One False Move - By Harlan Coben Page 0,64

That's the ugly truth, Myron. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes," Myron said. "For the third time in the past hour someone is threatening me."

"You don't appear too frightened."

"I don't scare easily." Half truth. Showing fear was unhealthy; you show fear, you're dead. "So let's cut the crap. There are questions here. I can ask them. Or the press can."

Bradford took his time again. The man was nothing if not careful. "I still don't understand," he said. "What's your interest in this?"

Still stalling with questions. "I told you. The daughter."

"And when you came here the first time, you were looking for her father?"

"Yes."

"And you came to me because this Horace Slaughter had called my office?" Myron nodded. Slowly.

Bradford threw on the baffled face again. "Then why on God's green earth did you ask about my wife? If indeed you were solely interested in Horace Slaughter, why were you so preoccupied with Anita Slaughter and what happened twenty years ago?"

The room fell silent, save for the gentle whisper of the pool waves. Light reflected off the water, bouncing to and fro like an erratic screen saver. They were at the crux of it now, and both men knew it. Myron thought about it a moment. He kept his eyes on Bradford's and wondered how much to say and how he could use it. Negotiating. Life was like being a sports agent, a series of negotiations.

"Because I wasn't just looking for Horace Slaughter," Myron said slowly. "I was looking for Anita Slaughter."

Bradford wrestled to maintain control over his facial expressions and body language. But Myron's words still caused a sharp intake of air. His complexion lost a bit of color. He was good, no doubt about it, but there was something there.

Bradford spoke slowly. "Anita Slaughter disappeared twenty years ago, did she not?"

"Yes."

"And you think she's still alive?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

To get information, you had to give it. Myron knew that. You had to prime the pump. But Myron was flooding it now. Time to stop and reverse the flow. "Why would you care?"

"I don't." Bradford hardly sounded convincing. "But I assumed that she was dead."

"Why?"

"She seemed like a decent woman. Why would she have run off and abandoned her child like that?"

"Maybe she was afraid," Myron said.

"Of her husband?"

"Of you."

That froze him. "Why would she be afraid of me?"

"You tell me, Arthur."

"I have no idea."

Myron nodded. "And your wife accidentally slipped off that terrace twenty years ago, right?"

Bradford did not reply.

"Anita Slaughter just came to work one morning and found your wife dead from a fall," Myron continued. "She'd slipped off her own balcony in the rainy dark and no one noticed. Not you. Not your brother. No one. Anita just happened by her dead body. Isn't that what happened?"

Bradford wasn't cracking, but Myron could sense some fault lines starting to open a touch. "You don't know anything."

"Then tell me."

"I loved my wife. I loved her with everything I had."

"So what happened to her?"

Bradford took a few breaths, tried to regain control. "She fell," he said. Then, thinking further, he asked, "Why would you think that my wife's death has anything to do with Anita's disappearance?" His voice was stronger now, the timbre coming back. "In fact, if I recall correctly, Anita stayed on after the accident. She left our employ well after Elizabeth's tragedy."

True enough. And a point that kept irritating Myron like a grain of sand in the retina.

"So why do you keep harping on my wife's death?" Bradford pressed.

Myron had no answer, so he parried with a couple of questions. "Why is everyone so concerned about that police file? Why are the cops so worried?"

"The same reason I am," he said. "It's an election year. Looking into old files is suspicious behavior. That's all there is to it. My wife died in an accident. End of story."

His voice was growing stronger still. Negotiation can have more momentum shifts than a basketball game. If so, the Big Mo' was back on Bradford's side. "Now you answer a question for me: why do you think Anita Slaughter is still alive? I mean, if the family hasn't heard from her in twenty years?"

"Who says they haven't heard from her?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying they have?"

Myron shrugged. He had to be oh-so-careful here. If Anita Slaughter were indeed hiding from this guy - and if Bradford did indeed believe she was dead - how would he react to evidence that she was still alive? Wouldn't he logically try to find