He debated calling Aimee's cell phone again. That might be overkill. How many calls could he make, after all? The promise had also been pretty clear. He would drive her anywhere. He would not ask questions. He would not tell her parents. It should hardly surprise him that after such a venture, Aimee would not want to talk to him for a few days.
He got off the plane and was starting toward the exit when he heard someone call out, "Myron Bolitar?"
He turned. There were two of them, a man and a woman. The woman had been the one who called his name. She was small, not much over five feet. Myron was six-four. He towered over her. She did not seem intimidated. The man with her sported a military cut. He also looked vaguely familiar.
The man had a badge out. The woman did not.
"I'm Essex County investigator Loren Muse," she said. "This is Livingston police detective Lance Banner."
"Banner," Myron said automatically. "You Buster's brother?"
Lance Banner almost smiled. "Yeah."
"Good guy, Buster. I played hoops with him."
"I remember."
"How's he doing?"
"Good, thanks."
Myron did not know what was going on, but he'd had experience with law enforcement. Out of habit more than anything else, he reached for his cell phone and pressed the button. It was his speed dial. It would reach Win. Win would hit the mute button and listen in. This was an old trick of theirs, one Myron hadn't employed in years, and yet there he was, with police officers, falling into the old routines.
From his past run-ins with the law, Myron had learned a few basic truisms that could be summed up thusly: Just because you haven't done anything wrong doesn't mean you're not in trouble. Best to play it with that knowledge.
"We'd like you to come with us," Loren Muse said.
"May I ask what this is about?"
"We won't take much of your time."
"I got Knicks tickets."
"We'll try not to interfere with your plans."
"Courtside." He looked at Lance Banner. "Celebrity row."
"Are you refusing to come with us?"
"Are you arresting me?"
"No."
"Then before I agree to go with you, I'd like you to tell me what it's about."
Loren Muse did not hesitate this time. "It's about Aimee Biel."
Whack. He should have seen it coming, but he didn't. Myron staggered back a step. "Is she all right?"
"Why don't you come with us?"
"I asked you--"
"I heard you, Mr. Bolitar." She turned away from him now and started heading down toward the exit. "Why don't you come with us so we can discuss this further?"
Lance Banner drove. Loren Muse rode shotgun. Myron sat in the backseat.
"Is she okay?" Myron asked.
They would not reply. He was being played, Myron knew that, but he didn't much care. He wanted to know about Aimee. The rest was irrelevant.
"Talk to me, for crying out loud."
Nothing.
"I saw her Saturday night. You know that already, right?"
They did not respond. He knew why. The ride was mercifully short. That explained their silence. They wanted his admissions on record. It was probably taking all of their willpower not to say anything, but soon they would have him in an interrogation room and put it all on tape.
They drove into the garage and led him to an elevator. They got off on the eighth floor. They were in Newark, the county courthouse. Myron had been here before. They brought him into an interrogation room. There was no mirror and thus no one-way glass. That meant a camera was doing the surveillance.
"Am I under arrest?" he asked.
Loren Muse tilted her head. "What makes you say that?"
"Don't play these games with me, Muse."
"Please have a seat."
"Have you done any checking on me yet? Call Jake Courter, the sheriff in Reston. He'll vouch for me. There are others."
"We'll get to that in a moment."
"What happened to Aimee Biel?"
"You mind if we film this?" Loren Muse asked.
"No."
"Do you mind signing a waiver?"
It was a Fifth Amendment waiver. Myron knew better than to sign it--he was a lawyer, for Chrissake--but he pushed past that. His heart hammered in his chest. Something had happened to Aimee Biel. They must think he either knew something or was involved. The faster this moved along and they eliminated him, the better for Aimee.
"Okay," Myron said. "Now what happened to Aimee?"
Loren Muse spread her hands. "Who said anything happened to her?"
