“That,” Ali said, trying to hold back a smile, “is a really good answer.”
He was about to crack wise, but he held back. With maturity comes restraint.
“Myron?”
“Yes?”
“I want you to kiss me. I want you to hold me. I want you to take me upstairs and make love to me. I want you to do it with no expectations because I don’t have any. I could dump you tomorrow and you could dump me. It doesn’t matter. But I’m not fragile. I’m not going to describe the hell of the past five years, but I’m stronger than you’ll ever know. If this relationship continues after tonight, you’re the one who’ll have to be strong, not me. This is a no-obligation offer. I know how valiant and noble you want to be. But I don’t want that. All I want tonight is you.”
Ali leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. First gently then with more hunger. Myron felt a surge go through him.
She kissed him again. And Myron felt lost.
An hour later — or maybe it was only twenty minutes — Myron collapsed and rolled onto his back.
“Well?” Ali said.
“Wow.”
“Tell me more.”
“Let me catch my breath.”
Ali laughed, snuggled closer.
“My limbs,” he said. “I can’t feel my limbs.”
“Not a thing?”
“A little tingle maybe.”
“Not so little. And you were pretty good yourself.”
“As Woody Allen once said, I practice a lot when I’m alone.”
She put her head on his chest. His racing heart started to slow. He stared at the ceiling.
“Myron?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll never leave my life. He’ll never leave Erin and Jack either.”
“I know.”
“Most men can’t handle that.”
“I don’t know if I can either.”
She looked at him and smiled.
“What?”
“You’re being honest,” she said. “I like that.”
“No more poo-poo face?”
“Oh, I wiped that off twenty minutes ago.”
He pursed his lips, frowned, and batted his eyes. “But wait, it’s back.”
She put her head back on his chest.
“Myron?”
“Yes?”
“He’ll never leave my life,” she said. “But he’s not here now. Right now I think it’s just the two of us.”
CHAPTER 6
On the third floor of St. Barnabas Medical Center, Essex County investigator Loren Muse rapped on a door that read edna skylar, md, geneticist.
A woman’s voice said, “Come in.”
Loren turned the knob and entered. Skylar stood. She was taller than Loren, but most people were. Skylar crossed the room, hand extended. They both offered up firm handshakes and plenty of eye contact. Edna Skylar nodded in a sisterhood way to her. Loren had seen it before. They were both in professions still dominated by men. That gave them a bond.
“Won’t you please have a seat?”
They both sat. Edna Skylar’s desk was immaculate. There were manila folders, but they were stacked without any papers peeking out. The office was standard issue, dominated by a picture window that offered up a wonderful view of a parking lot.
Dr. Skylar stared intently at Loren Muse. Loren didn’t like it. She waited a moment. Skylar kept staring.
Loren said, “Problem?”
Edna Skylar smiled. “Sorry, bad habit.”
“What’s that?”
“I look at faces.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not important. Well, maybe it is. That’s how I got into this predicament.”
Loren wanted to get to it. “You told my boss that you have information on Katie Rochester?”
“How is Ed?”
“He’s good.”
She smiled warmly. “He’s a nice man.”
“Yeah,” Loren said, “a prince.”
“I’ve known him a long time.”
“He told me.”
“That’s why I called Ed. We had a long talk about the case.”
“Right,” Loren said. “And that’s why he sent me here.”
Edna Skylar looked off, out the window. Loren tried to guess her age. Mid-sixties probably, but she wore it well. Dr. Skylar was a handsome woman, short gray hair, high cheekbones, knew how to sport a beige suit without coming across as too butch or overly feminine.
“Dr. Skylar?”
“Could you tell me something about the case?”
“Excuse me?”
“Katie Rochester. Is she officially listed as missing?”
“I’m not sure how that’s relevant.”
Edna Skylar’s eyes moved slowly back to Loren Muse. “Do you think she met up with foul play—”
“I can’t really discuss that.”
“—or do you think she ran away? When I talked to Ed, he seemed pretty sure she was a runaway. She took money out of an ATM in midtown, he said. Her father is rather unsavory.”
“Prosecutor Steinberg told you all that?”
“He did.”
“So why are you asking me?”
“I know his take,” she said. “I want yours.”
Loren was about to protest some more, but Edna Skylar was again staring with too much intensity. She scanned Skylar’s desk for family photographs. There were none. She wondered what to make of that and decided nothing. Skylar was waiting.
“She’s eighteen years old,” Loren tried, treading carefully.
“I know that.”
“That makes her an adult.”
“I know that too. And what about the father? Do you think he abused her?”
Loren wondered how to play this. The truth was, she didn’t like the father, hadn’t from the get-go. RICO said that Dominick Rochester was mobbed up and maybe that was part of it. But there was something to reading a person’s grief. On the one hand, everyone reacts differently. It was true that you really couldn’t tell guilt based on someone’s reaction. Some killers cried tears that’d put Pacino to shame. Others were beyond robotic. Same with the innocent. It was like this: You’re with a group of people, a grenade is thrown in the middle of the crowd, you never know who is going to dive on it and who is going to dive for cover.
That said, Katie Rochester’s father… there was something off about his grief. It was too fluid. It was like he was trying on different personas, seeing which one would look best for the public. And the mother. She had the whole shattered-eye thing going on, but had that come from devastation or resignation? It was hard to tell.
“We have no evidence of that,” Loren said in the most noncommittal tone she could muster.
Edna Skylar did not react.
“These questions,” Loren went on. “They’re a bit bizarre.”
“That’s because I’m still not sure what to do.”
“About?”
“If a crime has been committed, I want to help. But…”
“But?”
“I saw her.”
Loren Muse waited a beat, hoping she’d say more. She didn’t. “You saw Katie Rochester?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“It’ll be three weeks on Saturday?”
“And you’re just telling us now?”
Edna Skylar was looking out at the parking lot again. The sun was setting, the rays slicing in through the venetian blinds. She looked older in that light.
“Dr. Skylar?”
“She asked me not to say anything.” Her gaze was still on the lot.
“Katie did?”
Still looking off, Edna Skylar nodded.
“You talked to her?”
“For a second maybe.”
“What did she say?”
“That I couldn’t tell anybody that I saw her.”