Authors: Harlan Coben
It was ten-thirty when Myron arrived at Paul Duncan’s house. Lights were still on. Myron had not called to make an appointment. He wanted the element of surprise.
The house was a simple Cape Cod. Nice. Needed a new coat of paint maybe. The front yard had lots of budding flower beds. Myron remembered that Paul liked gardening in his down time. Lot of cops did.
Paul Duncan answered the door holding a newspaper. A pair of reading glasses were low on his nose. His gray hair was neatly combed. He wore navy-blue Hagar slacks and a twist-a-flex Speidel watch. The casual man from Sears. A television played in the background. An audience applauded wildly. Paul was alone, except for a sleeping golden retriever curled in front of the television as if it were a fire on a snowy night.
“We need to talk, Paul.”
“Can’t this wait until the morning?” His voice was strained. “After Adam’s memorial service?”
Myron shook his head and stepped into the den. The television audience applauded again. Myron glanced at
the screen Ed McMahon’s
Star Search.
The spokes-models weren’t on, so Myron turned away.
Paul closed the door. “What’s this all about, Myron?”
A coffee table had
National Geographic
and
TV Guide
. Also two books—the latest Robert Ludlum and the King James Bible. Everything was very neat. A portrait of the golden retriever in its younger days hung on the wall. Lots of little porcelain figurines adorned the room. A couple of Rockwell plates too. Hardly a swinging bachelor pad or den of lust.
“I know about your affair with Carol Culver,” Myron said.
Paul Duncan played stiff-lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me try to clarify myself. The affair’s been going on for six years. Kathy caught you and Mommy a couple years back. Adam also caught you two on the night he was murdered. Any of this ring a bell?”
His face went ashen. “How …?”
“Carol told me.” Myron sat. He picked up the Bible and flipped through it. “Guess you skipped the part about not coveting your neighbor’s wife, huh, Paul?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“What’s not what I think?”
“I love Carol. She loves me.”
“That sounds swell, Paul.”
“Adam treated her awfully. He gambled. He whored. He was cold to his family.”
“So why didn’t Carol divorce him?”
“She couldn’t. We’re both devout Catholics. The Church wouldn’t allow it.”
“The Church prefers marital infidelity?”
“That’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Who are you to judge us? You think any of this was easy?”
Myron shrugged. “You didn’t stop. Not even after Kathy saw you.”
“I love Carol.”
“So you say.”
“Adam Culver was my closest friend. He meant a great deal to me. But when it came to his family, he was a bastard. He provided for them materially, but that’s it. Ask Jessica, Myron. She’ll tell you. I’ve always been there. From the time she was a little girl. Who took her to the hospital when she fell off her bike? Me. Who built her swingset? Me. Who drove her down to Duke her freshman year? Me.”
“Did you also dress up as the Easter Bunny?” Myron asked.
He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“Correction: I don’t give a shit. There’s a difference. Now let’s go back to the day Kathy caught you two. Tell me what happened.”
His face became irritated. “You know what happened. She walked in on us.”
“Were you naked?”
“What?”
“Were you and Mrs. Culver in the throes of passion?”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer.”
Time to rattle his cage a bit. “What position? Missionary, doggie, what? Were either of you wearing handcuffs or a pig’s mask?”
He moved so he was standing directly over Myron. Everyone thought this was tremendously intimidating, towering over a seated foe. Fact was, Myron could deliver a palm strike to the groin before an ordinary man could even cock his fist.
“Watch it, son,” Paul said.
“How did Kathy react to seeing you two lovebirds?”
“There was no reaction. She ran away.”
“Did either of you follow her?”
“No. Frankly, we were both too shocked.”
“I bet. Did you ever discuss the matter with Kathy?”
Paul stepped away, circled, sat in the chair next to Myron. “She only mentioned it to me once.”
“When?”
“A few months later.”
“What happened?”
He looked away, his eyes darting about, searching for a safe place to land. “This isn’t easy to say.”
Myron nodded, feigned sympathy. “Go on.”
“Kathy made a pass at me.”
“Did you catch it?”
“What?”
“As in ‘catch her pass.’”
