Back Spin (1997) (33 page)

Nope.

Hold the phone.

Suppose Jack Coldren had not been following his son.

Suppose he had been following Esme Fong.

Something in his brain went "click."

Maybe Jack Coldren had been having an affair with Esme Fong too. His marriage was on the rocks. Esme Fong was probably a bit of a kinkster. She had seduced a teenage boy what would have stopped her from seducing his father? But did this make sense either? Was Jack stalking her? Had he somehow found out about the tryst?

What?

And the larger question: What does any of this have to do with Chad Coldren's kidnapping and Jack Coldren's murder?

He pulled up to the Coldren house. The media had been kept back, but there were now at least a dozen cops on hand. They were hauling out cardboard boxes. As Victoria Wilson had feared, the police had gotten a search warrant.

Myron parked around the corner and walked toward the house. Jack's caddie, Diane Hoffman, sat alone on the curb across the street. He remembered the last time he had seen her at the Coldren house: in the backyard, fighting with Jack. He also realized that she had been one of the very few people who knew about the kidnappinghadn't she been standing right there when Myron first talked about it with Jack at the driving range?

She was worth a conversation.

Diane Hoffman was smoking a cigarette. The several stubs by her feet indicated that she had been there for more than a few minutes. Myron approached.

"Hi," he said. "We met the other day."

Diane Hoffman looked up at him, took a deep drag of the cigarette, released it into the still air. "l remember."

Her hoarse voice sounded like old tires on rough pavement "My condolences," Myron said. "You and Jack must have been very close."

Another deep drag. "Yeah."

"Caddy and golfer. Must be a tight relationship?

She looked up at him, squinting suspiciously.

"Yeah."

"Almost like husband and wife. Or business partners."

"Uh-huh. Something like that."

"Did you two ever iight?"

She glared at him for a second, then she broke into a laugh that ended in a hacking cough. When she could talk again, she asked, "Why the hell do you want to know that?"

"Because I saw you two fighting?

"What?"

"Friday night. You two were in the backyard. You called him names. You threw down your cigarette in disgust."

Diane Hoflinan crushed out the cigarette. There was the smallest smile on her face. "You some kinda Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Bolitar?"

"No. I'm just asking you a question."

"And I can tell you to go mind your own fucking business, right?"

"Right."

"Good. Then you go do that." The smile became fuller now. It was not a particularly pretty smile. "But first to save you some time I'll tell you who killed Jack. And also who kidnapped the kid, if you like."

"I'm all ears."

"The bitch in there." She pointed to the house behind her with a thumb. "The one you got the hots for."

"I don't have the hots for her."

Diane Hoffman sneered. "Right."

"What makes you so sure it was Linda Coldren?"

"Because I know the bitch."

"That's not much of an answer." +

"Tough luck, cowpoke. Your girlfriend did it. You want to know why Jack and me was fighting? I'll tell you.

I told him he was being an asshole for not calling the police about the kidnapping. He said he and Linda thought it best." She sneered. "He and Linda, my ass."

Myron watched her. Something wasn't meshing again.

"You think it was Linda's idea not to call the police?''

"Damm straight. She's the one who grabbed the kid.

The whole thing was a big setup."

"Why would she do that?"

"Ask her." An awful smile. "Maybe she'll tell you."

"I'm asking you."

She shook her head. "Not that easy, cowpoke. I told you who did it. 'That's enough, don't you think?"

Time to approach from another angle. "How long have you been Jack's caddie?" he asked.

"A year."

"What's your qualifications, if I may ask? Why did Jack choose you?"

She snorted a chuckle. "Don't matter none. Jack didn't listen to caddies. Not since ol' Lloyd Rennart."

"Did you know Lloyd Rennart?"

"Nope."

"So why did Jack hire you?"

She did not answer.

"Were you two sleeping together?"

Diane Hoflinan gave another cough-laugh. A big one.

"Not likely." More hacking laughter. "Not likely with ol' Jack."

Somebody called his name. Myron turned around. It was Victoria Wilson. Her face was still sleepy, but she beckoned him with some urgency. Bucky stood next to her. The old man looked like a window draft would send him skittering.

"Better head on down there, cowpoke," she mocked.

"I think your girlfriend is gonna need some help."

He gave her a last look and turned toward the house.

Before he moved three steps, Detective Corbett was on him. "Need a word with you, Mr. Bolitar."

Myron brushed past him. "In a minute."

When he reached Victoria Wilson, she made herself very clear: "Do not talk to the cops," she said. "In fact, go to Win's and stay put."

"I'm not crazy about taking orders," Myron said.

"Sorry if I'm bruising your male ego," she said in a tone that made it clear she was anything but. "But I know what I'm doing."

"Have the police found the finger?"

Victoria Wilson crossed her arms. "Yes."

"And?"

"And nothing."

Myron looked at Bucky. Bucky looked away. He turned his attention back to Victoria Wilson. "They didn't ask you about it?"

"They asked. We refused to answer."

"But the finger could exonerate her."

Victoria Wilson sighed and turned away. "Go home, Myron. I'll call you if anything new turns up."

Chapter
33

It was time to face Win.

Myron rehearsed several possible approaches in the car. None felt right, but that really did not matter much.

Win was his friend. When the time came, Myron would deliver the message and Win would adhere to it or not.

