by Harlan Coben
A blond talking head asked Stan about his own part in this drama, about tackling his father, about racing to the cabin. Stan played the modesty card. Wise. The man knew the media.
"Boring," Esperanza said.
"Agreed," Win said.
"Isn't there a Partridge Family marathon on TV Land?"
Myron suddenly stopped.
"Myron?" Win said.
He did not reply.
"Hello, world." Esperanza snapped her fingers in Myron's face. "There's a song that we're singing. Come on, get happy."
Myron switched off the television. He looked at Win, then at Esperanza. "Say one last good-bye to the boy."
Esperanza and Win exchanged a glance.
"You were right, Win."
"About what?"
"Human nature," Myron said.
40
Myron called Kimberly Green at her office. She answered the line and said, "Green."
"I need a favor," Myron said.
"Shit, I thought you were out of my life."
"But never your fantasies. You want to help me or not?"
"Not."
"I need two things."
"Not. I said 'not.' "
"Eric Ford said that the supposedly plagiarized novel was sent directly to you."
"So?"
"Who sent it?"
"You heard him, Myron. It was sent anonymously."
"You have no idea."
"None."
"Where is it now?"
"The book?"
"Yes."
"In an evidence locker."
"Ever do anything with it?"
"Like what?"
Myron waited.
"Myron?"
"I knew you guys were holding something back," he said.
"Listen to me a second--"
"The author of that novel. It was Edwin Gibbs. He wrote it under a pseudonym after his wife died. It makes perfect sense now. You were searching for him right from the get-go. You knew, dammit. You knew the whole time."
"We suspected," she said. "We didn't know."
"All that crap about thinking he was Stan's first victim--"
"It wasn't total crap. We knew it was one of them. We just didn't know which one. We couldn't find Edwin Gibbs until you told us about the Waterbury address. By the time we got there, he was already on his way to kidnap Jeremy Downing. Maybe if you had been more forthcoming--"
"You guys lied to me."
"We didn't lie. We just didn't tell you everything."
"Jesus, you ever listen to yourself?"
"We owed you nothing here, Myron. You weren't a federal agent on this. You were just a pain in the ass."
"A pain in the ass who helped you solve the case."
"And for that I thank you."
Myron's thoughts entered the maze, turned left, turned right, circled back.
"Why doesn't the press know about Gibbs being the author?" Myron asked.
"They will. Ford wants all his ducks in a row first. Then he'll hold yet another big press conference and present it as something new."
"He could do that today," Myron said.
"He could."
"But then the story dies down. Right now the rumors keep it going. Ford gets more time in the limelight."
"He's a politician at heart," she said. "So what?"
Myron took another few turns, hit a few more walls, kept feeling for the way out. "Forget it," he said.
"Good. Can I go now?"
"First I need you to call the national bone marrow registry."
"Why?"
"I need to find out about a donor."
"This case is closed, Myron."
"I know," he said. "But I think a new one might be opening."
Stan Gibbs was at the anchor chair when Myron and Win arrived. His new cable show, Glib with Gibbs, was filming in Fort Lee, New Jersey, and the studio, like every television studio Myron had ever seen, looked like a room with the roof ripped off. Wires and lights hung in no discernible pattern. Studios, especially newsrooms, were always much smaller in person than on television. The desks, the chairs, the world map in the background. All smaller. The power of television. A room on a nineteen-inch screen somehow looks smaller in real life.
Stan wore a blue blazer, white shirt, red tie, jeans, and sneakers. The jeans would stay under the desk and never get camera time. Classic anchorman-wear. Stan waved to them when they entered. Myron waved back. Win did not.
"We need to talk," Myron said to him.
Stan nodded. He sent away the producers and motioned Myron and Win to the guest chairs. "Sit."
Stan stayed in the anchor chair. Win and Myron sat in guest chairs, which felt pretty strange, as though a home audience were watching. Win checked his reflection in a camera glass and smiled. He liked what he saw.
