“What?”
“I assumed that Aimee was telling the truth. If she was, then I knew two things. The kidnapper was a woman. And the kidnapper knew that Katie Rochester used the ATM machine on Fifty-second Street. The only people who fit that bill? Katie Rochester. Well, she didn’t do it. Loren Muse. No way. And you.”
“Me?” Edna Skylar began to blink. “Are you serious?”
“Do you remember when I called and asked you to look up Aimee’s medical file?” Myron asked. “To see if she was pregnant?”
Again Edna Skylar checked her watch. “I really don’t have time for this.”
“I said it wasn’t just about one innocent, it was about two.”
“So?”
“Before I called you, I asked your husband to do the same thing. He worked in that department. I thought he’d have an easier time. But he refused.”
“Stanley is a stickler for the rules,” Edna Skylar said.
“I know. But you see, he told me something interesting. He told me that with all the new HIP laws nowadays, the computer date-stamps a patient’s file every time you look into it. You can see the name of the doctor who viewed the file. And you get the time he or she viewed it.”
“Right.”
“So I checked Aimee’s file. Guess what it shows?”
Her smile began to falter.
“You, Dr. Skylar, looked at that file two weeks before I asked you to. Why would you do that?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t.”
“The computer is wrong?”
“Sometimes Stanley forgets his code. He probably used mine.”
“I see. He forgets his own code but remembers yours.” Myron tilted his head and edged closer. “You think he’ll say that under oath?”
Edna Skylar did not reply.
“Do you know where you were really clever?” he went on. “Telling me about your son. The one who was trouble from day one and ran away to make it big. You said that he was still a mess, do you remember?”
A small, pain-filled sound escaped her lips. Her eyes filled with tears.
“But you never mentioned your son’s name. No reason you should, of course. And there’s no reason why anybody would know. Even now. It wasn’t part of the investigation. I don’t know the name of Jake Wolf’s mother. Or Harry Davis’s. But once I saw that you’d been in Aimee’s medical file, I did a little checking. Your first husband, Dr. Skylar, was named Andrew Van Dyne, am I right? Your son’s name was Drew Van Dyne.”
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. When she opened them again, she shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but not even coming close. “So?”
“Odd, don’t you think? When I asked you about Aimee Biel, you never mentioned that your son knew her.”
“I told you that I was estranged from my son. I didn’t know anything about him and Aimee Biel.”
Myron grinned. “You have all the answers, don’t you, Edna?”
“I’m just telling the truth.”
“No, you’re not. It was yet another coincidence. So many damn coincidences, don’t you think? That’s what I couldn’t shake from the beginning. Two pregnant girls at the same high school? Okay, that one was no big deal. But all the rest — both girls running away, both using the same ATM, all that. Again, let’s assume Aimee was telling the truth. Let’s assume that someone — a woman — did indeed tell Aimee to wait on that corner. Let’s say that this mystery woman did tell Aimee to take money out of that ATM. Why? Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do, Edna. Because they weren’t coincidences. None of them. You arranged them all. The two girls using the same ATM? Only one reason for that. The kidnapper — you, Edna — wanted to hook Aimee’s disappearance with Katie Rochester’s.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Because the police were sure that Katie Rochester had run away — in part because of what you saw in the city. But Aimee Biel was different. She didn’t have a Mob-connected, abusive daddy, for example. Her disappearance would cause commotion. The best way — the only way — to keep that heat from coming down was to make Aimee look like a runaway too.”
For a moment they both just stood there. Then Edna Skylar shifted to the right as if preparing to pass him. Myron shifted with her, blocking the path. She looked up at him.
“Are you wearing a wire, Myron?”
He raised his arms. “Frisk me.”
“No need. This is all nonsense anyway.”
“Let’s go back to that day on the street. You and Stanley are walking in Manhattan. Fate lends a hand here. You see Katie Rochester, just like you told the police. You realize that she’s not missing or in serious trouble. She’s a runaway. Katie begs you not to tell. And you listen. For three weeks, you say nothing. You go back to your regular life.” Myron studied her face. “You with me so far?”
“I’m with you.”
“So why the change? Why after three weeks do you suddenly call your old buddy Ed Steinberg?”
She folded her arms. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because your situation changed, not Katie’s.”
“How?”
“You talked about your son being trouble from day one. That you’d given up on him.”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe you did, I don’t know. But you were in touch with Drew. At least somewhat. You knew that Drew fell in love with Aimee Biel. He told you about it. He probably told you that she was pregnant.”
She crossed her arms. “You can prove that?’
“No. That part is speculation. The rest isn’t. You looked up Aimee’s medical files on the computer. That we know. You saw that yes, she was indeed pregnant. But more than that, you saw that she was going to terminate it. Drew didn’t know about that. He thought that they were in love and going to get married. But Aimee just wanted out. Drew Van Dyne had been nothing but a foolish, albeit not uncommon, high school mistake. Aimee was on her way to college now.”
“Sounds like motive for Drew to kidnap her,” Edna Skylar said.
“It does, doesn’t it? If that had been all. But again I kept wondering about all the coincidences. The ATM machine again. Who knew about it? You called your old buddy Ed Steinberg and pumped him for info on the case. He talked. Why not? Nothing was confidential. There wasn’t really even a case. When he mentioned the Citibank ATM, you realized that would be the clincher. Everyone would assume Aimee was a runaway too. And that’s exactly what happened. Then you called Aimee. You said you were from the hospital, which was true enough. You told her what she had to do to terminate the pregnancy in secret. You set up that meeting in New York. She’s waiting at the corner. You drive by. You tell her to pick up some cash at the machine. Your clincher. Aimee does as she’s told. And then she panics. She wants to think it through now. There you are, waiting to grab her, a syringe in your hand, and all of a sudden she runs off. She calls me. I get there. I drive her to Ridgewood. You follow — it was your car I saw that night follow us into the cul-de-sac. When she gets rejected by Harry Davis, you’re waiting. Aimee doesn’t remember much after that. She claims she was drugged. That fits — her memory would be fuzzy. Propofol would cause a lot of the symptoms. You’re familiar with that drug, aren’t you, Edna?”
“Of course I am. I’m a doctor. It’s an anesthetic.”
“You’ve used it in your practice?”
She hesitated. “I have.”
“And that will be your downfall.”
“Really? How’s that.”
“I have other evidence, but it’s mostly circumstantial. Those medical records, for one. They show you not only viewed Aimee’s medical records earlier than you indicated, but you didn’t even bring them up again when I called. Why would you? You already knew she was pregnant. I’ll also have phone records. Your son called you, you called your son.”