Харлан Кобен - The Boy from the Woods

Hester was going to deny it, but that wouldn’t do any good. “Off the record, yes, Matthew asked me to look into it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

He waited.

“I really don’t.”

“Okay then.”

“He seems worried about her.”

“Worried how?”

“Again: I don’t know. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to look into it a little.”

Oren frowned. “Look into it how?”

“I think I’ll stop by her house. Talk to the father. That okay?”

“Would it matter if I said it wasn’t?”

“No. And no, I don’t think there is anything to it.”

“But?”

“But Matthew has never asked me for anything before. Do you understand?”

“I think I do, yes,” he said. “And if you learn anything while looking into it...”

“I’ll call you immediately, promise.” Hester took out her business card and handed it to him. “That’s my cell number.”

“You want mine?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

He kept his eyes on the card. “But didn’t you just say you’d call me?”

She could feel her heart beating in her chest. Age was a funny thing. When your heart starts beating like this, you’re in high school all over again.

“Oren?”

“Yes?”

“I know we are supposed to be all modern and woke and all that.”

“Right.”

“But I still think the guy should call the girl.”

He held up her business card. “And by coincidence, I now have your phone number.”

“Small world.”

“Take care, Hester.”

“Just the basics,” Tim said, handing sheets back to Hester. “More coming soon.”

They stored a printer in the trunk that hooked up to a laptop Tim kept in the glove compartment. Sometimes Hester’s paralegals downloaded information to her phone, but Hester still preferred the tactile reading experience of paper. She liked to make notes with a pen or underline important phrases.

Old school. Or just old.

“You have the address for Naomi Pine?” she asked him.

“I do.”

“How far away?”

Tim looked at the GPS. “Two-point-six miles, six minutes.”

“Let’s go.”

She skimmed the notes as Tim drove. Naomi Pine, sixteen years old. Parents divorced. Father, Bernard. Mother, Pia. Father had sole custody, which was interesting in and of itself. In fact, Mother had given up all parental claims. Unusual, to put it mildly.

The house was old and worn. The paint had at one time been white, but it was more a cream-to-brown now. Every window was blocked by either a thick shade or cracked shutter.

“What do you think?” Hester asked Tim.

Tim made a face. “Looks like a safe house from the old country. Or maybe someplace to torture dissidents.”

“Wait here.”

A red Audi A6 in mint condition, probably worth more than the house, sat in the driveway. As she got closer to the door, Hester could see that the house had at one point been a grand Victorian. There was a wraparound porch and detailed albeit worn crown molding. The house had been, she bet, what they used to call a Painted Lady, though the paint was scant and whatever feminine charms she had once possessed had long gone to seed.

Hester knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked some more.

A man’s voice said, “Just leave whatever at the door.”

“Mr. Pine?”

“I’m busy right now. If I have to sign for it—”

“Mr. Pine, I’m not here for a delivery.”

“Who are you?”

His voice had a little slur in it. He had still not opened the door.

“My name is Hester Crimstein.”

“Who?”

“Hester—”

The door finally opened.

“Mr. Pine?”

“How do I know you?” he asked.

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re on TV or something.”

“Right. My name is Hester Crimstein.”

“Whoa.” Bernard Pine snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “You’re that criminal lawyer that’s always on the news, right?”

“Right.”

“I knew it.” He startled back half a step, now wary. “Wait, what do you want with me?”

“I’m here about your daughter.”

His eyes widened a bit.

“Naomi,” Hester added.

“I know my daughter’s name,” he half snapped. “What do you want?”

“She’s been absent from school.”

“So? Are you a truant officer?”

“No.”

“So what does my daughter have to do with you? What do you want from me?”

He looked the part of the man who’d just come home from a hard day’s work. His five-o’clock shadow was closer to seven or eight p.m. His eyes were rimmed with red. His suit jacket was off, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up, the tie loosened. Hester would bet there was a glass of something in the spirit family already poured.

“May I speak to Naomi?”

“Why?”

“I’m...” Hester tried on her legendary disarming smile. “Look, I don’t mean any harm. I’m not here in any sort of legal capacity.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I know this is out of the ordinary, but is Naomi okay?”

“I don’t understand — why is my daughter any of your business?”

“She’s not. I don’t mean to pry.” Hester tried to consider all the angles on this and decided to go with the most personal and truthful reply. “Naomi goes to school with my grandson Matthew. Maybe she’s mentioned him?”

Pine’s lips tightened. “Why are you here?”

“I... Matthew and I just wanted to make sure that she was okay.”

“She’s fine.”

He started to close the door.

“Can I see her?”

“Are you serious?”

“I know she’s been out of school.”

“So?”

Enough with the disarming. She put a touch of steel in her voice. “So where is Naomi, Mr. Pine?”

“What right do you—?”

“None,” Hester said. “No right. Zero, zilch. But a friend of Naomi’s is worried about her.”

“A friend?” He made a scoffing noise. “So your grandson is her friend, is he?”

Hester wasn’t sure what to make of his tone. “I’m just asking to see her.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where is she then?”

“That’s really not your business.”

A little more steel in the tone now: “You said you’ve seen me on TV.”

“So?”

“So you probably know that you don’t want to get on my bad side.”

She glared at him. He stepped back.

“Naomi is visiting her mother.” His grip on the knob of the door tightened. “And Ms. Crimstein? My daughter doesn’t concern you or your grandson. Get off my property now.”

He closed the door. Then, as though to add emphasis, he bolted the lock with an audible click.

Tim was outside and waiting. He opened the car door as she approached.

“Douche-nozzle,” Hester muttered.

It was getting late. Night had fallen. The lighting out here, especially near the mountains, was near nonexistent. There was nothing more to be done about Naomi Pine tonight.

Tim slid into the driver’s seat and started up the car. “We should probably start heading back,” he said. “Your segment starts in two hours.”

Tim met her eye in the rearview mirror and waited.

“How long has it been since we’ve been to Wilde’s?” Hester asked.

“It’ll be six years in September.”

She should have been surprised at how much time had passed. She should have been surprised that Tim recalled the year and month so quickly.

Should have been. But wasn’t.

“Do you think you could still find his road?”

“This time of night?” Tim considered it. “Probably.”

“Let’s try.”

“You can’t call?”

“I don’t think he has a phone.”