"You did, Muse. When you braced me at the airport. You said, 'It's about Aimee Biel.' And because, while I don't like to brag, I have amazing powers of deductions, I deduced that two police officers didn't stop me and say it was about Aimee Biel because she sometimes pops her gum in class. No, I deduced that something must have happened to her. Please don't shun me because I have this gift."
"You finished?"
He was. He got nervous, he started talking.
Loren Muse took out a pen. There was already a notebook on her desk. Lance Banner stood and remained silent. "When was the last time you saw Aimee Biel?"
He knew better than to ask what happened again. Muse was going to play it her way.
"Saturday night."
"What time?"
"I guess between two and three a.m."
"So this would have been Sunday morning rather than Saturday night?"
Myron bit back the sarcastic rejoinder. "Yes."
"I see. Where did you last see her?"
"In Ridgewood, New Jersey."
She wrote that down on a legal pad. "Address?"
"I don't know."
Her pen stopped. "You don't know?"
"That's right. It was late. She gave me directions. I just followed them."
"I see." She sat back and dropped the pen. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"
The door behind them flew open. All heads spun to the door. Hester Crimstein stomped in as though the very room had whispered an insult and she wanted to call it out. For a moment no one moved or said anything.
Hester waited a beat, spread her arms, put her right foot forward, and shouted, "Ta-da!"
Loren Muse raised an eyebrow. "Hester Crimstein?"
"We know each other, sweetie?"
"I recognize you from TV."
"I'll be happy to sign autographs later. Right now I want the camera off and I want you two"--Hester pointed at Lance Banner and Loren Muse--"out of here, so I can chat with my client."
Loren stood. They were eye-to-eye, both about the same height. Hester had the frizzy hair. Loren tried to stare her down. Myron almost laughed. Some would call famed criminal attorney Hester Crimstein as mean as a snake, but most would consider that slanderous to the snake.
"Wait," Hester said to Loren. "Wait for it. . . ."
"Excuse me?"
"Any second now, I'm going to pee in my pants. From fear, I mean. Just wait. . . ."
Myron said, "Hester . . ."
"Shh, you." Hester shot him a glare and made a tsk-tsk noise. "Signing a waiver and talking without your lawyer. What kind of dope are you?"
"You're not my lawyer."
"Shh again, you."
"I'm representing myself."
"You know the expression 'A man who represents himself has a fool for a client'? Change 'fool' to 'total brain-dead numbskull.' "
Myron wondered how Hester had gotten there so quickly, but the answer was obvious. Win. As soon as Myron had hit his cell phone, as soon as Win heard the voices of the cops, he would have found Hester and gotten her there.
Hester Crimstein was one of the country's top defense attorneys. She had her own cable show called Crimstein on Crime. They'd become friends when Hester had helped Esperanza with a murder rap a few years back.
"Hold up." Hester looked back at Loren and Lance. "Why are you two still here?"
Lance Banner took
a big step forward. "He just said you're not his lawyer."
"Your name again, handsome?"
"Livingston police detective Lance Banner."
"Lance," she said. "Like in what I use to get rid of a boil? Okay, Lance, here's some advice: The step forward was a nice move, very commanding, but you need to stick out your chest more. Make your voice a little deeper and add a scowl. Like this: 'Yo, chickie, he just said you're not his lawyer.' Try it."
Myron knew that Hester wouldn't simply go away. He also knew that he probably didn't want her to. He wanted to cooperate, of course, get this over with, but he also wanted to know what the hell had happened to Aimee.
"She's my lawyer," Myron said. "Please give us a minute."
Hester gave them a satisfied smirk that you know they both wanted to slap off her face. They turned for the doors. Hester gave them a five-finger toodle-oo wave. When they were both out the door, she closed it and looked up at the camera. "Turn it off now."
"It probably is," Myron said.
"Yeah, sure. Cops never play games with that."
She took out her cell phone.
"Who are you calling?" he asked.
"Do you know why they have you in here?"
"It has something to do with a girl named Aimee Biel," Myron said.
