Win nodded. “She saw a blackmailer who stood in the way of all her dreams. I’m not so sure I would have behaved any differently.”
“You don’t commit murder to stave off life’s inconveniences,” Myron said.
Win didn’t argue, but he didn’t agree either. They kept walking. When they reached the car, Win said, “So where does that leave us?”
“With Clip Arnstein,” Myron said. “He has some explaining to do.”
“You want me to come along?”
“No. I want to talk to him alone.”
Chapter 40
By the time Myron arrived at the arena, the game was over. Cars tapped the exits, making it hard to go the opposite way. Myron managed to weave through. He showed his ID to the guard and drove into the players’ lot.
He ran to Clip’s office. Someone called his name. He ignored it. When he reached the outer office door, he tried the knob. It was locked. He was tempted to break it down.
“Yo, Myron.”
It was one of the towel boys. Myron forgot the kid’s name. “What’s up?” he said.
“This came for you.”
The kid handed Myron a manila envelope.
“Who dropped this off?” Myron asked.
“Your uncle.”
“My uncle?”
“That’s what the guy said.”
Myron looked at the envelope. His name was scrawled across the front in giant block letters. He tore it open and turned it upside down. First, a letter slid out. He shook again and a black cassette tape fell into the palm of his hand. He put the cassette down and unfolded the letter:
Myron,
I should have given this to you at the cathedral. I’m sorry I didn’t, but I got too caught up in Liz’s murder. I wanted you to concentrate on catching the killer, not on this tape. I was afraid it would distract you. I still think it will, but that doesn’t give me the right to keep it from you. I just hope you stay focused enough to find the bastard who killed Liz. She deserves justice.
I also wanted to tell you that I’m thinking about turning myself in. Now that Liz is gone, there’s no reason to keep hiding. I spoke to some old lawyer buddies about it. They’ve already started reaching out to all the mercenaries Hunt’s father hired. They’re sure one of them will corroborate my story. We’ll see.
Don’t listen to this tape alone, Myron. Listen to it with a friend.
Cole
Myron folded the letter. He had no idea what to think. He glanced down the corridor. No sign of Clip. He jogged toward the exit. Most of the players had already left the arena. TC, of course. Last in, first out. Myron got in his car and turned the key. Then he stuck the tape into the car’s player and waited.
Esperanza tried dialing Myron’s car phone. No answer. Then his cellular. Same deal. He always carried his cellular. If he wasn’t picking up, it was because he didn’t want to. She quickly dialed Win’s cellular. He picked up on the second ring.
“Do you know where Myron is?” she asked.
“He went to the arena.”
“Go find him, Win.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“The Raven Brigade robbed the safe-deposit boxes. That’s where they got the information they used to blackmail Downing.”
“What did they find?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I have a list of the people who rented the boxes.”
“So?”
“One was rented to a Mr. and Mrs. B. Wesson.”
Silence.
Win said, “Are you sure it’s the same B. Wesson who injured Myron?”
“I already checked,” she said. “The B stands for Burt, listed on his application as a thirty-three-year-old high school basketball coach. It’s him, Win. It’s the same Burt Wesson.”
Chapter 41
Nothing.
Myron fiddled with the volume knob. Static feedback screeched through the car speakers. He turned it down a second, then back up. He heard muffled sounds, but he had no idea what they were. Then the sounds faded away.
Silence.
Two minutes of blank tape passed before Myron finally heard voices. His ears perked up, but he couldn’t make out much. Then the voices grew a little louder, a little clearer. He leaned closer to the speaker and suddenly he heard a gruff voice with frightening clarity:
A hand reached into Myron’s chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed. He hadn’t heard the voice in ten years, but recognition was instantaneous. It was Burt Wesson. What the hell—?
Then the second voice jarred him like a body blow:
Myron’s entire body shuddered. A flash of rage unlike anything he had ever known warmed and then engulfed him. His hands tightened into fists. Tears forced their way forward. He remembered wondering why the blackmailers had contacted him to buy the dirt on Greg; he remembered Cole Whiteman’s laugh and Marty Felder’s ironic smile when they’d learned that he’d been hired to find Greg Downing; he remembered the voice on Greg’s answering machine saying, “He’s willing to pay. Is that what you want?” and most of all, he remembered Greg’s pained face at the hospital all those years ago. It hadn’t been a bond that brought Greg to Myron’s bedside.
It’d been guilt.
Something in the deep recesses of Myron’s mind snapped like a dry twig. Without conscious thought, Myron shifted into reverse.
He straightened out his car and shifted into drive. His foot pressed down upon the pedal. The speedometer climbed. Myron’s face twisted into a mask of incognizant fury. Tears sheeted down his cheeks but no sound came with them. He drove without really seeing.
When he reached the Jones Road exit, Myron wiped his face with his sleeve. He turned into TC’s driveway. The security gate blocked his path.
The guard stepped out of his little hut. Myron waved him closer to the car. When the guard was fully out of
