Harlan Coben 3 Novel Collection Page 8
Eldon leaned back and crossed his legs. He turned to the side and stared at the wall. “There was slight bruising along both inner biceps.”
Loren’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not following.”
“If a man were very strong and, uh, knowledgeable, he could sneak up on a sleeping woman,” he began, his voice almost singsong, as if he were talking to a child. “He might flip the woman onto her back—or maybe she slept that way. He’d straddle her chest, pin her arms down with his knees—that, if he was careful and professional, could be done so as to leave very little bruising—and then he’d smother her with a pillow.”
The room dropped ten degrees. Loren’s voice was barely a whisper. “You think that’s what happened here?”
“We have to wait for the full tox,” Eldon said, turning away from the wall and looking directly at her. “But yeah. Yeah, I think that’s what happened here.”
She said nothing.
“There’s one more thing that backs my theory up. It could help us.” Eldon put a photograph on the desk. A headshot of the nun. Her eyes were closed as if she were expecting a facial. She’d been in her early sixties, but the lines had all been smoothed away in death. “You know anything about fingerprints on the skin?”
“Just that they’re hard to pick up.”
“Nearly impossible, if you don’t catch the corpse right away. Most of the major studies are telling us to try to pick up the fingerprints at the crime scene if possible. At a minimum the lab guys should make sure the body is glue fumed right away to preserve the prints before the vic is packed away.”
Forensic detail was not Loren’s forte. “Uh huh.”
“Well, it was too late for that with our Dying Nun here.” He looked up. “Get it? Dying Nun instead of Flying Nun?”
“It’s like I’m hanging with Chris Rock here. Go on.”
“Right, so I’m trying something experimental. We got lucky that the corpse wasn’t refrigerated. The condensation that builds up on the skin throws the whole thing out of whack. Anyway, I thought about going with the polyethylene terephthalate semirigid sheet. That’s the one we use based on the fact that static electricity attracts dust particles—”
“Whoa.” Loren held up her palm in the classic stop gesture. “Let’s skip the CSI casting call. Did you get prints off the body?”
“Yes and no. I found smudges on both temples, one looks like a thumb, the other might be a ring finger.”
“On her temples?”
Eldon nodded. He took off his glasses, gave them a wipe down, put them back on the end of his nose, pushed up. “I think the perp grabbed her face with one hand. Palmed it like a basketball player—with the heel of his hand on her nose.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. Then I think he pushed her head down as he climbed on top.”
“But the fingerprints. Can you get any kind of ID off them?”
“Doubtful. We have partials at best. It’ll never be enough for court, but there’s this new software that helps you, I don’t know, fill in the blanks, if you will. If you find somebody, I might get enough to confirm or eliminate.”
“That might help.”
He stood. “I’ll get on it now. Probably take a day, maybe two. I’ll let you know when I have more.”
“Okay,” Loren said. “Anything else?”
It was like a shadow fell over his face.
“Eldon?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There’s something else.”
“I don’t like the way you said that.”
“I don’t like saying it, believe me. But I think whoever did this did more than just smother her.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know anything about stun guns?”
“Some.”
“I think they used one.” He swallowed. “In her.”
“When you say ‘in her,’ do you mean—”
“I mean exactly what you think,” he said, interrupting her. “Hey, I’m a product of Catholic school too, okay?”
“Are there burn marks?”
“Faint. But if you know what you’re doing—and especially in an area that sensitive—you really shouldn’t leave them. It was also a one-prong stunner, if that helps. Most, like the police-issue stun guns, have two prongs. I’m still running tests, but my guess is, she died in a lot of pain.”
Loren closed her eyes.
“Hey, Squirt?”
“What?”
“Do me a favor,” Eldon said. “Nail this son of a bitch, will ya?”
Chapter 9
OLIVIA SAID, “Hi, hon, how was your day?”
Matt just held the phone.
“Matt?”
“I’m here,” he said.
The police cruiser was gone now. Matt looked behind him. Marsha stood on the front step with her hands on her hips. Paul was chasing Ethan, both of them shrieking with laughter.
“So,” Olivia said, as if it were just another day, “where are you?”
“At Marsha’s.”
“Everything okay?”
“I’m just taking the boys out to dinner.”
“Not McDonald’s again. Those fries are so unhealthy.”
“Right.”
Tentative steps. The ground giving way. Matt held the phone, thinking: You don’t just jump up and scream, “Aha, caught ya!”
“So anything going on?” Olivia asked.
“Not much,” he said. Kyra was getting in her car. She gave him a big smile and waved good-bye. He gestured back with his chin. “I called you before,” Matt said with as much nonchalance as he could muster.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Around noon.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m making it up. Yes, really.”
“Well, that’s weird.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“Maybe you were out of range,” he tried, giving her an out.
“Maybe,” she said slowly.