He flashed the irritated face again. “Of course not.”
“You turned her down?”
“I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“Did she persist?”
“Yes. But I kept ignoring her.”
“Bet you were real excited, though. Mother and daughter. Both good-lookers. Your fantasies must have been in overdrive.”
Irritation turned to rage. He finally took off his reading glasses. Very dramatically. “Last warning, pal.”
“Uh-huh. So now tell me about Fred Nickler.”
Piss him off. Quick subject change. Keep him off balance.
“Who?”
“For a cop,” Myron said, “you’re a lousy liar. Nineteen seventy-eight. You let Nickler plea-bargain a kiddie
porn charge. I know all about your connection with him, Paul. What I don’t know is how he fits into all this.”
“He helped me out from time to time. With cases.”
“Including the disappearance of Kathy Culver?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“How?”
“I guess there’s no reason not to tell you.” He coughed into a shaking fist. The golden retriever opened an eye but didn’t move. “Adam found photographs of Kathy in his attic. He brought them to me in the strictest confidence. On the back of one was the name of a photography studio called Forbidden Fruit. I couldn’t find them anywhere. So Adam and I visited Nickler. Nickler told us that Forbidden Fruit was now called Global Globes. He gave me the address.”
“Then you went and bought all the pictures and negatives of Kathy?” A throwaway question. Lucy had already identified Paul Duncan from a photograph.
“Yes. We wanted to protect Kathy’s name. But we also wanted the name of the animal that’d brought Kathy to the studio.”
“Gary Grady.”
“You know about that?”
“I am,” Myron said, “well informed.”
“Well, I checked Grady out completely. He was shady, no question about it. A high school teacher with all those sex lines. He advertised in at least fifty pornographic magazines. I tailed him for a couple of weeks, did a lot of it on my own time. I also had his phone tapped for a while. But in the end we came up with nothing.”
“How did Adam react to that?”
“Not well. Adam was always coming to me with some new angle on Kathy’s case, mostly out of pure desperation. I don’t blame him. She was his youngest
daughter. The one child he had a decent relationship with. Adam was willing to do anything to find her. He even wanted to kidnap Grady and torture him until he talked. I told him I’d do anything to help, but that we had to keep within the limits of the law. He didn’t like hearing that.”
“Tell me about the night Adam died.”
Paul took a deep breath. “He set us up beautifully.”
“I know all about that. What happened after he caught you and Carol in bed?”
Paul Duncan rubbed his eyes with his palms. “He went berserk. He started calling Carol names. Awful names. We tried to talk to him, but what could we say? After a while he told her he wanted a divorce and ran out.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went home.”
“Did you stop on the way?”
“No.”
“Anybody who can confirm you were home?”
“I live alone.”
“Anybody who can confirm you were home?” Myron repeated.
“No, dammit. That’s why Carol and I didn’t tell anyone. We knew how it would look.”
“Not good,” Myron agreed.
“I didn’t kill him. I wronged him. I was a terrible friend. But I didn’t kill him.”
Myron gave a small shoulder shrug. “You seem like a pretty good candidate, Paul. You lied about the night of his murder. You were having a long-term affair with his wife, a wife who could marry you only if her husband died. He confronted you two in his bed on the night of the murder. His missing daughter was the only person who knew about your secret liaison. Her photograph appears
in a magazine published by your source. No, Paul, I’d say it looks pretty goddamn shitty.”
“I had nothing to do with any of that.”
“What did you do with Kathy’s pictures?”
“I gave them to Adam, of course.”
“Did you keep any for yourself? Maybe as a little souvenir?”
“Of course not!”
“And you never saw any of the pictures again?”
“Never.”
“Yet somehow Kathy’s picture ended up in a porno mag.”
Paul nodded slowly.
“A porno mag published by your buddy Fred Nickler.”
Another nod.
“So now comes the big question, Paul: How did Kathy’s picture end up in Nickler’s magazine?”
Using both arms for leverage Paul Duncan stood. He moved to the television and flicked it off. The junior dancers faded away. The dog did not move. Paul studied the blank screen for a while and then said, “It’s going to sound crazy.”
“I’m listening.”