"That much I know already. But you don't know what happened to her?"
"No."
"That's what I'm trying to find out. I got my local investigator working on it. She's the best, knows everybody in this office." Hester put the phone to her ear. "Yeah, Hester here. What's up? Uh-huh. Uh-huh." Hester listened without taking notes. A minute later, she said, "Thanks, Cingle. Keep digging and see what they got."
Hester hung up. Myron shrugged a well? at her.
"This girl--her last name is Biel."
"Aimee Biel," Myron said. "What about her?"
"She's missing."
Myron felt the thump again.
"It seems she never came home on Saturday night. She was supposed to sleep at a friend's house. She never arrived. Nobody knows what happened to her. Apparently there are phone records linking you to the girl. Other stuff too. My investigator is trying to find out what exactly."
Hester sat down. She looked across the table at him. "So okay, bubbe, tell Aunt Hester everything."
"No," Myron said.
"What?"
"Look, you have two choices here. You can stay while I talk to them right now or I can fire you."
"You should talk to me first."
"We can't waste the time. You have to let me tell them everything."
"Because you're innocent?"
"Of course I'm innocent."
"And the police never ever ever arrest the wrong man."
"I'll risk it. If Aimee is in trouble, I can't have them wasting time on me."
"I disagree."
"Then you're fired."
"Don't get all Trump on me. I'm advising you, that's all. You're the client."
She rose, opened the door, called them back in. Loren Muse moved past her and sat back down. Lance took his post in the corner. Muse was red-faced, probably upset with herself for not questioning him in the car before Hester's arrival.
Loren Muse was about to say something, but Myron stopped her by raising his palm.
"Let's get to it," Myron said to them. "Aimee Biel is missing. I know that now. You've probably pulled our phone logs, so you know she called me around two in the morning. I'm not sure what else you have so far, so let me help you out. She asked for a ride. I picked her up."
"Where?" Loren asked.
"Midtown Manhattan. Fifty-second and Fifth, I think. I took the Henry Hudson to the GWB. Do you have the credit card charge for the gas station?"
"Yes."
"Then you know we stopped there. We continued down Route 4 to Route 17 and then to Ridgewood." Myron saw a change in their posture. He had missed something, but he pressed on. "I dropped her off at a house on the end of a cul-de-sac. Then I drove home."
"And you don't remember the address, is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"Anything else?"
"Like?"
"Like why did Aimee Biel call you in the first place?"
"I'm a friend of the family."
"You must be a close friend."
"I am."
"So why you? I mean, first she called your house in Livingston. Then she went to your cell phone. Why did she call you and not her parents or an aunt or an uncle or even a school friend?" Loren lifted her palms to the sky. "Why you?"
Myron's voice was soft. "I made her promise."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
He explained about the basement, about hearing the girls talk about driving with a drunk kid, about making them promise--and as he did, he could see their faces change. Even Hester's. The words, the rationale, rang hollow in his own ears now, and yet he couldn't put his finger on why. His explanation went on a little too long. He could hear the defensiveness in his voice.
When he was done, Loren asked, "Have you ever made this promise before?"
"No."
"Never?"
"Never."
"No other helpless or inebriated girls you volunteered to chauffeur around?"
"Hey!" Hester wouldn't let that pass. "That's a total mischaracterization of what he said. And the question was already asked and answered. Move on."
Loren shifted in her seat. "How about young boys? You ever make any boys promise to call you?"
"No."
"So just girls?"
"Just these two girls," Myron said. "It wasn't like I planned it."
"I see." Loren rubbed her chin. "How about Katie Rochester?"
Hester said, "Who's that?"
Myron ignored that. "What about her?"
"Did you ever make Katie Rochester promise to call you when she was drunk?"
"Again that's a total mischaracterization of what he said," Hester jumped in. "He was trying to prevent them from drinking and driving."
"Right, sure, he's a hero," Loren said. "Ever do anything like that with Katie Rochester?"