“I left a message.”
“Hold on.” There was a pause. “Wait, it says here ‘three missed calls.’ ”
“That would be me.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I know this sounds ridiculous but I still get confused about how to retrieve messages. My old phone’s code was six-seven-six and then I hit a star, but I don’t think that works on this one.”
“It doesn’t,” Matt said. “Your new code is the last four digits of your phone number and then you hit the pound key.”
“Oh, right. I usually just check the missed calls log.”
Matt closed his eyes. He could not believe how inane and ordinary this all felt.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“What?”
“When I called. Where were you?”
“Oh, I was at a seminar.”
“Where?”
“What do you mean, where? I’m in Boston.”
“What was it on?”
“Some new surfing tool to guard against employees using the Web for personal use. You can’t imagine the amount of work hours lost on the Internet.”
“Uh huh.”
“Listen, I have to run. I’m meeting some people for dinner.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Nope, no one you know.” Olivia sighed with a little too much flair. “Check that: No one you’d even want to know.”
“Boring?”
“Very.”
“What hotel are you staying at?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“No.”
“The Ritz. But I’ll be in and out. You’re better off getting me on the cell phone.”
“Olivia?”
“Oh,” she said. “Hold up a second.”
There was a long pause. Marsha crossed the lawn, approaching him. She signaled to her car, asking if it was okay if she took off. He waved that it was fine. Ethan and Paul, tired of running around in circles, headed towa
rd him. Ethan grabbed his right leg, Paul his left. Matt made a face and pointed to the phone, as if they’d get the meaning that he was otherwise occupied. They didn’t.
Olivia said, “There’s a picture on my phone. Which button do I press again?”
“The one on the right side.”
“Hold on. Here it comes.” Then: “Hey, it’s you. Dang, I married a handsome devil.”
Matt couldn’t help but smile—and that just made it hurt more. He loved her. He could try to soften the blow, but there was no way he could escape it. “It would be wrong for me to argue with you,” he said.
“Not your best smile though. Heck, no smile at all. And next time, take your shirt off.”
“You too,” he said.
She laughed but it wasn’t as let-go as usual.
“Better yet”—Matt added and then the next words: were they planned?—“why not wear a platinum-blonde wig?”
Silence.
This time he broke it. “Olivia?”
“I’m here.”
“Before. When I called you.”
“Yes?”
“I was calling you back.”
As if sensing the tenseness, the boys let go of his legs. Paul tilted his head at Ethan.
“But I didn’t call you,” Olivia said.
“Yes, you did. I mean, I got a call from your phone.”
“When?”
“Right before I called.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There was a picture on the line. Of a man with dark hair. And then there was a video.”
“A video?”
“You were in a room. At least it looked like you. Except you were wearing a platinum-blonde wig.”
More silence. Then: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Did he believe her? He so wanted to, so wanted to just drop it . . .
“Earlier today,” he said, “right before I left you that message, I got a call from your cell phone. It was a camera call—”
“No, I understand that, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Oh, wait,” Olivia said. “That might explain something.”
Paul and Ethan had started running in dizzying circles again. They were out of control and a little too close to the street. Matt put his hand over the mouthpiece and called them back.
“Explain what?” he asked.
“I think . . . well, I don’t really understand why I didn’t get your first call. I’m in range. I looked on the missed calls log and you know what? Jamie called too. I never heard that one either.”
“So?”
“So I’m thinking. The guys at these seminars. They’re all jokers. Maybe one of them played a prank.”
“A prank.”
“Okay, during this seminar? I fell asleep. It was boring as hell. When I woke up, my purse had been moved. Not a lot. But now that I think about it, it was definitely moved. I didn’t think much about it at the time.”
“And now you think . . . ?”
“That, yeah, they took it and did something with it and then put it back. I don’t know, I guess that’s crazy too.”
Matt didn’t know what to make of this, but Olivia’s tone did not ring true. “When are you coming home?”
“Friday.”
He switched hands. “I’ll come up.”
“Don’t you have work?”
“Nothing that can’t keep.”
“But,” she said, and her voice dropped a little, “isn’t tomorrow your, uh, Thursday at the museum?”
He had almost forgotten about it.
“You can’t miss that.”
In three years he never had. For a long time Matt had told no one about his every-other-Thursday rendezvous at the museum. People would never understand. There was a bond there, a draw built on necessity and secrecy. It was hard to say more. Those meetings were simply too important.
But he still said, “I can put it off.”
“You shouldn’t, Matt. You know that.”
“I can fly up right now—”
“There’s no need. I’ll be home the day after tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to wait.”
“I’m crazy busy with stuff here anyway. Look, I have to go. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
“Olivia?”
“Friday,” she said. “I love you.”
And then she hung up.
Chapter 10
“UNCLE MATT?”