“Adam arranged it. He put Kathy’s picture in that magazine.”
Myron waited. His spine began to tingle.
“I don’t understand it either,” Paul continued. “Nickler called me yesterday. He was all upset, said you were nosing around and realizing something was up. I had no idea what he was talking about. Then he explained it to me. Adam had told Nickler to put that picture in his magazine. You see, Adam had met Nickler when we were trying to find the photographer’s studio. So Adam went back to him, pretended he was still working
on a case with me. He told Nickler to put Kathy’s picture in Gary Grady’s ad. He also told him not to say anything if anybody asked about it—except to give out Gary’s alias and address.”
“Enough clues,” Myron said, “so someone would find Grady.”
“It seems so, yes.”
“Did Nickler tell you why he placed the picture only in
Nips
?”
“No. I can call and ask him, if you’d like.”
Myron shook his head. “Not necessary.”
“That’s all I know. I can’t for the life of me figure out what Adam was doing. Maybe he wanted to set up Grady. Or maybe he just snapped. But the truth is, I have no idea why Adam would put his own daughter’s picture in that magazine.”
Myron rose. He had a very good idea why.
Win gazed into the mirror. Despite the fact that the hour was closing in on midnight, his evening was just beginning. He patted his hair, smiled at his reflection, and said, “God, I am handsome.”
Myron grunted.
“Are you going to call Jessica?” Win asked.
“I want to go over it again.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“And make my nubile lass wait?”
“She’ll survive.”
“You don’t understand. This girl is very special to me.”
“What’s her last name?”
Win thought a moment, shrugged. “Okay, what do you wish to review?”
“I’ve told you everything I know,” Myron said. “I want to know how you see it.”
Win turned away from the antique mirror. His Central Park West apartment had been a gift from his grandfather. It was huge, worth millions, and decorated like Versailles. Myron was afraid to touch anything. He was sitting in an antique chair with wooden arms digging into his ribs.
“Do you mind if I break the case down into three separate entities?” Win said.
“Whatever you want.”
“Fine. Then let us begin. Entity one: Kathy Culver’s disappearance. During her senior year of high school, Kathy’s personality changed for reasons her mother has now revealed to you. Kathy then sought to hurt said mother with promiscuity. Ergo the lewd photographs, which Kathy mailed to Carol. But Kathy Culver did not see the danger in her actions. She took for granted that she could just end it whenever she so desired. But that was not the case. When she wanted to stop—when she met Christian, it seems—she could not just backslide out.”
Myron nodded.
“Enter Mr. Junior Horton. He decided to cash in on the new, unsullied Kathy Culver through blackmail. Kathy agreed to pay him in exchange for silence and photographs. On the night in question Mr. Horton called
Kathy at her sorority house. She agreed to meet him in the locker room. Once there, she was gang-raped by Junior Horton and several cohorts.”
Win stopped and moved toward a decanter. “Care for a little cognac?”
“No, thanks.”
He poured some into a snifter. “The rape bent her past the breaking point,” he continued. “She snapped. She suddenly craved redemption and justice above all else. So she headed immediately to Dean Gordon’s office to report the attack. Dean Gordon had been her employer, and she probably considered him a friend. She told him what had happened to her in the locker room. His reaction was either superfluous or detrimental to her resolve. Take your pick.”
“Probably detrimental,” Myron added.
“Yes, probably detrimental. Either way, Kathy left Dean Gordon’s house disheartened. She walked around the campus in a sort of catatonic daze, I imagine. Ricky Lane approached her. He apologized and gave her the panties—that is, evidence of the crime against her. After that—who knows? We slam into a big brick wall. The only thing we know for sure is that the panties were found on top of a waste bin several days later. Are there any questions so far?”
Myron shook his head.
“Then let’s move on to Entity two: Adam Culver’s involvement. Sometime after Kathy disappears, her father finds the lewd photographs of his little princess in the attic. We know that they were hidden there by Carol Culver. But Adam, I am sure, did not realize that. He would have naturally assumed that Kathy had hidden them there. He would also have naturally assumed that the pictures were connected to his daughter’s disappearance.”
“Logical,” Myron agreed.
