Run Away Page 28

  When he got back up onto the street, a text came in from Yvonne.

  Money is ready. You’ll need to sign for it. Ask for Todd Raisch.

  The bank was located between a Wendy’s and a high-end bakery. There was no line and just one teller. He gave his name and asked to speak to Todd Raisch. Raisch was all professional. He showed Simon into a back room.

  “Are hundreds okay?” he asked.

  Simon said that they were. Raisch counted out the money.

  “Would you like a bag for that?”

  Simon had his own, a plastic bag Ingrid had saved from a recent trip to Zabar’s. He put the cash in that and then jammed the bag into his backpack. He thanked Raisch and started on his way.

  As he headed up Broadway toward the hospital, Simon called Randy Spratt, the genetics tech. When he answered, Simon said, “I have the money.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  He hung up. Simon checked to see if there were any messages yet from Elena Ramirez. Nothing. It was probably too soon, but he sent a quick text anyway:

  Have you met with Alison yet? Please fill me in when you can.

  No immediate reply. No dancing dots indicating an answer was forthcoming.

  Simon kept staring at his phone as he walked, mostly to distract himself from this upcoming rendezvous. He’d rushed himself on the paternity test, panicked even, without really considering the repercussions. But now that he had a second or two—now that the answer was about to, like it or not, slap him in the face—he wondered what he would do if he learned the worst.

  Suppose he wasn’t Paige’s biological father?

  Suppose he wasn’t Sam’s or Anya’s father either?

  Slow down, he told himself.

  But there really was no time to slow down, was there? The truth, one way or the other, was barreling toward him like a freight train. He still really couldn’t fathom it. For one thing, Sam looked just like him, everyone said so, and though he couldn’t see it himself—could any parents?—he knew…

  He knew what?

  It simply wasn’t possible. Ingrid would never do that to him. And yet that small niggling voice taunted him. He remembered reading some statistic that 10 percent of fathers are unknowingly raising another man’s child. Or was it really 2 percent? Or was that all nonsense?

  When Simon reached the clearing behind the pediatric wing, Randy Spratt was already on a bench in the corner. Spratt sat upright with his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his trench coat, his gaze darting about like a scared rodent.

  Simon sat next to him. The two men stared straight ahead.

  “You got the money?” Spratt whispered.

  “This isn’t a ransom drop, you know.”

  “Do you have it or not?”

  Simon reached into his backpack for the plastic bag. He hesitated. He didn’t have to go through with opening this particular Pandora’s box. Maybe ignorance was bliss in some cases, no? He’d lived happily without knowing Ingrid’s “secret past.”

  Right, and look where that had brought them.

  Simon handed over the cash. For a second, he feared that Spratt would count it right there and then, but the plastic bag quickly disappeared into the trench coat.

  “Well?” Simon asked.

  “The one you said was a priority. The yellow toothbrush.”

  Simon felt his mouth go dry. “Yes.”

  “I rushed that one, so it’s the only result I have with a scientifically definitive conclusion.”

  Interesting that Spratt hadn’t told him that before he got paid, but maybe that didn’t matter.

  “And what’s the conclusion?” Simon asked.

  “It’s positive.”

  “Wait, does that mean…?”

  “You’re the biological father.”

  Relief, sweet relief, flooded Simon’s lungs and veins.

  “And for what it’s worth, even though the results are only preliminary, all indications are that you’re the biological father for all three.”

  Without another word, Randy Spratt rose and walked away. Simon just sat there, unable to move. He watched an old woman wearing the standard-issue hospital smock and leaning on a walker make her way to a flower bed. She bent down and smelled the flowers, both literally and metaphorically. Simon did the latter by just sitting there and watching. A group of young medical residents sat on the grass and ate gyros from a nearby food truck. They all looked both frayed and happy, like Ingrid did during her residency, when she worked ridiculous hours but knew that she was one of the lucky few who found her calling.

  Being a physician, Simon knew, was indeed a calling.

  Weird thought, but there you go. Or maybe not so weird. Simon had recently learned that Paige had shared her mother’s calling. Under normal circumstances, it would mean the world to him. In some ways, it still did.

  He had to find her.

  He checked his phone, hoping to see something from Elena Ramirez. No new message. He typed her another one:

  DNA test shows I’m Paige’s father. Still don’t know how she hooked up with Aaron, but I think it’s about the illegal adoptions. Call me when you finish with Alison Mayflower.

  It was time to head back to Ingrid’s room. He stood up, tilted his face to the sky, closed his eyes. He just needed another moment or two. He and Ingrid had taken a few yoga classes as a marital bonding thing, and the instructor had been all about the importance of breathing. So he took a deep inhale, held it, let it out slowly.

  Didn’t help.

  He felt his phone vibrate. Elena was replying:

  Heading over the border to Canada for this meet, so I might be out of touch for a few days. Where will you be?

  Canada? He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  He typed: At hospital for now, but that could change.

  He hit Send and waited. The dancing dots started up, showing that Elena was typing.

