Текст книги "Six Years"

Автор книги: Harlan Coben

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 30

Through the phone line, I heard Mrs. Dinsmore sigh. “Aren’t you supposed to be on suspension?”

“You miss me. Admit it.”

Even in the midst of this ever-growing combination of horror and confusion, Mrs. Dinsmore made me feel grounded. There were few constants. Messing around with Mrs. Dinsmore was one of them. It was comforting to hold on to my own version of ritual while the rest of the world spun madly on.

“Suspension probably includes calling college support staff,” Mrs. Dinsmore said.

“Even if it’s just for phone sex?”

I could feel her disapproving glare from 160 miles away. “What do you want, funny man?”

“I need a huge favor,” I said.

“And in return?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said about phone sex?”

“Jake?”

I don’t think she had ever called me by my first name.

“Yes?”

Her voice was suddenly tender. “What’s wrong? Getting suspended is not like you. You’re a role model here.”

“It’s a really long story.”

“You were asking me about Professor Kleiner’s daughter. The one you’re in love with.”

“Yes.”

“Are you still looking for her?”

“Yes.”

“Does your suspension have something to do with that?”

“It does.”

Silence. Then Mrs. Dinsmore cleared her throat.

“What do you need, Professor Fisher?”

“A student file.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

“You need the student’s permission,” Mrs. Dinsmore said. “I told you that last time.”

“And like last time, the student is dead.”

“Oh,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“Archer Minor.”

There was a pause.

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“As a student, no.”

“But?”

“But I remember reading in the Lanford News that he was murdered a few years ago.”

“Six years ago,” I said.

I started up the car, keeping the phone to my ear.

“Let me see if I understand this,” Mrs. Dinsmore said. “You’re looking for Natalie Avery, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And in searching for her, you’ve needed to look at the personal files of not one but two murdered students.”

Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I guess that’s true,” I said.

“If I may be bold, this isn’t sounding like much of a love story.”

I said nothing. A few seconds passed.

“I’ll call you back,” Mrs. Dinsmore said before hanging up.

* * *

The Hyde Park Assisted Living facility resembled a Marriott Courtyard.

A nice one, grant you, upscale with one of those Victorian gazebos in front, but everything screamed chain, impersonal, prefab. The main building was three stories with faux turrets on the corners. An oversize sign read ASSISTED LIVING ENTRANCE. I followed the path, walked up a wheelchair ramp, and opened the door.

The woman at the desk had a helmety beehive hairdo last seen on a senator’s wife circa 1964. She hit me with a smile so wooden I could have knocked on it for luck.

“May I help you?”

I smiled and spread my arms. I had read somewhere that spreading your arms makes you appear more open and trusting while folded arms make you seem the opposite. I didn’t know if that was true. It felt as though I might swoop someone up and carry him away. “I’m here to see Sylvia Avery,” I said.

“Would she be expecting you?” Beehive asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

She looked doubtful. I couldn’t blame her. I doubt too many people just happen to drop in on assisted-living facilities. “Do you mind signing in?”

“Not at all.”

She spun an oversize guestbook, the kind I usually associate with weddings, funerals, and hotels in old movies, toward me and handed me a large quill pen. I signed my name. The woman spun the guestbook back toward her.

“Mr. Fisher,” she said, reading the name very slowly. She looked up at me and blinked. “May I ask how you know Miss Avery?”

“Through her daughter Natalie. I thought it’d be nice to visit.”

“I’m sure Sylvia will appreciate that.” Beehive gestured to her left. “Our living room is available and inviting. Would it be okay if you met there?”

Inviting? “Sure,” I said.

Beehive stood. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

I moved into the available, inviting living room. I realized what was up. Beehive wanted the meeting in a public place just in case I wasn’t on the up-and-up. Made sense. Better safe than sorry and all that. The couches looked nice enough, what with their floral prints, and yet they didn’t look like something that could make one comfortable. Nothing here did. The décor resembled that of a model home perfectly laid out to accentuate the positives, but the smell of antiseptic, industrial-strength cleaner, and—yes, dare I say it—the elderly was unmistakable. I stayed standing. There was an old woman with a walker and tattered bathrobe standing in the corner. She was talking to a wall, gesturing wildly.

