"The old boyfriend maybe?"
"Perhaps."
"She might even want to get engaged right away."
"That's possible, yes. She may see the old boyfriend as a return to her innocence. In her mind the boyfriend may be raised to savior status."
"And suppose this boyfriend was murdered?"
"You've pulled out the final block," Abramson replied softly. "The young girl was already in need of serious therapy. Now a complete mental breakdown is a very real possibility. Maybe even a likelihood."
Myron felt his heart crumble.
Dr. Abramson looked away for a moment. "But there are other aspects to your scenario that need to be explored," she said, trying to sound offhanded.
"Like?"
"Like what actually occurred during the abuse. If, as you say, the world-famous coach was a narcissistic man, he would only concern himself with his pleasure. He wouldn't worry about her. He probably wouldn't, for example, wear protection. And since this girl is rather young and probably not sexually active, she wouldn't be using oral contraceptives."
Dread flooded Myron's chest. He remembered the rumors. "He got her pregnant."
"In the realm of your scenario," Abramson said, "that is certainly a possibility."
"What would happen…?" Myron stopped. The answer was obvious. "The world-famous coach would make her get an abortion."
"I imagine so, yes."
Silence.
Myron felt something well up in his eyes. "What she went though…" He shook his head. "Everyone thought Valerie was so weak. But in reality-"
"Not Valerie," Abramson corrected. "A young girl. A theoretical young girl in a theoretical situation."
Myron looked up. "Still trying to protect your ass, Doc?"
"You can't say anything, Myron. It's all hypothetical. I will neither confirm nor deny that Valerie Simpson was ever a patient of mine."
He shook his head, stood, and headed for the door. When he reached it, he turned back toward her. "One more hypothetical question," he said. "The world-famous coach. If he's willing to abuse one child, how likely is it he'll do it again?"
Dr. Abramson did not face him. "Very likely," she said.
Chapter 29
By the time Myron got back to Stadium Court, Duane had dropped the first two sets 6-3, 6-1, and it was 2- 2 in the third set. Myron sat between Jessica and Win. Pavel Menansi, he immediately noticed, was no longer in his seat. Aaron was still there. Senator Cross and Gregory Caufield were in their box too. Ned Tunwell still sat with his Nike colleagues. Ned was no longer waving. He was, in fact, crying. The entire Nike box looked like a deflated balloon. Henry Hobman was still as a Rodin.
Myron turned to Jessica. She looked concerned but said nothing. She took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. He squeezed back and gave her a small smile. He noticed that she was now wearing a bright pink Ray-Ban cap.
"What's with the cap?" he asked.
"A guy offered me a thousand dollars to wear it."
Myron was familiar with the old advertising trick. Companies – in this case, Ray-Ban – paid anyone seated in the players' boxes to wear the caps during matches, figuring, of course, that there was an excellent chance the person and hence the hat would show up on television. Relatively cheap and effective exposure.
Myron looked at Win. "What about you?"
"I don't do caps," Win replied. "They muss my hair."
"That," Jessica added, "and the guy only offered him five hundred dollars."
Win shrugged. "Sexual discrimination. It's an ugly thing."
More like smart business. Five hundred dollars was the normal rate. But somebody at Ray-Ban realized Jess was both attractive and a celebrity – ergo, extra exposure.
Duane dropped another game. Down 3-2 after losing the first two sets. Not good. The players collapsed in their chairs on either side of the umpire for the changeover. Duane toweled down his racket. He changed shirts. Some female fans whistled. Duane did not smile. He glanced over at their box. Unlike just about any other sport in the world, tennis players are not allowed to talk to their coaches during the match. But Henry did move. He took his hand off his chin and made a fist. Duane nodded.
"Time," the chair ump said.
That was when Pavel made his return.
He entered through the portal on the right near the grandstand carrying an Evian in his hand. Myron's eyes locked on to him. He felt his pulse quicken. Pavel Menansi was still wearing the sweater tied around his neck. He took his seat behind Aaron. Pavel Menansi. He smiled. He laughed. He sipped a cold Evian. He breathed in and out. He lived. People patted his back. Someone asked for an autograph. A young girl. Pavel said something to her. The young girl giggled behind her hand.
"Burgess Meredith," Win said. He was looking at the court, not Myron.
"What?"
"Burgess Meredith."
More Name the Batman Criminal. "Not now," Myron said.
"Now. Burgess Meredith."
"Why?"
"Because you're staring. Aaron will pick it up." Win adjusted his sunglasses. "Burgess Meredith."
He was right. "The Penguin."
"Victor Buono."
"King Tut."
"Bruce Lee."
Jessica leaned over. "Trick question," she said.
"No hints," Win said.
"He played Kato," Myron said. "Green Hornet's sidekick. He guest-starred on one episode. I don't know if you could call him a criminal."
"Correct." Silence. Then Win said: "That bad?"
"Worse."
"The police released Valerie's body," Win said. "The funeral is tomorrow."
Myron nodded. On the court Duane served up an ace. Only his second of the match. Myron said, "It may get ugly now."
"How so?"
"I know why the Ache brothers want us out."
"Ah," Win said. "May I assume the Aches will not want you to disseminate this information to the general public?"
"Correct assumption."
"And may I further assume this information is worth the cost of Aaron and an all-star cast?"
"Another correct assumption."
Win sat back. He was very still. He was also smiling. Myron turned to Jessica. Her hand still held his.
"If you get killed," she whispered, "I'll kill you. Soul mate."
Silence.
On the court Duane hit two more aces and then an overhead to tie the third set at three games apiece, Duane looked over at the box. The reflection of the sun off his sunglasses was blinding, giving him a sleek, robotic look. But something in his face had changed. Duane made the fist again.
Henry spoke for the first time. "He's baaack."
Chapter 30
Henry Hobman was good as his word. Duane rallied. He took the third set 6-4. Ned Tunwell stopped crying. The fourth set went to a tiebreaker, which Duane won 9-7, saving three match points. Ned started the windmill wave again. Duane won the fifth set 6-2. Ned had to change his underwear.
Final score of the marathon match: 3-6, 1-6, 6-4, 7-6, (9-7), 6-2. Before the combatants had even left the court the word classic was being bantered about.
By the time all the congratulations and news conferences ended it was getting late. Jess borrowed Myron's car to visit her mother. Win dropped him off at the office. Esperanza was still there.
"Big win," she said.
"Yup."
"Duane played like shit in the first two sets."
"He had a long night," Myron said. "What have we got?"
Esperanza handed him a stack of papers. "Prenuptial agreement for Jerry Prince. Final copy."
Ah, the beloved prenup. A necessary evil. Myron hated to recommend them. Marriage should be about love and romance. A prenup, frankly speaking, was about as romantic as licking a Utter box. Still, Myron had an obligation to guard the financial well-being of his clients. Too many of these marriages ended in quickie divorces. Gold-digging, it used to be called. Some mistook his concern for sexism. It wasn't. Well-to-do female athletes should do the same.