Katie…
He eyed the metal baseball bat. He remembered reading about Bolitar’s injured knee. If he thought that hurt, if he thought a mere knee injury was pain…
He made some calls, did a little background. In the past, Bolitar had gotten in trouble with the Ache brothers, who ran New York. Bolitar was supposedly a tough guy, good with his fists, who hung out with a psycho named Windsor Something.
Taking on Bolitar would not be easy.
But it wouldn’t be all that difficult either. Not if Dominick got the best.
His cell phone was a throwaway, the kind you can buy in cash with a false name and toss away after you use up your minutes. No way to trace it back to him. He grabbed a fresh one off the shelf. For a moment he just held it and debated his next move. His breathing was labored.
Dominick had busted his share of heads in his day, but if he dialed this number, if he did indeed call the Twins, he was crossing a line he’d never gone near before.
He thought about his daughter’s smile. He thought about how she had to wear braces when she was twelve and how she wore her hair and the way she used to look at him, a long time ago, when she was a little girl and he was the most powerful man in the world.
Dominick pressed the digits. After this call, he would have to get rid of the phone. That was one of the Twins’ rules, and when it came to those two, it didn’t matter who you were, didn’t matter how tough or how hard you’d scraped to buy this fancy house in Livingston, you don’t mess around with the Twins.
The phone was answered on the second ring. No hello. No greeting at all. Just silence.
Dominick said, “I’m going to need both of you.”
“When?”
Dominick picked up the metal bat. He liked the weight of it. He thought about this Bolitar guy, this guy who drove off with a missing girl and then lawyered up, who was free now and probably watching TV or enjoying a nice meal.
No way you let that slide. Even if you gotta bring in the Twins.
“Now,” Dominick Rochester said. “I need you both now.”
CHAPTER 18
When Myron arrived back at his house in Livingston, Win was already there.
Win was sprawled out in a chaise lounge on the front lawn. His legs were crossed. He wore khakis sans socks, a blue shirt, a Lilly Pulitzer tie of dizzying green. Some people could wear anything and make it work. Win was one of those people.
He had his face tilted to the sun, eyes closed. He did not open them as Myron approached.
“Do you still want to go to the Knicks game?” Win asked.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“You mind if I take someone else then?”
“No.”
“I met a girl at Scores last night.”
“She’s a stripper?”
“Please.” Win held up a finger. “She’s an erotic dancer.”
“Career woman. Nice.”
“Her name is Bambi, I think. Or maybe Tawny.”
“Is that her real name?”
“Nothing about her is real,” Win said. “By the way, the police were here.”
“Searching the place?”
“Yes.”
“They take my computer?”
“Yes.”
“Damn.”
“Fret not. I arrived before them and backed up your personal files. Then I erased the hard drive.”
“You,” Myron said. “You’re good.”
“The best,” Win said.
“Where did you back it up?”
“USB hard drive on my key chain,” he said, dangling it, his eyes still closed. “Kindly move to the right a little. You’re blocking my sun.”
“Has Hester’s investigator learned anything new?”
“There was an ATM charge on young Ms. Biel’s card,” Win said.
“Aimee took out cash?’
“No, a library book. Yes, cash. Apparently, Aimee Biel picked up a thousand dollars at an ATM machine a few minutes before she called you.”
“Anything else?”
“Like?”
“They’re linking this to another disappearance. A girl named Katie Rochester.”
“Two girls disappearing from the same area. Of course they’re going to link them.”
Myron frowned. “I think there’s something else.”
Win opened one eye. “Trouble.”
“What?”
Win said nothing, just kept staring. Myron turned and followed his gaze and felt his stomach drop.
It was Erik and Claire.
For a moment no one moved.
Win said, “You’re blocking my sun again.”
Myron saw Erik’s face. There was rage there. Myron started toward them, but something made him stop. Claire put her hand on her husband’s arm. She whispered something in his ear. Erik closed his eyes. She stepped toward Myron, her head high. Erik stayed back.
Claire walked toward Myron’s door. He slid toward her.
Myron said, “You know I didn’t—”
“Inside.” Claire kept walking toward his front door. “I want you to tell me everything when we’re inside.”
Essex County prosecutor Ed Steinberg, Loren’s boss, was waiting for her when she got back to the office.
“Well?”
She filled him in. Steinberg was a big man, soft in the middle, but he had that wanna-squeeze-him, teddy-bear thing going on. Of course he was married. It had been so long since Loren had met a desirable man who wasn’t.
When she finished, Steinberg said, “I did a little more checking up on Bolitar. Did you know he and his friend Win used to do some work with the feds?”
“There were rumors,” she said.
“I spoke to Joan Thurston.” Thurston was the U.S. Attorney for the State of New Jersey. “A lot of it is hush-hush, I guess, but in sum, everyone thinks Win is several fries short of a Happy Meal — but that Bolitar is pretty straight.”
“That’s the vibe I got too,” Loren said.
“You believe his story?”
“Overall, yeah, I guess I do. It’s just too crazy. Plus, as he sort of pointed out himself, would a guy with his experience be dumb enough to leave so many clues behind?”
“You think he’s being framed?”
Loren made a face. “That doesn’t jibe much either. Aimee Biel called him herself. She’d have to be in on it, I guess.”
Steinberg folded his hands on his desk. His sleeves were rolled up. His forearms were big and covered with enough hair to count as fur. “Then odds are, what, she’s a runaway?”
“Odds are,” Loren said.
“And the fact that she used the same ATM as Katie Rochester?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“Maybe they know each other.”
“Not according to either set of parents.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Steinberg said. “Parents don’t know bupkus about their kids. Trust me here, I had teenage daughters. The moms and dads who claim they know everything about their kids usually know the least.” He shifted in his chair. “Nothing found in the search of Bolitar’s home or car?”
“They’re still going through it,” Loren said. “But what can they find? We know she was in the house and in the car.”
“The locals handled the search?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s let the locals handle the rest of it. We really don’t even have a case yet anyway — the girl is of age, right?”
“Right.”
“Good, then it’s settled. Give it to the locals. I want you concentrating on these homicides in East Orange.”
Steinberg told her more about the case. She listened and tried to focus. This was a biggie, no doubt about it. A double murder. Maybe a major hit man back in the area. It was the kind of case she loved. It would take up all her time. She knew that. And she knew the odds. Aimee Biel had withdrawn cash before she called Myron. That meant that she had probably not been abducted, that she was probably just fine — and that either way, Loren Muse really shouldn’t be involved anymore.