Long Lost - By Harlan Coben Page 0,38

saw the laptop on the matching credenza.

"How much more time do you think we have?" I asked.

"I'll stand guard by the door."

I flipped on the MacBook. It came up in seconds. I clicked on the iCal icon on the bottom. His daybook came up. Nothing in the past month. On the right, there was only one To Do note. It read:

OPAL

HHK

4714

I had no idea what that meant, but the priority was listed as High.

"What?" Terese said.

I read off the To Do and asked her if she had any idea what it meant. She didn't. Time was still a factor here. I debated e-mailing the iCal contents to Esperanza, but that might get noticed. Then again, so what? Win, of course, had several anonymous e-mail addresses. I sent copies of the data on both the calendar and address book to him. Then I went into the Sent file and deleted them so no one would see.

Ain't I clever?

Here I was, rummaging through the belongings of a man who'd recently been murdered while his widow and son mourned in the other room. I felt quite the hero. Maybe on the way out, I should kick good ol' Casey.

"Who is the Mario you two talked about?" I asked her.

"Mario Contuzzi," Terese said. "He was Rick's best friend and assistant producer. They worked on everything together."

I looked up his name in Address Book. Bingo. I plugged both his home and cell number into my phone.

Again with the clever.

"Do you know where Wilsham Street is?" I asked.

"It's walking distance. Does Mario still live there?"

I nodded and dialed Mario's home phone number. A man with an American accent answered and said, "Hello?" I hung up.

"He's home," I said.

I hope the amateur detectives out there are taking notes.

"We should head over."

I quickly opened up iPhoto. There were plenty of pictures but nothing that stood out. I couldn't e-mail all of them out. That would take forever. The pictures were normal, which is to say, heartbreaking. Karen looked happy next to her man. Rick looked happy too. Their faces beamed as they held their son. IPhoto has this feature that allows you to put the cursor over an Event and the pictures fly by in a rapid slide show. I watched the MATTHEW IS BORN! Event and FIRST BIRTHDAY and a few others. Again heart-breakingly normal.

I stopped at one very recent shot under DAD'S SOCCER FINALS. Rick and Matthew were in matching Manchester United soccer uniforms. Rick had a big smile and held his son close to his side. The sweat was dripping off him. You could almost tell that he was out of breath and ecstatic about it. Four-year-old Matthew huddled against him, wearing goalie gear-the oversize gloves and that little black eye makeup-and trying to look serious, and I thought that this kid will now grow up without that smiling father and I thought about Jack, another boy who had to grow up without his father-and I thought about my own father, how much I loved and still needed him, and then I closed the file.

We slipped toward the front door without saying good-bye. I looked behind me and spotted little Matthew slumped in a chair in the corner. He was wearing a dark suit.

Four-year-olds don't belong in dark suits. Four-year-olds belong in goalie uniforms next to their dads.

MARIO Contuzzi answered the door without asking who it was. He was thin and wiry and reminded me of a Weimaraner dog. He jabbed a narrow face in Terese's direction.

"You have some nerve."

"Nice to see you too, Mario."

"I just got a call from a friend at Karen's. He says you popped in unannounced. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"What were you thinking?" Mario's head snapped toward me. "And why would you bring this asswipe, of all people?"

"Do I know you?" I asked.

Mario wore those tortoiseshell glasses I always thought were trying too hard. He was wearing suit pants and a white dress shirt that he had been in the midst of buttoning. "I don't have time for this. Please leave."

"We need to talk," Terese said.

"Too late."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He spread his arms. "You left, Terese, remember? You had your reasons, maybe. That's fine. Your choice. But you left and now that he's dead you finally want to have a little chitchat? Forget it. I have nothing to say to you."

"That was a long time ago," she said.

"Precisely my point. Rick waited for you to come back. Did you know that? For two years, he waited. You were distraught and depressed-we