Deal Breaker (Myron Bolitar 1)

Madelaine was in shutdown mode. Probably hurt by his interrogation technique. Using his brawny body to get his way. Myron had never done that before. He liked it. Better than pistol-whipping a suspect, anyway.

He turned and left. Madelaine was probably watching his ass. He put a little wiggle in his step and hurried across campus.

Chapter 32

Jessica found Getaway Realty in the Bergen County Yellow Pages. Their office was a converted cottage next to a McDonald’s off Route 17 on the New Jersey side of the New York–New Jersey border. The drive was only twenty minutes, but it felt as if she’d arrived in the rural past. She actually saw a feed store.

Only one person was in the office.

“Well, hello there,” the man said with a too-wide smile. He was mid-fifties, bald, with a long, scraggly gray beard, like a college professor’s. He wore a flannel shirt, black tie, Levi’s jeans, and red Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers.

“I’m Tom Corbett, president of Getaway Realty.” He handed her a card. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m Dr. Adam Culver’s daughter,” she said. “He wrote a check to your office on May twenty-fifth for $649.”

“Yeah, so?”

“He passed away recently. I’d like to know what it was for.”

Corbett took a step back. “I’m awfully sorry to hear that,” he said. “Nice man, your father.”

“Thank you. Can you tell me why he came to you?”

He thought a moment, shrugged. “Don’t see why not. He rented a cabin.”

“Near here?”

“Five, six miles. In the woods.”

“For how long?”

“A month. Starting May twenty-fifth. Still has it for a few more weeks, if you’d like to use it.”

“What kind of cabin?” she asked.

“What kind? Well, it’s pretty small. One bedroom, one bathroom with shower stall, living room, kitchenette.”

This made no sense. “Do you think you could give me the directions and a spare key?”

He thought that one over too, chewing on the inside of his mouth. “It’s a bit remote,” he said. “Kinda hard to find, darling.”

Aside from babe and honey-bun, there were few things Jessica enjoyed being called more than darling. But now was not the time to explain her sentiments. She bit her lip and held back.

“The cottage’s away from it all,” Tom continued. “Way away, if you know what I mean. A little hunting, a little fishing, but mostly just peace and quiet.” He picked up a key chain as heavy as a barbell. “I’ll drive you.”

“Thank you.”

He drove a Toyota LandCruiser and chatted the whole way, as though she were a client. “Here’s our local grocery store.”

It was an enormous A&P Superstore.

She was surprised when he turned onto an unpaved road. They were heading straight into the woods.

“Nice, ain’t it? Real pretty.”

“Uh-huh.”

Green foliage surrounded them. Jessica was not much of the outdoor sort. To her, the great outdoors meant bugs and humidity and dirt and no running water and no bathroom. Man had evolved for millions of years to escape the woods. Why rush back? But more important, her father had felt the same. He hated the woods.

Why would he rent a cabin out here?

Tom pointed to a gully up ahead. “Two years ago, guy got killed by a hunter over there. Accident. The hunter thought he was a deer, shot him in the head.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Couple of dead bodies been found in the woods. Three in the past two years, I think. Found one girl just a couple months back. Runaway, they guessed. Hard to tell ’cause she was all decayed and stuff.”

“You’re a hell of a salesman, Tom.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well, I can tell when someone ain’t a buyer.”

Jessica, of course, knew all about the bodies. The police hadn’t caught the killer, but the general consensus was that the psychopath had gotten hold of one more young girl, one that had not yet been found:

Kathy Culver.

Could Kathy’s fate have been that simple and that horrible? Had she been another victim of a random psychopath, just as everyone thought?

No, Jessica told herself. Too many holes.

“When I was a kid growing up around here,” Tom said, “these woods were filled with legends. Guy with a hook hand lived in here, the old-timers said, used to kidnap bad little boys and gut them with his hook.”

“Charming.”

“Sometimes I wonder if he moved on to young ladies.”

Jessica said nothing.

“Used to call him Dr. Hook,” he continued.

“What?”

“Dr. Hook. That’s what we all called him.”

“Isn’t that a singer?” she asked.

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

They drove another mile away from civilization. “That’s the house,” Tom said. “Up there behind the trees.”

It was a small wooden cabin with a big front porch.

“Rustic, ain’t it?”

Decrepit would have been a better adjective. Jessica checked the porch, but there were no toothless hillbillies playing dueling banjos.

“Did my father say why he wanted to rent this cabin?”

“Just said he needed someplace to get away from it all in these woods.”

It still made no sense. Dad was going to be gone at a medical examiners’ conference for a week out of the month, anyway. And Adam Culver was not the get-away-from-it-all type. He dealt with the dead. On vacations he wanted to be in Vegas or Atlantic City or someplace with lots of people and action. Now he was renting the Waltons’ cabin.

Tom used the key to unlock the door. He pushed it open and said, “After you.”

Jessica stepped into the living room. And stopped short.

Tom came in behind her. His voice was a whisper. “What the hell is this?” he asked.

Chapter 33

Dean Gordon’s office was in Compton Hall. The building was only three stories high but wide. Greek columns out front screamed House of Learning. Brick exterior. White double doors. Directly inside was a bulletin board filled with old notices. Meetings of the usual campus groups: the African American Change Committee, the Gay-Lesbian Alliance, the Liberators of Palestine, the Coalition to Stop the Domination of Womyn (never spelled women, for the sexism the name implies), the South African Freedom Fighters—all taking the summer off. College fun days.

There was no one inside the huge lobby. The motif was marble. Marble floors, banisters, columns. The walls were covered with huge portraits of men in graduation robes, most of whom would flip if they could read the bulletin board. All the lights were on. Myron’s footsteps clacked and reverberated in the still room. He wanted to shout “Echo,” but was far too adult.