Run Away(95)

Didn’t help.

He felt his phone vibrate. Elena was replying:

Heading over the border to Canada for this meet, so I might be out of touch for a few days. Where will you be?

Canada? He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

He typed: At hospital for now, but that could change.

He hit Send and waited. The dancing dots started up, showing that Elena was typing.

Let me know of any new developments. It’s vital to keep me in the loop, even if I can’t reply.



Simon wrote back that he would as he checked in with hospital security and took the elevator up to the ICU. He was tempted to ask Elena why Canada or why she might not be able to reply, but he figured that she’d tell him what he needed to know. As the elevator doors opened, the terrible ache from what van de Beek had told him returned tenfold.

What had happened to Paige on that campus?

Block, he told himself. Block or you won’t be able to take another step.

The nurses were in with Ingrid, bathing her and changing her clothes, so Sam paced the corridor. He spotted his father and gave him a quick, hard hug.

“Sorry,” Sam said.

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean it. About you getting Mom shot.”

“I know.”

Sam gave his father a weary smile. “You know what Mom would say if she heard me blame you?”

“What?”

“She’d say I was being sexist. She’d say I would never have blamed her if you got shot.”

Simon liked that. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

“Where were you?” Sam asked.

Simon wanted to protect his son, only natural, but he also didn’t want to coddle him. “I just talked to one of Paige’s professors.”

Sam looked at him.

He used the vaguest terms possible to let Sam know about the sexual assault—he may not want to coddle, but he didn’t want to just chuck his son in the deep end either. Sam listened without interrupting. He fought to remain stoic, but Simon recognized the telltale quiver of his lower lip.

“When was this exactly?” Sam asked when his father had finished.

“I’m not sure. Toward the end of first semester.”

“She called me one night. Paige. Out of the blue. I mean, I don’t think we’d exchanged more than a few texts, and we never called each other.”

“What did she say?”

“She just said she wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“I don’t know.” Sam gave a too-big shrug. “It was late on a Friday night. There was a party at Martin’s. I didn’t really listen. I just wanted to get her off the line. So yeah, that’s what I did.”

Simon put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It might not have been the same night, Sam.”

“Right,” Sam said in the most unconvincing voice he could muster. “Might not have been.”

Simon was about to follow up more, but he heard someone clear his throat. He turned and was surprised to see the man who saved Ingrid’s life standing behind him.

“Cornelius?”

He still wore the ripped jeans and the unruly white-gray beard.

“How’s Ingrid doing?” Cornelius asked.

“Hard to say.” Simon brought Sam into the fold. “Sam, this is Cornelius. He…” Simon couldn’t tell him that Cornelius had shot Luther and thus saved not just Ingrid but Simon as well. “Cornelius owns the building where Paige lived in the Bronx. He’s been a big help to us.”

Sam stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, young man.” Cornelius faced Simon. “Can I talk to you a second?”

“Sure.”

“I need to use the bathroom anyway,” Sam said before moving down the corridor.

Simon turned to Cornelius. “What’s up?”

“I need you to come with me,” Cornelius said.

“Where?”

“Back to my apartment. Rocco is going to be there. With Luther. They got something you need to hear.”





Chapter

Thirty-Four



Ash and Dee Dee had prepared, so they moved fast.

They tossed Elena’s body in a wheelbarrow by the back door. Ash maneuvered the wheelbarrow into the woods while Dee Dee stayed at the cabin and finished the cleanup.

Digging a hole takes a while. Filling it in, not so much.

As they drove south, Dee Dee kept going through Elena’s phone.

“Not much here,” she told Ash. “Elena Ramirez is a bigwig at VMB Investigations. We already knew that. Her client was Henry Thorpe’s father. We already knew that.” She looked up. “It’s approved, by the way.”

“What’s approved?”

“Simon Greene. You’ll be given the same payment as the others.”

“Google him,” Ash said. “I want to see what we can learn.”

She started typing. It didn’t take long. The PPG Wealth Management group website came up, complete with Simon Greene’s biography. There were two photos of him—a headshot and a group picture with the entire PPG team.

They passed the state line.

“Twelve percent battery left,” Dee Dee said. “Do we have a charger for this kind of phone?”