Harlan Coben 3 Novel Collection Read online

  Matt nodded. “I do.”

  “I’d had enough of that in my life. But then I saw you and . . . I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to go back to the night we met. To some silly dream. You scoff at the idea of living out here, Matt. You don’t see that this place, this town, this is the best possible world.”

  “And that’s why you want to move out here?”

  “With you,” she said, her eyes imploring. “Don’t you see? I never bought that soul-mate stuff. You see what I’ve seen and . . . but maybe, I don’t know, maybe our wounds work for us. Maybe the suffering gives us a better appreciation. You learn to fight for what others just take for granted. You love me, Matt. You never really believed I was having an affair. It’s why you kept digging for that proof—because despite what I’m telling you here, you and you alone really know me. You’re the only one. And yes, I want to move out here and raise a family with you. That’s all I want.”

  Matt opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “It’s okay,” she said with a small smile. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just . . .” He couldn’t express it. The emotions were still swirling. He needed to let them settle. “So what went wrong?” he asked. “After all these years, how did they find you?”

  “They didn’t find me,” she said. “I found them.”

  Matt was about to ask a follow-up question when another set of car headlights began to skitter across the wall. They slowed a beat too long. Matt raised his hand to quiet her for a moment. They both listened. The sound of an idling engine was faint, but it was there. No mistake.

  Their eyes met. Matt moved toward the window and peeked out.

  The car was parked across the street. The headlights went off. A few seconds later, so did the car engine. Matt recognized the car right away. He had, in fact, been in that car just a few hours earlier.

  It belonged to Lance Banner.

  Chapter 40

  LOREN BURST back into the interrogation room.

  Cingle was checking out her own nails. “Lawyer’s not here yet.”

  Loren just stared at her for a moment. She wondered what it must be like to look like Cingle Shaker, to have men fawn over you, to know you can pretty much do what you want with them. Loren’s mother had a bit of that, but when a woman looked like Cingle Shaker, what must that be like? Would it be a good thing or bad? Would you start to rely on those assets to the detriment of your others? Loren didn’t think that was the case with Cingle, but that just made her more of a threat.

  “Guess what we found on your office computer?” Loren asked.

  Cingle blinked. But it was enough. She knew. Loren took out the photograph of Charles Talley. She also took out a few choice stills from the video. She put them on the table in front of Cingle. Cingle barely glanced at them.

  “I’m not talking,” Cingle said.

  “Would you nod?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll start talking. You can nod along if you like. Because I think it’s all pretty obvious now.” Loren sat down, folded her hands, and put them on the table. “Our lab guys said these photographs came from a camera phone. So here is how we figured it played out. Charles Talley was a bit of a sicko. We know that. He has a criminal history rather rich in violence and perversion. Anyway, he meets up with Olivia Hunter. I don’t know how yet. Maybe you’ll tell us when your lawyer arrives. Doesn’t matter. Either way, for whatever sick reasons, he gets off on sending a photograph and video to our mutual bud Matt Hunter. Matt brings the pictures to you. You, because you’re good at what you do, find out that the guy in the pictures is Charles Talley and that he is currently staying at the Howard Johnson’s by Newark Airport. Or maybe you figure out that Olivia Hunter is staying there. I don’t know which.”

  Cingle said, “That’s not right.”

  “But it’s close. I don’t know the details, and I don’t really care why or how Hunter came to you. What is clear is that he did. That he gave you the picture and the video. That you found Charles Talley. That you both drove to confront him at the hotel. That Talley and Hunter got into a fight. That Hunter ended up injured and that Talley ended up dead.”

  Cingle looked away.

  “You have something to add?” Loren asked.

  Loren’s cell phone rang again. She pulled it out, flipped it open, and said, “Hello.”

  “It’s your friendly neighborhood Lance.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Guess where I am.”

  “In front of Marsha Hunter’s house?”

  “Bingo. Now guess whose car is parked in her driveway.”

  Loren straightened up. “You call for backup?”

  “They’re on their way.”

  She snapped the phone closed. Cingle’s eyes were on her.

  “That about Matt?”

  Loren nodded. “We’re about to arrest him.”

  “He’s going to freak.”

  Loren shrugged, waited.

  Cingle bit down on a fingernail. “You got it wrong.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You think Charles Talley sent those pictures to Matt.”

  “He didn’t?”

  Cingle shook her head very slowly.

  “Then who did?”

  “Good question.”

  Loren sat back. She thought about the photograph, the one of Charles Talley. He had his hand up, almost as if he were embarrassed to have the picture taken. He hadn’t shot that picture of himself.

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ll have Matt in custody in a few minutes.”

  Cingle stood. She began to pace. She folded her arms. “Maybe,” she started again, “the pictures are a big setup.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, Loren. Use your head here. Don’t you think this is all a little too neat?”

  “Most murder cases are.”

  “Bull.”