The trickier question was, of course, should the message be delivered at all? Myron knew that repression was unhealthy and all that but did anybody really want to risk unbottling Win's suppressed rage?

The cell phone rang. Myron picked it up. It was Tad Crispin.

"I need your help," Tad said.

"What's up?"

"The media keep hounding me for a comment. I'm not sure what to say."

"Nothing," Myron told him. "Say nothing."

"Yeah, okay, but it's not that easy. Leamer Sheltonhe's the Commissioner of the USGA called me twice.

He wants to have a big trophy ceremony tomorrow. Name me U. S. Open champion. l'm not sure what to do."

Smart kid, Myron thought. He knows that if this is handled poorly, it could seriously wound him. "Tad?"

"Yes?"

"Are you hiring me?" Business was still business.

Agenting was not charity work.

"Yeah, Myron, you're hired."

"Okay then, listen up. There'll be details to work out first. Percentages, that kinda thing. Most of it is fairly standard." Kidnapping, limb-severing, murder nothing stopped the almighty agent from trying to tum a buck.

"In the meantime, say nothing. I'll have a car come by to pick you up in a couple of hours. The driver will call up to your room before he gets there. Go straight to the car and say nothing. No matter what the press yells at you, keep silent. Do not smile or wave. Look grim. A man has just been murdered. The driver will bring you to Win's estate. We'll discuss strategy then."

"Thanks, Myron."

"No, Tad, thank you."

Profiting from a murder. Myron had never felt so much like a real agent in all his life.

The media had set up camp outside Win's estate.

"I've hired extra guards for the evening," Win explained, empty brandy snifter in hand. "If anybody approaches the gate, they've been instructed to shoot to kill."

"I appreciate that."

Win gave a quick head bow. He poured some Grand Marnier into the snifter. Myron grabbed a Yoo-Hoo from the fridge. The two men sat.

"Jessica called," Win said.

"Here'?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't she call me on the cellular?"

"She wanted to speak with me," Win said.

"Oh." Myron shook his Yoo-Hoo, just like the side of the can said. SHAKE! IT'S GREAT! Life is poetry. "What about?" '

"She was worried about you," Win said.

"For one thing, Jessica claimed that you left a cryptic message on the answering machine."

"Did she tell you what I said?"

"No. Just that your voice sounded strained."

"I told her that I loved her. That I'd always love her."

Win took a sip and nodded as though that explained everything. '

"What?"

"Nothing," Win said.

"No, tell me. What?"

Win put down the snifter and steepled his fingers.

"Who were you trying to convince'?" he asked. "Her or you?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

Bouncing the fingers now instead of steepling. ' 'Nothing."

"You know how much I love Jessica."

"Indeed I do," Win said.

."You know what I've gone through to get her back."

" Indeed I do."

"I still don't get it," Myron said. "That's why Jess called you? Because my voice sounded strained?"

"Not entirely, no. She'd heard about Jack Coldren's murder. Naturally, she was upset. She asked me to watch your back." `

"What did you tell her?"

"No."

Silence.

Win lifted the snifter in the air. He swirled aroimd the liquid and inhaled deeply. "So what did you wish to discuss with me?"

"I met your mother today."

Win took a slow sip. He let the liquid roll over his tongue, his eyes studying the bottom of the glass. After he swallowed, he said, "Pretend I just gasped in surprise."

"She wanted me to give you a message."

A small smile came to Win's lips. "I assume that dear ma-ma told you what happened."

"Yes."

A bigger smile now. "So now you know it all, eh, Myron?"

"No."

"Oh come, come, don't make it so easy. Give me some of that pop psychology you're so fond of expounding.

An eight-year-old boy witnessing his grunting mother on all fours with another man surely that scarred me emotionally. Can we not trace back everything I've become to that one dastardly moment? Isn't this episode the reason why I treat women the way I do, why I build an emotional fortress around myself, why I choose fists where others choose words? Come now, Myron. You must have considered all this. Tell me all. I am sure it will all be oh-so-insightful."

Myron waited a beat- "I'm not here to analyze you, Win."

"No?"

"No."

Win's eyes hardened. "Then wipe that pity off your face."

"It's not pity," Myron said. "It's concern."

"Oh please."

"It may have happened twenty-five years ago, but it had to hurt. Maybe it didn't shape you. Maybe you would have ended up the exact same person you are today. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

Win relaxed his jaw. He picked up the snifter. It was empty. He poured himself more. "I no longer wish to discuss this," he said. "You know now why I want nothing to do with Jack Coldren or my mother. Let us move on."

"There's still the matter of her message."

"Ah, yes, the message," Win repeated. "You are aware, are you not, that dear ma-ma still sends me presents on my birthday and assorted holidays?"

Myron nodded. They had never discussed it. But he knew.

"I return them unopened," Win said. He took another sip. "I think I will do the same with this message."

"She's dying, Win. Cancer. She has maybe a week or two."

"I know."

Myron sat back. His throat felt dry.

. "Is that the entire message?"

"She wanted you to know that it's your last chance to talk to her," Myron said.

"Well, yes, that's true. It would be very difficult for us to chat after she's dead."

Myron was flailing now. "She's not expecting any kind of big reconciliation. But if there are any issues you want to resolve . . ." Myron stopped. He was being redundant and obvious now. Win hated that.