TPG (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

The next few days were uneventful
in terms of Allie’s condition. She was still in a coma, and they apparently
didn’t know much more.

He thought about
mentioning her condition to his class, but decided against it. Allie didn’t
seem to be that close to any of them beyond superficial hellos. And that made
sense. It was a summer class. She went to Michigan and was only taking the
class to avoid a heavy load for her upcoming senior year. Kyle remembered
seeing the big yellow “M” on her dark blue T-shirt during the session’s
introductory lecture. Sitting in the front row, she had a cheery smile that
easily outshone the bored glazed-over looks from the other students, those in
the summer session caring much less about the nuts and bolts of psychology than
his full-time students. She was also undeniably gorgeous. Tall, thin, high
cheekbones, with bright green eyes framed by flowing long blond hair. Not that
Kyle would let his eyes linger for long. Whenever a pretty student caught his
attention, he usually did his best to ignore them. And Allie wasn’t the first
attractive student he’d had, or the only one to hit on him. Kyle had thick,
dark blond hair with a narrow nose below deep brown eyes and kept his six-foot
frame fit with bike rides up and down the Palisades.

So, yes, there had
been other overtures in the past, but he had never acted on them. But it was
different with Allie. He allowed himself to banter with her after class and
even believed her when she said she always had an interest in the workings of
the mind, that it was a hobby of hers. That she found it fascinating.

And he enjoyed
their conversations, convincing himself that she was mature beyond her years.
Even then, he wouldn’t have acted on it if she hadn’t asked for his cell
number. But she had. The class had a test coming up, and Allie wanted to know
if she could call him in case she had any questions. Kyle knew that wasn’t the
real reason, but he didn’t care. He gave her the number. He couldn’t
not
give it to her.

That’s when the
flirtatious texts started. And what he was too inhibited to say in person, he
felt emboldened to say in a text. He played the game, and enjoyed it. They
never spoke about it in class. She would just flash a smile here or there. It
was fun. And he’d been lonely, starved for the attention, desperate for the
companionship, regardless of how superficial it was. But he thought he’d just
use the racy texts to take care of business at home. Alone. That that would be
enough.

Unfortunately, it
hadn’t been.

As he slung his
bag over his shoulder and started to leave the classroom, the bag’s strap
pressing against his light blue button-down, he heard the electronic tones of
his BlackBerry. He glanced down at the display. The number wasn’t familiar.

“Kyle?” a man
asked as Kyle answered. “It’s Liam. Liam Murdock.”

Kyle couldn’t
place the voice, or the name. “Do I know—”

“Allie Shelton’s
uncle,” the man cut him off. “The one in your class. The one in a coma right
now.”

Coma.
The word stung with guilt,
sounding so much more real than how he thought about it in his mind—that
she just hadn’t woken up yet.

“I saw her texts
to you in her phone.”

And there it was.

He was surprised
it wasn’t the cops calling or stopping by unannounced to talk to him. Wasn’t
that the way things went? Maybe they were on their way.

He didn’t even
know how to explain. He didn’t know where to start.

So he played dumb.
“Texts?”

“Yeah,” Liam said.
“The ones about Sheldrake.”

“
Sheldrake
?”

“Right,” Liam said.
“Rupert Sheldrake. I saw you guys exchanged some texts about him a few weeks
ago.”

Kyle remembered
now. He’d mentioned Sheldrake’s theories about the workings of the mind during
a lecture on holistic approaches to healing anxieties—things like
meditation, Reiki, Deeksha. Allie had said she’d tried some holistic approaches
herself and was curious about how the process worked from a neurological
standpoint. They may have been the only non-flirtatious texts the two of them
had exchanged, and were probably under a different thread than the chain he’d
deleted.

Kyle relaxed a
bit. “Yes,” he said. “I remember the messages, and forgive me for not
mentioning before how sorry I am about what happened to your niece.”

“Right. Me too.
But listen. You obviously know about Sheldrake, right? And about his theories
on energy transfers, right?”

Kyle was confused
as to why it mattered, but said, “I do.”

“Awesome,” Liam
blurted. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for. You’re my guy, then.”

“Guy?” Kyle asked,
surprised by the man’s upbeat tone. “Guy for what?”

“Guy for
convincing the N.Y.P.Dopes that someone attacked my niece.”

“Attacked?”

“That’s right. She
was attacked. And I know how it happened.”

