Harlan Coben - Gone for Good

"No."

"Then yes, speaking."

"My name is Will Klein "

"Sure sounds like you're selling something."

"I'm not," I said. "Are you the same Yvonne Sterno that writes for the Star-Beacon)"

"What did you say your name was?" Before I could reply, she shouted, "Hey, I told you two to knock if off. Tommy, give him the Game Boy. No, now!" Back to me. "Hello?"

"My name is Will Klein. I wanted to talk to you about that double murder you wrote about recently."

"Uh-huh. And what's your interest in the case?"

"I just have a few questions."

"I'm not a library, Mr. Klein."

"Please, call me Will. And bear with me for just a moment. How often do murders occur in places like Stonepointe?"

"Rarely."

"And double murders where the victims are found like this?"

"This would be the first that I'm aware of."

"So," I said, "why didn't it get more coverage?"

The kids erupted again. So did Yvonne Sterno. "That's it! Tommy, get up to your room. Right, right, save it for the judge, bud, let's move. And you, give me that Game Boy. Hand it over before I stick it down the disposal." I heard the phone being picked up again. "And again I will ask you: What's your interest in the case?"

I knew enough reporters to know that the way to their hearts is through their byline. "I may have pertinent information on the case."

"Pertinent," she repeated. "That's a good word there, Will."

"I think you'll find what I say interesting."

"Where you calling from anyway?"

" New York City," I said.

There was a pause. "A long way from the murder scene."

"Yes."

"So I'm listening. What, pray tell, will I find both pertinent and interesting?"

"First I need to know a few basics."

"That's not how I work, Will."

"I looked up your other pieces, Mrs. Sterno."

"It's miz. And since we're all buddy-buddy, just call me Yvonne."

"Fine," I said. "You mostly do features, Yvonne. You cover weddings. You cover society dinners."

"They have great eats, Will, and I look fabulous in a black dress. What's your point?"

"A story like this doesn't fall in your lap every day."

"Okay, you're getting me all hot and bothered here. Your point?"

"My point is, take a chance. Just answer a few questions. What's the harm? And who knows, maybe I'm legit."

When she did not respond, I pushed ahead.

"You land a big murder story like this. But the article doesn't list victims or suspects or any real details."

"I didn't know any," she said. "The report came in over the scanner late at night. We barely made it in time for the morning edition."

"So why no follow-up? This had to be a huge event. Why was there only that one piece?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

"Give me a second. The kids are acting up again."

Only I wasn't hearing any noise this time.

"I was closed down," she said softly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we were lucky to get even that much into the paper. By the next morning there were feds all over the place. The local SAC "

"SAC?"

"Special Agent in Charge. The head fed in the area. He got my boss to shut the story down. I tried a little on my own, but all I got was a bunch of no-comments."

"Is that odd?"

"I don't know, Will. I haven't covered a murder before. But yeah, I'd say it sounds pretty odd."

"What do you take it to mean?"

"From the way my boss has been acting?" Yvonne took a deep breath. "It's big. Very big. Bigger than a double murder. Your turn, Will."

I wondered how far I should go. "Are you aware of any fingerprints found at the scene?"

"No."

"There was one set belonging to a woman."

"Goon."

"That woman was found dead yesterday."

"Whoa, Nelly. Murdered?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"A small town in Nebraska."

"Her name?"

I leaned back. "Tell me about the homeowner, Owen Enfield."

"Oh I see. Back and forth. I give, you give."

"Something like that. Was Enfield one of the victims?"

"I don't know."

"What do you know about him?"

"He's lived there three months."

"Alone?"

"According to neighbors, he moved in alone. A woman and child have been hanging around a lot the last few weeks."

Child.

A tremor started in my heart. I sat up. "How old was the child?"

"I don't know. School age."

"Like maybe twelve."

"Yeah maybe."

"Boy or girl."

"Girl."

I froze.

"Yo, Will, you there?"

"Got a name on the girl?"

"No. No one really knew anything about them."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know."

"How can that be?"

"One of the great mysteries of life, I guess. I haven't been able to track them down. But like I said, I'm off the case. I haven't been trying all that hard."

"Can you find out where they are?"

"I can try."

"Is there anything else? Have you heard the name of a suspect or one of the victims, anything?"

"Like I said, it's been quiet. I only work at the paper part-time. As you might have been able to discern, I'm a full-time mother. I just caught the story because I was the only one in when it came over the band. But I have a few good sources."

"We need to find Enfield," I said. "Or at least the woman and girl."

"Seems like a good place to start," she agreed. "You want to tell me your interest in all this?"

I thought about that. "You up for rattling cages, Yvonne?"

"Yeah, Will. Yeah, I am."

"Are you any good?"

"Want a demonstration?"

"Sure."

"You may be calling me from New York City, but you're actually from New Jersey. In fact though there must certainly be more than one Will Klein out there my bet is you're the brother of an infamous murderer."

"An alleged infamous murderer," I corrected her. "How did you know?"

"I have Lexis-Nexis on my home computer. I plugged in your name and that's what came up. One of the articles mentioned that you now live in Manhattan."

"My brother had nothing to do with any of this."

"Sure, and he was innocent of killing your neighbor too, right?"

"That's not what I mean. Your double murder has nothing to do with him."

"Then what's your connection?"

I let loose a breath. "Someone else who was very close to me."

"Who?"

"My girlfriend. Her fingerprints were the ones found at the scene."

I heard the kids act up again. It sounded like they were running through the room making siren noises. Yvonne Sterno did not yell at them this time. "So it was your girlfriend who was found dead in Nebraska?"

"Yes."

"And that's your interest in this?"

"Part of it."

"What's the other part?"

I was not prepared yet to tell her about Carly. "Find Enfield," I said.

"What was her name, Will? Your girlfriend."

"Just find him."

"Hey, you want us to work together? You don't hold out on me. I can find out in five seconds by looking it up anyway. Just tell me."

" Rogers," I said. "Her name was Sheila Rogers."

I heard her typing some more. "I'll do my best, Will," she said. "Hang tight, I'll call you soon."

I had a strange quasi-dream.

I say "quasi" because I was not fully asleep. I floated in that groove between slumber and consciousness, that state where you sometimes stumble and plummet and need to grab the sides of the bed. I lay in the dark, my hands behind my head, my eyes closed.

I mentioned earlier how Sheila had loved to dance. She even made me join a dance club at the Jewish Community Center in West Orange, New Jersey. The JCC was close to both my mother's hospital and the house in Livingston. We'd go out every Wednesday to visit my mother and then at six-thirty head for our meeting with our fellow dancers.

We were the youngest couple in the club by and this is just a rough estimate seventy-five years, but man, the older folks knew how to move. I'd try to keep up, but there was simply no way. I felt self-conscious in their company. Sheila did not. Sometimes, in the middle of a dance, she would let go of my hands and sway away from me. Her eyes would close. There would be a sheen on her face as she totally disappeared in the bliss.