“Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Nah, not really. With all due respect, none of this does. Look, high school is over. I’m going to Dartmouth. Aimee is going to Duke. My mom, she told me something. She said that high school isn’t important. The people who are happiest in high school end up being the most miserable adults. I’m lucky. I know that. And I know it won’t last unless I take the next step. I thought… we talked about it. I thought Aimee understood that too. How important the next step was. And in the end, we both got what we wanted. We got accepted to our first choices.”
“She’s in danger, Randy.”
“I can’t help you.”
“And she’s pregnant.”
He closed his eyes.
“Randy?”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“You said you did something to try to win her back, but it backfired. What did you do, Randy?”
He shook his head. He wouldn’t say. But Myron thought that maybe he had an idea. Myron gave him his card. “If you think of anything…”
“Yeah.”
Randy turned away then. He headed back to the party. The music still played. The parents kept laughing. And Aimee was still in trouble.
CHAPTER 48
When Myron got back to his car, Claire was there. “It’s Erik,” she said.
“What about him?”
“He ran out of the house. With his father’s old gun.”
“Did you call his cell?”
“No answer,” Claire said.
“Any idea where he went?”
“A few years ago I represented a company called KnowWhere,” Claire said. “You heard of it?”
“No.”
“They’re like OnStar or LoJack. They put a GPS in your car for emergencies, that kind of thing. Anyway, we got one installed in both cars. I just called the owner at home and begged him to get me the location.”
“And?”
“Erik is parked in front of Harry Davis’s house.”
“Jesus.”
Myron jumped into his car. Claire slipped into the passenger seat. He wanted to argue, but there was no time.
“Call Harry Davis’s home,” he said.
“I tried,” Claire said. “There was no answer.”
Erik’s car was indeed parked directly in front of the Davis residence. If he’d wanted to hide his approach, he hadn’t done a very good job.
Myron stopped the car. He took out his own gun.
Claire said, “What the hell is that for?”
“Just stay here.”
“I asked you—”
“Not now, Claire. Stay here. I’ll call if I need you.”
His voice left no room for argument and, for once, Claire just obeyed. He started up the path, keeping a low crouch. The front door was slightly ajar. Myron didn’t like that. He ducked low and listened.
There were noises, but he couldn’t make out what they were.
Using the barrel of the gun, he pushed the door open. There was no one in the foyer. The sounds were coming from the left. Myron crawled in. He turned the corner and there, lying on the floor, was a woman he assumed was Mrs. Davis.
She was gagged. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her eyes were wide with fear. Myron put a finger to his lips. She looked to her right, then back at Myron, then back to her right again.
He heard more noises.
There were other people in the room. On her right.
Myron debated his next move. He considered backing out and calling the police. They could surround the house, he guessed, start talking Erik down. But that might be too late.
He heard a slap. Someone cried out. Mrs. Davis squeezed her eyes shut.
There was no choice. Not really. Myron had the gun at the ready. He was about to leap, preparing to turn and aim in the direction where Mrs. Davis had been looking. He bent his legs. And then he stopped.
Jumping in with a gun. Would that be the prudent move here?
Erik was armed. He might, of course, react by surrendering. He might also react by firing in a panic.
Fifty-fifty.
Myron tried something else.
“Erik?”
Silence.
Myron said, “Erik, it’s me. Myron.”
“Come on in, Myron.”
The voice was calm. There was almost a lilt in it. Myron moved into the center of the room. Erik stood with a gun in his hand. He had on a dress shirt with no tie. There were splatters of blood across the chest.
Erik smiled when he saw Myron. “Mr. Davis is ready to talk now.”
“Put the gun down, Erik.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I said—”
“What? Are you going to shoot me?”
“Nobody is shooting anybody. Just put the gun down.”
Erik shook his head. The smile remained. “Come all the way in. Please.”
Myron stepped into the room, his gun still up. Now he could see Harry Davis in a chair. His back was to Myron. Nylon cuffs were around his wrists. Davis’s head lolled on the neck, chin down.
Myron came around the front and took a look.
“Oh, man.”
Davis had been beaten. There was blood on his face. A tooth was out and on the floor. Myron turned to Erik. Erik’s posture was different. He wasn’t as ramrod as usual. He didn’t look nervous or agitated. In fact, Myron had never seen him look more relaxed in his life.
“He needs a doctor,” Myron said.
“He’s fine.”
Myron looked at Erik’s eyes. They were placid pools.
“This isn’t the way, Erik.”
“Sure it is.”
“Listen to me—”
“I don’t think so. You’re good at this stuff, Myron, no question. But you have to follow rules. A certain code. When your child is in danger, those niceties go out the window.”
Myron thought about Dominick Rochester, how he had said something so very similar in the Seidens’ house. You couldn’t start off with two guys more different than Erik Biel and Dominick Rochester. Desperation and fear had rendered them near identical.
