Think Twice

Chapter Twenty-Nine

After Grace left, Jeremy said that he was hungry, so Myron asked him in as casual a voice as he could muster whether he’d like to go out for a bite. Jeremy answered in the affirmative and they were now ensconced at a corner table at Friedmans on 72nd Street, not far from the Dakota.

“What did you make of what Grace said?” Jeremy asked.

“Not sure,” Myron said. “You?”

“Hard to read her. I was trained in interrogating enemy combatants. When they’ve been captured, there are obviously high levels of stress. They’re nervous, afraid, often young. We factor that in. We don’t get too much practice interrogating a middle-aged woman in a Fifth Avenue luxury apartment.”

“But?”

“I don’t think she’s lying, do you?”

Myron tilted his head back and forth in a yes-no gesture. “Something was off with her story.”

“Like what?”

“That detail about what brand of bourbon they drank.”

“Does that make it more or less true to you?” Jeremy asked.

“It feels like an odd detail. But the part about Bo switching the glasses...”

“So that Jordan Kravat got the spiked drink?”

Myron nodded. “Like out of a movie. Then the stuff about him muttering ‘bye, bye, toe.’”

“So you think she’s lying?”

“Or was lied to,” Myron said.

Jeremy looked off in thought, and when he did, something in his expression echoed Myron’s own. You don’t see yourself too often, but this man in front of him had never felt more like his own flesh and blood.

“What?” Myron asked.

“If we believe what Bo told Grace, then Jordan Kravat was abusing him and forcing him into committing crimes.”

“Right.”

“To the point where Bo was willing to become an informant to get out from under. You still with me?”

Myron tried to keep the tears from his eyes. He got that way when he was emotional. His eyes welled up. Here he was, talking over a case with his son, talking to him in a way he never had, and every part of him felt overwhelmed.

“I’m with you,” he managed.

“So maybe the answer is far simpler,” Jeremy said. “Maybe Bo killed Jordan Kravat. Maybe he planned it or maybe it was spur of the moment or even self-defense.”

Myron nodded. “And then Bo makes up the whole story about switching bourbons and leaving the scene. It would also explain why he’d testify against Joey Turant.”

“One hole,” Jeremy said.

Myron arched an eyebrow. “Only one?”

Jeremy smiled at that. “If Bo was the killer, how did Joe Turant’s DNA end up at the crime scene?”

The waiter came by to take their order. Both opted for the hand-cut pastrami sandwich with cups of tomato soup.

“I just realized something else,” Jeremy said when he left.

“What’s that?”

“This is the most time we’ve spent together in a while.”

In ever, Myron wanted to add, but he kept that thought to himself. “I guess that’s true.”

“Myron?”

“What?”

“Don’t get emotional on me.”

Myron waved his hand. “Who me?”

They both said nothing for a moment. Jeremy broke the silence.

“I want to know,” Jeremy began, “what you found out about... is it okay if I just say ‘my father’?”

Myron nodded. “Of course.”

“I don’t mean to make a big thing of it or anything.”

“No, I get it.”

“But I don’t call him Greg or anything like that.”

“He’s your father,” Myron said, his mouth suddenly dry. “Call him whatever you want.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Sure, no problem,” Myron said, hearing how hollow his voice sounded in his own ears. “I met with an old contact at the FBI before I saw you.”

Jeremy leaned in and gave Myron his full attention.

“In short,” Myron continued, “the FBI thinks there’s a connection between the Jordan Kravat murder and the Callister murder case.”

Jeremy frowned. “I don’t see how. Kravat was killed, what, five years ago in Vegas. The Callisters were a month or so ago in New York. Could the connection be the son?”

“The son?”

“Cecelia Callister’s son was murdered,” Jeremy said. “Clay, right? How old was he?”

“I think around thirty.”

“I guess Jordan Kravat would be about the same age.”

“That’s not the link,” Myron said. “Or, I don’t know, though maybe someone should look into that.”

“So what is the link?”

“It’s not just those murders.”

“What do you mean?”

“They think there were more.”

Myron filled him in as best he could. He tried to keep away from the details, which wasn’t very difficult because he didn’t know that many himself. He knew that Esperanza would dig into this whole idea of a serial killer in a deeper way. They needed to learn about the other victims, the other cases, but Myron also understood the limitations. The FBI were not fools. He didn’t fancy himself a better investigator than professional law enforcement. They had the resources and the contacts.

Jeremy’s eyes were wide when Myron finished. “Wow.”

“Yes.”

