The Myron Bolitar Series 7-Book Bundle (24 page)

Ricky Lane lived in a New Jersey condo development similar to Christian’s. Win waited in the car. As Myron approached the door, he felt rather than heard the bass from Ricky’s stereo. It took three rings of the bell and several knocks before Ricky appeared.

“Hey, Myron.”

He was wearing a silk shirt that was either very fashionable or a pajama top. Hard to tell. The shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a well-defined physique. His pants
were held up by a drawstring. He was also wearing slippers. Maybe they were pajamas. Or lounging clothes. Or he was trying out for a walk-on role on
I Dream of Jeannie.

“We need to talk,” Myron said.

“Come on in.”

The music was deafening and awful. Made Pap Smear sound like Brahms. The motif was sleek modern. Lots of fiberglass. Lots of black and white. Lots of rounded edges. The stereo took up a whole wall. The lights on the equalizer looked like something on
Star Trek
.

Ricky flipped the stereo off. The silence was abrupt. Myron felt his chest stop vibrating.

“So what’s up?” Ricky asked.

Myron tossed him a glass jar. Ricky caught it, looked a question.

“Pee in it,” Myron said.

“What?”

“I want you to urinate into this jar.”

Ricky looked at the jar. Then at Myron. “I don’t get it.”

“Your new size,” Myron said. “You’re taking steroids.”

“No way, man. Not me.”

“Then give me a urine sample. Right now. I’ll have it tested at a lab.”

Ricky stared at the jar. He said nothing.

“Go ahead, Ricky. I don’t have all day.”

“You’re my agent, Myron. You ain’t my mother.”

“True enough. Are you taking steroids?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it any way you’d like.”

“Did Horty sell them to you? Or have you gotten a new supplier since college?”

Silence.

Ricky said, “You’re fired, Myron.”

“I’m devastated. Now tell me about raping Kathy Culver.”

More silence. Ricky was struggling to look casual, but his body language was all wrong.

“I know all about it,” Myron continued. “Your buddy Horty told all. Nice guy, by the way. A real sweetheart.”

Ricky stumbled back. He put the jar down on a shiny cube that Myron guessed was a table. He turned away. His voice was barely audible. “I never touched her.”

“Bullshit. You and five other guys jumped her in the locker room. You took turns raping her.”

“No. That’s not how it happened.”

Myron waited. Ricky buttoned his shirt, his back still facing Myron. He took a CD out of the stereo and tucked it back into its case.

“I was there,” Ricky began, his voice low. “In the locker room. I was stoned. We all were. Stoned out of our minds. Horty had just gotten in a new supply, and …” He sort of shrugged away the rest of the sentence.

“It started as a dare, you know. We knew we’d never go through with it. We figured we’d walk right to the edge but never jump. We kept waiting for someone to call it off.” He stopped again.

Myron said, “But no one called it off.”

He nodded slowly. “It stopped. But too late. It stopped when it was my turn, and I said no.”

“After all the others had gone?”

“Yes. I stood there and watched them. I even cheered.”

Silence.

“You kept her panties?”

“Yes.”

“When you heard the police were investigating, you tossed them in that garbage bin.”

He faced Myron. “No,” he said with something close to a hint of a smile. “I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave them on top of a Dumpster. I’d have burned them.”

Myron considered that for a moment. It was, he thought, an excellent point. “Then who threw them away?”

Ricky shrugged. “Kathy, I guess. I gave them to her.”

“When?”

“Later.”

“What time later?”

“Around midnight, I think. After it happened … after she left the locker room, it was like someone had given us the antidote. Or like someone turned on the lights, and we finally saw what we’d done. We all went silent and just drifted away. Except Horty. He was laughing like a goddamn hyena, getting more and more stoned. The rest of us went back to our rooms. None of us said one word. I got into bed, for a little while anyway. Then I got dressed and went back out. I didn’t have a plan. Not really. I just wanted to find her. Say something to her. I just wanted to … shit, I don’t know.”

His fingers were playing with his hair, twisting it like a little kid. He looked smaller now. “I finally found her.”

“Where?”

“Crossing the campus.”

“Where specifically?”

“The middle, I guess. On the commons.”

“What direction was she walking in?”

He thought a moment. “South.”

“Like maybe she was coming from the faculty housing?”

“Yes.”

After she left Dean Gordon’s, he thought.

“Go on.”

“I approached her. Called out her name. I thought she’d just run away, you know. It was dark and all. But she didn’t. She just turned and stared at me. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t shaking. She just stood there and stared me down. I said I was sorry. She didn’t say anything. I gave her the panties. I told her she could use them as evidence. I even told her I’d testify. I didn’t plan on saying that. It just came out. Kathy took the panties and walked away. She never said anything.”