My new disposable number started buzzing. I looked at the caller ID, but I had only given this number to one person: Mrs. Dinsmore. There was a sign about no cell phone use, but as I’ve now learned, I sometimes live on the edge. I moved into a corner, turned my face to the wall, à la the old woman with the walker, and whispered, “Hello?”

“I have Archer Minor’s file,” Mrs. Dinsmore said. “Do you want me to e-mail it to you?”

“That would be great. Do you have it right there?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything strange about it?”

“I didn’t look at it yet. Strange how?”

“Would you mind taking a quick peek?”

“What am I looking for?”

I thought about that. “How about a connection between the two murder victims. Were they in the same dorm? Did they take any of the same classes?”

“That one is easy. No. Archer Minor was graduated before Todd Sanderson even matriculated here. Anything else?”

As I did the math in my head, a cold hand reached into my chest.

Mrs. Dinsmore said, “Are you still there?”

I swallowed. “Was Archer Minor on campus when Professor Kleiner ran off?”

There was a brief pause. Then Mrs. Dinsmore said in a faraway voice: “I think he would have been a freshman or sophomore.”

“Could you check to see if—?”

“One step ahead of you.” I could hear file pages being flipped. I glanced behind me. From across the room the old woman with the walker and tattered bathrobe winked at me suggestively. I winked back with equal suggestion. Why not?

Then Mrs. Dinsmore said, “Jake?”

Again she used my first name.

“Yes?”

“Archer Minor was enrolled in Professor Kleiner’s class called Citizenship and Pluralism. According to this, he received an A.”

Beehive returned, pushing Natalie’s mother in a wheelchair. I recognized Sylvia Avery from the wedding six years ago. The years hadn’t been so kind to her up until then and judging by what I was seeing now, that hadn’t gotten any better.

With the phone still to my ear, I asked Mrs. Dinsmore, “When?”

“When what?”

“When did Archer Minor take that class?”

“Let me see.” Then I heard Mrs. Dinsmore’s small gasp, but I already knew the answer. “It was the semester Professor Kleiner resigned.”

I nodded to myself. Ergo the A. Everyone got them that semester.

My mind was whirling a thousand ways to Sunday. Still reeling, I thanked Mrs. Dinsmore and hung up as Beehive rolled Sylvia Avery right to me. I had hoped that we would be alone, but Beehive waited. I cleared my throat.

“Miss Avery, you may not remember me—”

“Natalie’s wedding,” she said without hesitation. “You were the mopey guy she dumped.”

I looked toward Beehive. Beehive put her hand on Sylvia Avery’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Sylvia?”

“Of course I’m okay,” she snapped. “Go away and leave us alone.”

The wooden smile did not so much as flicker, but then again wood never does. Beehive moved back to the desk. She gave us one more look as though to say, I may not be sitting right with you but I’ll be watching.

“You’re too tall,” Sylvia Avery said to me.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just sit the hell down so I don’t strain my neck.”

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Again with the sorry. Sit, sit.”

I sat on the couch. She studied me for a bit. “What do you want?”

Sylvia Avery looked small and wizened in that wheelchair, but then again who looks big and hardy in them? I answered her with a question of my own.

“Have you heard from Natalie at all?”

She gave me the suspicious stink eye. “Who wants to know?”

“Uh, me.”

“I get cards now and then. Why?”

“But you haven’t seen her?”

“Nope. That’s okay though. She’s a free spirit, you know. When you set a free spirit free, it flies off. That’s what it’s supposed to do.”

“Do you know where this free spirit landed?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but she lives overseas. Happy as can be with Todd. I’m looking forward to those two having kids one day.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “What’s your name again?”

“Jake Fisher.”

“You married, Jake?”

“No.”

“Ever been married?”

“No.”

“You got a serious girlfriend?”

I didn’t bother answering.

“Shame.” Sylvia Avery shook her head. “Big, strong man like you. You should be married. You should be making a girl feel safe. You shouldn’t be alone.”

I didn’t like where this conversational route was taking us. It was time to change it up.

“Miss Avery?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know what I do for a living?”

She looked me up and down. “You look like a linebacker.”

“I’m a college professor,” I said.