“Yes, quite.” Win twirled his cognac, studying the color. “Adam Culver then enlists the aid of Paul Duncan in his investigation. They track down the photographs’ place of origin with the help of Fred Nickler. They also find out about Gary Grady. They continue their investigation, but nothing new develops. Paul wants to give up. Adam is desperate—so desperate that he tries to draw out the assailant in a most unorthodox manner.”
Win paused, considering. “Here,” he said, “is where it gets very interesting. We know Adam Culver had the photographs. We know he arranged to have them put in a pornographic magazine. I find it significant that the picture was placed only in
Nips
magazine.”
Myron leaned forward. They were on the same wavelength. “The magazine with the smallest—almost nonexistent—circulation.”
“That fact disturbed you from the beginning,” Win said.
Myron nodded. “Someone didn’t want that magazine seen by a lot of people.”
“Like her father.”
“Right.”
“And,” Win continued, “we know that Adam Culver liked to frequent the casinos of Atlantic City. He might have met your friend Blackjack during one of his visits or at least heard his name. He could have hired someone else to forge his daughter’s handwriting. He probably had a tape with her voice from an old answering machine. Ergo, Adam Culver set the whole thing up. He sent out the magazine to everyone who might have been involved in Kathy’s disappearance. Her fiancé, for one. People in the picture, like Junior Horton.”
“Why did he send one to his wife?” Myron asked.
“I don’t know.”
“And Dean Gordon?”
“Perhaps the dean was in one of those attic photographs. Or perhaps Adam found out about Kathy’s visit to the dean’s house that night. Most likely Adam was merely considering every possibility. But it’s not really that relevant to the case. What is relevant, however, is the question of why Adam did not once again enlist the help of Paul Duncan.”
“Because,” Myron said, “Adam found out that Paul was sleeping with his wife.”
Win nodded. “Paul was no longer a friend or trustworthy. Adam was now on his own. He sent the package to Sir Blackjack, making sure it would never be traced back to him. Then Adam set up his second little sting operation, the one on his wife and Paul. He walked in on them, ran out, and was killed.”
“So who murdered him?” Myron said.
Win put down the snifter on a harpsichord from the seventeenth century. He steepled his fingers, bouncing them gently off one another. “There are two strong possibilities,” he said. “First, Paul Duncan. We cannot just dismiss him. He had motive and opportunity. Second, Adam wanted to stir up the killer, that much is clear. But perhaps the magazine stirred up more trouble than he’d anticipated.”
“Except for one thing,” Myron interjected. “The magazines hadn’t been sent out yet. Adam was dead two days before Blackjack mailed them.”
“So perhaps someone discovered what Adam was up to before they were mailed.”
“Otto Burke?”
Win shrugged.
“But Otto has no connection to Kathy Culver,” Myron said.
“None that we are aware of. Which leads us to Entity
three: the unknowns. A major unknown, as I see it, is Nancy Serat. We can assume that she gave Adam Culver valuable information. But we do not know who killed her. Or what she meant when she told Christian it was time for sisters to reunite. And we especially do not know why Kathy Culver’s hair was found on her dead body.”
Win rechecked his hair. Perfect. He smiled, winked, did everything but kiss his own reflection. “We also have no explanation for Adam Culver’s cabin in the woods. He could have become desperate enough to grab suspects and do his own interrogations. Or he could have been seeking retribution for all in the wicked photographs. On someone like Gary Grady. Or Junior Horton. But for some reason my mind cannot fully accept either of these rationales.”
Myron nodded. It didn’t feel right to him either.
“And so now we’ve reached the final unknown. The most significant unknown of all: Miss Kathy Culver herself. Is she alive? Is she behind all this? Is she involved in any way at all?”
Win picked the snifter off the harpsichord. He took a sip of cognac, let it roll around his tongue, swallowed. “The end.”
They both sat in silence. Myron churned the facts though his head yet again. None of them changed. Win studied his face.
“This was all a mental exercise,” Win said. “A test drive, as it were.”
Myron said nothing.
“You know what happened. You knew before I said a word.”
Myron handed Win the telephone. “Cancel your date. We have a lot of work to do.”