"I'm not trying to make you sympathize. What I'm telling you is, the position we're in is unnatural. If you see a sexy seventeen-year-old walking down the street, you look. You desire. You might even fantasize."
"But," Myron said, "you don't act."
"But why don't you? Because it's wrong--or because you don't really have a chance? Now imagine seeing hundreds of girls like that every day, for years on end. From the earliest times, man has striven to be powerful and wealthy. Why? Most anthropologists will tell you that we do it to attract more and better females. That's nature. Not looking, not desiring, not being attracted--that would make you a freak, wouldn't you say?"
"I don't have time for this, Harry. You know it's wrong."
"I do," he said. "And for twenty years I fought back those impulses. I stuck with the looking, the imagining, the fantasizing."
"And then?"
"Two years ago I had a wonderful, gifted, beautiful student. No, it wasn't Aimee. I won't tell you her name. There's no reason for you to know. She sat in the front of the class, this amazing bounty. She stared at me like I was a deity. She kept the top two buttons of her blouse undone. . . ."
Davis closed his eyes.
"You gave in to your natural urgings," Myron said.
"I don't know many men who could have resisted."
"And this has what to do with Aimee Biel?"
"Nothing. I mean, not directly. This young woman and I started an affair. I won't go into details."
"Thank you."
"But eventually we got found out. It was, as you might imagine, a disaster. Her parents went crazy. They told my wife. She still hasn't forgiven me. Not really. But Donna has family money. We paid them off. They wanted to keep it quiet too. They were worried about their daughter's reputation. So we all agreed to not say anything. She went on to college. And I went back to teaching. I'd learned my lesson."
"So?"
"So I put it behind me. I know you want to make me out a monster. But I'm not. I've had a lot of time to think about it. I know you think I'm just trying to rationalize, but there's more to it. I'm a good teacher. You pointed out how impressive winning Teacher of the Year was--and that I'd won it more than any other teacher in that school's history. That's because I care about the kids. It's not a contradiction--having these urges and caring about my students. And you know how perceptive teens are. They can spot a phony a mile away. They vote for me, they come to me when they have a problem, because they know I truly care."
Myron wanted to vomit, and yet the arguments, he knew, were not without some perverse merit. "So you went back to teaching," he said, trying to get him back on track. "You put it behind you and . . . ?"
"And then I made a second mistake," he said. He smiled again. There was blood on his teeth. "No, it's not what you think. I didn't have another affair."
"What then?"
"I caught a student selling pot. And I turned him in to both the principal and the police."
"Randy Wolf," Myron said.
Davis nodded.
"What happened?"
"His father. Do you know the man?"
"We've met."
"He did some digging. There were a few scant rumors about my liaison with the student. He hired a private eye. He also got another teacher, a man named Drew Van Dyne, to help him. Van Dyne, you see, was Randy's drug supplier."
"So if Randy was prosecuted," Myron said, "Van Dyne had a lot to lose too."
"Yes."
"So let me guess. Jake Wolf found out about your affair."
Davis nodded.
"And he blackmailed you into keeping quiet."
"Oh, he did more than that."
Myron looked down at the man's foot. The blood had let up. Myron should get him to a hospital, he knew that, but he didn't want to lose this momentum either. The odd thing was, Davis did not seem in pain. He wanted to talk. He had probably been thinking about these crazy justifications for years, rattling alone in his brain, and now finally he was being given the chance to express them.
"Jake Wolf had me now," Davis went on. "Once you start down the blackmail road, you never really get off it. Yes, he offered to pay me. And yes, I took the money."
Myron thought about what Wheat Manson had told him on the phone. "You were not just a teacher. You were a guidance counselor."
"Yes."
"You had access to student transcripts. I've seen how far parents in this town will go to get their kids into the right college."
"You have no idea," Davis said.
"Yeah, I do. It wasn't that different when I was a kid. So Jake Wolf had you change his son's grades."
