Harlan Coben: Caught

Marcia wondered what time Haley had gotten home. Haley didn't have a curfew anymore because there had simply never been a need. She was responsible and a senior and never took advantage. Marcia had been tired and gone up to sleep at ten. Ted, in his constant state of "randy," soon followed her.

Marcia was about to move on, let it go, when something, she couldn't say what, made her decide to throw in a load of laundry. She started toward Haley's bathroom. The younger siblings, Ryan and Patricia, believed that "hamper" was a euphemism for "floor" or really "anyplace but the hamper," but Haley, of course, dutifully, religiously, and nightly put the clothes she'd worn that day into the hamper. And that was when Marcia started to feel a small rock form in her chest.

There were no clothes in the hamper.

The rock in her chest grew when Marcia checked Haley's toothbrush, then the sink and shower.

All bone-dry.

The rock grew when she called out to Ted, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. It grew when they drove to captain's practice and found out that Haley had never showed. It grew when she called Haley's friends while Ted sent out an e-mail blast-and no one knew where Haley was. It grew when they called the local police, who, despite Marcia's and Ted's protestations, believed that Haley was a runaway, a kid blowing off some steam. It grew when, forty-eight hours later, the FBI was brought in. It grew when there was still no sign of Haley after a week.

It was as if the earth had swallowed her whole.

A month passed. Nothing. Then two. Still no word. And then finally, during the third month, word came-and the rock that had grown in Marcia's chest, the one that wouldn't let her breathe and kept her up nights, stopped growing.

THREE MONTHS LATER

"DO YOU PROMISE to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Wendy Tynes said that she did, took the stand, looked out. She felt as though she were onstage, something she was somewhat used to, what with being a television news reporter and all, but this time it made her squirm. She looked out and saw the parents of Dan Mercer's victims. Four sets of them. They were there every day. At first they'd brought photographs of their children, the innocent ones of course, holding them up, but the judge had made them stop. Now they sat silently, watching, and somehow that was even more intimidating.

The seat was uncomfortable. Wendy adjusted her position, crossed then uncrossed her legs, and waited.

Flair Hickory, celebrity counsel for the defense, stood, and not for the first time, Wendy wondered how Dan Mercer had the money to afford him. Flair wore his customary gray suit with thick pink stripes, pink shirt, pink tie. He crossed the room in a way that might be modestly described as "theatrical," but it was more like something Liberace might have done if Liberace had the courage to be really flamboyant.

"Ms. Tynes," he began with a welcoming smile. This was part of Flair's style. He was gay, yes, but he played it up in court like Harvey Fierstein in leather chaps doing Liza jazz hands. "My name is Flair Hickory. Good morning to you."

"Good morning," she said.

"You work for a lurid tabloid TV program called Caught in the Act, is that correct?"

The prosecuting attorney, a man named Lee Portnoi, said, "Objection. It's a TV program. There has been no testimony to support the allegation that the program is either lurid or tabloid."

Flair smiled. "Would you like me to present evidence, Mr. Portnoi?"

"That won't be necessary," Judge Lori Howard said in a voice that already sounded weary. She turned to Wendy. "Please answer the question."

"I don't work for the show anymore," Wendy said.

Flair pretended to be surprised by this. "No? But you did?"

"Yes."

"So what happened?"

"The show was taken off the air."

"For low ratings?"

"No."

"Really? Why then?"

Portnoi said, "Your Honor, we all know the whys."

Lori Howard nodded. "Move along, Mr. Hickory."

"You know my client, Dan Mercer?"

"Yes."

"And you broke into his house, didn't you?"

Wendy tried to hold his gaze, tried not to look guilty, whatever the heck that meant. "That's not really accurate, no."

"It's not? Well, my dear, I want to make sure that we are as accurate as humanly possible, so let's back up, shall we?" He strolled across the courtroom as though it were a catwalk in Milan. He even had the audacity to smile at the families of the victims. Most made a point of not looking at Flair, but one of the fathers, Ed Grayson, stared daggers. Flair seemed unfazed.

"How did you first encounter my client?"

"He came on to me in a chat room."

Flair's eyebrows went skyward. "Really?" Like it was the most fascinating thing anyone had ever said. "What sort of chat room?"

"A chat room frequented by children."

"And you were in this chat room?"

"Yes."

"You're not a child, Ms. Tynes. I mean, you may not be to my taste, but even I can see that you are a rather luscious female adult."

"Objection!"

Judge Howard sighed. "Mr. Hickory?"

Flair smiled, waved his apology. This was the kind of thing only Flair could get away with. "Now, Ms. Tynes, when you were in this chat room, you were pretending to be an underage girl, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"You then engaged in conversations designed to entice men into wanting sex with you, isn't that also correct?"

"No."

"How's that?"

"I always let them make the first move."

Flair shook his head and made a tsk-tsk noise. "If I had a dollar for every time I said that…"

A smattering of laughter rippled through the courtroom.

The judge said, "We have the transcripts, Mr. Hickory. We can read them and decide for ourselves."

"Excellent point, Your Honor, thank you."

Wendy wondered why Dan Mercer wasn't here, but that was probably obvious. This was an evidentiary hearing, ergo, there was no requirement to attend. Flair Hickory was hoping to persuade the judge to throw out the horrible, sickening, stomach-turning material the police had found on Mercer's computer and hidden throughout his house. If he could pull this off-everyone agreed it was a long shot-the case against Dan Mercer would probably vanish and a sick predator would be out on the streets.

"By the way"-Flair spun back toward Wendy-"how did you know it was my client on the other end of these online conversations?"

"I didn't at first."

"Oh? With whom did you think you were conversing?"

"I didn't have a name. That's part of it. I just knew at that stage that it was some guy who was trolling for sex with underage girls."

"How did you know that?"

"Excuse me?"

Flair made quote marks with his fingers. " ' Trolling for sex with underage girls,' as you put it. How did you know that was what the person on the other end of the conversation was doing?"

"Like the judge said, Mr. Hickory. Read the transcripts."

"Oh, I have. And do you know what I concluded?"

That got Lee Portnoi up. "Objection. We don't care what Mr. Hickory concluded. He isn't giving testimony here."

"Sustained."

Flair moved back to his desk and started checking through notes. Wendy looked over at the gallery. It helped her resolve. Those people out there had suffered greatly. Wendy was helping them find justice. Much as you could pretend to be jaded or claim that it was just her job, it meant a great deal to her-the good she had done. But when she met Ed Grayson's eyes, she saw something there that she didn't like. Something angry in his stare. Challenging maybe.

Flair put the papers down. "Well, let me put it to you this way, Ms. Tynes: If a reasonable person were to read those transcripts, would they definitely, without a doubt, conclude that one of the participants was a luscious, thirty-six-year-old, female news reporter-"