  Let me know of any new developments. It’s vital to keep me in the loop, even if I can’t reply.

  Simon wrote back that he would as he checked in with hospital security and took the elevator up to the ICU. He was tempted to ask Elena why Canada or why she might not be able to reply, but he figured that she’d tell him what he needed to know. As the elevator doors opened, the terrible ache from what van de Beek had told him returned tenfold.

  What had happened to Paige on that campus?

  Block, he told himself. Block or you won’t be able to take another step.

  The nurses were in with Ingrid, bathing her and changing her clothes, so Sam paced the corridor. He spotted his father and gave him a quick, hard hug.

  “Sorry,” Sam said.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I didn’t mean it. About you getting Mom shot.”

  “I know.”

  Sam gave his father a weary smile. “You know what Mom would say if she heard me blame you?”

  “What?”

  “She’d say I was being sexist. She’d say I would never have blamed her if you got shot.”

  Simon liked that. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

  “Where were you?” Sam asked.

  Simon wanted to protect his son, only natural, but he also didn’t want to coddle him. “I just talked to one of Paige’s professors.”

  Sam looked at him.

  He used the vaguest terms possible to let Sam know about the sexual assault—he may not want to coddle, but he didn’t want to just chuck his son in the deep end either. Sam listened without interrupting. He fought to remain stoic, but Simon recognized the telltale quiver of his lower lip.

  “When was this exactly?” Sam asked when his father had finished.

  “I’m not sure. Toward the end of first semester.”

  “She called me one night. Paige. Out of the blue. I mean, I don’t think we’d exchanged more than a few texts, and we never called each other.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She just said she wanted to talk.”

  “About?”


  “I don’t know.” Sam gave a too-big shrug. “It was late on a Friday night. There was a party at Martin’s. I didn’t really listen. I just wanted to get her off the line. So yeah, that’s what I did.”

  Simon put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It might not have been the same night, Sam.”

  “Right,” Sam said in the most unconvincing voice he could muster. “Might not have been.”

  Simon was about to follow up more, but he heard someone clear his throat. He turned and was surprised to see the man who saved Ingrid’s life standing behind him.

  “Cornelius?”

  He still wore the ripped jeans and the unruly white-gray beard.

  “How’s Ingrid doing?” Cornelius asked.

  “Hard to say.” Simon brought Sam into the fold. “Sam, this is Cornelius. He…” Simon couldn’t tell him that Cornelius had shot Luther and thus saved not just Ingrid but Simon as well. “Cornelius owns the building where Paige lived in the Bronx. He’s been a big help to us.”

  Sam stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too, young man.” Cornelius faced Simon. “Can I talk to you a second?”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to use the bathroom anyway,” Sam said before moving down the corridor.

  Simon turned to Cornelius. “What’s up?”

  “I need you to come with me,” Cornelius said.

  “Where?”

  “Back to my apartment. Rocco is going to be there. With Luther. They got something you need to hear.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Four

  Ash and Dee Dee had prepared, so they moved fast.

  They tossed Elena’s body in a wheelbarrow by the back door. Ash maneuvered the wheelbarrow into the woods while Dee Dee stayed at the cabin and finished the cleanup.

  Digging a hole takes a while. Filling it in, not so much.

  As they drove south, Dee Dee kept going through Elena’s phone.

  “Not much here,” she told Ash. “Elena Ramirez is a bigwig at VMB Investigations. We already knew that. Her client was Henry Thorpe’s father. We already knew that.” She looked up. “It’s approved, by the way.”

  “What’s approved?”

  “Simon Greene. You’ll be given the same payment as the others.”

  “Google him,” Ash said. “I want to see what we can learn.”

  She started typing. It didn’t take long. The PPG Wealth Management group website came up, complete with Simon Greene’s biography. There were two photos of him—a headshot and a group picture with the entire PPG team.

  They passed the state line.

  “Twelve percent battery left,” Dee Dee said. “Do we have a charger for this kind of phone?”

  “Check the pocket behind my seat.”

  Dee Dee was just stretching to do that when Elena’s phone vibrated. A new message came in from Simon Greene. She read it out loud to Ash:

  DNA test shows I’m Paige’s father. Still don’t know how she hooked up with Aaron, but I think it’s about the illegal adoptions. Call me when you finish with Alison Mayflower.

  Ash asked her to read it again. Then he said, “If we don’t answer him, he may start to worry about Elena Ramirez and make calls.”

  “How about…?” She started typing:

  Heading over the border to Canada for this meet, so I might be out of touch for a few days. Where will you be?

  Ash nodded.

  Dee Dee stared at the screen as Ash hit the accelerator. “He’s typing a reply,” she said.

  “We should probably get off the messaging app when you’re done with this.”

  “Why?’

  “There might be a way to trace it, I don’t know.”

  The phone vibrated again:

  At hospital for now, but that could change.

  “Hospital,” Dee Dee repeated. “Should I ask which one?”

