Kardashian. As in O.J. The man had changed law lexicon forever. “But …” Myron stopped. “This is ridiculous. Where is Linda?”

“Upstairs. I’ve informed the police that she is too grief-stricken to speak to them at this time.”

“You don’t understand. Linda shouldn’t even be a suspect. Once she tells you the whole story, you’ll see what I mean.”

Another near yawn. “She has told me the whole story.”

“Even about …?”

“The kidnapping,” Victoria Wilson finished for him. “Yes.”

“Well, don’t you think that kind of exonerates her?”

“No.”

Myron was confused. “Do the police know about the kidnapping?”

“Of course not. We are saying nothing at this time.” Myron made a face. “But once they hear about the kidnapping, they’ll focus on that. They’ll know Linda couldn’t be involved.” Victoria Wilson turned away. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“You don’t agree?”

She didn’t respond. They began to climb the staircase. Victoria said, “You are an attorney.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but Myron still said, “I don’t practice.”

“But you passed the bar.”

“In New York.”

“Good enough. I want you to be co-counsel in this case. I can get you an immediate dispensation.”

“I don’t do criminal law,” Myron said.

“You don’t have to. I just want you to be an attorney of record for Mrs. Coldren.”

Myron nodded. “So I can’t testify,” he said. “So everything I hear falls under privilege.”

Still bored. “You are a smart one.” She stopped next to a bedroom door and leaned against a wall. “Go in. I’m going to wait out here.”

Myron knocked. Linda Coldren told him to come in. He opened the door. Linda stood by the far window looking out onto her backyard.

“Linda?”

Her back still faced him. “I’m having a bad week, Myron.” She laughed. It was not a happy sound.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Me? Never better. Thanks for asking.”

He stepped toward her, unsure what to say. “Did the kidnappers call about the ransom?”

“Last night,” Linda said. “Jack spoke to them.”

“What did they say?”

“I don’t know. He stormed out after the call. He never told me.”

Myron tried to picture this scene. A call comes in. Jack answers it. He runs out without saying anything. It didn’t exactly mesh.

“Have you heard from them again?” he tried.

“No, not yet.”

Myron nodded, even though she wasn’t facing him. “So what did you do?”

“Do?”

“Last night. After Jack stormed out.”

Linda Coldren folded her arms across her chest. “I waited a few minutes for him to calm down,” she said. “When he didn’t come back, I went out looking for him.”

“You went to Merion,” Myron said.

“Yes. Jack likes to stroll the grounds. To think and be alone.”

“Did you see him there?”

“No. I looked around for a while. Then I came back here. That’s when I ran into you.”

“And Jack never came back,” Myron said.

With her back still to him, Linda Coldren shook her head. “What tipped you off, Myron? The dead body in the stone quarry?”

“Just trying to help.”

She turned to him. Her eyes were red. Her face was drawn. She was still incredibly beautiful. “I just need someone to take it out on.” She shrugged, tried a smile. “You’re here.”

Myron wanted to step closer. He refrained. “You’ve been up all night?”

She nodded. “I’ve been standing right here, waiting for Jack to come home. When the police knocked on the door, I thought it was about Chad. This is going to sound awful, but when they told me about Jack, I was almost relieved.”

The phone rang.

Linda spun around with enough speed to start up a wind tunnel. She looked at Myron. He looked at her.

“It’s probably the media,” he said.

Linda shook her head. “Not on that line.” She reached for the phone, pressed the lit-up button, picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” she said.

A voice replied. Linda gasped and bit down in mid-scream. Her hand flew to her mouth. Tears pushed their way out of her eyes. The door flew open. Victoria Wilson stepped into the room, looking like a bear stirred from a power nap.

Linda looked up at them both. “It’s Chad,” she said. “He’s free.”

27

Victoria Wilson took control. “Well go pick him up,” she said. “You stay on the line with him.”

Linda started shaking her head. “But I want—”

“Trust me on this, honey. If you go, every cop and news reporter will follow. Myron and I can lose them if we have to. I don’t want the police talking to your son until I have. You just stay here. You say nothing. If the police come in with a warrant, you let them in. You don’t say a word. No matter what. Do you understand?”

Linda nodded.

“So where is he?”

“On Porter Street.”

“Okay, tell him Aunt Victoria is on the way. We’ll take care of him.”

Linda grabbed her arm, her face pleading. “Will you bring him back here?”

“Not right away, hon.” The voice was still matter-of-fact. “The police will see. I can’t have that. It’ll raise too many questions. You’ll see him soon enough.”

Victoria Wilson turned away. There was no debate with this woman.

In the car, Myron asked, “How do you know Linda?”

“My mother and father were servants for the Buckwells and Lockwoods,” she replied. “I grew up on their estates.”

“But somewhere along the line you went to law school?”

She frowned. “You writing my biography?”

“I’m just asking.”

“Why? You surprised that a middle-aged black woman is the attorney for rich WASPs?”

“Frankly,” Myron said, “yes.”

“Don’t blame you. But we don’t have time for that now. You got any important questions?”

“Yes,” Myron said. He was doing the driving. “What aren’t you telling me?”