Харлан Кобен: Run Away

When they headed into the courtroom and she said, “Hester Crimstein for the defense,” a buzz started humming through the court. The judge raised his head and arched an eyebrow.

“Counselor Crimstein, this is quite the honor. What brings you to my humble courtroom?”

“I’m just here to stop a grave miscarriage of justice.”

“I’m sure you are.” The judge folded his hands and smiled. “It’s nice to see you again, Hester.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’re right,” the judge said. “I don’t.”

That seemed to please Hester. “You’re looking good, Your Honor. The black robe works on you.”

“What, this old thing?”

“Makes you look thin.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” The judge sat back. “What does the defendant plead?”

Hester gave Simon a look.

“Not guilty,” he said.

Hester nodded her approval. The prosecutor asked for five thousand dollars in bail. Hester did not contest the amount. Once they went through the legal rigmarole of paperwork and bureaucracy and were allowed to leave, Simon started for the front entrance, but Hester stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

“Not that way.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll be waiting.”

“Who?”

Hester pressed the elevator button, checked the lights above the doors, said, “Follow me.”

They hit the steps and took them down two levels. Hester started leading him toward the back of the building. She picked up her mobile.

“You at the Eggloo on Mulberry, Tim? Good. Five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Simon asked.

“Odd.”

“What?”

“You keep talking,” Hester said, “when I specifically told you not to.”

They headed down a dark corridor. Hester led the way. She turned right, then right again. Eventually they reached an employee entrance. People were flashing badges to come in, but Hester just barreled through to exit.

“You can’t do that,” a guard said.

“Arrest us.”

He didn’t. A moment later, they were outside. They crossed Baxter Street and cut through the green of Columbus Park, passed three volleyball courts, and ended up on Mulberry Street.

“You like ice cream?” Hester asked.

Simon did not reply. He pointed to his closed mouth.

Hester sighed. “You have permission to speak.”

“Yes.”

“Eggloo has a Campfire S’mores ice cream sandwich that’s to die for. I told my driver to grab two for the ride.”

The black Mercedes was waiting in front. The driver had the ice cream sandwiches. He handed one to Hester.

“Thanks, Tim. Simon?”

Simon shook off the other. Hester shrugged. “All yours, Tim.” She took a bite of her own and slipped into the backseat. Simon got in next to her.

“My daughter—” Simon began.

“The police never found her.”

“How about Aaron Corval?”

“Who?”

“The guy I punched.”

“Whoa whoa, don’t even joke around about that. You mean the guy you allegedly punched.”

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever. Not even in private.”

“Okay, I got it. Do you know where—?”

“He took off too.”

“What do you mean, ‘took off’?”

“What part of ‘took off’ is confusing? He ran away before the police could learn anything about him. Which is good for you. No victim, no crime.” She took another bite and wiped the corner of her lips. “The case will go away soon enough, but... Look, I got a friend. Her name is Mariquita Blumberg. She’s a ballbuster — not a sweetheart like me. But she’s the best handler in the city. We need Mariquita to get on your PR campaign right away.”

The driver started up the car. The Mercedes started north and turned right on Bayard Street.

“PR campaign? Why would I need—?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute, but we don’t need the distraction right now. First tell me what happened. Everything. From beginning to end.”

He told her. Hester turned her small frame to face him. She was one of those people who raise the phrase “undivided attention” into an art form. She had been all energy and movement. Now that energy was more like a laser beam pointed directly at him. She was focusing on every word with an empathy so strong he could reach out and touch it.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” Hester said when he finished. “That truly sucks.”

“So you understand.”

“I do.”

“I need to find Paige. Or Aaron.”

“I’ll check again with the detectives, but like I said, my understanding is that they both ran off.”

Another dead end. Simon’s body started to ache. Whatever defense mechanisms, whatever chemical responses that delay if not block pain were eroding in a hurry. Pain didn’t so much ebb through as flow in.

“So why do I need a PR campaign?” Simon asked.

Hester took out her mobile phone and started futzing with it. “Hate these things. So much information and so many uses, but mostly it ruins your life. You have kids, right? Well obviously. How many hours a day do they spend...” Her voice drifted off. “Not the time for that particular lecture. Here.”

Hester handed him the phone.

Simon saw that she’d brought up a YouTube video with 289,000 views. When he saw the screenshot preview and read the title, his heart sank:

PROSPERITY PUNCHES POVERTY

WALL STREET WALLOPS VAGABOND

DADDY WARBUCKS DESTROYS THE DESTITUTE

BROKER BOPS BUM

“HAVE” HITS “HAVE-NOT”

He flicked his eyes up at Hester, who gave him a sympathetic shrug. She reached across and tapped Play with her index finger. The video had been taken by someone with the screen name ZorraStiletto and posted two hours ago. ZorraStiletto had been panning up from three women — perhaps his wife and two daughters? — when some kind of disturbance drew his attention. The lens jerked to the right, regaining focus with ideal timing on a pompous-looking Simon — why the hell hadn’t he changed out of that suit or at least loosened the goddamn tie? — just as Paige was pulling away from him and Aaron was stepping up to get between them. It looked, of course, as though a rich, privileged, suited man was accosting (and maybe worse) a much younger woman, who was then being rescued by a stand-up homeless guy.

As the scared, fragile young woman cowered behind her savior’s back, the man in the suit started screaming. The young woman ran away. The man in the suit tried to push past the homeless guy and follow her. Simon knew, of course, what he was about to see. Still he watched, wide-eyed and hopeful, as though there were a chance that the suited man would not be moronic enough to actually rear back his fist and punch the brave homeless man straight in the face.

But that was exactly what happened.

There was blood as the kindly homeless Samaritan crumbled to the pavement. The uncaring rich man in the suit tried to step over the rubble of him, but the homeless Samaritan grabbed his leg. When an Asian man in a baseball cap — another Good Samaritan no doubt — entered the fray, the suited man elbowed him in the nose too.

Simon closed his eyes. “Oh man.”

“Yep.”

When Simon opened his eyes again, he ignored the cardinal rule for all articles and videos: Never ever read the comment section.

“Rich guys think they can get away with stuff like this.”

“He was going to rape that girl! Lucky that hero stepped in.”

“Daddy Warbucks should get life in jail. Period.”

“I bet Richie Rich gets off. If he was black, he would have been shot.”

“That guy who saved that girl is so brave. If the mayor lets this rich guy buy his way to freedom.”

“Good news,” Hester said. “You do have a few fans.” She took the phone, scrolled down, pointed.