Tell No One - By Harlan Coben Page 0,21

always looked that way. You could slap a custom-cut Joseph Abboud on him, and an hour later he'd still look like someone who'd gotten into a tussle.

Larry Gandle was not supposed to be here.

The two men's eyes met. Larry nodded once and turned away. Griffin waited another moment or two and then followed his young friend down the corridor.

Larry's father, Edward, had also been one of Griffin's classmates from the old Newark days. Edward Gandle died of a sudden heart attack twelve years ago. Damn shame. Edward had been a fine man. Since then, his son had taken over as the Scopes' closest confidant.

The two men entered Griffin's library. At one time, the library had been a wonderful room of oak and mahogany and floor-to ceiling bookshelves and antique globes. Two years ago, Allison, in a postmodern mood, decided that the room needed a total updating. The old woodwork was torn out and now the room was white and sleek and functional and held all the warmth of a work cubicle. Allison had been so proud of the room that Griffin didn't have the heart to tell her how much he disliked it.

"Was there a problem tonight?" Griffin asked.

"No," Larry said.

Griffin offered Larry a seat. Larry shook him off and started pacing.

"Was it bad?" Griffin asked.

"We had to make certain there were no loose ends."

"Of course."

Someone had attacked Griffin's son Randall - ergo, Griffin attacked back. It was one lesson he never forgot. You don't sit back when you or a loved one is being assaulted. And you don't act like the government with their "proportional responses" and all that nonsense. If someone hurts you, mercy and pity must be put aside. You eliminate the enemy. You scorch the earth. Those who scoffed at this philosophy, who thought it unnecessarily Machiavellian, usually were the ones who caused excess destruction.

In the end, if you eliminate problems swiftly, less blood is shed.

"So what's wrong?" Griffin asked.

Larry kept pacing. He rubbed the front of his bald pate. Griffin didn't like what he was seeing. Larry was not one to get keyed up easily. "I've never lied to you, Griff," he said.

"I know that."

"But there are times for... insulation."

"Insulation?"

"Who I hire, for example. I never tell you names. I never tell them names either."

"Those are details."

"Yes."

"What is it, Larry?"

He stopped pacing. "Eight years ago, you'll recall that we hired two men to perform a certain task."

The color drained from Griffin's face. He swallowed. "And they performed admirably."

"Yes. Well, perhaps."

"I don't understand."

"They performed their task. Or, at least, part of it. The threat was apparently eliminated."

Even though the house was swept for listening devices on a weekly basis, the two men never used names. A Scope rule. Larry Gandle often wondered if the rule was for the sake of caution or because it helped depersonalize what they were occasionally forced to do. He suspected the latter.

Griffin finally collapsed into a chair, almost as though someone had pushed him. His voice was soft. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"I know how painful this must be for you."

Griffin did not reply.

"I paid the two men well," Larry continued.

"As I'd have expected."

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Well, after the incident, they were supposed to lay low for a while. As a precaution."

"Go on."

"We never heard from them again."

"They'd already collected their money, correct?"

"Yes."

"So what's surprising about that? Perhaps they fled with their newfound wealth. Perhaps they moved across the country or changed identities."

"That," Larry said, "was what we'd always assumed."

"But?"

"Their bodies were found last week. They're dead."

"I still don't see the problem. They were violent men. They probably met a violent end."

"The bodies were old."

"Old?"

"They've been dead at least five years. And they were found buried by the lake where... where the incident took place."

Griffin opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. "I don't understand."

"Frankly, neither do I."

Too much. It was all too much. Griffin had been fighting off the tears all night, what with the gala being in Brandon's honor and all. Now the tragedy of Brandon's murder was suddenly resurfacing. It was all he could do not to break down.

Griffin looked up at his confidant. "This can't come back."

"I know, Griff."

"We have to find out what happened. I mean everything."

"I've kept tabs on the men in her life. Especially her husband. Just in case. Now I've put all our resources on it."

"Good," Griffin said. "Whatever it takes, this gets buried. I don't care who gets buried with it."

"I understand."

"And, Larry?"

Gandle waited.

"I know the