Harlan Coben - Don’t Let Go

The cassette David hands me is in a red plastic case that reads MAXELL, 60 MINUTES — the exact same kind you used. Of course you weren’t the only one who used Maxell tapes back in the day. They were pretty common. But seeing one again, after all these years...

“Did you watch it?” I ask.

“He told me not to.”

“Any idea what’s on it?”

“None. Hank asked me to keep it safe for him.”

I just stare at the cassette another moment.

“This probably has nothing to do with it,” David says. “I mean, I heard about that viral video of him exposing himself.”

“That was a lie.”

“A lie? Why the hell would someone do that?”

He’s Hank’s friend. I owe him something. I give him the quick rundown on Suzanne Hanson’s moronic motives. David nods, closes the safe, spins the dial.

“I assume you don’t have anything that plays this kind of tape,” I say.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Then let’s find someplace that does.”

On the phone, Ellie says, “Bob found an old Canon in the basement. He thinks it still works, but it may need a charge.”

I am not surprised. Ellie and Bob throw out nothing. Even more disturbing, they keep everything organized so even something like an old video camera that hasn’t seen the light of day in a decade will be neatly labeled and kept complete with its charging cord.

“I can be over in ten minutes.”

“You’ll stay for dinner?”

“Depends on what’s on the tape,” I say.

“Right, yeah, that makes sense.” Ellie hears something in my voice and knows me too well. “Everything else okay?”

“We’ll talk.”

I hang up first.

David Rainiv is driving, both hands on the wheel at ten and two. “I don’t want to make a big thing of it,” he says, “but if there is no next of kin, could you send the body to Feeney’s Funeral Home when you’re done and tell them to send me the bill?”

“His father is back in town,” I remind him.

“Oh right,” David says with a frown, “forgot about that.”

“You don’t think he’ll step up?”

He shrugs. “The guy let Hank down his whole life. I don’t know why we’d assume he’ll come through now.”

Good point. “I’ll check and see.”

“I’d take care of it anonymously, if that’s okay. Get the guys from basketball there. Pay their respects. Hank deserves that.”

I don’t know what people deserve or don’t deserve, but I’m okay with whatever.

“It would mean something to him,” David continues. “Hank was big on honoring the dead: his mom” — his voice grows soft now — “your brother, Diana.”

I don’t say anything. We drive a bit more. I have the tape in my hand. Then I think hard about what he just said and ask, “What did you mean?”

“About?”

“About Hank honoring the dead. About my brother and Diana.”

“You serious?”

I look at him.

“Hank was crushed by what happened to Leo and Diana.”

“That’s not the same thing as ‘honoring.’”

“You really don’t know?”

I assume the question is rhetorical.

“Hank took the same walk pretty much every day. You know that, right?”

“Right,” I say. “He started at the Path, by the middle school.”

“And do you know where he ended up?”

It suddenly feels like a cold finger is traveling down the back of my neck.

“The railroad tracks,” David says. “Hank ended his walk on the exact spot where... well, you know.”

There is a buzzing in my ears. My words seem to be coming from very far away now. “So every day, Hank started his walk by the old military base” — I’m trying not to sputter — “and ended it where Leo and Diana died?”

“I thought you knew.”

I shake my head.

“Some days he would time the walk,” David continues. “A couple of times... well, this was strange.”

“What?”

“He’d ask me to drive him so he could time how long a car ride would take.”

“A car ride between the military base and the tracks on the other side of town?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He never said. He was jotting down calculations and muttering to himself.”

“Calculating what?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he was focused on how long it would take to get from one place to another?”

“Focused?” David is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I’d say he was more like obsessed. I only saw him at the tracks, I don’t know, three or four times. It would be when I took the train into the city and we’d drive by him. He was always crying. He cared, Nap. He wanted to honor the dead.”

I try to absorb all this. I ask David for more details, but there is nothing. I ask him about anything else he might know connecting Hank to Leo, connecting Hank to the Conspiracy Club, connecting Hank to Rex, Maura, and Beth, connecting Hank to anything else about the past. But again I come up empty.

David Rainiv pulls up to the front of Ellie and Bob’s house. I thank him. We shake hands. He reminds me again that if anything is needed to give Hank a proper funeral, he’s ready to step up. I nod. I see he wants to ask something more but he shakes it off.

“I don’t have to know what’s on the tape,” he says.

I get out and watch him drive off.

Ellie and Bob’s lawn is manicured as though they are preparing for a PGA Tour event. Their flower boxes are coordinated and symmetrical to the point that the right half of the house looks like a precise mirror image of the left. Bob opens the door and greets me with the big smile and the firm handshake.

Bob works in commercial real estate, though I don’t quite get exactly what he does with it. He’s a terrific guy, and I would take a bullet for him. We tried going out a few times on our own to Yag’s Sports Bar to watch some NCAA March Madness or the NHL playoffs — Bro Time — but the truth is, our relationship fizzles without Ellie. We are both okay with this. I have heard that men and women can’t be friends without there being some kind of sexual component, but at the risk of sounding horribly PC, that’s horseshit.

Ellie comes over more warily than usual and kisses me on the cheek. I think we both know after the whole meeting with Lynn Wells that there is unfinished business between us, but right now I have bigger concerns.

“I have the video camera out in the workshop,” Bob says. “It doesn’t have a charge yet, but as long as you keep it plugged in, it works.”

“Thanks.”

“Uncle Nap!”

Their two girls, Leah, age nine, and Kelsi, age seven, come ripping around the corner as only two young girls can. They both wrap their arms around me as only two young girls can, nearly tackling me with their loving onslaught. I would do a lot more than take a bullet for Leah and Kelsi — I would shoot plenty in return.

As godfather to both — and a man with virtually no other family — I dote on Leah and Kelsi and spoil them right up to the line where Ellie and Bob have to admonish me. I quickly ask them now about school, and they enthusiastically tell me. I’m no fool. They are getting older and soon they won’t tear around the corner so fast, but I’m okay with that. Some might wonder whether I feel a pang, not having a family of my own yet or missing being an uncle for your kids.

We would have made great uncles for each other’s kids, Leo.

Ellie starts to shoo them off me. “Okay, girls, that’s enough. Uncle Nap has to do something in the workshop with Daddy.”

“What does he have to do?” Kelsi asks.

“Some work stuff,” Bob says to her.

Leah: “What kind of work stuff?”

Kelsi: “Is it police work stuff, Uncle Nap?”

Leah: “Are you catching bad guys?”