When he was done, Loren asked, “Have you ever made this promise before?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“No other helpless or inebriated girls you volunteered to chauffeur around?”
“Hey!” Hester wouldn’t let that pass. “That’s a total mischaracterization of what he said. And the question was already asked and answered. Move on.”
Loren shifted in her seat. “How about young boys? You ever make any boys promise to call you?”
“No.”
“So just girls?”
“Just these two girls,” Myron said. “It wasn’t like I planned it.”
“I see.” Loren rubbed her chin. “How about Katie Rochester?”
Hester said, “Who’s that?”
Myron ignored that. “What about her?”
“Did you ever make Katie Rochester promise to call you when she was drunk?”
“Again that’s a total mischaracterization of what he said,” Hester jumped in. “He was trying to prevent them from drinking and driving.”
“Right, sure, he’s a hero,” Loren said. “Ever do anything like that with Katie Rochester?”
“I don’t even know Katie Rochester,” Myron said.
“But you’ve heard the name.”
“Yes.”
“In what context?”
“On the news. So what’s the deal, Muse—I’m a suspect in every missing persons case?”
Loren smiled. “Not every.”
Hester leaned toward Myron and whispered in his ear. “I don’t like this, Myron.”
Neither did he.
Loren continued: “So you’ve never met Katie Rochester?”
He couldn’t help his lawyer training. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Not to your knowledge. Then whose knowledge would it be?”
“Objection.”
“You know what I mean,” Myron said.
“How about her father, Dominick Rochester?”
“No.”
“Or her mother, Joan? Ever meet her?”
“No.”
“No,” Loren repeated, “or not to your knowledge?”
“I meet lots of people. I don’t remember them all. But the names ring no bells.”
Loren Muse looked down at the table. “You said you dropped Aimee off in Ridgewood?”
“Yes. At her friend Stacy’s.”
“At her friend’s?” That got Loren’s attention. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“I’m mentioning it now.”
“What’s Stacy’s last name?”
“Aimee didn’t say.”
“I see. Did you meet this Stacy?”
“No.”
“Did you walk Aimee to the front door?”
“No, I stayed in the car.”
Loren Muse faked a puzzled look. “Your promise to protect her didn’t extend from the car to the front door?”
“Aimee asked me to stay in the car.”
“Who opened the door to the house then?”
“Nobody.”
“Aimee just let herself in?”
“She said that Stacy was probably asleep and that she always lets herself in the back door.”
“I see.” Loren rose. “Let’s go then.”
“Where are you taking him?” Hester asked.
“To Ridgewood. Let’s see if we can find this cul-de-sac.”
Myron stood with her. “Can’t you just find Stacy’s address from Aimee’s parents?”
“We already know Stacy’s address,” Loren said. “The problem is, Stacy doesn’t live in Ridgewood. She lives in Livingston.”
CHAPTER 16
When Myron headed out of the interrogation room, he spotted Claire and Erik Biel in an office down the corridor. Even from the distance and through the reflection in the plate glass window, Myron could see the strain. He stopped.
“What’s the problem?” Loren Muse asked.
He gestured with his chin. “I want to talk to them.”
“And say what exactly?”
He hesitated.
“Do you want to waste time explaining yourself,” Loren Muse asked, “or do you want to help us find Aimee?”
She had a point. What would he say right now anyway? “I didn’t harm your daughter? I just drove her to some house in Ridgewood because I didn’t want her to drive with a drunk kid”? What good would that do?
Hester kissed him good-bye. “Keep your trap shut.”
He looked at her.
“Fine, whatever. Just call me if they arrest you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Myron took the elevator to the garage with Lance Banner and Loren Muse. Banner took one car and started out. Myron looked a question at Loren.
“He’s going ahead to get a local to accompany us.”
“Oh.”
Loren Muse moved over to a squad car, complete with the perp cage in the back. She opened the back door for Myron. He sighed and slid in. She took the driver’s seat. There was a laptop attached to the console. She started typing into it.
“So what now?” Myron asked.
“Can I have your mobile phone?”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me.”
He handed it to her. She scanned through the call log and then dropped it on the front passenger’s seat.
“When exactly did you call Hester Crimstein?” she asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Then how—”
“Long story.”
Win would not want his name mentioned.
“It doesn’t look good,” she said. “Calling a lawyer so quickly.”
“I don’t much care how it looks.”
“No, I guess you don’t.”
“So what’s next?”
“We drive to Ridgewood. We try to figure out where you purportedly dropped off Aimee Biel.”
They started moving.
“I know you from somewhere,” Myron said.
“I grew up in Livingston. When I was a kid, I went to some of your high school basketball games.”
“That’s not it,” he said. He sat up. “Wait, did you handle that Hunter case?”
“I was”—she paused—“involved.”
“That’s it. The Matt Hunter case.”
“You know him?”
“I went to school with his brother Bernie. I was at his funeral.” He sat back. “So what’s next? Are you getting a warrant for my house, my car, what?”