"Something like that. I just switched the academic part of his transcript. Randy wanted to go to Dartmouth. Dartmouth wanted Randy because of his football. But they needed him to be in the top ten percent. There are four hundred kids in his class. Randy was ranked fifty-third--not bad, but not top ten percent. There is another student, a bright kid named Ray Clarke. He's ranked fifth in the class. Clarke got into Georgetown early decision. So I knew he wouldn't be applying anywhere else. . . ."
"So you switched Randy's transcript with this Clarke kid's?"
"Yes."
Now Myron remembered something else, something Randy had said about trying to win Aimee back, about that backfiring, about having the same goal. "And you did the same thing for Aimee Biel. To make sure she got into Duke. Randy asked you to do that, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"And when Randy told Aimee what he'd done, he figured that she'd be grateful. Except she wasn't. She started investigating. She tried to break into the school computer and see what happened. She called Roger Chang, the number-four kid in the class, to see what his grades and extracurricular activities were. She was trying to put together what you guys had done."
"That I don't know," Davis said. He was losing the adrenaline flow. He was wincing in pain now. "I never talked to Aimee about it. I don't know what Randy said to her--that's what I was asking him about when you saw us in the school parking lot. He said he hadn't used my name, that he'd just told her he was going to help her get into Duke."
"But Aimee put it together. Or at least she was trying to."
"That could be."
He winced again. Myron didn't care.
"So now we're up to the big night, Harry. Why did Aimee have me drop her off here?"
The kitchen door swung open. Erik stuck his head into the room. "How are we doing?"
"We're doing okay," Myron said.
Myron expected an argument, but Erik just disappeared back into the kitchen.
"He's crazy," Davis said.
"You have daughters, don't you?"
"Yes." Then he nodded as if he suddenly understood.
"You're stalling, Harry. Your foot is bleeding. You need medical attention."
"I don't care about that."
"You've come this far. Let's get it done. Where is Aimee?"
"I don't know."
"Why did she stop by?"
He closed his eyes.
"Harry?"
His voice was soft. "God forgive me, but I don't know."
"You want to explain?"
"She knocked on the door. It was ridiculously late. Two, three in the morning. I don't know. Donna and I were asleep. She scared the hell out of us. We went to the window. We both saw her. I turned to my wife. You should have seen the look on her face. There was so much hurt. All the distrust, all that I'd been fighting to mend, it all ripped apart. She started to cry."
"So what did you do?"
"I sent Aimee away."
Silence.
"I opened the window. I said it was late. I told her we could talk Monday."
"What did Aimee do?"
"She just looked up at me. She didn't say a word. She was disappointed, I could tell that." Davis squeezed his eyes shut. "But I was also afraid that maybe she was angry."
"She just walked away?"
"Yes."
"And now she's missing,
" Myron said. "Before she could reveal what she knew. Before she could destroy you. And if the cheating scandal came out, well, it was like I said when we first talked. It's over for you. It would all come out."
"I know. I thought of that."
He stopped. Tears started running down his cheeks.
"What?" Myron said.
"My third big mistake," he said, his voice soft.
Myron felt a chill run down his spine. "What did you do?"
"I wouldn't hurt her. Not ever. I cared about her."
"What did you do, Harry?"
"I was confused. I didn't know what the situation was. So I got scared when she showed up. I knew what it could mean--like you said. Everything could come out. All of it. And I panicked."
"What did you do?" Myron asked again.
"I called someone. As soon as she left. I called someone I thought could help figure out what to do next."
"Who did you call, Harry?"
"Jake Wolf," he said. "I called Jake Wolf and told him that Aimee Biel was right outside my door."
CHAPTER 49
Claire met them as they ran out.
"What the hell happened in there?"
Erik did not break stride. "Go home, Claire. In case she calls."
Claire glanced at Myron, as though looking for help. Myron did not offer any. Erik was already in the driver's seat, figuratively and literally. Myron quickly slid to the passenger side before Erik zoomed off.
"You know the way to the Wolfs' house?" Myron asked.
"I dropped my daughter off there plenty of times," he said.