  “You find a dead man, you check his love life. You find a dead woman, you check her boyfriend or husband. It’s usually just that simple.”

  “Except Charles Talley wasn’t Olivia Hunter’s boyfriend.”

  “And you figured that out how?”

  “I didn’t figure it out. Matt did.”

  “I’m still waiting for the how.”

  “Because the pictures are fakes.”

  Loren opened her mouth, closed it, decided to wait her out.

  “That’s why Matt came to my office tonight. He wanted to blow up the pictures. He realized that they weren’t what they appeared to be. He figured it out when it started to rain.”

  Loren leaned back and spread her hands. “You better explain from the beginning.”

  Cingle grabbed the photograph of Charles Talley. “Okay, see the window here, the way the sun shines through it . . . ?”

  Chapter 41

  LANCE BANNER’S CAR stayed parked across the street from Marsha’s house.

  “You know him?” Olivia asked Matt.

  “Yes. We went to school together. He’s a cop here in town.”

  “He’s here to ask about the assault?”

  Matt did not reply. That made sense, he guessed. What with Cingle’s arrest, the police probably wanted to file a full report. Or maybe Matt’s name, as a victim or a witness, had gone out over a police radio and Lance had seen it. Maybe this was simply more harassment.

  Either way, it really wasn’t a big deal. If Lance came to the door, Matt would send him away. That was his right. They couldn’t arrest a victim for not filing a timely report.

  “Matt?”

  He turned toward Olivia. “You were saying that they didn’t find you. That you found them.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “That’s because this is the most difficult part,” Olivia said.

  He thought—no, hoped—that she was joking. He was trying to hold on, trying to compartmentalize, rationalize, or just plain block.

  “I told a lot of lies,” she said. �
��But this last one is the worst.”

  Matt stayed by the window.

  “I became Olivia Hunter. I told you that already. Candace Potter was dead to me. Except . . . except there was one part of her I could never quite give up.”

  She stopped.

  “What is it?” Matt asked in a soft voice.

  “When I was fifteen I got pregnant.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “I was so scared, I hid it until it was too late. When my water broke, my foster mother brought me to a doctor’s office. They had me sign a bunch of papers. There was a payment made, I don’t know how much. I never saw the money. The doctor put me under. I had the baby. When I woke up . . .”

  Her voice tailed off. She sort of shrugged it away and said: “I never even knew if it was a boy or a girl.”

  Matt kept his eyes on Lance’s car. He felt something at his core rip away. “What about the father?”

  “He ran off when he heard I was pregnant. Broke my heart. He got killed in a car crash a couple of years later.”

  “And you never knew what happened to the baby?”

  “Never. Not a word. And in many ways I was okay with that. Even if I wanted to interfere in her life, I couldn’t—not with my predicament. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. Or wonder what happened to her.”

  There was a moment of silence. Matt turned and faced his wife.

  “You said ‘her.’ ”

  “What?”

  “Just now. First you said you didn’t know if it was a boy or girl. Then you said you didn’t want to interfere in her life and that you wondered what happened to her.”

  Olivia said nothing.

  “How long have you known you had a girl?”

  “Just a few days.”

  “How did you find out?”

  Olivia took out another sheet of paper. “Do you know anything about online adoption support groups?”

  “No, not really.”

  “There are these boards where adoptive kids can post looking for their biological parents and vice versa. I always checked. Just out of curiosity. I never thought I’d find anything. Candace Potter was long dead. Even if her child searched for her biological mother, she’d learn that and give up. Besides, I couldn’t say anything anyway. I had my pact. Finding me could only bring my child harm.”

  “But you checked the boards anyway?”

  “Yes.”

  “How often?”

  “Does that matter, Matt?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You don’t understand why I did it?”

  “No, I do,” he said, though he was not sure if that was the truth. “So what happened?”

  Olivia handed him the sheet of paper. “I found this post.”

  The paper was wrinkled and had clearly been opened and closed many times. The date on the top was from four weeks ago. It read:

  This is an urgent message and must be kept in strict confidence. Our daughter was adopted eighteen years ago at the office of Dr. Eric Tequesta in Meridian, Idaho, on February 12th. The birth mother’s name is Candace Potter, who is deceased. We have no information on the father.

  Our daughter is very sick. She desperately needs a kidney donation from a blood relative. We are searching for any blood relatives who might be a match. Please, if you are a blood relative of the late Candace Potter, please contact us at . . .

  Matt kept reading and rereading the post.

  “I had to do something,” Olivia said.

  He nodded numbly.

  “I e-mailed the parents. At first I just pretended to be an old friend of Candace Potter’s, but they wouldn’t release any information to me. I didn’t know what to do. So I wrote again and said I was indeed a blood relative. And then it all took a weird turn.”

  “How?”

  “I think . . . I don’t know . . . suddenly the parents got cagey. So we agreed to meet in person. We set up a time and place.”

  “In Newark?”