"I don't even know Katie Rochester," Myron said.
"But you've heard the name."
"Yes."
"In what context?"
"On the news. So what's the deal, Muse--I'm a suspect in every missing persons case?"
Loren smiled. "Not every."
Hester leaned toward Myron and whispered in his ear. "I don't like this, Myron."
Neither did he.
Loren continued: "So you've never met Katie Rochester?"
He couldn't help his lawyer training. "Not to my knowledge."
"Not to your knowledge. Then whose knowledge would it be?"
"Objection."
"You know what I mean," Myron said.
"How about her father, Dominick Rochester?"
"No."
"Or her mother, Joan? Ever meet her?"
"No."
"No," Loren repeated, "or not to your knowledge?"
"I meet lots of people. I don't remember them all. But the names ring no bells."
Loren Muse looked down at the table. "You said you dropped Aimee off in Ridgewood?"
"Yes. At her friend Stacy's."
"At her friend's?" That got Loren's attention. "You didn't mention that before."
"I'm mentioning it now."
"What's Stacy's last name?"
"Aimee didn't say."
"I see. Did you meet this Stacy?"
"No."
"Did you walk Aimee to the front door?"
"No, I stayed in the car."
Loren Muse faked a puzzled look. "Your promise to protect her didn't extend from the car to the front door?"
"Aimee asked me to stay in the car."
"Who opened the door to the house then?"
"Nobody."
"Aimee just let herself in?"
"She said that Stacy was probably asleep and that she always lets herself in the back do
or."
"I see." Loren rose. "Let's go then."
"Where are you taking him?" Hester asked.
"To Ridgewood. Let's see if we can find this cul-de-sac."
Myron stood with her. "Can't you just find Stacy's address from Aimee's parents?"
"We already know Stacy's address," Loren said. "The problem is, Stacy doesn't live in Ridgewood. She lives in Livingston."
CHAPTER 16
When Myron headed out of the interrogation room, he spotted Claire and Erik Biel in an office down the corridor. Even from the distance and through the reflection in the plate glass window, Myron could see the strain. He stopped.
"What's the problem?" Loren Muse asked.
He gestured with his chin. "I want to talk to them."
"And say what exactly?"
He hesitated.
"Do you want to waste time explaining yourself," Loren Muse asked, "or do you want to help us find Aimee?"
She had a point. What would he say right now anyway? "I didn't harm your daughter? I just drove her to some house in Ridgewood because I didn't want her to drive with a drunk kid"? What good would that do?
Hester kissed him good-bye. "Keep your trap shut."
He looked at her.
"Fine, whatever. Just call me if they arrest you, okay?"
"Okay."
Myron took the elevator to the garage with Lance Banner and Loren Muse. Banner took one car and started out. Myron looked a question at Loren.
"He's going ahead to get a local to accompany us."
"Oh."
Loren Muse moved over to a squad car, complete with the perp cage in the back. She opened the back door for Myron. He sighed and slid in. She took the driver's seat. There was a laptop attached to the console. She started typing into it.
"So what now?" Myron asked.
"Can I have your mobile phone?"
"Why?"
"Just give it to me."
He handed it to her. She scanned through the call log and then dropped it on the front passenger's seat.
"When exactly did you call Hester Crimstein?" she asked.
"I didn't."
"Then how--"
"Long story."
Win would not want his name mentioned.
"It doesn't look good," she said. "Calling a lawyer so quickly."
"I don't much care how it looks."
"No, I guess you don't."
"So what's next?"
"We drive to Ridgewood. We try to figure out where you purportedly dropped off Aimee Biel."
They started moving.
"I know you from somewhere," Myron said.
"I grew up in Livingston. When I was a kid, I went to some of your high school basketball games."
"That's not it," he said. He sat up. "Wait, did you handle that Hunter case?"
"I was"--she paused--"involved."
"That's it. The Matt Hunter case."