She finally tore her eyes away. “Clu came by a few weeks ago.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Funny.”
“What?”
“That’s just what the police asked.”
“The police were here?”
“Sure.”
They must have gone through the phone records too, Myron thought. Or found another link.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told them. I can’t be more specific.”
“Do you know what Clu wanted?”
“He came to see Billy Lee.”
“Billy Lee was here?”
“Yes.”
“He lives here then?”
“On and off. The past few years have not been very good to my son.”
Silence.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Myron began, “but—”
“What happened to Billy Lee?” she finished. “Life caught up with him, Myron. The drinking, the drugs, the womanizing. He had stints in rehab. Are you familiar with Rockwell?”
“No, ma’am.”
“It’s a private clinic. He finished his fourth trip to Rockwell not two months ago. But he couldn’t stay clean. When you’re in college or even in your twenties, you can survive it. When you’re a big star and people are looking out for you, you can get away with it. But Billy Lee wasn’t good enough to reach that level. So he had no one to fall back upon. Except me. And I’m not that strong.”
Myron swallowed. “Do you know why Clu came to see Billy Lee?”
“For old times’ sake, I guess. They went out. Maybe they had a few beers and chased women. I really don’t know.”
“Did Clu visit Billy Lee a lot?”
“Well, Clu’s been out of town,” she said, a little too defensively. “He was only traded back to this area a few months ago. But of course, you know that.”
“So this was just a casual visit?”
“I thought so at the time.”
“And now?”
“Now my son is missing and Clu is dead.”
Myron thought about it. “Where does he usually go when he runs off like this?”
“Wherever. Billy Lee is a bit of a nomad. He goes off, he does whatever horrible thing he does to himself, and when he hits rock bottom, he comes back here.”
“So you don’t know where he is?”
“That’s right.”
“Any idea at all?”
“No.”
“No favorite haunts?”
“No.”
“A girlfriend maybe?”
“No one I know about anyway.”
“Any close friends he might stay with?”
“No,” she said slowly. “He has no friends like that.” Myron took out his card and handed it to her. “If you hear from him, Mrs. Palms, could you please let me know?”
She studied the card as they moved out of the room and back down the stairs.
Before she opened the door, Mrs. Palms said, “You were the basketball player.”
“Yes.”
“The one who hurt his knee.”
First preseason game as a pro. Myron had been the Boston Celtics’ first-round draft pick. A terrible collision and his career was over. Just like that. Finished before it started. “Yes.”
“You managed to put it behind you,” she said. “You managed to get on with your life and be happy and productive.” She cocked her head. “Why couldn’t Billy Lee?”
Myron had no answer—in part because he was not sure her supposition was entirely accurate. He said his good-byes and left her alone with her ghosts.
Chapter 14
Myron checked his watch. Dinnertime. Mom and Dad were expecting him. He’d hit the Garden State Parkway when the cell phone rang again.
“Are you in the car?” Win asked. Always with the pleasantries.
“Yes.”
“Flip on 1010 WINS. I’ll call back.”
One of New York’s all-news radio stations. Myron did as he was told. The guy in the helicopter was finishing up the traffic report. He handed it back to the woman at the news desk. She provided the teaser: “The latest bombshell in the murder of baseball superstar Clu Haid. In sixty seconds.”
It was a long sixty seconds. Myron had to put up with a truly annoying Dunkin’ Donuts commercial, and then some excited bozo had a way of turning five thousand dollars into twenty thousand dollars, though a softer, fast-speaking voice added that it didn’t work all the time and in fact you could lose money too and probably would and you’d have to be a major moron to take investment advice from a radio ad. Finally the woman at the news desk came back on. She told the audience her name—like anyone cared—the name of her male counterpart, and the time. Then:
“ABC is reporting from an anonymous source in the Bergen County district attorney’s office that hairs and quote other bodily materials unquote matching the murder suspect Esperanza Diaz have been found at the murder scene. According to the source, DNA tests are pending, but preliminary tests show a clear match with Ms. Diaz. The source also says that the hairs, some small, were found in various locations throughout the house.”
Myron felt a flutter beneath his heart. Small hairs, he thought. Euphemism for pubic.
“No further details are available, but the district attorney’s office clearly believes that Mr. Clu Haid and Ms. Esperanza Diaz were having a sexual relationship. Stay tuned to 1010 WINS for all the details.”
The cell phone rang. Myron picked it up. “Jesus Christ.”
“Not even close,” Win said.
“I’ll call you right back.” Myron hung up. He called Hester Crimstein’s office. The secretary said that Ms. Crimstein was unavailable. Myron stressed that this was urgent. Ms. Crimstein was still unavailable. But, Myron asked, doesn’t Ms. Crimstein have a cell phone? The secretary disconnected the call. Myron hit the memory button. Win picked up.
“What’s your take on this?” Myron asked.
“Esperanza was sleeping with him,” Win said.
“Maybe not.”
“Yes, of course,” Win said. “Perhaps someone planted Esperanza’s pubic hairs at the murder scene.”
“It could be a false leak.”
“Could be.”
“Or maybe she visited his apartment. To talk business.”
“And left stray pubic hairs behind?”
“Maybe she used the bathroom. Maybe she—”
“Myron?”