“But I still don’t see why they think Dad is behind this.”

“I’m not sure they do,” Myron said. “But right now, he’s their only link.”

“Yet they can only connect him to two of them?”

“So far, yeah.”

“We need to dig into this.”

“I agree.”

The sandwiches and soups arrived. Myron dunked the edge of his pastrami sandwich into the tomato soup before taking the first bite. What had PT muttered at Le Bernardin? Gods and ambrosia.

“You’re staying with Win at the Dakota?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“She was here last night. She left on assignment.”

“She’s good on TV.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Jeremy hadn’t met Terese yet. He hadn’t been at the wedding. Myron wanted to say that he hoped they’d meet, get to know each other better, but it didn’t feel right.

Myron watched Jeremy dig into his sandwich for a moment and then said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Jeremy said.

“Where did you fly in from last night?”

“Classified,” he said.

“Overseas?”

Jeremy stopped midbite and looked at Myron. “Why do you ask?”

“Your mother told me you were coming in from overseas.”

“So?”

“So Grace said you got here in three hours.”

A half smile came to Jeremy’s face. “Which means I couldn’t have been overseas,” he said with a shake of his head. “Always the detective, eh, Myron?”

“I just... I just want to know more about you, I guess. I don’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t tell Mom ‘overseas.’ But she probably assumed it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m actually stationed domestically right now.”

“Oh. And you can’t tell me where.”

“And I can’t tell you where,” Jeremy echoed. “And I just got called back. I leave in the morning for two days. But I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jeremy put down his sandwich. “It’s funny.”

“What?”

“When I was a kid, I wasn’t much into the whole sports world.”

“Because of your illness,” Myron said.

“Mostly, yeah. The Fanconi anemia should have killed me. We both know that. You saved my life, Myron.”

Myron stared down at his plate.

“Did I ever really thank you for that?”

“Yeah,” Myron managed, keeping his head down. “I think you did.”

“Anyway, my point is, once I was healthy and able to exert myself, I realized, I don’t know, that I must have inherited some of your athletic genes. And of course, Dad. I mean, he’s not my biological father, but I was raised by a professional basketball player. So in terms of athleticism, on the nature front, I have you. On the nurture front, I have him. You get it, right?”

“I get it,” Myron said, wondering where he was going with this.

“So that’s why I was a later bloomer. When I was seventeen, I realized that I had the potential to be an elite athlete, but since I never played any sports as a kid, I was too far behind to catch up skill-wise. So I had these — shall we call them physical gifts? — and no outlet for them. I think that’s why I ended up channeling those skills into what I do now.”

“In the military?”

“Yes.”

Myron nodded. “Sounds like you put your ‘physical gifts’ to work in a much more meaningful way than me or... or your father.”

Jeremy smiled. “Your father,” he repeated. “You really dug deep for that one, Myron.”

Myron shrugged, also smiled. “Trying.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So while I’m digging deep,” Myron began.

Jeremy looked up.

“We never talked about what it was like for you,” Myron said. “Finding out about me.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“You’re not my dad. I mean you might be my father. But you’re not my dad.”

“Okay, that one time. When you first found out. But you were thirteen.”

“It’s a little late now.”

“Is it?”

“I said all I wanted to say. Look, Myron, you did nothing wrong. Well, okay, hold up, you clearly did something wrong, you and Mom, but as she’s pointed out to me ad nauseam, that mistake made me. It was a long time ago. Can we just move on now?”

“Yeah, sure.” And then Myron realized that he couldn’t turn back. Not now. “But I have a favor to ask.”

Something in Myron’s tone made Jeremy pause. He put down the sandwich. “Okay.”

“It’s not a favor exactly. I’m not sure what it is.”

“You’re kinda scaring me, Myron.”

“It’s not scary. It’s the opposite of scary.”

“Myron.”

“You wanted to keep your paternity private out of respect for Greg. I got that. And I always respected that.”

“And now?”

“Now your grandparents — your biological grandparents — are getting old. Your grandmother is not well. And today your grandfather...” Myron stopped.

“My grandfather what?”

Damn eyes welling up. He blinked.

“Myron?”

“I want to tell them, Jeremy. About you. And I want you to meet them.”

Jeremy took a second. Then he said, “It’s a hell of a time to ask.”

“I know.”

“With my father in jail.”

“I know. I didn’t plan on asking.”

Jeremy looked off again. Myron gave him the space. After some time had passed, Jeremy said, “Can we talk about it when I get back?”

“Of course. Yeah. No pressure.”