Харлан Кобен - Found

“No good-bye?”

Brandon seemed to get it now. “No,” he said. “No real good-bye.”

“And you don’t find that odd? You guys were friends from childhood. He moves away and never says good-bye?”

Still seated, Brandon looked up at me. “What are you getting at, Mickey?”

“The timing,” I said.

Brandon said nothing.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve only known Buck a short time. He’s been nothing but this horrible bully. That’s all I know of him. But I want to show you something.”

“What?”

I started down the row of lockers into the hallway. Every high school has that sports trophy display case. I brought him over there and pointed to the photograph of last year’s team on a plaque as county champions. I pointed at Buck.

“What?” Brandon said.

“You don’t see it?”

“No. What is it?”

“Maybe because you saw him every day. I didn’t. But take a good look at him.”

“I am,” Brandon said. He was very tall, so he bent down for a closer look. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“This picture was taken a year ago. It barely looks like the same Buck I know. This guy has to be thirty pounds smaller.”

Brandon stayed hunched over and studied the photo. “So? Lots of guys grow between junior and senior year.”

“That much?”

“Sure.” But I could hear the doubt in his own voice. “Come to think of it...”

“What?”

“Buck had a great baseball season. The extra strength really made a difference in his slugging percentage...” Brandon’s voice drifted off. Then he gave me a sharp look.

“What?” I said.

“You’re supposed to be helping Troy.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“It sounds more like you’re trying to make a case against Buck.”

“I’m not making a case for or against anyone. I’m trying to find out the truth. But suppose there’s a connection between what happened to Buck and what happened to Troy.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But suppose Buck got a positive drug test too. Wouldn’t that maybe explain why he suddenly changed schools and doesn’t communicate with anyone?”

Brandon looked off, considering it.

“What?” I said.

“It was always hard for Buck,” Brandon said.

“How so?”

“The pressure on him. Being Randy’s younger brother. It was more than just a shadow he couldn’t escape. It was a shadow that smothered him. I know you hate him, and I can’t say you don’t have your reasons. But a lot of Buck’s bullying behavior was because he always felt second best.”

I arched an eyebrow. “His parents didn’t hug him enough?”

“Hey, you’re the one who raised this. But think about it. In the past few years, Buck has had to live with the superstar brother. That pressure had to be enormous.”

I could feel my cheeks redden. “No, it didn’t,” I said.

“What?”

“That’s an excuse.” I tried to keep my breathing even, but Brandon took a step back. “My father had to live with a superstar brother too, remember?”

“I do.”

Brandon looked at his feet.

“What?” I said.

“I don’t mean to be cruel, Mickey, but how did that work out for him?”

His words landed right on my chin. “Low blow, Brandon.”

“Not my intent,” Brandon said.

“And my father didn’t turn into a bully who called girls cows or threatened to beat up the new kid.”

“No,” Brandon said gently. “He didn’t.”

“I hear a but.”

“Forget it.”

“My father did good work. He helped the needy.”

“And how about his relationship with his superstar brother?”

I couldn’t believe that he was still going there. “When he and his brother had their falling-out, Myron wasn’t a superstar anymore. He’d already blown out his knee. Myron’s career was over.”

“You’re right,” Brandon said. But I could hear in his tone that he just wanted to move on. “Forget that. I’m not making excuses for Buck, but let’s be real here. Buck was under a lot of pressure to perform, to live up to the hype of being Randy’s brother. Then you add to that all the problems at home, his parents’ divorce...”

“And his huge weight gains,” I added.

“So I don’t get it, Mickey. What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t know. I just wonder if it’s connected. Buck suddenly leaves town. Troy tests positive for steroids.”

“I don’t see how they’re related.”

“Neither do I,” I said. Then I added: “Yet.”

When I stepped into Spoon’s hospital room, Ema was already there. Mr. Spindel, Spoon’s father and the school janitor, was up on a ladder, fiddling with wires behind the television.

“Almost done, Dad?” Spoon asked.

“I don’t see why you need this here.”

“I told you. Rachel has a copy of an old Smurfs show on Betamax. We all want to watch it.”

Mr. Spindel stepped down from the ladder with a frown on his face. “That has to be the lamest lie I have ever heard.”

“Or maybe,” Spoon said, “it’s something R rated and completely inappropriate.”

Mr. Spindel sighed. “Sounds better than the Smurfs.” He finished tightening the wire. “All yours,” he said. He grabbed his stepladder and left the room.

I looked at the old machine. “Where did you get this?” I asked him.

“From home,” Spoon said. “Where else?”

“You still have one?”

“Of course. While the Betamax had lost almost its entire market share to the VHS tape by 1988, Sony continued to manufacture them until 2002.”

“Ooookay,” I said.

Ema put the tape into the Betamax. She pressed the play button. I sat on the right front corner of the bed. Ema took the left. We left enough space between us for Spoon to see.

The hospital TV was mounted on the wall in front of us. Right now, the screen crackled in gray-and-white static. We waited. Ten seconds later, the picture cleared.

“Where is that?” Spoon asked.

Ema and I shared a glance. “That’s the tunnel.”

“The one under Bat Lady’s house?”

“Yes,” Ema said. “In fact, this is pretty close to where we found the tape.”

“Cool beans,” Spoon said.

The camera was pointed straight down the corridor, coming from a spot relatively close to the house and aiming at a spot more toward the garage. For ten seconds, nothing happened. Then the camera gave a little jerk and we heard a familiar voice say, “Oh, I’m so clumsy.”

From behind the camera, Lizzy Sobek appeared.

She was wearing that long white gown, her gray hair down to her waist. She looked younger — it was hard to say how much — but her skin was less wrinkled. She turned back and looked at the camera. “Is it on, Dylan?”

Spoon said, “‘Dylan’?”

“Dylan Shaykes,” I said. “That’s the name of the guy with the shaved head.”

“The one who follows you in the black car?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why does that name ring a bell?” Spoon asked.

“From old milk cartons. He disappeared twenty-five years ago. There were a lot of stories on him recently—”

“And now he...?”

“Works for the Abeona Shelter,” I said.

“Like us.”

“Shh,” Ema said.

On the screen, Lizzy Sobek turned her back to the camera, spread her arms, and said, “Welcome.”

We heard distant voices, but we couldn’t see anything.

A voice from behind the camera, Dylan Shaykes’s, said, “You’re blocking me.”

“Oh,” Lizzy Sobek said. “Sorry.”

She stepped to the side. I squinted at the screen. Four kids — or maybe it was five or six, hard to tell from the distance — appeared down the hall. They stumbled closer to the camera.