Harlan Coben - The Final Detail

“No.”

“And as you suggested earlier, our old fraternity brother Billy Lee Palms might know something.”

“We can track him down,” Myron said.

Win raised a finger, “One thing.”

“I'm listening.”

“You will have to do the majority of the legwork on your own.”

“Why's that?”

“I have a business to run.”

“So do I,” Myron said.

“You lose your business, you hurt two people.”

“Three,” Myron corrected. “You forgot Big Cyndi.”

“No. I am speaking of Big Cyndi and Esperanza. I left you out for all the obvious reasons. Again if you require the prerequisite cliche, please choose one of the following: You made your bed, now lie in it-”

“I get the point,” Myron interrupted. “But I still have a business to protect. For their sakes, if not my own.”

“No question.” Win motioned toward the trenches. “But at the risk of sounding melodramatic, I am responsible for those people out there. For their jobs and financial security. They have families and mortgages and tuition payments.” He pierced Myron with the ice blues. “That's not something I take lightly.”

“I know.”

Win leaned back. “Fll stay involved, of course. And again if my particular talents are needed-”

“Let's hope they aren't,” Myron interrupted.

Win shrugged again. Then he said, “Funny, isn't it?”

“What?”

“We haven't even mentioned Esperanza in all this. Why do you think that is?”

“I don't know.”

“Perhaps,” Win said, “we have some doubt about her innocence.”

“No.”

Win arched the eyebrow but said nothing.

“I'm not just being emotional,” Myron said. “I've been thinking about it.”

“And?”

“And it makes no sense. First off, why would Esperanza kill Clu? What's her motive?”

“The DA seems to think she killed him for the money.”

“Right. And I think it's fair to say we both know better.”

Win paused, nodded. “Esperanza would not kill for money, no.”

“So we have no motive.”

Win frowned. “I'd say that conclusion is at best premature.”

“Okay, but now let's look at the evidence. The gun, for example.”

“Go on,” Win said.

“Think this through for a second. Esperanza has a major altercation with Clu in front of witnesses, right?”

“Yes.”

Myron held up a finger. “One, would Esperanza be dumb enough to kill Clu so soon after a public fight?”

“Fair point,” Win conceded. “But perhaps the battle in the garage just raised the stakes. Perhaps after that Esperanza realized that Clu was out of control.”

“Fine, let's say that Esperanza was still dumb enough to kill him after the fight, She'd have to know she'd be a suspect, right? I mean, there were witnesses.”

Win nodded slowly. “I'll go with that.”

“So why was the murder weapon in the office? Esperanza isn't that stupid. She's worked with us before. She knows the ins and out. Hell, anybody with a television set would have known you're supposed to dump the gun.”

Win hesitated. “I see what you're saying.”

“So the gun had to be planted. And if the gun was planted, then it follows that the blood and the fibers were planted too.”

“Logical.” Win doing his best Mr. Spock. The Bat-phone rang again. Win picked up the receiver and dispatched the matter in seconds. They went back to thinking.

“On the other hand,” Win said, “I have never encountered a perfectly logical murder.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reality is messy and full of contradictions. Take the OJ. case.”

“The what?”

“The O.J. case,” Win repeated. “If all that blood was spilled and the Juice was drenched in it, why was so little found?”

“He changed clothes.”

“So? Even if he did, you'd expect to find more than a few dashboard splatters, wouldn't you? If the Juice drove home and showered, why was no blood found on the tiles or in the pipes or what have you?”

“So you think O.J. was innocent?”

Win frowned again. “You are missing my point.”

“Which is?”

“Murder investigations never make complete sense. There are always rips in the fabric of logic. Unexplainable flaws. Perhaps Esperanza made a mistake. Perhaps she did not believe the police would suspect her. Perhaps she thought the weapon would be safer in the office than, say, her house.”

“She didn't kill him, Win.”

Win spread his hands. “Who amongst us is incapable -given the right circumstances-of murder?”

Heavy silence.

Myron swallowed hard. “For the sake of argument, let's assume the weapon was planted.”

Win nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on Myron's.

“The question is, who set her up?”

“And why,” Win added.

“So we need to make a list of her enemies,” Myron said.

“And ours.”

“What?”

“This murder charge is seriously wounding both of us,” Win said. “We thus have to look at several possibilities.”

“For example?”

“First,” Win said, “we may be reading too much into the frame-up.”

“How so?”

“This may not be a personal vendetta at all. Perhaps the murderer heard about the garage altercation and concluded that Esperanza would make a convenient patsy.”

“So then this is all just a way of deflecting attention from the real killer? Nothing personal?”

“It's a possibility,” Win said. “No more or less.”

“Okay,” Myron agreed, “what else?”

“The murderer wants to do Esperanza great harm.”

“The obvious choice.”

“For whatever that's worth, yes,” Win said. “And possibility number three: The murderer wants to do one of us great harm.”

“Or,” Myron said, “our businesses.”

“Yes.”

Something like a giant cartoon anvil landed on Myron's head. “Someone like FJ.”

Win merely smiled.

“And,” Myron went on, “if Clu was doing something illicit, something that needed large amounts of cash-”

“Then FJ and his family would be a prime possible recipient,” Win finished for him. “And of course, if we forget the money for a moment, FJ would relish any opportunity to crush you. What better way than decimating your business and incarcerating your best friend?”

“Two birds, one stone.”

“Precisely.”

Myron sat back, suddenly exhausted. “I don't relish the idea of tangling with the Aches.”

“Neither do I,” Win said.

“You? Before, you wanted to kill FJ.”

“That's just my point. I can't anymore. If young FJ is behind this, we have to keep him alive in order to prove it. Trapping vermin is chancy. Simple extermination is the preferred course of action.”

“So we've now eliminated your favorite option.”

Win nodded. “Sad, no?”

“Tragic.”

“But it gets worse, old friend.”

“How's that?”

“Innocent or guilty,” Win said, “Esperanza is concealing something from us.”

Silence.

“We have no choice,” Win said. “We need to investigate her too. Delve into her personal life a bit.”

“I don't relish the idea of tangling with the Aches,” Myron said, “but I really don't relish the idea of invading Esperanza's privacy.”

“Be afraid,” Win agreed. “Be very afraid.”

The first potential clue did two things to Myron: It scared the hell out of him, and it reminded him of The Sound of Music.

Myron liked the old Julie Andrews musical well enough-who didn't?-but he always found one song particularly dumb. One of the classics actually. “My Favorite Things.” The song made no sense. Ask a zillion people to list their absolute favorite things, and how many of them are going to list doorbells, for crying out loud? You know what, Millie? I love doorbells! To hell with strolling on a quiet beach or reading a great book or making love or seeing a Broadway musical. Doorbells, Millie. Doorbells punch my ticket. Sometimes I just run up to people's houses and press their doorbells and well, I think I'm man enough to admit I shudder.