Harlan Coben - Just One Look

Cram said, “We got a problem.”

Vespa waited, following Wade Larue with his eyes.

“Richie is not answering his radio.”

“Where was he stationed?”

“In a van near the kids’ school.”

“Where is Grace?”

“We don’t know.”

Vespa looked at Cram.

“It was three o’clock. We knew she’d gone to pick up Emma and Max. Richie was supposed to tail her from there. She got to the school, we know that. Richie radioed that in. Since then, nothing.”

“Did you send someone over?”

“Simon went to check on the van.”

“And?”

“It’s still there. Parked in the same spot. But there are cops in the area now.”

“What about the kids?”

“We don’t know yet. Simon thinks he sees them in the schoolyard. But he doesn’t want to get too close with the cops around.”

Vespa closes his fists. “We have to find Grace.”

Cram said nothing.

“What?”

Cram shrugged. “I think you have it wrong, that’s all.”

Neither one of them said anything after that. They stood and watched Wade Larue. He strolled the grounds, cigarette in tow. From the top of the property there was a magnificent view of the George Washington Bridge and, behind it, the distant skyline of Manhattan. It had been there that Vespa and Cram had watched the smoke billow as if from Hades when the towers fell. Vespa had known Cram for thirty-eight years. Cram was the best with a gun or a knife Vespa had ever seen. He scared people with little more than a glance. The vilest men, the most violent psychotics, begged for mercy before Cram even touched them. But on that day, standing silently in the yard, watching the smoke not dissipate, Vespa had seen even Cram break down and cry.

They looked over at Wade Larue.

“Did you talk to him at all?” Vespa asked.

Cram shook his head. “Not a word.”

“He looks pretty calm.”

Cram said nothing. Vespa started toward Larue. Cram stayed where he was. Larue did not turn around. Vespa stopped about ten feet away and said, “You wanted to see me?”

Larue kept staring out at the bridge. “Beautiful view,” he said.

“You’re not here to admire it.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Vespa waited. Wade Larue did not turn around. “You confessed.”

“Yes.”

“Did you mean it?” Vespa asked.

“At the time? No.”

“What does that mean, at the time?”

“You want to know if I fired those two shots that night.” Wade Larue finally turned and faced Vespa full. “Why?”

“I want to know if you killed my boy.”

“Either way I didn’t shoot him.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Vespa waited.

“Are you doing this for you? Or your son?”

Vespa thought about that. “It’s not for me.”

“Then your son?”

“He’s dead. It won’t do him any good.”

“Who then?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. If it’s not about you or your son, why do you still need revenge?”

“It needs to be done.”

Larue nodded.

“The world needs balance,” Vespa went on.

“Yin and yang?”

“Something like that. Eighteen people died. Someone has to pay.”

“Or the world is out of balance?”

“Yes.”

Larue took out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Vespa. Vespa shook his head.

“Did you fire those shots that night?” Vespa asked.

“Yes.”

That was when Vespa exploded. His temper was like that. He went from zero to uncontrolled rage in a snap. There was an adrenaline rush, like a thermometer spiking up in a cartoon. He cocked his fist and smashed it into Larue’s face. Larue went down hard on his back. He sat up, put his hand to his nose. There was blood. Larue smiled at Vespa. “That give you balance?”

Vespa was breathing hard. “It’s a start.”

“Yin and yang,” Larue said. “I like that theory.” He wiped his face with his forearm. “Thing is, this universal balancing act-does it stretch across generations?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Larue smiled. There was blood on his teeth. “I think you know.”

“I’m going to kill you. You know that.”

“Because I did something bad? So I should pay a price?”

“Yes.”

Larue got to his feet. “But what about you, Mr. Vespa?”

Vespa tightened his fists, but the adrenaline rush was quieting.

“You’ve done bad. Did you pay the price?” Larue cocked his head. “Or did your son pay it for you?”

Vespa hit Larue deep in the gut. Larue folded. Vespa punched him in the head. Larue fell again. Vespa kicked him in the face. Larue was flat on his back now. Vespa took a step closer. Blood dripped out of Larue’s mouth, but the man still laughed. The only tears were on Vespa’s face, not Larue’s.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I was like you. I craved revenge.”

“For what?”

“For being in that cell.”

“That was your fault.”

Larue sat up. “Yes and no.”

Vespa took a step back. He looked behind him. Cram stood perfectly still and watched. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I’ll wait till you’re done beating me.”

“Tell me why you called.”

Wade Larue sat up, checked his mouth for blood. He seemed almost happy to see it. “I wanted vengeance. I can’t tell you how badly. But now, today, when I got out, when I was suddenly free… I don’t want that anymore. I spent fifteen years in prison. But my sentence is over. Your sentence, well, the truth is yours will never end, will it, Mr. Vespa?”

“What do you want?”

Larue stood. He walked over to Vespa. “You’re in such pain.” His voice was soft now, as intimate as a caress. “I want you to know everything, Mr. Vespa. I want you to learn the truth. This has to end. Today. One way or another. I want to live my life. I don’t want to look over my shoulder. So I’m going to tell you what I know. I’m going to tell you everything. And then you can decide what you need to do.”

“I thought you said you fired those shots.”

Larue ignored that. “Do you remember Lieutenant Gordon MacKenzie?”

The question surprised Vespa. “The security guard. Of course.”

“He visited me in prison.”

“When?”

“Three months ago.”

“Why?”

Larue smiled. “That balance thing again. Making things right. You call it yin and yang. MacKenzie called it God.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Gordon MacKenzie was dying.” Larue put his hand on Vespa’s shoulder. “So before he went, he needed to confess his sins.”

The gun was in Grace’s ankle holster.

She started up the car. The Asian man sat next to her. “Head up the road and turn left.”

Grace was scared, of course, but there was an odd calmness too. Something about being in the eye of the storm, she guessed. Something was happening. There was a potential to find answers here. She tried to prioritize.

First: Get him far away from the children.

That was the number one thing here. Emma and Max would be fine. The teachers stayed outside until all the children were picked up. When she didn’t show, they would give an impatient sigh and bring them to the office. That old battleaxe of a receptionist, Mrs. Dinsmont, would gleefully cluck her tongue about the neglectful mother and make the children wait. There had been an incident about six months ago when Grace got caught up by construction and arrived late. She’d been wracked with guilt, picturing Max waiting like a scene from Oliver Twist , but when she got there he was in the office coloring a picture of a dinosaur. He wanted to stay.