Paul and Ethan were safely ensconced in the backseat. It had taken Matt the better part of fifteen minutes to secure the car booster seats into place. Who the hell had designed these things—NASA?
“What’s up, partner?”
“You know what McDonald’s has right now?”
“I already told you. We’re not going to McDonald’s.”
“Oh, I know. I’m just saying.”
“Uh huh.”
“You know what McDonald’s has right now?”
“No,” Matt said.
“You know the new Shrek movie?”
“Yes.”
“They got Shrek toys,” Paul said.
“He means McDonald’s does,” Ethan chipped in.
“Is that a fact?”
“And they’re free.”
“They’re not free,” Matt said.
“They are so. It’s in the Happy Meal.”
“Which are overpriced.”
“Overwhat?”
“We’re not going to McDonald’s.”
“Oh, we know.”
“We were just saying.”
“They got free toys, is all.”
“From the new Shrek movie.”
“Remember when we saw the first Shrek movie, Uncle Matt?”
“I remember,” he said.
“I like Donkey,” Ethan said.
“Me too,” Matt agreed.
“Donkey is the toy this week.”
“We’re not going to McDonald’s.”
“I’m just saying.”
“ ’Cause Chinese is good too,” Paul said.
“Even though they don’t got toys.”
“Yeah, I like spare ribs.”
“And dim sum.”
“Mom likes the string beans.”
“Ugh. You don’t like string beans, do you, Uncle Matt?”
“They’re good for you,” Matt said.
Ethan turned to his brother. “That means no.”
Matt smiled, tried to push away the day. Paul and Ethan were good for that.
They arrived at Cathay, an old-fashioned Chinese restaurant with the retro classics like chow mein and egg foo young, cracked vinyl booths, and a grumpy old woman at the front counter who watched you eat as if fearing you’d pocket the utensils.
The food was greasy, but that was as it should be. The boys ate a ton. At McDonald’s, they picked. They managed maybe half a burger and a dozen fries. Here they cleaned the plate. Chinese restaurants would be well served by handing out movie tie-in toys.
Ethan, as always, was animated. Paul was a bit more reserved. They had been raised in pretty much the exact manner, the same gene pool, and yet they couldn’t be more different. Ethan was the cutup. He never sat still. He was messy and lively and shunned affection. When Paul colored, he always stayed in the lines. He got frustrated when he made a mistake. He was thoughtful, a good athlete, and liked to cuddle.
Nature waaay over nurture.
They stopped at Dairy Queen on the ride home. Ethan ended up wearing more soft vanilla than he consumed. When he pulled into the driveway Matt was surprised to see that Marsha wasn’t back yet. He took them inside—he had a key—and gave them a bath. It was eight o’clock.
Matt put on an episode of The Fairly OddParents, which was pretty funny on an adult level, and then convinced the boys using negotiating skills picked up in legal pleadings across the state to get into bed. Ethan was afraid of the dark, so Matt turned on the SpongeBob night-light.
Matt checked his watch. Ei
ght thirty. He didn’t mind staying later, but he was getting a little worried.
He headed into the kitchen. The latest works of art by Paul and Ethan hung on the refrigerator by magnets. There were photographs, too, in acrylic frames that never seemed to hold the photos in place. Most were halfway slipping out. Matt carefully slid the images back where they belonged.
Near the top of the fridge, too high for the children to reach (if not see?) there were two photographs of Bernie. Matt stopped and stared at his brother. After a while he turned away and picked up the kitchen phone. He dialed Marsha’s cell.
Marsha had caller ID and answered, “Matt? I was just about to call you.”
“Hey.”
“Are you at the house?”
“We are. And the boys are bathed and in bed.”
“Wow, you’re good.”
“I thank you.”
“No, I thank you.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Matt asked, “Do you need me to stay awhile?”
“If it’s okay.”
“No problem. Olivia’s still in Boston.”
“Thank you,” she said, and there was something in her voice.
He switched ears. “Uh, what time do you think you’ll be getting—”
“Matt?”
“Yes.”
“I lied to you before.”
He said nothing.
“I didn’t have a school meeting.”
He waited.
“I’m out on a date.”
Not sure what to say to that, Matt went with the reliable “Oh.”
“I should have told you before.” She lowered her voice. “It’s not a first date either.”
His eyes found his brother’s in the photograph on the refrigerator. “Uh huh.”
“I’ve been seeing someone. It’s been almost two months now. The boys don’t know anything about it, of course.”
“You don’t have to explain to me.”
“Yeah, Matt. Yeah, I do.”
He said nothing.
“Matt?”
“I’m here.”
“Would you mind spending the night?”
He closed his eyes. “No,” he said. “I don’t mind at all.”
“I’ll be home before the boys wake up.”
“Okay.”
He heard a sniffle then. She was crying.
“It’s okay, Marsha.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”