The Myron Bolitar Series 7-Book Bundle by Harlan Coben

past the statue of Atlas. A black man with longdreadlocks sneezed repeatedly, his hair flapping about like dozens of snakes. A woman behind him tsk-tsked a complaint. Many of the people waiting faced St. Patrick’s across the street as though pleading for divine intervention, their faces lined with anguish. Japanese tourists took pictures of both the statue and the line.
    “I’m listening,” Myron replied.
    They kept walking. Jessica did not face him, her gaze fixed on nothing straight ahead. “We weren’t close anymore. In fact, Kathy and I barely spoke.”
    Myron was surprised. “Since when?”
    “The last three years or so.”
    “What happened?”
    She shook her head, but she still did not look at him. “I don’t know exactly. She changed. Or maybe she just grew up and I couldn’t handle it. We just drifted apart. When we saw each other, it was as if she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s no big thing. Except Kathy called me the night she disappeared. First time in I don’t know how long.”
    “What did she want?”
    “I don’t know. I was on my way out the door. I rushed her off.”
    They fell into silence the rest of the way to Myron’s office.
    When they got off the elevator, Esperanza handed him a sheet of paper and said, “Win wants to see you right away.” She glared at Jessica the way a linebacker might glare at a limping quarterback on a blindside blitz.
    “Otto Burke or Larry Hanson call?” Myron asked.
    She swerved her glare toward Myron. “No. Win wants to see you right away.”
    “I heard you the first time. Tell him I’ll be up in five minutes.”
    They moved into Myron’s office. He closed the door and skimmed over the sheet. Jessica sat in front of him. She crossed her legs the way few women could, turning an ordinary event into a moment of sexual intrigue. Myron tried not to stare. He also tried not to remember the luscious feel of those legs in bed. He was unsuccessful in both endeavors.
    “What’s it say?” she asked.
    He snapped to. “Our slim friend on Kenmore Street in Glen Rock is named Gary Grady.”
    Jessica squinted. “The name sounds familiar.” She shook her head. “But I can’t place it.”
    “He’s been married seven years, wife Allison. No kids. Has a $110,000 mortgage on that house, pays it on time. Nothing else yet. We should know more in a little while.” He put the paper on his desk. “I think we have to start attacking this on a few different fronts.”
    “How?”
    “We have to go back to the night your sister disappeared. Start with that, and move forward. The whole case needs to be reinvestigated. The same with your father’s murder. I’m not saying the cops weren’t thorough. They probably were. But we now know some things they don’t.”
    “The magazine,” she said.
    “Exactly.”
    “How can I help?” she asked.
    “Start finding out all you can about what she was up to when she disappeared. Talk to her friends, roommates, sorority sisters, fellow cheerleaders—anyone.”
    “Okay.”
    “Also get her school records. Let’s see if there’s anythingthere. I want to see what courses she was taking, what activities she was involved with, anything.”
    Esperanza threw open the door. “Meal Ticket. Line two.”
    Myron checked his watch. Christian should be in the middle of practice by now. He picked up the phone. “Christian?”
    “Mr. Bolitar, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
    Myron could barely hear him. It sounded as if he were standing in a wind tunnel. “Where are you?”
    “A pay phone outside Titans Stadium.”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “They won’t let me in.”
        Jessica stayed in the office to make a few calls. Myron rushed out. Fifty-seventh Street to the West Side Highway was unusually clear. He called Otto Burke and Larry Hanson from the car. Neither one was in. Myron was not astounded.
    Then he dialed an unlisted phone in