He hit the gas. Myron studied his face. Normally Erik's expression landed somewhere in the vicinity of disdainful. There'd be furrowed brows and deep lines of disapproval. None of that was there now. His face was smooth, untroubled. Myron half expected him to snap on the radio and start whistling along.
"You're going to get arrested," Myron said.
"Doubtful."
"You think they'll keep quiet?"
"Probably."
"The hospital will have to report the bullet wound."
Erik shrugged. "Even if they do talk, what would they say? I'm entitled to a jury of my peers. That would mean some parents with teenagers. I take the stand. I talk about how my daughter was missing and how the victim is a teacher who seduced a student and took bribes to change academic records. . . ."
He let his voice trail off as if the verdict was too obvious to mention. Myron was not sure what to say. So he sat back.
"Myron?"
"What?"
"I'm to blame, aren't I? My affair was the catalyst."
"I don't think it's that simple," Myron said. "Aimee is pretty strong willed. It may have contributed, but in a weird way, it sort of adds up. Van Dyne is a music teacher and works in her favorite music store. There would be some appeal there. She had probably outgrown Randy. Aimee has always been a good kid, right?"
"The best," he said softly.
"So maybe she just needed to rebel. That would be normal, right? And there was Van Dyne, at the ready. I mean, I don't know if that's how it worked. But I wouldn't put all of it on you."
He nodded, but he didn't seem to be buying it. Then again, Myron wasn't selling that hard either. Myron considered calling the police, but what exactly would he tell them? And what would they do? The local police could be in Jake Wolf's pocket. They might warn him. Either way, they'd have to respect his rights. He and Erik need not worry about that.
"So how do you figure this all played out?" Erik asked.
"We have two suspects left," Myron said. "Drew Van Dyne and Jake Wolf."
Erik shook his head. "It's Wolf."
"What makes you so sure?"
He cocked his head. "You still don't get the parental bond, do you, Myron?"
"I have a son, Erik."
"He's over in Iraq, right?"
Myron said nothing.
"And what would you give to save him?"
"You know the answer."
"I do. The same as me. And the same as Jake Wolf. He's already shown how far he'll go."
"There's a big difference between paying off a teacher to switch transcripts and . . ."
"Murder?" Erik finished for him. "It probably doesn't start that way. You start by talking to her, trying to make her see things your way. You explain how she could get in trouble too, what with her acceptance to Duke and all. But she won't back down. And suddenly you understand: It's a classic us-or-them scenario. She holds your son's future in her hands. It's either her future or your son's. Which are you going to choose?"
"You're speculating," Myron said.
"Perhaps."
"You have to keep your hopes up."
"Why?"
Myron turned toward him.
"She's dead, Myron. We both know that."
"No, we don't."
"Last night, when we were on that cul-de-sac, do you remember what you said?"
"I said a lot of things."
"You said you didn't think she'd been randomly abducted by a psycho."
"I still don't. So?"
"So think about it. If it was someone she knew--Wolf, Davis, Van Dyne, take your pick--why would they abduct her?"
Myron said nothing.
"They all had reasons to keep her quiet. But think it through. You said it could be either Van Dyne or Wolf. My money is on Wolf. But either way, they were all afraid of what Aimee could reveal, right?"
"Right."
"You don't simply abduct someone if that's what you're after. You kill them."
He said it all so calmly, his hands at ten and two o'clock on the steering wheel. Myron was not sure what to say. Erik had spelled it out in pretty convincing fashion. You don't kidnap if the goal is to silence. That doesn't work. That fear had been gnawing around in Myron too. He had tried to smother it, not let it free, but now here it was, excavated by the one man who'd want to paint the rosiest picture of what could have happened.
"And right now," Erik went on, "I'm fine. You see? I'm fighting. I'm battling to find out what happened. When we find her, if she's dead, it's over. Me, I mean. I'm done. I'll put on a facade. I'll move on for the sake of my other children. That's the only reason I won't just shrivel up and die. Because of my other kids. But trust me on this: My life will be over. You might as well bury me with Aimee. That's what this is about. I'm dead, Myron. But I'm not going out a coward."