“But I thought
there were no signs of trauma.”

“There weren’t. No
physical signs at all. Not even a bruise on her head when she fell.”

“So I don’t get
it.”

“Didn’t expect you
to,” Liam said with an oddly chipper tone. “You don’t know enough yet. I
haven’t told you anything. But I will. And it’s gonna blow your effing mind
away, man.”

“How? What are you
talking about?”

“I know what
caused her to stroke out like that. I know what caused the aneurysm to rupture.
I need to speak with someone who’s equipped to handle this stuff, and the cops
aren’t getting it.” The excitement in Liam’s voice rose as he spoke. “Now, I
don’t know
who
did this to them yet,
but at least you put me on the right trail.”

“I did?” Kyle
asked. “What did I do?”

“Your texts. They
gave me the road map.”

“Road map for
what?”

“All in good
time.”

“And what do you
mean
them
? Who else are you talking
about?”

“The others who
are being killed,” Liam said. “That’s who.”

“Killed?”

“That’s right,”
Liam said. “Killed. Friggin’ murdered, man. At least four of them in the past
few months.”

Kyle’s eyes
widened as he let the words reverberate in his mind.
Killed? Murdered?
The man couldn’t be serious. “I don’t
understand.” He started pacing around the empty classroom, wondering what the
hell was going on.

“You will,” Liam
said. “But we shouldn’t talk about it now. Not over the phone. We should talk
in person. We don’t want any uninvited guests listening on the line.”

“What uninvited
guests?”

“People who don’t
want this stuff getting out.”

“Liam, I’ve gotta
be honest here. I’m extremely sorry about what you’re going through, and I want
to help with Allie in any way I can. But I don’t have a clue as to what you’re
talking about.”

“You will
tomorrow. I’ll be at your office at noon. We’ll talk then.”

Liam hung up
before Kyle could ask another question. His head was spinning as he took a seat
and tried to make sense of what he’d just heard.
Attacks? Murders
? Allie had only been alone for a minute, probably
even less. There were no signs of an attack, and definitely nothing to indicate
that someone was trying to kill her. Hell, the one thing everyone seemed to
agree upon was that there wasn’t
any
evidence of trauma. And what was with Liam’s tone? Why did he seem so
comfortable on the phone even though they’d never met before?

Was his story just
a pretext for something else? Maybe he’d discovered the texts Kyle had deleted
and made up the whole “attacked” story to keep Kyle off guard and not let him
prepare for the real confrontation that was coming.

Whatever it was,
Kyle could feel some kind of storm brewing. A feeling that was unfortunately
becoming all too familiar.

CHAPTER SIX

After Liam’s call, Kyle headed down
into the city’s maze of subway tunnels and snared a seat on the F train, taking
it to Brooklyn’s Carroll Gardens.

The ride over only
took about a half hour, and the walk to the familiar adjoining twin four-story
red brick townhouses only about ten minutes more. Both buildings belonged to
Eddie Guida, his best friend since college. The outside entrances for each were
separate, but inside was a connecting archway that allowed the young girl in
the wheelchair greeting Kyle to use the first floor of the adjacent townhouse
as a large bedroom. The girl was Eddie’s eleven-year-old daughter, Celia. The
wheelchair was the result of a car accident almost five years earlier. Eddie
had purchased the adjacent townhouse after the accident so Celia would have the
space she needed without having to worry about stairs.

After bending down
to give Celia a warm hug, Kyle looked around for Eddie’s two boys—Jake,
who was three, and E.J., who was eight.

“My mom took them
to pick up steaks,” Celia said.

Kyle looked down
again and grinned. “I was wondering why the house was so quiet.”

A loud voice
echoed from down the hallway. “Did the man who cursed the Yankees just enter my
house?”

Kyle looked up and
saw Eddie’s stocky frame enter the foyer.

“Guess I spoke too
soon,” Kyle quipped.

Eddie Guida had
been Kyle’s best friend since the two were randomly paired as roommates their
first year at Columbia. Kyle remembered wondering if his own small-town
reserved and pensive demeanor would mesh with Eddie’s loud and brash outsized
Brooklyn personality.

But beneath
Eddie’s tough-guy façade was a heart of gold, and the two not only remained
roommates throughout college, but also for a few more years afterward when Kyle
decided to stay to get his Ph.D. and Eddie took an entry-level job at a
Manhattan private equity firm.

