Harlan Coben - Hold Tight

“Right where those candles are. That exact spot. I came up here before they moved Spencer. I insisted. They wanted to take him down, but I said no. I wanted to see him first. I wanted to see where my boy died.”

Betsy took a step closer. Tia did not move.

“I used the ledge, the one they knocked off. One of the police of- ficers tried to give me a boost. I told him to leave me the hell alone. I made them all move back. Ron thought I was crazy. He tried to talk me out of it. But I climbed up. And Spencer was right there. Right where you are now. He lay on his side. His legs were curled up in a fetal position. That was how he slept too. In a fetal position. Until he was ten he still sucked his thumb when he slept. Do you ever watch your children sleep, Tia?”

Tia nodded. “I think all parents do.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because they look so innocent.”

“Maybe.” Betsy smiled. “But I think it’s because we can just stare at them and marvel at them and not feel weird about it. If you stare at them like that during the day, they’ll think you’re nuts. But when they’re sleeping…”

Her voice drifted off. She started to look around and said, “This roof is pretty big.”

Tia was confused by the change of subjects. “I guess.”

“The roof,” Betsy said again. “It’s big. There are broken bottles all over the place.”

She looked at Tia. Not sure how to respond, Tia said, “Okay.”

“Whoever burnt those candles,” Betsy went on. “They picked the exact spot where Spencer was found. It was never in the papers. So how did they know? If Spencer was alone that night, how did they know to burn the candles exactly where he died?”

MIKE knocked on the door.

He stood on the stoop and waited. Mo stayed in the car. They were less than a mile from where Mike had gotten jumped last night. He wanted to go back to that alley, see what he could remember or dig up or, well, whatever. He really didn’t have a clue. He was flailing and poking and hoping something would lead him closer to his son.

This stop, he knew, was probably his best chance.

He had called Tia and told her about having no luck with Huff. Tia had told him about her visit with Betsy Hill to the school. Betsy was still at the house.

Tia said, “Adam has been a lot more withdrawn since the suicide.”

“I know.”

“So maybe there’s more to what happened that night.”

“Like what?”

Silence.

“Betsy and I still need to talk,” Tia said.

“Be careful, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

Mike did not reply, but both of them knew. The truth was, horrible as it might seem, that their interests and the Hills’ interests might no longer be in harmony. Neither one of them wanted to say it. But they both knew.

“Let’s just find him first,” Tia said.

“That’s what I’m trying to do. You work your end, I’ll work mine.”

“I love you, Mike.”

“I love you too.”

Mike knocked again. There was no answer at the door. He lifted his hand to knock a third time when the door opened. Anthony the bouncer filled the doorway. He folded his massive arms and said, “You look like hell.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“How did you find me?”

“I went online and looked up recent photographs of the Dartmouth football team. You only graduated last year. Your address is registered in the alumni site.”

“Smart,” Anthony said with a small smile. “We Dartmouth men are very smart.”

“I got jumped in that alley.”

“Yeah, I know. Who do you think called the police?”

“You?”

He shrugged. “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

Anthony closed the door behind him. He was dressed in workout clothes. He wore shorts and one of those tight sleeveless tees that were suddenly the rage not just with guys like Anthony, who could pull it off, but guys Mike’s age who simply couldn’t.

“It’s just a summer gig,” Anthony said. “Working at the club. But I like it. I’m going to law school at Columbia in the fall.”

“My wife is a lawyer.”

“Yeah, I know. And you’re a doctor.”

“How do you know that?”

He grinned. “You’re not the only one who can use college connections.”

“You looked me up online?”

“Nah. I called the current hockey coach-a guy named Ken Karl, also worked as the defensive line coach on the football team. Described what you looked liked, told him you claimed to be an All-American. He said ‘Mike Baye’ right away. Says you were one of the best hockey players the school ever had. You still hold some scoring record.”

“So does this mean we have a bond, Anthony?”

The big man didn’t reply.

They headed down the stoop. Anthony turned right. A man approaching in the other direction called out, “Yo, Ant!” and the two men did a complicated handshake before moving on.

Mike said, “Tell me what happened last night.”

“Three, maybe four guys kicked the crap out of you. I heard the commotion. When I got there, they were running away. One of the guys had a knife. I thought you were a goner.”

“You scared them off?”

Anthony shrugged.

“Thanks.”

Another shrug.

“You get a look at them?”

“Not their faces. But they were white guys. Lots of tattoos. Dressed in black. Skanky and skinny and stoned out of their freakin’ minds, I bet. Lots of anger. One was cupping his nose and cursing.” Anthony smiled again. “I do believe you broke it.”

“And you’re the one who called the cops?”

“Yup. Can’t believe you’re out of bed already. I figured you’d be out of commission for at least a week.”

They kept walking.

“Last night, the kid with the varsity jacket,” Mike said. “Had you seen him before?”

Anthony said nothing.

“You recognized my son’s picture too.”

Anthony stopped. He plucked sunglasses out of his collar and put them on. They covered his eyes. Mike waited.

“Our Big Green connection only goes so far, Mike.”

“You said you’re amazed I’m out of bed already.”

“That I did.”

“You want to know why?”

He shrugged.

“My son is still missing. His name is Adam. He’s sixteen years old, and I think he’s in a lot of danger.”

Anthony kept walking. “Sorry to hear about that.”

“I need some information.”

“I look like the Yellow Pages to you? I live out there. I don’t talk about what I see.”

“Don’t hand me that ‘code of the street’ crap.”

“And don’t hand me that ‘ Dartmouth men stick together’ crap.”

Mike put his hand on the big man’s arm. “I need your help.”

Anthony pulled away, started walking faster. Mike caught up to him.

“I’m not leaving, Anthony.”

“Didn’t think you would,” he said. He stopped. “Did you like it up there?”

“Where?”

“ Dartmouth.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I liked it a lot.”

“Me too. It was like a different world. You know what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

“No one in this neighborhood knew about that school.”

“How did you end up there?”

He smiled, adjusted the sunglasses. “You mean a big black brother from the streets going to lily-white Dartmouth?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I was a good football player, maybe even great. I got recruited Division 1A. Could have gone Big Ten.”

“But?”

“But I also knew my limitations. I wasn’t good enough to go pro. So what would be the point? No education, joke diploma. So I went to Dartmouth. Got a full ride and liberal arts degree. No matter what else, I will always be an Ivy League graduate.”