Harlan Coben - Don’t Let Go

I don’t like the way he says it, with sudden confidence. I don’t know how to reply, so I go with a simple “So tell me.”

Another patron shouts, “Play ‘Don’t Stop Believin’,’ Andy. We love that one.”

“Sinatra!”

“Journey!”

Murmurs of agreement. One guy starts singing, “‘Just a small town girl.’” The others answer, “‘Livin’ in a lonely world.’”

“One second, fellas.” Reeves waves and smiles, just a good ol’ guy enjoying the attention. “Save your energy.”

Andy Reeves turns back to me, lowers his mouth until it’s close to my ear, and whispers, “If you release that tape, Detective Dumas, I’ll kill you and everyone you love. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” I nod. Then I reach out, grab him by the balls, and squeeze.

His scream shatters the night air.

A few of the old folks jump up, startled. When I let go, Reeves flops to the floor like a fish hitting a dock.

The younger guys, the orderlies, react. They rush toward me. I back up, take out my shield.

“Stay where you are,” I warn. “Police business.”

The old folks don’t like this. Neither do three of the orderlies. They come closer, circling me. I take out my phone and snap a quick pic. The old-timers yell at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?... If I was ten years younger... You can’t just do that... ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’!”

One drops to his knee to tend to the wounded Reeves as the orderlies move closer.

I need to close this down now.

I show the approaching orderlies the gun in my hip holster. I don’t pull it out, but the sight is enough to slow them down.

An old man shakes his fist at me. “We’re going to report you!”

“Do what you must,” I say.

“You better get out of here now.”

I agree. Five seconds later, I’m out the door.

I’m not worried about my behavior being called in to law enforcement. Andy Reeves will recover, and when he does, he won’t want anyone reporting the incident.

I am more worried, however, about Reeves’s threat. Four people — you, Diana, Rex, and Hank — have been murdered. Yes, I’m going to use that term now. Forget the claims of accident and suicide. You were murdered, Leo. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that go.

I call Ellie. She doesn’t answer, which pisses me off. I look on my phone and check the photo I took of Reeves. He’s on the floor, his face scrunched up in pain, but it’s clear enough. I attach it to a text and send it to Ellie. The text reads:

See if Maura’s mom recognizes him.

I start to drive home, but I realize that I haven’t eaten anything. I veer to the right and make my way to the Armstrong Diner. It’s open twenty-four hours. Through the window I see that Bunny is on duty. As I get out of the car, my phone rings. It’s Ellie.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

That’s our way of realizing we went too far, I guess.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“The Armstrong.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

The phone goes dead. I get out and start toward the diner. Two girls, probably late teens, maybe early twenties, stand outside, smoking and jabbering away. One is blond, one brunette, both resembling “Internet models” or wannabe reality stars. That’s the look, I guess. I walk past them as they take deep drags. Then I stop and turn back toward them. I stare at them until they feel my eyes. They keep talking for a second or two, glancing toward me. I don’t move. Eventually their voices fade away.

The blonde makes a face at me. “What’s your problem?”

“I should just go inside,” I say. “I should just mind my own business. But I want to say one thing first.”

They both look at me the way you do at a crazy person.

“Please don’t smoke,” I say.

The brunette puts her hands on her hips. “Do we know you?”

“No,” I say.

“You a cop or something?”

“I am, but that has nothing to do with it. My father died of lung cancer because he smoked. So I can just walk right past you — or I can try to save your life. Chances are, you won’t listen to me, but maybe if I do this enough, maybe just one time, someone will stop and think and maybe even quit. So I’m asking you — I’m sort of begging you — please don’t smoke.”

That’s it.

I head inside. Stavros is behind the cash register. He gives me a high five and nods toward a table in the corner. I’m a single guy who doesn’t like to cook, so I’m here a lot for dinner. Like the menus at most New Jersey diners, the Armstrong’s menu is Bible-length. Bunny just gives me the specials menu. She points to the salmon with couscous and gives me a wink.

I look out the window. The two smoking girls are still outside. The brunette has her back to me, the cigarette between her fingers. The blonde gives me a baleful look, but there is no cigarette in her hand. I give her a thumbs-up. She turns away. She probably finished it already, but I take the victories where I can.

I’m just about finished with my meal when Ellie comes through the door. Stavros’s face lights up when he sees her. It’s a cliché to say that someone lights up a room when she enters it, but at the very least, Ellie raises the average level of goodness, of decency, of virtue in it.

This is the first time I just don’t take all that for granted.

She slides in across the booth, tucking one foot under her.

“Did you get that photograph to Maura’s mom?” I ask.

Ellie nods. “She hasn’t replied yet.”

I see her blink away tears.

“Ellie?”

“Something else I never told you.”

“What?”

“Two years ago, when I spent that month in Washington.”

I nod. “For that conference on the homeless.”

She makes a “yeah right” noise. “A conference” — she picks up the napkin and starts dabbing at her eyes — “that lasts a month?”

I don’t know what to make of that, so I stay silent.

“This has nothing to do with Maura, by the way. I just...”

I reach out and put my hand on her arm. “What is it?”

“You’re the best person I know, Nap. I trust you with my life. But I didn’t tell you.”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

“Bob...”

I stay perfectly still.

“There was this woman at work. Bob started staying late. So one night I surprised him. The two of them...”

I feel my heart bottom out. I don’t know what to say and I don’t think she wants me to say anything, so I tighten the grip on her arm a little. I want to offer some kind of comfort. But I blew that chance.

A monthlong conference. Man.

My best friend was in horrible pain. And I never saw it.

Some great detective, right?

Ellie wipes her eyes and forces up a smile. “It’s better now. Bob and I cleared the air.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not right now, no. I came to talk to you about Maura. About my promise to her.”

Bunny comes over, drops a menu in front of Ellie, gives her a wink. When she leaves, I don’t know how to continue. Neither does Ellie. So finally I say, “You made a promise to Maura.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“The night Leo and Diana died.”

Another punch in the teeth.

Bunny comes back over and asks Ellie if she wants to order anything. Ellie says a decaf. I manage to order a mint tea. Bunny asks whether either of us wants to try the banana pudding, it’s to die for. We both decline.

“That night,” I say. “Did you see Maura before or after Leo and Diana died?”

Her answer sends me into another tailspin: “Both.”

I don’t know what to say, or maybe I’m afraid of what I might say. She looks out the window, into the parking lot.