Another second passed. The goon slammed his car door shut. “You dumb bitch!”

Myron kept shaking his head, more urgently now. The goon took a step. Myron held Zorra’s gaze. Zorra reluctantly nodded.

And then she ran away.

“Hey!” The goon gave chase. “Stop!”

Myron started up his car. The goon looked back now, unsure what to do, and then he made a decision that probably saved his life.

He ran back to his car.

But with slashed back tires, he wouldn’t go anywhere.

Myron pulled back onto the road, on his way to his encounter with the missing Katie Rochester.

CHAPTER 41

Drew Van Dyne sat in Big Jake Wolf’s family room and tried to plan his next move.

Jake had given him a Corona Light. Drew frowned. A real Corona, okay, but light Mexican beer? Why not just pass out piss water? Drew sipped it anyway.

This room reeked of Big Jake. There was a deer head hanging above the fireplace. Golf and tennis trophies lined the mantel. The rug was some sort of bear skin. The TV was huge, at least seventy inches. There were tiny expensive speakers everywhere. Something classical drifted out from the digital player. A carnival popcorn machine with flashing lights sat in the corner. There were ugly gold statues and ferns. Everything had been selected not based on fashion or function, but by what would appear most ostentatious and overpriced.

On the side table was a picture of Jake Wolf’s hot wife. Drew picked it up and shook his head. In the photograph, Lorraine Wolf wore a bikini. Another of Jake’s trophies, he guessed. A picture of your own wife in a bikini on a side table in the family room—who the hell does that?

“I spoke to Harry Davis,” Wolf said. He had a Corona Light too. There was a wedge of lime jammed into the top. Van Dyne rule of alcohol consumption: If a beer needs a fruit topping, choose another beer. “He’s not going to talk.”

Drew said nothing.

“You don’t believe it?”

Drew shrugged, drank his beer.

“He has the most to lose here.”

“You think?”

“You don’t?”

“I reminded Harry of that. You know what he said?”

Jake shrugged.

“He told me that maybe Aimee Biel had the most to lose.” Drew put down his beer, intentionally missing the coaster. “What do you think?”

Big Jake pointed his beefy finger at Drew. “Who the hell’s fault would that be?”

Silence.

Jake walked over to the window. He gestured with his chin at the house next door. “You see that place over there?”

“What about it?”

“It’s a friggin’ castle.”

“You’re not doing too badly here, Jake.”

A small smile played on his lip. “Not like that.”

Drew would point out that it’s all relative, that he, Drew Van Dyne, lived alone in a crap-hole that was smaller than Wolf’s garage, but why bother? Drew could also point out that he didn’t have a tennis court or three cars or gold statues or a theater room or even really a wife since the separation, much less one with a hot enough body to model in bikinis.

“He’s a big-time lawyer,” Jake droned on. “Went to Yale and never lets anyone forget it. He has a Yale decal on his car window. He wears Yale T-shirts when he takes his daily jog. He hosts Yale parties. He interviews Yale applicants in his big castle. His son is a dope, but guess what school still accepted him?”

Drew Van Dyne shifted in the chair.

“The world is not a level playing field, Drew. You need an in. Or you have to make one. You, for example, wanted to be a big rock star. The guys who make it—who sell a zillion CDs and fill up outdoor arenas—do you think they’re more talented than you? No. The big difference, maybe the only difference, is that they were willing to take advantage of some situation. They exploited something. And you didn’t. Do you know what the world’s greatest truism is?”

Drew could see that there was no stopping him. But that was okay. The man was talking. He was revealing things in his own way. Drew was getting the picture now. He had a pretty good idea of where this was heading. “No, what?”

“Behind every great fortune is a great crime.”

Jake stopped and let that sink in. Drew felt his breathing go a little funny.

“You see someone with beaucoup bucks,” Jake Wolf went on, “a Rockefeller or Carnegie or someone. Do you want to know the difference between them and us? One of their great-grandpas cheated or stole or killed. He had balls, sure. But he understood that the playing field is never level. You want a break, you make it yourself. Then you peddle that hard-work, nose-to-the-grindstone fiction to the masses.”

Drew Van Dyne remembered the warning call: Don’t do anything stupid. It’s under control.

“This Bolitar guy,” Drew said. “You already had your cop friends lay into him. He didn’t budge.”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“That’s not much of a comfort, Jake.”

“Well,” Jake said, “let’s just remember whose fault this is.”

“Your son’s.”

“Hey!” Again Jake pointed with the beefy finger. “Keep Randy out of it.”

Drew Van Dyne shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to place blame.”

“He’s going to Dartmouth. That’s a done deal. No one, especially not some dumb slut, is going to ruin that.”

Drew took a long deep breath. “Still. The question is, if Bolitar keeps digging, what is he going to find?”

Jake Wolf looked at him. “Nothing,” he said.

Drew Van Dyne felt a twinge start in the base of his spine.

“How can you be so sure?”

Wolf said nothing.

“Jake?”

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, my son is on his way to college. He’s done with all this.”

“You also said that behind every great fortune is a great crime.”

“So?”

“She means nothing to you, does she, Jake?”

“It’s not about her. It’s about Randy. It’s about his future.”

Jake Wolf turned back to the window, to his Ivy League neighbor’s castle. Drew gathered his thoughts, reined in his emotions. He looked at this man. He thought about what he had said, what it all meant. He thought again about the warning call.

“Jake?”

“What?”

“Did you know that Aimee Biel was pregnant?”