“Seriously,
though,” Eddie said, “how the hell could you question the man right before he’s
about to pitch? It’s like you were
trying
to jinx him. Who does
that?”

Eddie was talking
about the Yankees’ new ace, Evan Hillier. It was Hillier’s first year as a
Yankee, and his first year back in the majors after a four-year absence. The
twenty-nine-year-old had been out of baseball struggling to recover after successive
arm surgeries, but had been lights out since getting the call-up because of
injuries to the Yankee frontliners. But after giving up five runs in five
innings, his worst outing of the year, most thought the run had ended, the
bubble had burst, and his fifteen minutes were up. The Yankees were already
discussing trades for another starter. A few nights ago Kyle had sent Eddie a
text asking if he thought Hillier would be able to keep his amazing hot streak
going. The answer came in the fourth inning when Hillier was tagged for a
two-run homer, and was knocked out of the game an inning later after giving up
three more runs, albeit all unearned.

“My bad,” Kyle
said.

“Tell you what,”
Eddie said, “if you finally let me put your ass on Match.com or one of those
other websites chock-f of desperate chicks, then all will be forgiven.”

“Not happening.”

Eddie shook his
head. “When are you gonna finally listen to me?”

“I’m not going on
a dating website.”

“Why not? That’s
how
everyone
meets these days.
Especially divorced guys in their forties. Hell, I’d jump at the chance if I
was in your shoes.”

“Well, you’re not
in my shoes, and I’m not going on a dating site.”

“Yeah. Of course
you won’t. Because you’re doing such a bang-up job with the prospects now. Tell
me, when was the last time you were out on a date? When was the last time you
actually fu—”

“
Found
someone I like?” Kyle quickly cut
in as he looked down at Celia, who was still by their side as they made their
way down the hallway. “Is that what you were going to say?”

“Of course that’s
what I was going to say.”

Kyle had been
debating whether to tell Eddie about Allie. He didn’t want anyone to know, but
the events that occurred—the hemorrhage, erasing the texts, and then her
uncle calling—were becoming too much to keep to himself. He needed to
speak to someone. Especially before Liam came to his office the next day.

“What you
should’ve done,” Eddie said, not waiting for Kyle to actually answer him, “is
let me throw that ‘Kyle’s Getting Divorced’ party when you guys first split.
Hell, man, the sympathy factor
alone
would’ve caused at least one of those married friends of yours to stray.”

“Stray from
where?” Celia asked as the three of them entered the kitchen.

Eddie looked down
and rubbed his chin. “Think we can put that one on the ‘Don’t tell Mommy’ list
and I’ll owe you one?”

“You know,” she
said, wheeling herself over to the table, “one of these days you’re going to
have to actually make good on that list. It’s getting pretty long.”

Kyle laughed.
“Good for you, Celia.”

“It’s not that
easy, honey,” Eddie said. “What can I get for the girl who has everything?”

Celia shook her
head and picked up an iPad from the table. “Guess I’ll have to find something,”
she said. Then she looked up with a big toothy grin. “I’ll let you know when I
do.”

“Just make sure
it’s plenty pricey,” Kyle said. “The last thing we’d want is for your dad to
get off easy.”

“Jesus,” Eddie
said as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out two Heinekens, “can’t a guy
catch a break?”

“I’ll go easy on
you,” Celia said as she flipped through images and smiled.

“Thanks,” Eddie
said, opening the bottles and handing one to Kyle. “At least I have one friend
around here.”

Eddie opened the
sliding glass door to the backyard, which consisted of a small deck with a
barbeque and patio furniture, and a plot of grass that in suburbia wouldn’t
even qualify as large enough for a garden, but in Brooklyn was prime coveted
outdoor space.

Kyle followed,
then slid the glass door closed behind him. “Is Celia excited about going down
to the shore house this summer?”

Eddie shrugged.
“She’s looking forward to the pool and big backyard, but doesn’t want to go
near the beach. She doesn’t want to be carried.”

Kyle saw the
tension in his face. Eddie didn’t like to talk about Celia’s condition, but
Kyle knew how much it weighed on him.

“Anyway,” Eddie
said as he took a seat at the patio table, “tell me when you’re going to get up
off your ass and start dating? Or at least get the hell on Facebook and see
what your old girlfriends from Hick Town High are up to.”