“Was that the last time you saw her?”

“Yes.”

“What was she wearing?”

“Wearing?”

“When you last saw her?”

He looked up, trying to recall. “Something blue, I think.”

“Not yellow?”

“No. Definitely not yellow.”

“She hadn’t changed clothes since the rape?”

“I don’t think so. No, they were the same clothes.”

Myron headed for the door. “You’re going to need more than a new agent, Ricky. You’re also going to need a good lawyer.”

Jake was sitting next to Esperanza in the waiting area. He stood when Myron and Win entered.

“Got a minute?”

Myron nodded. “My office.”

Jake said, “Alone.”

Without a word Win spun and left.

“Nothing personal,” Jake said. “But the guy gives me the creeps.”

“Come on in.” He stopped at Esperanza’s desk.

“Did you reach Chaz?”

“Not yet.”

He handed her an envelope. “There’s a photograph inside. Bring it to Lucy. See if she recognizes him.”

Esperanza nodded.

Myron followed Jake into his office. The air conditioning was on full blast. It felt good.

“So what brings you to the Big Apple, Jake?”

“I was over at John Jay,” he said, “checking something out.”

“The crime lab?”

“Yup.”

“Find something?” Myron asked.

Jake did not reply. He examined the pictures on the client wall, leaning forward and squinting. “Heard of some of these guys,” he said. “But no superstars up here.”

“No, no superstars.”

“Nothing like Christian Steele.”

Myron sat down. He threw his legs up on the desk. “You still think he killed Nancy Serat?”

Jake did something with his shoulders. Might have been a shrug. “Let’s just say Christian is no longer our main suspect.”

“Who is?”

Jake moved away from the client wall. He sat down and crossed his legs. “I’ve been poking into Adam Culver’s homicide. Found out something interesting. Seems the cops concentrated solely on the murder scene and surrounding neighborhood. No reason for them to check anything else. They were convinced he was a victim of random street violence. I took a different avenue. I canvassed Culver’s neighborhood in Ridgewood. Nice town. Real white. No brothers at all. You been there, I assume?”

Myron nodded.

“Anyway, I talked to a guy who lives two houses down from the Culvers. He says he was walking his dog on the night in question. He wasn’t sure of the time, but he guessed it was eight o’clock or so. Seems he heard a big fight going on at the Culvers’ house. Major blowup. He said he’d never heard anything like that before. It was so bad he almost called the cops, but he didn’t want to pry. They’d been neighbors for twenty years and all. So he just let it slide.”

“Did he know what the fight was about?”

Jake shook his head. “Nope. Just loud voices. Adam’s and Carol’s.”

Myron sat quietly, still leaning back in his chair. Adam and Carol Culver had fought hours before Adam’s murder. Myron tried to put it together with what he already knew. For the first time things were beginning to fit.

“What else do you got?” Myron asked.

“On Adam Culver’s murder? Nothing.”

Silence.

“There were,” Jake continued, “a few hairs found at Nancy Serat’s murder scene. On the body itself. More specifically, clutched in Nancy’s hand.”

Myron sat up. “Like maybe she tore them off the killer?”

“Maybe,” Jake said. “But we checked the hairs at our own facilities and got a confirmation this morning at John Jay. There’s no question. The hairs belong to Kathy Culver.”

Myron felt his flesh turn to cold stone. He couldn’t speak.

“We had some of her hairs on file,” Jake continued. “From before. In case we ever found a body or wanted to check a location. Got them from her hairbrush at school. Both labs have done every comparison test conceivable. Neither one has any doubt. They’re Kathy’s hairs.”

Myron shook his head. He felt dizzy. Inside his head the Robot from
Lost in Space
was shouting “That does not compute!” over and over again.

“You have any thoughts on this, Myron?”

“Just the same ones you’re having.”

Jake nodded. “What Christian said.”

“ ‘Time for sisters to reunite,’ ” Myron quoted.

“Yup. Kinda takes on a whole new meaning now, don’t it.”

“But it still doesn’t explain anything,” Myron said. “Let’s assume Kathy Culver is alive. Let’s assume that Nancy Serat knows this. Why would Kathy kill her?”

Jake shrugged. “Sounds to me like Kathy may have gone off the deep end. I mean, first she’s got this whole weird past. Then she falls in love with a guy. Then she’s
blackmailed. Then she’s gang-raped. Then the dean turns his back on her. She cracks. Has a breakdown. Runs away. Maybe she tells Nancy Serat, maybe she doesn’t. But somehow Nancy finds out. Nancy arranges a reunion—probably a surprise reunion—between sisters. Kathy gets there early. She’s not happy about Nancy’s surprise.”