"Hang on," Myron said. "We don't know anything yet."
Then Myron remembered something else. Aimee had been online tonight. He was going to remind Erik of this, give him some hope, but he wanted to play it through in his head first. It wasn't adding up. Erik had raised an interesting point. From what they had learned, there'd be no reason to abduct Aimee--only reason to kill her.
Had it really been Aimee online? Had she sent Erin a warning?
Something wasn't adding up.
They veered off Route 280 at a speed that put the car on two tires. Erik braked as they hit the Wolfs' street. The car crawled up the hill, stopping two houses away from the Wolfs'.
"What's our next move?" Erik asked.
"We knock on the door. We see if he's home."
They both got out of the car and started up the drive. Myron took the lead. Erik let him. He rang Wolf's doorbell. The sound was trilling and pretentious and droned on too long. Erik stood a few steps back, in the dark. Myron knew that Erik had the gun. He wondered how to play that. Erik had already shot one man tonight. He didn't seem disinclined to doing it again.
Lorraine Wolf's voice came over a speaker. "Who is it?"
"It's Myron Bolitar, Mrs. Wolf."
"It's very late. What do you want?"
Myron remembered the short white tennis dress and double-entendre tone. There was no double entendre now. The voice was drum-tight.
"I need to talk to your husband."
"He's not here."
"Mrs. Wolf, could you please open the door?"
"I'd like you to leave."
/> Myron wondered how to play this. "I spoke to Randy tonight."
Silence.
"He was at a party. We talked about Aimee. Then I talked to Harry Davis. I know everything, Mrs. Wolf."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You either open this door or I go to the police."
More silence. Myron turned and looked at Erik. He was still at ease. Myron didn't like that.
"Mrs. Wolf?"
"My husband will be back in an hour. Come back then."
Erik Biel took that one. "I don't think so."
He took out the gun, put it against the lock, and fired. The door flew open. Erik rushed in, gun drawn. So did Myron.
Lorraine Wolf screamed.
Erik and Myron veered toward the sound. When they arrived in the family room, they both pulled up.
Lorraine Wolf was alone.
For a moment, no one moved. Myron just studied the situation. Lorraine Wolf stood in the center of the room. She wore rubber gloves. That was the first thing he noticed. Bright yellow rubber gloves. Then he looked at those hands more closely. In one of them, her right hand, she held a sponge. In the other--the left, obviously--she carried a yellow bucket that matched the gloves.
There was a wet spot on the carpet where she had just been cleaning.
Erik and Myron both took a step forward. Now they could see that there was water in the bucket. The water had an awful pink tinge.
Erik said, "Oh no . . ."
Myron turned to grab him, but he was too late. Something behind Erik's eyes exploded. He let out a howl and leapt toward the woman. Lorraine Wolf screamed. The bucket dropped to the carpet. The pink liquid poured out.
Erik tackled her. They both went over the back of the couch. Myron was right behind, not sure how to play it. If he made too aggressive a move, Erik might just pull the trigger. But if he did nothing . . .
Erik had Lorraine Wolf now. He pressed the gun against her temple. She cried out, gripping his hand with her own. Erik did not move.
"What did you do to my daughter?"
"Nothing!"
Myron said, "Erik, don't."
But Erik wasn't listening. Myron raised his own gun. He pointed it at Erik. Erik saw it, but it was obvious he didn't care.
"If you kill her . . ." Myron began.
"What?" Erik shouted. "What do we lose, Myron? Look at this place. Aimee is already dead."
Lorraine Wolf shouted, "No!"
"Where is she then, Lorraine?" Myron asked.
She pressed her lips shut.
"Lorraine, where is Aimee?"
"I don't know."
Erik raised the gun. He was going to hit her with the butt end.
"Erik, don't."
He hesitated. Lorraine looked up, meeting Erik's eye. She was scared, but Myron could see that she was bracing herself, ready to take the blow.