Харлан Кобен - Run Away

“There are guidelines. We have to follow them.”

That was crap and when this was all over, Simon would do what he could to get payback, but right now he had to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t want to. He wanted to collapse and cry for his daughter.

“So is that when Paige started to spiral?”

Van de Beek thought it over. His answer surprised him. “No, not really. I know how that sounds, but the next time I saw her—”

“Which was when?”

“A few days later. Paige showed up in class. She seemed better. I remember standing behind the lectern and looking at her, a little surprised to see her, and she gave me this nod like ‘I’m okay, don’t worry about it.’ A few days later, she started coming to office hours again. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to see her. I tried to raise the topic, but she said it was no big deal, that she overreacted. I’m not saying she was totally fine. I could see that she was trying to block. I urged her to get help, to talk to someone. One of the hardest parts is that the girls are still on the same campus as their alleged attacker.”

“Rapist.”

“What?”

“Don’t call him an alleged attacker. Call him a rapist.”

“I don’t know what he was.”

“But you do know who, right?”

He stood there.

“You do, don’t you?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

“But you know the name of the boy.”

He looked off. “I have a guess. At least I do now.”

“What does that mean?”

Van de Beek put his hand through his thick hair and let loose a long breath. “This is where the story takes a bizarre turn, Mr. Greene.”

Like it hasn’t already? Simon thought.

“I don’t know the order,” van de Beek continued. “I’m not sure what came first — Paige’s deterioration or...” He stopped.

“Or what?”

“There was another” — he paused, looked up as though searching for the right word — “incident on campus.”

“Incident,” Simon repeated.

“Yes.”

“Do you mean rape?”

Van de Beek winced. “Paige didn’t use the word ‘rape.’ Never. Just for the record.”

Now, Simon knew, was not the time to get into a semantics debate. “Was there another assault?”

“Yes.”

“Was it done by the same boy?”

He shook his head. “Just the opposite.”

“Meaning?”

“The boy I believe may have assaulted Paige,” van de Beek said, his words coming more measured now. “He was the victim this time.”

He met Simon’s gaze. Simon did not blink.

“His name is Doug Mulzer, a sophomore econ major from Pittsburgh. He was beaten with a baseball bat after a frat party on campus. Broken legs. And then, the smaller end of the bat, it was...” He started to stammer. “Well, that part of the attack was never made public. The family didn’t want it known, but the rumors spread around campus. He’s still convalescing in Pittsburgh.”

Simon could feel the chill work its way up his spine. “And you think Paige had something to do with this?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. Simon could see that he was straining to be careful with his words. “I can’t say for sure.”

“But?”

“But in class the next day, Paige just kept smiling. Everyone else was upset over what had happened. But Paige kept staring at me and grinning in this weird way, and I could see for the first time that she was glassy eyed. Like she was on something. Like she was high.”

“So your evidence is that she got high and smiled?” Simon asked. “Maybe she got high to numb the pain.”

Van de Beek said nothing.

“I don’t care what she was on,” Simon said, picturing the sickening assault in his head. “Paige wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I agree.” Another student walked by and shouted out a “Hi, Louis!” and van de Beek gave him an absentminded nod. “She wouldn’t do something like that. At least, not on her own.”

Simon froze.

“But when Paige left class that day, I noticed that there was a man waiting for her. Not a kid. Not a student. A man I’d guess was about ten years older.”

Aaron , Simon thought. It was Aaron.

All the info I just gave you, you can’t tell anyone,” Elena had said. “Someone could claim that it was obtained illegally — the fruits of a bad act or some such thing. Either way, even if we go to the feds today, it won’t be a priority. It’ll take days, probably weeks, just to get it assigned to someone. We don’t have...”

Elena heard a click on her line. Another call was coming in. The caller ID was blocked. Most people would suspect that it was some kind of spam call, but Lou had arranged something on the phones to prevent that. If she got a call, it was usually something relevant.

And the last person she had given her card to was Alison Mayflower.

“Simon, hold on, I have another call.”

She clicked over. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi.” A woman’s whisper. Not Alison Mayflower. This woman sounded young — twenties, maybe thirties. “Is this Miss Ramirez?”

“This is she. Who is this?”

“Oh, my name isn’t important.”

“Could you speak up?”

“Sorry, I’m a little nervous. I’m calling... I’m calling for a friend of mine. You met her today at a certain café.”

“Go on.”

“She needs to see you — boy, does she need to see you — but she’s afraid.”

Alison Mayflower, Elena recalled, lived with another woman named Stephanie Mars. Could be her on the line.

“I understand,” Elena said in her gentlest voice. “Maybe we can meet someplace where she’d feel comfortable.”

“Yes. Alison really wants that.”

“Can you hold on just one split second?”

“Okay.”

Elena moved fast. “Simon?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Gotta go. Alison Mayflower wants to meet.”

Elena clicked back over. “I know where you two live. I can drive—”

“No!” the young-sounding woman said in a panicked hush. “They’ll follow you! Don’t you see?”

Elena actually put up a calming hand, which of course made no sense when you’re on the phone. “Okay, sure, I see.”

“They’re watching you. They’re watching us.”

The woman sounded more than a little paranoid, but then again, at least three people were dead.

“No worries,” Elena said, keeping her tone even and casual. “Let’s make a plan. Something you two are both comfortable with.”

It took about ten minutes for them to come up with something that seemed to pacify the caller. Elena would take an Uber to the Cracker Barrel Old Country Store near Route 95. She would stand out front. Stephanie — she finally said her name out loud — would flash her lights twice and drive up.

“What kind of car will you be driving?” Elena had asked.

“I’d rather not say. Just in case.”

Elena would then get in the car and be taken to see Alison at a “secret location.” Yes, Stephanie actually used the phrase “secret location.”

“Come alone,” Stephanie said.

“I will. I promise.”

“If we see someone is following you, we’re calling it off.”

They agreed that Stephanie would “call and ring once” as a signal that she was “set up” at the Cracker Barrel. When they were off the phone, Elena sat on the bed and Googled Stephanie Mars. Nothing much came up. Elena changed into her other blue blazer, the one with a little more space for a holster and gun. She thought about calling Simon back but chose instead to send a text letting him know that she hoped to meet with Alison Mayflower soon. Her phone was charging. She let Lou know that she’d be going out for a meet. Lou had put a high-end tracker on her phone, so the home office could know her location if need be 24/7.