"Any word on a donor?" Stan asked.
"None."
"Something will come through."
"Yeah," Myron said. "Look, Stan, I need your help."
Stan intertwined his fingers and rested both hands on the anchor desk. "Whatever you need."
"There's a lot of things that don't add up with Jeremy's kidnapping."
"For example?"
"Why do you think your father took a child this time? He never did that before, right? Always adults. Why this time a child?"
Stan mulled it over, chose his words one at a time. "I don't know. I'm not sure taking adults was a pattern or anything. His victims seemed pretty random."
"But this wasn't random," Myron said. "His choosing Jeremy Downing couldn't have been just a coincidence."
Stan thought about that one too. "I agree with you there."
"So he picked him because he was somehow connected with my investigation."
"Seems logical."
"But how would your father have known about Jeremy?"
"I don't know," Stan said. "He might have followed you."
"I don't think so. You see, Greg Downing stayed up in Waterbury after our visit. He kept his eye on Nathan Mostoni. We know he didn't travel out of town until the day before the kidnapping."
Win looked into the camera again. He smiled and waved. Just in case it was on.
"It's strange," Stan said.
"And there's more," Myron said. "Like the call where Jeremy screamed. With the others, your father told the family not to contact the cops. But he didn't this time. Why? And are you aware that he wore a disguise when he kidnapped Jeremy?"
"I heard that, yes."
"Why? If he planned on killing him, why go to the trouble of donning a disguise?"
"He kidnapped Jeremy off the streets," Stan said. "Someone might have been able to identify him."
"Yeah, okay, that makes sense. But then why blindfold Jeremy once he was in the van? He killed all the others. He would have killed Jeremy. So why worry about him seeing his face?"
"I'm not sure," Stan said. "He might have always done it that way, for all we know."
"I guess," Myron said. "But something about it all just rings wrong, don't you think?"
Stan thought about it. "It rings funny," he said slowly. "I'm not sure it rings wrong."
"That's why I came to you. All these questions have been swirling in my head. And then I remembered Win's credo."
Stan Gibbs looked over at Win. Win blinked his eyes and lowered them modestly. "What credo is that?"
"Man is into self-preservation," Myron said. "He is, above all, selfish." He paused a moment. "You agree with that, Stan?"
"To some degree, of course. We're all selfish."
Myron nodded. "You even."
"Yes, of course. And you too, I'm sure."
"The media is making you out to be this noble guy," Myron said. "Torn between family and duty and ultimately doing the right thing. But maybe you're not."
"Not what?"
"Noble."
"I'm not," Stan said. "I did wrong. I never claimed to be a saint."
Myron looked at Win. "He's good."
"Dam
n good," Win agreed.
Stan Gibbs frowned. "What are you talking about, Myron?"
"Follow me here, Stan. And remember Win's credo. Let's start at the beginning. When your father first contacted you. You talked to him and you decided to write the Sow the Seeds story. What was your motive at first? Were you trying to find an outlet for your fear and guilt? Was it simply to be a good reporter? Or--and here's where we're using the Win credo--did you write it because you knew it would make you a big star?"
Myron looked at him and waited.
"Am I supposed to answer that?"
"Please."
Stan looked in the air and rubbed his fingertips with his thumb. "All of the above, I guess. Yes, I was excited by the story. I thought it could very well be a big deal. If that's selfishness, okay, I'm guilty."
Myron glanced at Win again. "Good."
"Damn good."
"Let's keep following this track, Stan, okay? The story did indeed become a big deal. So did you. You became a celebrity--"
"We covered this already, Myron."
"Right. You're absolutely right. Let's skip to the part where the feds sued you. They demanded to know your source. You refused. Now again there might be several reasons for this. The First Amendment, of course. That could be it. Protecting your father would be another. The combination of the two. But--and again Win's credo--what would be the selfish choice?"
"What do you mean?"
