Think Twice

“I need you to listen to me,” Myron said to Greg. “The FBI doesn’t know how many people were murdered — and framed — by this serial killer. At least half a dozen, probably a lot more. There was one in Texas, one in New York, one in Las Vegas, one in Nebraska... all over. There were zero connections between all the cases. Zero. Nothing the FBI could put their finger on. Not a clue. The killer could have continued to operate like this for years. They may have never been caught, except one thing blew open the case.”

They both waited. Greg reached across the table and took Emily’s hand. For the briefest of moments, she looked unhappy about it, even repulsed by his touch, but then it was as though she realized that they were in it together, as Jeremy’s parents, the two of them against the suddenly strange interloper named Myron.

“You, Greg. Don’t you see? Your DNA ends up at the Callister murder scene. And you are connected to Jordan Kravat.”

“How?” Greg asked. “Jordan Kravat was, what, my girlfriend’s son’s ex-boyfriend. I mean, that’s not much of a connection.”

“But it isn’t a coincidence, Greg. I need you to stop and think about this. Who else is connected to both? Who could have framed you for Cecelia Callister and framed Joey Turant for the murder of Jordan Kravat?”

“What are you trying to say?” Greg asked. “That Jeremy is the connection?”

“No. I’m asking—”

“Because I hadn’t seen Jeremy in months before I went to Vegas.” He turned to Emily. “You remember. He was on some mission and incommunicado for four months.”

“I remember,” Emily said.

Greg folded his hands and put them on the table. “Myron, listen to me. We need to buy a little time, so we can sort this out between us — before we tell anyone else, okay? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to take a step back and do what I do best. Scout. Plan. Get methodical. The three of us.”

It was then that Myron’s phone rang.

He checked the caller ID.

It was Jeremy.

Everyone at the table froze.

“Why is he calling you?” Emily asked.

Myron didn’t wait for Greg or Emily to offer advice on how to handle the call. He hit the answer button.

“Hey,” Myron said.

“Hey,” Jeremy replied.

There was an awkward silence. Myron switched the phone from his right hand to his left. Emily and Greg stared at him.

“I thought I’d see you at Greg’s release.”

“I got held up,” Jeremy said.

His voice, Myron realized, was probably loud enough for Greg and Emily to make out what he was saying. Myron debated whether that mattered or not and decided to let it go.

“Are you at Win’s?” Jeremy asked.

“Not right now, no.”

“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, not at all.”

“I’m about an hour out,” Jeremy said. “Can we meet?”

“Sure.”

“I want to explain... well, you know. About the discharge and IT job.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Myron felt numb. “Win’s place work?”

“That’ll be perfect. I’ll see you in an hour.”

When Myron hung up, Greg said, “What was that all about?”

“He’s an hour away. We are going to meet at the Dakota.”

Emily pushed her hair back behind her ears. “What was he talking about with the discharge and IT stuff?”

Myron rose, their necks craning up to follow him. “It’s not my place to say.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Greg asked.

“It means you can ask him yourself.”

“Discharge?” Emily said again. “So he’s not in the military anymore?”

“He came back to New York when he heard you were being freed,” Myron said to Greg. “That’s what he told me a few hours ago. I’m sure he’ll reach out to you both.”

“Wait,” Emily said.

“What?”

“You can’t just...” Emily began. She stopped and started again, her voice firmer now. “He’s our son, not yours.”

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” Myron said, “except when it’s convenient.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Emily snapped.

“When he was thirteen and needed to find that bone marrow donor, suddenly I’m his father. Just now, when you found that phone hidden in his room, suddenly I’m his father. Look, I didn’t raise him. I get that. I’m just a sperm donor or an accident of biology or whatever. I’ve been respectful. I’ve kept my distance. It may not be up to me what my relationship is with Jeremy, but it certainly isn’t up to you two either. He called me. He wants to talk to me. I’m going.”

Myron started to the door. Emily and Greg followed him.

“Are you going to tell him about the phone?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t, okay?” Greg said. “Just trust me on this.”

“I don’t trust you on anything,” Myron said, and then he left.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

You stand on the Central Park side of the street and watch the door.

The Downing apartment is on Fifth Avenue and 80th Street. It offers breathtaking views of Central Park, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and even the former Payne Whitney residence on 79th Street, which now serves as the Cultural Services Center for the French Embassy.

You wear a black baseball cap. You are “disguised,” though again it isn’t an elaborate one. It’s just enough.

You have your eye on the front door, so you don’t miss Myron’s exit.

This part isn’t exactly rocket science.