“Oh.”

I turned my body so that I could get a clearer look at her reaction to what I was about to say. “I teach political science at Lanford College.”

Whatever color had remained in her cheeks drained away.

“Mrs. Kleiner?”

“That’s not my name.”

“It was though, wasn’t it? You changed it back after your husband left Lanford.”

She closed her eyes. “Who told you about that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Did Natalie say something?”

“No,” I said. “Never. Not even when I brought her to campus.”

“Good.” Her quivering hand came up to her mouth. “My God, how can you know about this?”

“I need to speak to your ex-husband.”

“What?” Her eyes widened in fright. “Oh no, this can’t be . . .”

“What can’t be?”

She sat there, hand on mouth, saying nothing.

“Please, Miss Avery. It is very important I talk to him.”

Sylvia Avery squeezed her eyes shut tight like a little kid wishing away a monster. I glanced over her shoulder. Beehive was watching us with open curiosity. I forced up a smile as fake as hers to show that all was okay.

Sylvia Avery’s voice was a whisper. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“I need to speak to him.”

“It was such a long, long time ago. Do you know what I had to do to move past that? Do you know how painful this is?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“No? Then stop. Why on earth would you need to find that man? Do you know what his running off did to Natalie?”

I waited, hoping that she’d say more. She did.

“You need to understand. Julie, well, she was young. She barely remembered her father. But Natalie? She never got over it. She never let him go.”

Her hand fluttered back toward her face. She looked off. I waited some more, but it was clear that Sylvia Avery had stopped talking for the moment.

I tried to stay firm. “Where is Professor Kleiner now?”

“California,” she said.

“Where in California?”

“I don’t know.”

“Los Angeles area? San Francisco? San Diego? It’s a big state.”

“I said, I don’t know. We don’t speak.”

“So how do you know he’s in California?”

That made her pause. I saw something skitter across her face. “I don’t,” she said. “He may have moved.”

A lie.

“You told your daughters he remarried.”

“That’s right.”

“How did you know?”

“Aaron called and told me.”

“I thought you didn’t speak.”

“Not in a very long time.”

“What’s his wife’s name?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. And I would not tell you if I did.”

“Why not? Your daughters, okay, I get that. You were protecting them. But why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes shifted from left to right. I decided to bluff.

“I checked the marital records,” I said. “You two were never divorced.”

Sylvia Avery let out a small groan. There was no way Beehive could have heard it, but her ears still perked up like a dog’s hearing a sound no one else could. I gave Beehive the same “all’s fine” smile.

“How did your husband remarry if you two were never divorced?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“What happened, Miss Avery?”

She shook her head. “Let it be.”

“He didn’t run away with a coed, did he?”

“Yes, he did,” she said. Now it was her turn to try to sound firm. But it wasn’t there. It was too defensive, too practiced. “Yes, Aaron ran off and left me.”

“Lanford College is a small campus, you know that, right?”

“Of course I know it. I lived there for seven years. So what?”

“A female student quitting to run off with a professor would have made news. Her parents would have called. There would have been staff meetings. Something. I checked the records. No one dropped out when your husband vanished. No female student dropped her classes. No female student was unaccounted for.”

This again was a bluff but a good one. Campuses as small as Lanford do not keep secrets well. If a student ran off with a professor, everyone, especially Mrs. Dinsmore, would know her name.

“Maybe she was at Strickland. That state college down the street. I think she went there.”

“That’s not what happened,” I said.

“Please,” Miss Avery said. “What are you trying to do?”

“Your husband vanished. And now, twenty-five years later, so has your daughter.”

That got her attention. “What?” She shook her head too firmly, reminding me of a stubborn child. “I told you. Natalie lives overseas.”

“No, Miss Avery. She doesn’t. She never married Todd. That was a ruse. Todd was already married. Someone murdered him a little more than a week ago.”

It was one bombshell too many. Sylvia Avery’s head lolled first to the side and then down as though her neck had turned to rubber. Behind her, I saw Beehive pick up the phone. She kept her eye on me and started talking to someone. The wooden smile was gone.

“Natalie was such a happy girl.” Her head was still down, her chin on her chest. “You can’t imagine. Or maybe you can. You loved her. You got to see the real her, but that was much later. After so much changed back.”

