“Yep. He’s a cop now. In New York. Made detective second grade already. Good cop.”
“Like his old man.”
Jake smiled. “Yeah.”
“Give him my regards,” Myron said. “Better yet, give him an elbow to the rib cage. I still owe him a few.”
Jake threw back his head and laughed. “That’s Gerard. Finesse was never his forte.” He blew his nose into the dishrag. “But I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to talk basketball.”
“No, I guess not.”
“So why don’t you tell me what this is all about, Myron?”
“The Kathy Culver case,” he said. “I’m looking into it. Very surreptitiously.”
“Surreptitiously,” Jake repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Awfully big word, Myron.”
“I’ve been listening to self-improvement tapes in the car.”
“That right?” Jake blew his nose again. Sounded like a ewe’s mating call. “So what’s your interest in this-aside from the fact that you represent Christian Steele and you used to have a thing for Kathy’s sister.”
Myron said, “You’re thorough.”
He took a bite out of the half-eaten sandwich on his desk, smiled. “Man does love to be flattered.”
“It’s like you said. Christian Steele. He’s a client. I’m trying to help him out.”
Jake studied him, waiting again. It was an old trick. Stay silent long enough, and the witness would start talking again, elaborating. Myron did not bite.
After a full minute had passed Jake said, “So let me get this straight. Christian Steele signs on with you. One day you start chatting. He says, ‘You know, Myron, the way you been licking my lily-white ass and all, I’d like you to go play Dick Fuckin’ Tracy and find my old squeeze who’s been missing for the last year and a half and the cops and feds can’t find.’ That how it went, Myron?”
“Christian doesn’t curse,” Myron said.
“Okay, fine, you want to skip the dance? Let’s skip it. You want me to give, you have to give back.”
“That’s fair enough,” Myron said. “But I can’t. Not yet, anyhow.”
“Why not?”
“It could hurt a lot of people,” Myron said. “And it’s probably nothing.”
He made a face. “What do you mean, hurt?”
“I can’t elaborate.”
“Fuck you can’t.”
“I’m telling you, Jake. I can’t say anything.”
Jake studied him again. “Let me tell you something, Bolitar. I’m no glory hound. I’m like my son was on the court. Not flashy but a workhorse. I don’t look for clippings so I can climb up the ladder. I’m fifty-three years old. My ladder don’t go no higher. Now this may seem a bit old-fashioned to you, but I believe in justice. I like to see truth prevail. I’ve lived with Kathy Culver’s disappearance for eighteen months. I know her inside and out. And I have no idea what happened that night.”
“What do you think happened?” Myron asked.
Jake picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk. “Best guess based on the evidence?”
Myron nodded.
“She’s a runaway.”
Myron was surprised. “What makes you say that?”
A slow smile spread across Jake’s face. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“P.T. said you would help.”
Jake shrugged and took another bite from yet another sandwich scrap. “What about Kathy’s sister? I understand you two were pretty heavy.”
“We’re friends now.”
Jake gave a low whistle. “I’ve seen her on TV,” he said. “Hard to be friends with a woman who looks like that.”
“You’re a real nineties guy, Jake.”
“Yeah, well, I forgot to renew my subscription to
They stared at each other for a while. Jake settled back in his chair and examined his fingernails. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Myron said. “From the beginning.”
Jake folded his arms across his chest. He took a deep breath and let it loose slowly. “Campus security got a call from Kathy Culver’s roommate, Nancy Serat. Kathy and Nancy lived in the Psi Omega sorority house. Nice house. All pretty white girls with blond hair and white teeth. Kind that all look alike and sound alike. You get the picture.”
Myron nodded. He noticed that Jake was not reading or even consulting a file. This was coming from memory.
“Nancy Serat told the rent-a-cop that Kathy Culver hadn’t returned to her room for three days.”
“Why did Nancy wait so long to call?” Myron asked.
“Seems Kathy wasn’t spending too many nights in the sorority house anyhow. She slept in your client’s room most of the time. You know, the one who doesn’t like to curse.” Brief smile. “Anyhow, your boy and Nancy got to talking one day, both figuring Kathy had been spending all her time with the other. That’s when they realized she was missing and called campus security.
“Campus security told us about it, but no one got very excited at first. A co-ed missing for a few days is hardly an earth-shattering event. But then one of the rent-a-cops found the panties on top of a waste bin, and well, you know what happened then. The story spread like a grease stain on Elvis’s pillow.”
“I read there was blood on the panties,” Myron said.
“A media exaggeration. There was a bloodstain, dry, probably from a menstrual cycle. We typed it. B negative. Same type as Kathy Culver’s. But there was also semen. Enough antibodies for a DNA and blood test.”
“Did you have any suspects?”
“Only one,” Jake said. “Your boy, Christian Steele.”
“Why him?”
“Usual reasons. He was the boyfriend. She was on her way to see him when she vanished. Nothing very specific or damaging. But the DNA test on the semen cleared him.” He opened a small refrigerator behind him. “Want a Coke?”
“No, thanks.”
Jake grabbed a can and snapped it open. “Here’s what you probably read in the papers,” he continued. “Kathy is at a sorority cocktail party. She has a drink or two, nothing serious, leaves at ten P.M. to meet Christian, and disappears. End of story. But now let me fill it in a little.”
Myron leaned forward. Jake took a swig of Coke and wiped his mouth with a forearm the size of an oak trunk.
“According to several of her sorority sisters,” he said, “Kathy was distracted. Not herself. We also know she got a phone call a few minutes before she left the house. She told Nancy Serat the call was from Christian and she was going to meet him. Christian denies making the call. These were all intracampus calls, so there is no way for us to tell. But the roommate says Kathy sounded strained on the phone, not like she was talking to her true love, Mr. Clean-Mouth.
“Kathy hung up the phone and went back downstairs with Nancy. Then she posed for the now-famous last photograph before leaving for good.”
He opened his desk drawer and handed Myron the photograph. Myron had, of course, seen it countless times before. Every media outlet in the country had run the photograph with morbid fascination. A picture of twelve sorority sisters. Kathy stood second from the left. She wore a blue sweater and skirt. Pearls adorned her neck. Very preppy. According to Kathy’s sorority sisters, Kathy left the house alone immediately after the picture was taken. She never returned.
“Okay,” Jake said, “so she leaves the cocktail party. Only one person saw her for sure after that.”
“Who?” Myron asked.
“Team trainer. Guy named Tony Gardola. He saw her, strangely enough, entering the team’s locker room around quarter after ten. The locker room was supposed to be empty at that hour. Only reason Tony was there was that he forgot something. He asked her what she was doing there, and she said she was meeting Christian. Tony