  “Yes. They even booked the room for me. I had to check in and wait for them to contact me. I did. Some man finally called and told me to go to Room 508. When I got there, the man said he needed to search my bag. That’s when he took the phone out, I guess. Then he told me to change in the bathroom and put on a wig and a dress. I didn’t get why, but he said we were going someplace and he didn’t want anyone recognizing either one of us. I was too afraid not to listen. He put on a wig too, a black one. When I came out he told me to sit on the bed. He walked toward me, just like you saw. When he got to the bed, he stopped and said he knew who I was. If I wanted to save my daughter’s life, I’d have to transfer money to his account. I should get it ready.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  He nodded, feigning calm. All the money they had. “So then what?”

  “He told me he’d need more. Another fifty thousand. I told him I didn’t have that kind of money. We argued. I finally said he’d get more money when I saw my daughter.”

  Matt looked off.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Weren’t you starting to wonder?”

  “About?”

  “If this was all a con of some sort.”

  “Of course,” Olivia said. “I read about these con men who’d pretend to find information on MIAs in Vietnam. They’d get the family to give them money to continue the search. The families wanted it to be true so badly that they couldn’t see it was all a ruse.”

  “So?”

  “Candace Potter was dead,” she said. “Why would someone try to con money from a dead woman?”

  “Maybe someone figured out you were alive.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Emma Lemay might have said something.”

  “Suppose she did. Then what? Nobody knew, Matt. The only person in Vegas I told was my friend Kimmy, but even she didn’t know all that information—the date of birth, the town in Idaho, the name of the doctor. I didn’t even remember the doctor’s name until I saw it in that post. The only people who would know all that were my daughter or her adoptive parents. And even if it was some sort of scam, what with the wig and all, I had to follow it up. I mean, somehow my daughter had to be involved. Don’t you see that?”

  “I do,” he said. He also saw that her logic was somewhat flawed, but now was not the time to point that out. “So now what?”

  “I insisted on seeing my daughter. So he set up a meet. That’s when I’m supposed to bring the rest of the money.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow at midnight.”

  “Where?”

  “In Reno.”

  “Nevada?”

  “Yes.”

  Again Nevada. “Do you know a man named Max Darrow?”

  She said nothing.

  “Olivia?”

  “He was the man in the black wig. The one I met with. I knew him back in Vegas too. He used to hang at the club.”

  Matt was not sure what to make of that. “Where in Reno?”

  “The address is 488 Center Lane Drive. I have a plane ticket. Darrow said I shouldn’t tell anyone. If I’m not there . . . I don’t know, Matt. They said they would hurt her.”

  “Hurt your daughter?”

  Olivia nodded. The tears were back in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if she’s sick or if they kidnapped her or hell, if she’s somehow in on it. But she’s real and she’s alive and I have to go to her.”

  Matt tried to take it in, but it wasn’t happening. His cell phone rang. Matt automatically reached to snap it off, but then he thought better of it. At this hour it was probably Cingle. She could be in trouble, need his help. He checked the caller ID. Private number. Could be the police station.

  “Hello?”

  “Matt?”

  He frowned. It sounded like Midlife. “Ike, is that you?”

  “Matt, I just got off the phone with Cingle.”

>   “What?”

  “I’m on the way to the county prosecutor’s office now,” Midlife said. “They want to interrogate her.”

  “She called you?”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I think that had more to do with you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She wanted to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “I wrote it down, hold on. Okay, first off, you asked her about a man named Max Darrow? He’s been murdered. They found him shot dead in Newark.”

  Matt looked at Olivia. She said, “What is it?”

  Midlife was still talking. “But worse, Charles Talley is dead. They found his body at the Howard Johnson’s. They also found a set of bloody brass knuckles. They’re running DNA tests on them now. And within the hour, they’ll have the photographs off your cell phone.”

  Matt said nothing.

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Matt?”

  He did. It didn’t take long. They’d put it together like this: Matt, an ex-con who’d already served time for killing a man in a fight, gets these mocking photographs on his cell phone. His wife was clearly shacking up with Charles Talley. Matt used a private eye to find out where they were. He charged into the hotel late at night. There was a fight. There’d be at least one witness—the guy at the front desk. Probably a security video. They’d have physical evidence too. His DNA is probably all over the dead man.

  There would be holes in their case. Matt could show them the gray window and explain about the drought. He also didn’t know what time Talley had been killed, but if Matt was lucky, the murder took place when he was in the ambulance or at the hospital. Or maybe he’d have an alibi in the taxi driver. Or his wife.

  Like that would hold up.

  “Matt?”

  “What is it?”

  “The police are probably searching for you now.”

  He glanced out the window. A police car pulled up next to Lance’s. “I think they already found me.”

  “You want me to arrange a peaceful surrender?”

  A peaceful surrender. Trust the authorities to straighten it out. Do the law-abiding thing.

  That worked so well before, didn’t it?