“Changed back from what?”

“See, when Natalie was little, my God, that girl lived for her father. He’d come through the door after class, and she’d run to him screaming with joy.” Sylvia Avery finally lifted her head. There was a distant smile on her face, her eyes seeing the long-ago memory. “Aaron would pick her up and twirl her and she’d laugh so hard . . .”

She shook her head. “We were all so damn happy.”

“What happened, Miss Avery?”

“He ran off.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.”

“Poor Natalie. She couldn’t let it go and now . . .”

“Now what?”

“You don’t understand. You can never understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

“Why? Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man who loves her,” I said. “I’m the man she loves.”

She didn’t know how to react to that. Her eyes were still on the floor, almost as though she didn’t have the strength to lift even her gaze. “When her father ran off, Natalie changed. She grew so sullen. I lost that little girl. It was like Aaron took her happiness with him. She couldn’t accept it. Why would her father abandon her? What did she do wrong? Why didn’t he love her anymore?”

I pictured this, my Natalie as a child, feeling lost and abandoned by her own father. I could feel the pain in my chest.

“She had trust issues for so long. You have no idea. She pushed everyone away and yet she never gave up hope.” She looked up at me. “Do you know anything about hope, Jake?”

“I think I do,” I said.

“It’s the cruelest thing in the world. Death is better. When you’re dead, the pain stops. But hope keeps raising you way up high, only to drop you to the hard ground. Hope cradles your heart in its hand and then it crushes it with a fist. Over and over. It never stops. That’s what hope does.”

She put her hands on her lap and looked at me hard. “So, you see, I tried to take that hope away.”

I nodded. “You tried to make Natalie forget about her father,” I said.

“Yes.”

“By saying he ran off and abandoned all of you?”

Her eyes began to well up. “I thought that was best. Do you see? I thought that would make Natalie forget him.”

“You told Natalie that her father got remarried,” I said. “You told her that he had other children. But all that was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Sylvia Avery wouldn’t answer. The expression on her face hardened.

“Miss Avery?”

She looked up at me. “Leave me alone.”

“I need to know—”

“I don’t care what you need to know. I want you to leave me alone.”

She started to wheel back. I grabbed hold of her chair. The chair came to a sudden halt. The blanket on her lap fell toward the floor. When I looked down, my hand released the chair without any command from her. Half of her right leg had been amputated. She pulled the blanket up, slower than she had to. She wanted me to see.

“Diabetes,” she said to me. “I lost it three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Believe me, it was nothing.” I reached out again, but she knocked my hand away. “Good-bye, Jake. Leave my family alone.” She started to wheel back. No choice now. I had to go nuclear.

“Do you remember a student named Archer Minor?”

Her chair stopped. Her mouth went slack.

“Archer Minor was enrolled in your husband’s class at Lanford,” I said. “Do you remember him?”

“How . . . ?” Her lips moved but no words came out for a few moments. Then: “Please.” If her voice had sounded merely frightened before, she was downright terrified now. “Please leave this alone.”

“Archer Minor is dead, you know. He was murdered.”

“Good riddance,” she said, and then she shut her mouth tightly, as though she regretted the words the moment they came out.

“Please tell me what happened.”

“Let it go.”

“I can’t.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with you. It isn’t your business.” She shook her head. “It makes sense.”

“What does?”

“That Natalie would fall for you.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re a dreamer, like her father. He couldn’t let things go either. Some people can’t. I’m an old woman. Listen to me. The world is messy, Jake. Some people want it to be black-and-white. Those people always pay a price. My husband was one of them. He couldn’t let it go. And you, Jake, are heading down that same path.”

I heard distant echoes in her past, from Malcolm Hume and Eban Trainor, from Benedict too. I thought about my own recent thoughts, about what it had felt like to punch and even kill a man.

“What happened with Archer Minor?” I asked.

“You won’t quit. You’ll keep digging until everyone dies.”

“It will stay between you and me,” I said. “It won’t leave this room. Just tell me.”

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll keep digging. What happened with Archer Minor?”

She looked off again, fingers plucking at her lip as though in deep thought. I sat up a little straighter, trying to meet her eye.