  “No, he’ll get suspicious. Besides, we know already. Elena’s history had recent visits to one in upper Manhattan.”

  “Good point. How about…?”

  She typed it up and then read it out loud to him: “Let me know of any new developments. It’s vital to keep me in the loop, even if I can’t reply.”

  Ash nodded and told her to hit Send. She did.

  “Now shut it down.”

  They drove in silence for a few more minutes before Dee Dee said, “What?”

  “You know what.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Simon Greene’s text,” Ash said.

  “What about it?”

  “I assume the Aaron is Aaron Corval?”

  “I assume the same.”

  “So who is Paige?”

  “Aaron’s girlfriend, right?”

  “Why would her father be involved?”

  “I don’t know.” Dee Dee turned toward him, tucking her feet under her butt. “I thought you didn’t care about the whys, Ash.”

  “I normally don’t.”

  “You didn’t like killing that woman,” Dee Dee said. “Men are fine to kill, but a woman?”

  “Will you stop? It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Someone connected the dots. That makes the motives and details my business now.”

  Dee Dee turned and looked out the window.

  “Unless you don’t trust me,” he said.

  “You know I trust you. I trust you more than anyone in the world.”

  Ash felt a small ping in his chest. “So?”

  “As it was written in the Symbols, the Visitor and the Volunteer must be the first two male children born from the Truth,” she began. “Being male is, of course, paramount. Daughters—and the Truth has at least twenty—don’t really matter in terms of leadership. But male blood is the purest bond because it is the only one with a physical component. A spouse doesn’t share your blood. Neither does the closest friend. So in terms of scientific proof—”

  “Dee?”

  “Yes?”

  “Skip the jargon. I get it. Vartage’s two sons inherit the leadership.”

  “They inherit everything. That’s the point. That is how it is written in the Symbols: ‘The two sons will rise.’”

  “So what does that have to do with all this?”

  “It is also written,” she said, “that Truth Haven and all of the Truth’s possessions will be equally divided amongst his male heirs.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “It didn’t specify ‘just the oldest two.’ Do you get what I’m saying?”

  Ash was starting to see it. “Vartage had more than these two sons?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the other sons—”

  “—were put up for adoption, yes,” Dee Dee said. “Sold really. Daughters were kept. They’d be useful. But the sons could inherit and ruin the prophesies. This was all years ago—before my time.”

  “So Vartage just sold his other sons off?”

  “It was win-win, Ash. We keep the two-son prophesy—and we make a great deal of money for the Haven.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the mothers would just agree with this?”

  “Some would,” Dee Dee said, “and some wouldn’t.”

  “So how did that work?”

  “The Truth slept with a lot of women. Obviously, some got pregnant. They were told that if their babies were male, they would be destined for better things. That meant going to the Greater Haven in Arkansas. It would be best for the male child.”

  “There’s another haven in—?”

  “No, Ash, there’s not.”

  He just shook his head. “And the mothers just bought this?”

  “Some did, some didn’t. It was an internal struggle for these mothers between the way of the Truth and their maternal instincts. The Truth usually won.”

  “And when the maternal instincts won?”

  “The mothers were told that their babies died in childbirth.”

  Ash wasn’t st
unned often. He was now. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. There was a big funeral and everything. Some of the mothers believed that the stillbirths were their fault, that if they had just agreed to send their child to the Greater Haven…”

  “My God.”

  Dee Dee nodded. “The male babies were sold. Do you have any idea how much a healthy white male baby could fetch? Beaucoup bucks. Alison Mayflower, who is still loyal to the Truth, worked as the go-between.”

  “How many babies did the Truth sell?”

  “All male.”

  “Got it. How many?”

  “Fourteen.”

  He kept his hand on the wheel. “And now the Truth is dying.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Vartage boys—the Visitor and the Volunteer or whatever—are afraid these biological sons are going to claim a share of the inheritance.”

  “For years, the Truth, the Volunteer, and the Visitor—all of us, really—had nothing to fear. There was no way to connect the adopted boys to Truth Haven at all. They were scattered about the country, and just to be on the safe side, Alison Mayflower destroyed all the records. So the Truth could never find his sons—and more important, of course, the sons could never find the Truth.”

  “So what went wrong?” Ash asked.

  “Have you heard about these new DNA websites like 23andMe or Ance-Story?”

  He had.

  “Tons of adopted people put their DNA in the bank and hope for a hit,” Dee Dee said.

  “So I assume some of the Truth’s sons—”

  “Found out about each other, yes.”

  “And then somehow linked it back to Vartage?”

  “Yes.”

  “So two sons go on the same site, for example. They realize that they are half brothers.”

  “Right. Then a third. Then a fourth. All fairly recent.”

  “And someone in your cult decides that the best way to eliminate the problem is to, uh, eliminate the problem.” Ash looked at her. Dee Dee smiled again. “In exchange for a leadership position?”

  “Something like that.”

  He had to shake his head in awe. “How much is Truth Haven worth, Dee?”