"Think selfishly and you really have only one option."
"That being?"
"If you caved in to the feds--if you said, Okay, now that I'm in legal trouble, my source is my father--well, how would that have looked?"
"Bad," Win said.
"Damn bad. I doubt you'd have been much of a hero if you sold out your father--not to mention the First Amendment--just to save your hide from vague legal threats." Myron smiled. "See what I mean about Win's credo?"
"So you think I acted selfishly by not telling the feds," Stan said.
"It's possible."
"It's also possible that the selfish thing was also the right thing."
"Possible too," Myron agreed.
"I never claimed to be a hero in all this."
"Never denied it either."
Stan smiled this time. "Maybe I didn't deny it because I'm using Win's credo."
"How's that?"
"Denying it would harm me," Stan said. "As would boasting about it."
Myron didn't have a chance to look before he heard Win say, "Damn good."
"I still don't see the relevance of any of this," Stan said.
"Stick with me, I think you will."
Stan shrugged.
"Where were we?" Myron asked.
"The feds take him to court," Win said.
"Right, thanks, the feds take you to court. You battle back. Then something happens you totally didn't foresee. The plagiarism charges. For the sake of discussion, we'll assume the Lex family sent the book to the feds. They wanted to get you off their back--what better way to do that than to ruin your reputation? So what did you do? How did you react to the charges of plagiarism?"
Stan kept quiet. Win said, "He disappeared."
"Correct answer," Myron said.
Win smiled and nodded a thank-you into the camera.
"You took off," Myron said to Stan. "Now the question again is why. Several things come to mind. It could have been because you were trying to protect your father. Or it might have been that you were afraid of the Lex family."
"Which would certainly fit Win's credo," Stan said. "Self-preservation."
"Right. You were afraid they'd harm you."
"Yes."
Myron treaded gently. "But don't you see, Stan? We have to think selfishly too. You're presented with this serious plagiarism charge. What choices did you have? Two really. You could either run off--or you could tell the truth."
Stan said, "I still don't see your point."
"Stay with me. If you told the truth, you would again look like a louse. Here you've been defending the First Amendment and your father and whoops, you get in trouble and you sell them out. No good. You'd still be ruined."
"Damned if you do," Win said. "Damned if you don't."
"Right," Myron said. "So the wise move--the selfish move--was to vanish for a while."
"But I lost everything by vanishing."
"No, Stan, you didn't."
"How can you say that?"
Myron lifted his palms to the skies and grinned. "Look around you."
For the first time, something dark flicked across Stan's face. Myron saw it. So did Win.
"Let's continue, shall we?"
Stan said nothing.
"You go into hiding and start counting your problems. One, your father is a murderer. You're selfish, Stan, but you're not inhumane. You want him off the streets, yet you can't tell on him. Maybe because you love him. Or maybe there's Win's credo."
"Not this time," Stan said.
"Pardon?"
"Win's credo doesn't apply. I kept quiet because I loved my father and because I believe in protecting sources. And I can offer proof."
"I'm listening," Myron said.
"If I wanted to turn my father in--if that would have been in my best interest--I could have done it anonymously." Stan leaned back and folded his arms.
"That's your proof?"
"Sure. I didn't do the selfish thing."
Myron shook his head. "You got to go deeper."
"Deeper how?"
"Turning your father in anonymously wouldn't help you, Stan. Not really. Yes, you needed to put your father behind bars. But more than that, you needed to be redeemed."
Silence.
"So what would answer both those needs? What would put your father away and put you back on top--maybe even more on top than before? First, you had to be patient. That meant staying hidden. Second, you couldn't be the one who turned him in. You had to set him up."
"Set up my father?"
"Yes. You had to leave a trail for the feds to follow. Something subtle, something that would lead to your father, and something you could manipulate at any time. So you took a fake ID, Stan--the same way your father had. You even took a job where people would spot the disguise your father used and hey, maybe you could also tie in your dad's old nemesis the Lex family in the process."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know what bugged me? Your father had been so careful in the past. Now all of a sudden he's leaving incriminating evidence in a locker. He rents the kidnap van on a credit card and leaves a red sneaker in it. It didn't make any sense. Unless someone was setting him up."
