Run Away - Harlan Coben Page 0,113
Park, Ingrid and Simon stopped in Strawberry Fields. Simon normally avoided this route. This had been where he’d seen Paige strangling out that Beatles tune. Which song was it again? He didn’t remember. Strike that. He didn’t want to remember.
But Ingrid wanted to sit on the bench. Out of habit he read the inscription:
This is for Jersey, the good dog, who would be happy to share this bench with you
Ingrid took his hand and stared out and said, “You know.”
“Yes.”
“You understand why I did it.”
He nodded. “I do.”
“It was like she was drowning. And every time she came to the surface he would drag her back under again.”
“You don’t have to justify it to me.”
Ingrid took his hand. He squeezed hers and held on.
“You planned it,” he said.
“As soon as she called.”
“And you made it violent and bloody—”
“—so the police would think it was a drug hit,” she said.
He looked off, then back at her. “Why didn’t you ask me to help?”
“Three reasons,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“One, my job is to protect you too. Because I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Two, if I got caught, I wanted one of us to be free to raise the children.”
Simon had to smile at that. “Practical.”
“Yes.”
“And three?”
“I thought maybe you’d talk me out of it.”
He said nothing. Would he have really gone along with a plan to murder Aaron Corval?
He didn’t know.
“Some adventure,” he said.
“Yes.”
He stared at his wife and got the “overwhelms” again.
“I love our family,” Ingrid said.
“I do too.”
She put her head on his shoulder as she had done a million times before.
There are few moments of pure bliss in this life. Most of the time, you don’t realize that you are having one of those moments until they are over. But that wasn’t the case right now. Right now, as Simon sat with the woman he loved, he knew.
And she knew.
This was bliss.
And it wouldn’t last.
Epilogue
The state police found Elena Ramirez’s body almost a year after her murder.
There was a funeral for her in Chicago. Simon and Cornelius decided to attend. They chose to drive rather than fly. Cornelius planned the route, finding weird museums and roadside sites so they could make stops.
Elena was laid to rest next to a man named Joel Marcus.
They overnighted at a hotel outside Chicago. On the drive home the next morning, Simon asked, “Do you mind if we stop in Pittsburgh?”
“Not at all,” Cornelius said. Then, noticing the look on Simon’s face, he added, “What’s up?”
“I just need to visit someone.”
When Simon knocked on the door, a young man opened it and peered out. “Doug Mulzer?”
“Yes.”
Mulzer had not been able physically or emotionally to return to Lanford College after his ordeal. Simon didn’t care. Or maybe he did. Maybe there had been enough vigilante justice.
“My name is Simon Greene. I’m Paige’s father.”
* * *
When they got back to New York City, Simon dropped off Cornelius and headed to PPG Wealth Management’s office. It was late in the day, but Yvonne was still there. He pulled her aside and said, “I think I know what Ingrid’s secret is.”
* * *
That night, when he reached his apartment building, Suzy Fiske was holding the elevator door for him. She greeted him with a big smile and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey,” she said, “I see Sam is home from Amherst.”
“Yeah, he came back tonight for break.”
“So you got all three home?”
“Yup.”
“That must be great.”
Simon smiled. “It is.”
“And I hear Paige enrolled at NYU.”
“Yes. But she’s still going to live at home.”
“I’m really happy for you guys.”
“Thank you, Suzy. I know I’ve already thanked you a million times—”
“And gave us that gift card for RedFarm. Which was too generous. We’ve eaten there like four times already.”
The elevator stopped at Simon’s floor. He got out and opened the door with his key. Bad Wolves’ version of “Zombie” was playing over a Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. Ingrid was singing the chorus:
“What’s in your head, in your head, zombie…”
Simon leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Ingrid turned and smiled at him.
“Hi,” Ingrid said.
“Hi.”
“How was the trip?”
“Good,” he said. “Sad.”
“Your son is home.”
“So I heard. What are you cooking?”
“My famous Asian salmon recipe. His favorite.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
“Where’s Paige?”
“She’s in her room. Five minutes to dinner, okay?”
“Okay.”
He headed down the corridor and knocked on her bedroom door. Paige said, “Come in.”
His daughter still looked pale and drawn and harried, even after all this time, and he wondered whether that would ever leave her. There had been bad nights and