Harlan Coben: Stay close

It was the body of a man. Looking closely, Broome remembered the description Megan had given of the guy by Harry Sutton’s office. Could be the same guy.

This man was definitely dead. His throat was slit.

Broome was about to turn around when he felt the gun press against his neck.

“Drop the gun, Broome,” Lorraine said.

It broke Megan ’s heart in a thousand ways.

She had wondered why Ray had been so surprised by the sightings of Stewart Green. Now she understood. Ray knew that Stewart had been dead all these years. He had made the huge sacrifice, too huge really, a sacrifice and then a secret that had gnawed at him, kept him down and troubled, probably cost him a bit of his sanity. Some people can live with that kind of thing. They do what they have to do. But Ray was too sensitive. He couldn’t. Especially when you added on being abandoned by the woman you loved. Especially when you added on that you wouldn’t see that woman-the woman you made this huge sacrifice to save-or even know what became of her, not until seventeen years later.

The last thing Megan told Ray before she left the interrogation room was that she would do everything in her power to make sure he was freed. She meant it. She owed him that. She would help him, and then fair or not, she’d be gone for good.

But the first thing she said when she walked out of the room was, “Where’s my husband?”

“He’s down the hall on the left.”

She hurried toward him. When she got to the room, Dave looked up, startled, and Megan felt her heart swell with genuine love. She rushed over to him as he stood, collapsing into his arms.

It was then, being held by her husband, that she felt safe enough to wonder about how she ended up on that path that night.

Wasn’t it Lorraine who had passed on that message to meet Ray up at those ruins?

Wasn’t it Lorraine who started the rumor that Stewart Green was still alive-even though they now knew for certain he was dead?

Wasn’t it Lorraine who claimed to know where Megan had been over the past seventeen years-even though it was impossible?

She ran back toward Special Agent Angiuoni.

“Where’s Detective Broome?”

“I don’t know. He said something about a club called La Creme?”

Goldberg pointed over Erin ’ Shoulder at the computer screen. “That’s Lorraine, the barmaid at La Creme. What the hell happened?”

“She killed her abusive husband.”

“What?”

“It was declared self-defense. Open and shut.”

“Where the hell is Broome?” Goldberg snapped. “He needs to know about this.”

Lorraine said, “Drop the gun.”

“What are you talking about? I’m here to help you, Lorraine.”

“Please, Broome.” She pushed the gun harder against his head. “It’s been a long night. Drop the gun.”

Broome did as she asked.

“Now call your dispatcher. Tell them you don’t need backup, that it’s all clear.”

Still stunned, Broome did as she asked. Then he pointed to the body on the floor. “Who is that?”

“Someone Del Flynn hired.”

“What did he want?”

“To torture me into giving him information on Carlton’s whereabouts. Funny though. He was the type who could dish it out but couldn’t take it. So many men are like that.”

Broome looked at her. She met his eyes and nodded, as if encouraging him to see what was now so obvious.

“My God… it was you?”

“Yep,” she said.

“You killed all of them?”

“You got it. One per year. Always on Mardi Gras, but I didn’t think anyone would ever figure out that pattern. Most of these scumbags had no one who cared enough to report that they were missing. I’m impressed you picked up the Mardi Gras connection.”

“It was my partner,” Broome said.

“She’s your ex-wife, right? Smart woman, I bet. Kudos to her.”

He said nothing.

“Oh, don’t worry, Broome. I’m not going to kill you and go after her or any of that.” Lorraine gave him a crooked smile and stared at the gun as though it had suddenly materialized in her hand. “I imagined a hundred different ways this might end, but me holding a gun on you and explaining?” She shook her head. “It’s all so… I don’t know… meh. Are you going to try to stall time hoping someone will rescue you?”

“Not my style.”

“Good, because it would really be gauche. Don’t worry, though. It’ll all become clear soon enough.”

“What will become clear?”

“My plan. And I need to tell it my way. I need you to listen, Broome. If you ever had any feelings for me, you’ll try to open your mind a little here, okay?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I guess not, what with me having the gun and all. But I’m tired, Broome. It’s been a good run, but it’s coming to an end. I just want… I want you to listen to me. That’s all. Let me start at the beginning and maybe you’ll see where I’m going with this, okay?”

Lorraine seemed so sincere. She waited for him to answer, so he said, “Okay.”

“You know I used to be married, right?”

“I do, yes.”

“Got hitched right out of high school. I won’t bore you with my early years in a small town with an alcoholic dad. It’s an old story, and we’ve seen the results on these streets a hundred times, haven’t we?”

Broome thought the question was rhetorical, but again Lorraine stopped, the gun still in her hand. “We have,” he said.

“I was going to be different though. I had a man who loved me. We eloped and he got a job, and then he lost the job and started beating the crap out of me. Broome, it was bad. You have no idea. He’d hit me once or twice before, you know, when we first got together. Nothing serious, you know how it is. Happens to every woman where I grew up. So I shrugged it off. But men can grow so little so fast, you know what I mean?”

Broome nodded, not sure what else to do.

“Life started pissing on my husband like he was the only urinal in the club. And how does my little man react? He pounds the hell out of the one person who still cares about him. Ironic, don’t you think?”

Broome said nothing.

Lorraine’s hair fell over her face. She pushed it away with one finger. “So guess what happened to me next, Broome? Come on, you’re a smart guy. What always happens in cases like this?”

“You got pregnant,” Broome said.

“Ding, ding, ding, correct answer. And for a few months while I was prego, peace ruled the land. All the experts were wrong, I thought-a baby can and will improve a marriage. Then one night, my future baby’s daddy complains that the steak is too chewy. He gets all pissed off and I say something stupid and he kicks me in the stomach and I fall down and then he starts stomping on me so bad I lose the baby.”

Broome stared down at the dead man on the floor, still unsure what to say.

“He stomps on me so bad, the crazy psycho, he actually ruptures my uterus. You know what that means, Broome? Do I need to spell it out for you? No kids. Not ever.” Tears came to her eyes. She blinked them away, seemingly angry at herself. “I wanted them, you know. I act otherwise and maybe now, well, I’m a girl who’s learned to make the best of my lot in life. But back then, my whole dream was to have a couple of kids and a little yard. Pathetic, right? I wasn’t asking for a mansion. Just a husband and some kids and a place we could call our own, you know?”

Broome inched closer to her, trying to find an angle where he could make a move. “I’m sorry about that, Lorraine. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yeah, it’s a sad story, right?” She raised the gun, and her tone changed. “Please don’t get cute, Broome. My intention here is to make the guy on the floor my final victim, not you.”