“So she kills her?”

“Could be,” Jake said. “Kathy’s loony-tunes. She doesn’t want to be found. Shit, she probably killed her old man for the same reason. She’s nuts. Maybe she wants revenge for some reason. On her father, on her best friend—even on Christian and Dean Gordon and whoever else she sent that nutty magazine to.”

Didn’t feel right to Myron. “Then what about the big fight between Adam and Carol Culver? How does that fit in?”

“Hell if I know,” Jake said. “I’m making this shit up as I go along. Maybe the fight was just a coincidence. Maybe ol’ Adam was on edge because he was about to meet with his daughter. Maybe the mother knows more than she’s saying.”

Myron thought about it. It was confusing, but the last part made sense. Maybe Carol Culver did know more than she was saying. More than maybe. Myron even had some idea now of what she was hiding.

It was time to pay Carol Culver a visit.

Myron pulled up in front of the familiar Victorian house on Heights Road in Ridgewood. He hesitated. He should have told Jessica about this, but there are things a woman might be more willing to tell a casual acquaintance than a daughter. This might be one of them.

Carol Culver answered the door. She was wearing an apron and those industrial rubber gloves. She smiled when she saw him, but the smile did not reach her eyes. “Hello, Myron.”

“Hello, Mrs. Culver.”

“Jessica isn’t home right now.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

The smile stayed. But a shadow crossed over the face. “Come on in,” she said. “Can I get you something to drink? Maybe a little tea?”

“That would be nice.”

He stepped inside. He and Jessica had not visited here often during their time together. A major holiday or two, that was it. Myron never liked the house. Something about it was stifling, as though the air were too heavy for normal breathing.

He sat down on a couch that was hard as a park bench. The decor was solemn. Lots of religious memorabilia. Lots of madonnas and crosses and gold-leaf paintings. Lots of halos and serene faces looking skyward.

Two minutes later Carol reappeared, minus the gloves
and apron, plus some tea and shortbread cookies. She was an attractive woman. She didn’t really look like her daughters, but Myron had seen pieces of her in both of them. Jessica’s straight posture. Kathy’s shy laugh.

“So how have you been?” she asked.

“Fine, thank you.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you, Myron.”

“Yes.”

“Are you and Jessica …?” She feigned embarrassment. She did that a lot. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

She poured the tea. Myron sipped it and nibbled on a cookie. Carol Culver did likewise.

“Tomorrow’s the memorial service,” she said. “Adam donated his corpse to a medical school, you know. The spirit was all that mattered to him. The body was worthless tissue. I guess that’s part of being a pathologist.”

Myron nodded, took another sip.

“Well, I just can’t believe this weather,” she rambled, a distracted smile frozen to her face. “It’s so hot out. If we don’t have rain soon, the whole front lawn will be brown. And we just paid to have it reseeded last season—”

“The police will be here soon,” Myron interrupted. “I thought we should talk first.”

She put her hand to her chest. “The police?”

“They’ll want to talk to you.”

“Me? What about?”

“They know about the fight,” he said. “A neighbor was walking a dog. He heard you and Dr. Culver.”

She stiffened. Myron waited, but she said nothing.

“Dr. Culver wasn’t feeling sick that night, was he?”

The color ebbed from her face. She put down her cup
of tea and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin.

“He never intended to go to that medical conference in Denver, isn’t that right, Mrs. Culver?”

She lowered her head.

“Mrs. Culver?”

No movement.

“I know this isn’t easy,” Myron said gently. “But I’m trying to find Kathy.”

Her eyes remained on the floor. “Do you really think you can, Myron?”

“It’s possible. I don’t want to give you false hope, but I think it’s possible.”

“Then you think she might be alive?”

“There’s a chance, yes.”

She finally raised her head. The eyes were wet. “You do what you have to do to find her, Myron.” Her voice was surprisingly steady and strong. “She’s my daughter. My baby. She has to come first. No matter what.”

Myron waited for Carol Culver to continue, but she fell back into silence. After nearly a full minute, Myron said, “Dr. Culver just pretended he was going to that medical conference.”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

“You thought he’d left that morning.”

Another androidlike nod.

“Then he surprised you here.”

“Yes.”

Myron’s soft voice seemed to boom in the room. An antique clock ticked maddeningly. “Mrs. Culver, what did he see when he arrived?”

Tears began to flow. She lowered her head again.

“Did he see you,” Myron continued, “with another man?”

Nothing.

“Was the man Paul Duncan?”

