Back Spin (Myron Bolitar 4)

“I’ve tried to reach Linda,” Esme said. “But the phone is busy.”

“Did you try Chad’s line?”

Something hit her face, then fled. “Chad’s line?”

“He has his own phone in the house,” he said. “You must have known that.”

“Why would I know that?”

Myron shrugged. “I thought you knew Chad.”

“I do,” she said, but her voice was slow, careful. “I mean, I’ve been over to the house a number of times.”

“Uh-huh. And when was the last time you saw Chad?”

She put her hand to her chin. “I don’t think he was there when I went over Friday night,” she said, the voice still slow. “I don’t really know. I guess a few weeks ago.”

Myron made a buzzing noise. “Incorrect answer.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t get it, Esme.”

“What?”

Myron continued walking, Esme stayed in step. “You’re what,” he said, “twenty-four years old?”

“Twenty-five.”

“You’re smart. You’re successful. You’re attractive. But a teenage boy—what’s up with that?”

She stopped. “What are you talking about?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.”

His eyes bore into hers. “You. Chad Coldren. The Court Manor Inn. That help?”

“No.”

Myron gave her skeptical. “Please.”

“Did Chad tell you that?”

“Esme …”

“He’s lying, Myron. My God, you know how teenage boys are. How could you believe something like that?”

“Pictures, Esme.”

Her face went slack. “What?”

“You two stopped at an ATM machine next door to the motel, remember? They have cameras. Your face was clear as day.” It was a bluff. But it was a damn good one. She caved a little piece at a time. She looked around and then collapsed on a bench. She turned and faced a colonial building with a lot of scaffolding. Scaffolding, Myron thought, ruined the effect—like armpit hair on a beautiful woman. It shouldn’t really matter, but it did.

“Please don’t tell Norm,” she said in a faraway voice. “Please don’t.”

Myron said nothing.

“It was dumb. I know that. But it shouldn’t cost me my job.”

Myron sat next to her. “Tell me what happened.”

She looked back at him. “Why? What business is this of yours?”

“There are reasons.”

“What reasons?” Her voice was a little sharper now. “Look, I’m not proud of myself. But who appointed you my conscience?”

“Fine. I’ll go ask Norm then. Maybe he can help me.”

Her mouth dropped. “Help you with what? I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to me?”

“I need some answers. I don’t have time to explain.”

“What do you want me to say? That I was dumb? I was. I could tell you that I was lonely being in a nice place. That he seemed like a sweet, handsome kid and that at his age, I figured there’d be no fear of disease or attachments. But at the end of the day, that does not change much. I was wrong. I’m sorry, okay?”

“When was the last time you saw Chad?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Esme insisted.

“Just answer my questions or I’ll go to Norm, I swear it.”

She studied his face. He put on his most impermeable face, the one he’d learned from really tough cops and toll collectors on the New Jersey Turnpike. After a few seconds she said, “At that motel.”

“The Court Manor Inn?”

“Whatever it was called. I don’t remember the name.”

“What day was that?” Myron asked.

She thought a moment. “Friday morning. Chad was still sleeping.”

“You haven’t seen or spoken to him since?”

“No.”

“You didn’t have any plans to rendezvous for another tryst?”

She made an unhappy face. “No, not really. I thought he was just out for some fun, but once we were there, I could see he was developing a crush. I didn’t count on that. Frankly I was worried.”

“Of what exactly?”

“That he’d tell his mother. Chad swore he wouldn’t, but who knew what he’d do if I hurt him? When I didn’t hear from him again, I was relieved.”

Myron searched her face and her story for lies. He couldn’t find one. Didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Esme shifted on the bench, crossing her legs. “I still don’t understand why you’re asking me all this.” She thought about it a moment and then something seemed to spark in her eyes. She squared her shoulders toward Myron. “Does this have something to do with Jack’s murder?”

Myron said nothing.

“My God.” Her voice quaked. “You can’t possibly think that Chad has something to do with it.”

Myron waited a beat. All-or-nothing time. “No,” he said. “But I’m not so sure about you.”

Confusion set camp on her face. “What?”

“I think you kidnapped Chad.”

She raised both hands. “Are you out of your mind? Kidnapped? It was completely consensual. Chad was more than willing, believe me. Okay, he was young. But do you think I took him to that motel at gunpoint?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Myron said.

Confusion again. “Then what the hell do you mean?”

“After you left the motel on Friday. Where did you go?”

“To Merion. I met you there that night, remember?”

“How about last night? Where were you?”

“Here.”

“In your suite?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“From eight o’clock on.”

“Anybody who can verify that?”

“Why would I need someone to verify that?” she snapped. Myron put on the impermeable face again—not even gases could get through. Esme sighed. “I was with Norm until midnight. We were working.”

“And after that?”

“I went to bed.”

“Would the hotel’s nightman be able to verify that you never left your suite after midnight?”

“I think so, yes. His name is Miguel. He’s very nice.”