"I'll protect him," Myron said.
"No, that's my job."
Tires squealed in the driveway. Myron rose and looked out the window. It was Duane. He threw the car in park and leaped out.
"Keep him out," Deanna said, suddenly out of her chair. "Please."
"What?"
She ran to the door and threw the dead bolt. "I don't want him to see."
"See what?"
But now Myron did see. She turned toward him. She had a gun in her hand. "I've already killed twice to save him. What's a third?"
Myron looked for a safe place to dive, but for the second time in this case he'd been careless. He was out in the open. It would be impossible to miss. "Killing me won't make it go away," he said.
"I know," she replied.
There was a pounding at the door. Duane shouted, "Open up! Don't say anything to him!'' More pounding.
Deanna's eyes welled with tears. "Don't tell anyone, Myron. No need to say anything anymore. The guilty will have all been punished."
She placed the barrel of the gun against her head.
"Don't," Myron whispered.
From outside the door, Duane shouted, "Mama! Open up, Mama!"
She turned toward the voice. Myron tried to reach her in time, but he had no chance. She pulled the trigger and made one final sacrifice for her son.
Chapter 46
Time passed. Myron had to persuade Duane to leave his mother alone. It was what she would have wanted, Myron reminded him. When they were both far enough away, Myron placed an anonymous call to the Cherry Hill police. "I think I heard a gunshot," he said. He gave the address and hung up.
They met up at a stop along the New Jersey Turnpike. Duane was no longer crying.
"Are you going to tell?" Duane asked.
"No," Myron said.
"Not even Valerie's mother?"
"I don't owe her anything."
Silence. Then Duane started tearing again.
"Did the truth set you free, Myron?"
He ignored the question. "Tell Wanda," Myron said. "If you really love her, tell her everything. It's the only chance you have."
"You can't be my agent anymore," Duane said.
"I know," Myron said.
"There was no other way for her. She had to protect me.
"There was another way."
"What? If it was your kid, what would you have done?"
Myron didn't have the answer. He only knew that killing Valerie Simpson was not it "Are you going to play tomorrow?"
"Yes," he said. He climbed back in his car. "And I'm going to win."
Myron did not doubt it.
– =OO=OOO=OO-=
It was late when he got back to New York. He parked the car at the Kinney lot and headed past the ugly intestinal sculpture and into the building. The security guard greeted him. It was Saturday night. Practically no one was there. But even on street level Myron had seen the light on.
He took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. The customary hubbub of activity at Lock-Horne Securities was absent. The floor was dark. Most of the computers had been turned off and covered with plastic, though a few were left on, the bizarre screen savers dancing streaks of lights across the desk. Myron walked toward the light in the corner office. Win was sitting at his desk, reading a book in Korean. He looked up when Myron entered.
"So tell me," Win said.
Myron did. The whole story.
"Ironic," Win said when he'd finished.
"What?"
"We kept wondering how a mother could care so little for her son when in reality the problem was just the opposite. She cared too much."
Myron nodded.
Silence.
Then Win said, "You know?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Dr. Abramson," Myron said. "Your visiting Valerie enough for her to know your name. It got me thinking.
Win nodded. "I was going to tell you."
"You didn't have to kill him," Myron said.
"You're a child sometimes," Win said. "I did what had to be done."
"You didn't have to kill him."
"Frank Ache would have killed us," Win said. "The only reason he chose to back off was because Pavel Menansi was dead – ergo the profit was gone. By eliminating Pavel, I took away his motive. Our options were clear: we could have taken on the mob and eventually gotten killed, or we could exterminate a vermin. In the end, sacrificing scum saved our lives."
"What else did you do to Ache?" Myron asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Frank didn't show up in the woods just to call off a hit. Something had scared him. He told me to mention our meeting to you."
"Oh," Win said, "that." He stood and grabbed his putter. He dropped a few golf balls on the floor. "I sent him a little package."
"What package?"
"One containing Aaron's right testicle. That, added together with Pavel's death, was enough to convince him that it would be in all of our interests to drop the matter."
Myron shook his head. "What separates you from Deanna Yeller?"
"Just one thing," Win said. He lined up a putt and sank it "I don't fault her for what she did the night Alexander Cross was murdered. It was practical. It made sense. She didn't trust the justice system. She didn't trust a United States senator. In both cases, she was undoubtedly right. And what did she sacrifice? Her lowlife nephew who would have spent his life behind bars anyway. No, in that case we were the same."
He lined up over the next putt and checked the lie. "Where we differ, however, is that she killed an innocent person the second time around. I did not."
"You're drawing a pretty thin line," Myron said.
"The world is made up of thin lines, my friend. I was there. I visited Valerie every week in the institution. Did you know that?"
Myron shook his head. He was probably closer to Win than anyone, and he hadn't known that. He hadn't even known he knew Valerie Simpson.
Win took another putt. "From the first moment I saw her in that godforsaken place I wanted to know what changed her. I wanted to know what monstrosity had deadened the spirit that had soared so. You were the one who figured it out. Pavel Menansi did that to her, just as he would have done it to Janet Koffman if I hadn't stopped him." Win looked over at Myron. "You already know this, but I'll say it just the same: the fact that killing Pavel helped us with Frank Ache was just a bonus. I would have killed him anyway. I really didn't need any justification.''
"There were other ways to make him pay," Myron said.
"How?" Win scoffed. "By arresting him? No one would press charges. And even if all was revealed as per your plan, what would happen to him? He'd probably write a book and go on Oprah. He'd tell the world how he'd been abused as a child or some such nonsense. He'd be an even bigger celebrity." Win took another putt. Another make. "We're not the same, you and I. We both know that But it's okay."
"It's not okay."
"Yes, it is. If we were the same it wouldn't work. We'd both be dead by now. Or insane. We balance each other. It's why you're my best friend. It's why I love you."
Silence.
"Don't do it again," Myron said.
Win did not reply. He lined up another putt.
"Did you hear me?"
"It's time to move on," Win said. "This incident is in the past. You know better than to try to control the future."
More silence. Win sank another putt.
"Jessica is waiting," Win said. "She told me to remind you about her new oils."
Myron turned and left then. He felt unclean and unsure. But he knew Win was right: it was over. It would just take a bit of time for things to feel normal again. He would recover.
And, Myron thought as he headed into the elevator, what better way to start the healing process than with Jessica's oils?