She lifted her head. Her eyes met his. “Yes,” she said. “I was with Paul.”

Myron waited again.

“Adam set a trap,” she continued, “and we got caught.” The words were once again steady and strong. “He had become suspicious. I don’t know how. So he did just what you said—pretended to go to a conference in Denver. He even had me arrange his flights, so I would be sure he was gone.”

“What happened when your husband saw you?”

Shaking fingers rubbed her cheeks. She stood, turned away. “Exactly what you’d expect to happen when a man finds his wife and best friend in bed. Adam went crazy. He’d been drinking pretty heavily, which didn’t help matters. He shouted at me, called me horrible names. I deserved that. I deserved a lot worse. He threatened Paul. We tried to calm him down, but of course that was impossible.”

She picked up the tea again. Each word was making her a little stronger, making it a little easier to breathe. “Adam stormed out. I was scared. Paul went after him. But Adam drove off. Paul left after that.”

“How long have you and Paul Duncan …?” His voice just sort of mumbled away.

“Six years.”

“Did anybody else know?”

Her composure gave way. Not slowly. But as if a small bomb had blown it off her face. She crumbled, weeping freely. A realization came to Myron. He felt his blood freeze.

“Kathy,” he whispered. “Kathy knew.”

The sobbing grew more intense.

“She found out,” he continued, “during her senior year.”

Carol tried to stop her tears, but that took time. Myron remembered how Kathy had worshiped her mother, the perfect woman, the woman who balanced old-fashioned values with a sense of the modern. Carol Culver had been a homemaker and a shop owner. She had raised three beautiful children. She had instilled in her children more than just a sense of what is now popularly called “family values.” For her values had been a rigid doctrine that she insisted her children follow. Jessica had rebelled. So had Edward. Only Kathy had been successfully locked in, like a lion kept in too small a cage.

And she had finally broken free.

“Kathy …” Carol Culver stopped, shut her eyes tightly. “She walked in on us.”

“And that was when she changed,” Myron finished.

Carol Culver nodded, her eyes still squeezed closed. “I did that to her. Everything that happened was because of me. God forgive me.” Then she shook her head. “No. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t want it. I just want my baby back.”

“What did Kathy do when she saw you two?”

“Nothing. At first. She just turned and ran away. But the next day she broke up with her boyfriend Matt. And from there—she made sure I paid for what I’d done. For all the years I’d been a hypocrite. For all the years I lied to her. She wanted to hurt me in the worst way possible.”

“She began to sleep around,” Myron said.

“Yes. And she made sure I knew all about it.”

“By telling you?”

Carol Culver shook her head. “Kathy wouldn’t talk to me anymore.”

“So how did you find out?”

She hesitated. Her face was drawn, her skin pulled
tight against her cheekbones. “Photographs,” she said simply.

Something else clicked into place. Horty and the camera. “She gave you photos of herself with men.”

“Yes.”

“White men, black men, sometimes more than one.”

Her eyes closed again, but she managed to say, “And not just men. It started slowly. A couple of nude pictures of her. Like the one in that magazine.”

“You saw that same picture before?”

“Yes. It even had the name of a photographer stamped on the back.”

“Global Globes Photos?”

“No. It was something like Forbidden Fruit.”

“Do you still have the picture?”

She shook her head.

“You threw them away?”

She shook her head again. “I wanted to destroy them. I wanted to burn them and pretend I’d never seen them. But I couldn’t. Kathy was punishing me. Keeping them was a form of penitence. I never told anyone about them, but I couldn’t just throw them away. You see that, Myron, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“So I hid them in the attic. In an old storage box. I thought they’d be safe there.”

Myron saw where this was going. “Your husband found them.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“A few months ago. He never told me about it. But of course I knew by the way he was acting. I checked the attic. The pictures were gone. Adam assumed that Kathy had hidden them up there. He had no idea she’d sent
them to me. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s how he became suspicious of Paul and me. I don’t know.”

“Do you know what your husband did with those pictures, Mrs. Culver?”

“No. They were so awful. So painful to look at. I think Adam destroyed them.”

Myron doubted it. They both sat in silence for several minutes. Finally Myron said, “Jessica is going to want to know.”

Carol Culver nodded. “You tell her, Myron.”

She showed him to the door. He stopped at his car and turned back around. He studied the gray Victorian house. Twenty-six years ago a young family had moved in. They’d put up swings in the backyard and a basketball hoop in the driveway. They’d owned a station wagon, carpooled to Little League and choir practice, attended PTA meetings, hosted birthday parties. Myron could almost see it all happening, like a life insurance commercial playing in his head.

He slid into his car and drove away.