“You know how they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“Yes,” I said.

“That kid tried. Archer Minor wanted to be the apple that fell and rolled away. He wanted to be good. He wanted to escape what he was. Aaron understood that. He tried to help him.”

She took her time adjusting the blanket in her lap.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“Archer was in over his head at Lanford. In high school his father could pressure the teachers. They gave him A’s. I don’t know if he really earned that high SAT score on his résumé. I don’t know how he got past admissions, but academically, that boy was in over his head.”

She stopped again.

“Please go on.”

“There’s no reason,” she said.

Then I remembered something Mrs. Dinsmore had said when I first asked her about Professor Aaron Kleiner.

“There was a cheating scandal, wasn’t there?”

Her body language told me that I’d hit pay dirt.

“Did it involve Archer Minor?” I asked.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

“Miss Avery?”

“He bought a term paper from a student who’d graduated the year before. The other student had gotten an A on it. Archer just retyped it and handed it in as his own. Didn’t change one single word. He figured there’d be no way Aaron would remember. But Aaron remembers everything.”

I knew the school rules. That sort of cheating was an automatic expulsion at Lanford.

“Did your husband report him?”

“I told him not to. I told him to give Archer a second chance. I didn’t care about the second chance, of course. I just knew.”

“You knew his family would be upset.”

“Aaron reported it anyway.”

“To whom?”

“The chairman of the department.”

My heart sank. “Malcolm Hume?”

“Yes.”

I sat back. “What did Malcolm say?”

“He wanted Aaron to drop it. He said to go home and think about it.”

I thought back to my case with Eban Trainor. He had said something similar to me, hadn’t he? Malcolm Hume. You do not get to be secretary of state without compromise, without cutting deals and negotiating terms and understanding that the world was loaded up with gray.

“I’m very tired, Jake.”

“I don’t understand something.”

“Let it go.”

“Archer Minor was never reported. He graduated summa cum laude.”

“We started getting threatening phone calls. A man visited me. He came into the house when I was in the shower. When I came out, he was just sitting on my bed. He was holding pictures of Natalie and Julie. He didn’t say anything. He just sat on my bed and held the pictures. Then he got up and left. Can you imagine what that was like?”

I thought about Danny Zuker breaking in and sitting on my own bed. “You told your husband?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

She took her time on this one. “I think he finally understood the danger. But it was too late.”

“What did he do?”

“Aaron left. For our sake.”

I nodded, seeing it now. “But you couldn’t tell Natalie that. You couldn’t tell anyone. They’d be in danger. So you told them he ran off. Then you moved away and changed your name.”

“Yes,” she said.

But I was missing something. I was missing a lot, I suspected. There was something that wasn’t adding up here, something niggling at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t see it yet. How, for example, did Natalie come across Archer Minor twenty years later?

“Natalie thought her father abandoned her,” I said.

She just closed her eyes.

“But you said that she wouldn’t let it go.”

“She wouldn’t stop pressing me. She was so sad. I should have never told her that. But what choice did I have? Everything I did, I did to protect my girls. You don’t understand. You don’t understand what a mother has to do sometimes. I needed to protect my girls, you see?”

“I do,” I said.

“And look what happened. Look what I did.” She put her hands to her face and started to sob. The old woman with the walker and tattered bathrobe stopped talking to the wall. Beehive looked like she was readying herself to intervene. “I should have made up some other story. Natalie just kept pressing me, demanding to know what happened to her father. She never stopped.”

I saw it now. “So you eventually told her the truth.”

“It ruined her life, don’t you see? Growing up thinking your father did that to you. She needed closure. I never gave her that. So, yes, I finally told her the truth. I told her that her father loved her. I told her that she didn’t do anything wrong. I told her that he would never, ever, abandon her.”

I nodded along with her words. “So you told her about Archer Minor. That was why she was there that day.”

She didn’t say anything. She just sobbed. Beehive was having no more of this. She was on her way over.

“Where is your husband now, Miss Avery?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Natalie? Where is she?”

“I don’t know that either. But, Jake?”

Beehive was by her side. “I think that’s enough.”

I ignored her. “What, Miss Avery?”

“Let it go. For all our sakes. Don’t be like my husband.”