Stan's look of disbelief was almost genuine. "You think I killed these people?"
"No," Myron said. "Your father did."
"Then what--?"
"You're the one who used the Dennis Lex identity," Myron said, "not your father."
Stan tried to look stunned, but it wasn't happening.
"You kidnapped Jeremy Downing. And you called me and pretended to be the Sow the Seeds killer."
"And why did I do that?"
"To have this heroic ending. To have your father arrested. To have yourself redeemed."
"How the hell does calling you--"
"To get me interested. You probably learned about my background. You knew I'd investigate. You needed a dupe and a witness. Someone outside the police. I was that dupe."
"The dupe du jour," Win added.
Myron shot him a look. Win shrugged.
"That's ridiculous."
"No, Stan, it adds up. It answers all my earlier questions. How did the kidnapper happen to choose Jeremy? Because you followed me after I left your condo. You saw the feds pick me up. That's how you knew I'd spoken to them. You followed me to Emily's house. From there, any old newsman worth a damn could have figured out her son was the sick kid I told you about. His illness wasn't a secret. So Jeremy's being taken is no longer a coincidence, see?"
Stan folded his arm
s across his chest. "I see nothing."
"Other questions get answered too now. Like why did the kidnapper wear a disguise and make Jeremy wear a blindfold? Because you couldn't let Jeremy identify you. Why didn't the kidnapper kill Jeremy right away, like he had the others? Same reason you wore the disguise. You had no intention of killing him. Jeremy had to survive the ordeal unharmed. Otherwise you're no hero. Why didn't the kidnapper make his usual demand not to contact the authorities? Because you wanted the feds in. You needed them to witness your heroics. It wouldn't work without their involvement. I wondered how the media was always in the right spot--in Bernardsville, at the cabin. But you set that part up too. Anonymous leaks probably. So the cameras could witness and replay your heroics--your tackling your father, the dramatic rescue of Jeremy Downing. Good television. You knew the power of capturing those moments for all the world to see."
Stan waited. "You finished?"
"Not yet. You see, I think you went too far in spots. Leaving that sneaker in the van, for example. That was overkill. Too obvious. It made me wonder how neatly it all came together in the end. And then I started realizing that I was your main sucker, Stan. You played me like a Stradivarius. But even if I hadn't shown up, you just would have kidnapped someone else. Your main dupes were the feds. For crying out loud, that photograph of your father by the statue was the only picture in the whole condo. It even faced the window. You knew the feds were spying on you. You threw the truth about Dennis Lex right in their faces. Surely they'd go to the sanitarium and put it together. And if not, you could somehow get it out in the end, when they had you in custody. You were all set to cave in and tell on your father when I came through in the clutch. Me, the dupe du jour, saw the truth up at the sanitarium. You must have been so pleased."
"This is crazy."
"It answers all the questions."
"That doesn't mean it's the truth."
"The Davis Taylor address you used at work. It was the same address as your father's in Waterbury. So we would trace it back to him, to Nathan Mostoni. Who else would have done that?"
"My father!"
"Why? Why would your father change identities at all? And if your father needed a new identity, wouldn't he shed the old one? Or hell, at least change addresses? Only you could have pulled it off, Stan. You could have hooked up the extra phone line with no problem. Your father was pretty far gone. He was demented, at the very least. You kidnapped Jeremy. Then you probably told your father to meet you at the house in Bernardsville. He did what you said--for love or because of dementia, I don't know which. Did you know he'd arm himself like that? I doubt it. If Greg had died, you'd probably look worse. But I don't know for sure. Maybe the fact that he fired shots just made you look more heroic in the end. Think selfishly, Stan. That's the key."
