You never will be.”

  That should have set his mind at ease, he guessed. “Do you mind if Olivia and I crash at your place tonight?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s a long story, but basically I was assaulted tonight—”

  “Are you okay?”

  The pain was starting to ebb back into his head and ribs. “I got a few bumps and bruises, but I’ll be fine. Thing is, the police want to ask some questions and we’re just not ready for that yet.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that nun?” Marsha asked.

  “What nun?”

  Olivia’s head snapped toward him.

  “There was a county investigator here today,” Marsha said. “I should have called you, but I guess I was hoping it was no big deal. Hold on, I have her card here someplace . . .”

  Matt’s mind, both exhausted and scrambled, remembered now. “Loren Muse.”

  “Right, that’s the name. She said a nun made a phone call to the house.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Muse reached you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I figured she would. We were just talking and then, I don’t know, she spotted your picture on the refrigerator and suddenly she starts asking Kyra and me all these questions about how often you visit.”

  “Don’t worry, I straightened it out. Look, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.�
��

  “I’ll get the guest room ready.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble.”

  “No trouble. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  She hung up.

  Olivia said, “What’s this about a nun?”

  Matt told her about Loren’s visit. Olivia’s face lost even more color. By the time he finished, they were in Livingston. The roads were completely empty of both cars and pedestrians. There was no one about. The only lights coming from the homes were those downstairs lamps set on timers to fool burglars.

  Olivia remained silent as she pulled into Marsha’s driveway. Matt could see Marsha’s silhouette through the curtain in the downstairs foyer. The light above the garage was on. Kyra was awake. He saw her look out. Matt slid down the car window and waved up to her. She waved back.

  Olivia turned off the ignition. Matt checked his face in the visor mirror. He looked like hell. Lawrence was right. What with the bandage wrapped around his head, he did resemble the soldier playing the flute in Willard’s Spirit of ’76.

  “Olivia?”

  She said nothing.

  “Do you know this Sister Mary Rose?”

  “Maybe.”

  She stepped out of the car. Matt did the same. The outside lights—Matt had helped Bernie install the motion detectors—snapped on. Olivia came around to him. She took his hand and held it firmly.

  “Before I say anything else,” she began, “I need you to know something.”

  Matt waited.

  “I love you. You are the only man I’ve ever loved. Whatever happens now, you have brought me a happiness and joy I once thought was impossible.”

  “Olivia—”

  She put her finger to his lips. “I just want one thing. I want you to hold me. Hold me right now. Just for a minute or two. Because after I tell you the truth, I’m not sure you will ever want to hold me again.”

  Chapter 33

  WHEN CINGLE GOT to the police station she used her phone call to reach her boss, Malcolm Seward, the president of Most Valuable Detection. Seward was retired FBI. He opened MVD ten years ago and was making a small fortune.

  Seward was not thrilled about the late-night call. “You pulled a gun on the guy?”

  “It’s not like I would have shot him.”

  “How reassuring.” Seward sighed. “I’ll make some calls. You’ll be out in an hour.”