Kyle ignored
Eddie’s insult, having heard the same joke from him about his New Jersey
hometown hundreds of times already. Then he started to say something, but
stopped. Not sure how to get the words out.

“What?” Eddie
asked. “What is it?”

Kyle stared down
at the blades of grass sprouting from Eddie’s tiny oasis of land. “I did
something stupid,” he said. “Very stupid.”

Eddie’s attention
perked up. “What was it?”

Kyle looked up. “I
began flirting with a student,” he said, cringing as he slowly continued, “I
met her out at a bar two nights ago.”

Eddie’s jaw
dropped as he sunk back in his chair.

“I know, I know.
It was stupid.”

“You fucking
shit,” Eddie said, his eyes digging into Kyle. “You were trying to screw around
with one of your students?”

Kyle nodded.

“For how long?”

“Few weeks now.”

Eddie shook his
head. “And you didn’t tell me?
Me
?”

“I was
embarrassed.”

“
Embarrassed?
” Eddie asked. “I’m your
best fucking friend.
This
is the shit
I’m supposed to hear. No, scratch that. This is the shit I
want
to hear. I love you and all, Ky, but your stories about next
year’s new teaching curriculum aren’t exactly riveting. But you banging an
eighteen-year-old? Now that’s some good shit. That’s the stuff I want to hear.
And damn, I was starting to wonder if you’d gone gay.” Eddie paused and sunk
his chin into his chest. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Kyle smiled. “Of
course not.”

Eddie leaned
forward and rested his hands on his thighs. “So tell me, man, what’s she look like?
Smoking, right? Hell, a fat, homely looking eighteen-year-old is smoking to me
these days.”

“She’s not
eighteen.”

“She hot?”

Kyle squirmed a
bit. “She’s attractive, yes.”

“So how long have
you been banging her?”

“I haven’t done
anything with her.”

“I thought you
said you met her out at a bar the other night.”

Kyle sighed. “I
did. But she collapsed before I got a chance to even talk to her. Not that I
would’ve necessarily done anything if she hadn’t, but—”

“Whoa, whoa. Wait
a fucking second. Collapsed? The chick collapsed? From what, drinking?”

“No. She had a
hemorrhage. A cerebral hemorrhage. Burst aneurysm. Collapsed on the street when
I got there.”

Eddie laughed.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“It’s not funny.
She could’ve died. She still might, or might be even worse off. She’s in a
coma.”

Eddie held up his
hands. “Sorry. Seriously, I am. But it’s funny just how bad your fucking luck
is. I mean, here you go trying to hook up with some eighteen-year-old, and she
has a damn stroke before you even get to do anything.”

“She’s not
eighteen,” Kyle repeated. “She’s twenty.”

Eddie leaned back.
“So what happened? Did her parents find out?”

Kyle shook his
head and explained how he erased the texts when he found Allie, then told him
about Liam’s out of the blue call just earlier.

“Damn, Ky. You
erased the texts?
You
? Mr. fucking
Goody Two-Shoes? I couldn’t even get you to help me write any of my papers, and
now you’re tampering with evidence?”

Kyle’s eyes
widened. “You think that’s evidence tampering?”

“Might be,” Eddie
said.

“But what’s the
crime? She had a burst aneurysm.”

“But you didn’t
know that at the time.”

“But I know now.”

“All right,” Eddie
said. “Whatever. Tampering or not, it’s still pretty risky. Especially for a
tightass, by-the-rules geek like you.”

Kyle hung his
head. “I know.”

“And so now her
uncle’s coming by your office tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“You think he
really thinks she was attacked?”

Kyle shrugged. “I
hope so.”

“I’m sure you do,”
Eddie said. “But, c’mon, let’s be real. The guy probably wants to kick your
fucking ass for trying to slam his eighteen-year-old niece and then abandoning
her when she stroked out.”

“She’s twenty.”

Eddie took a swig
of his Heineken, then stood and opened the sliding glass door. “Celia,” he
said, “bring the iPad out here for a second.”

“Why?”

“Just for a
second, honey. I want you to check something out for us.”

“What?” she asked
as she wheeled over the small ramp used to make the ridge of the sliding glass
door wheelchair accessible.

“I need you to go
on Facebook and look up a Liam … what’s his last name?”

“Murdock,” Kyle
said. “You think he’s on Facebook?”

“Everyone in the
world’s on Facebook besides you. My goddam ninety-five-year-old grandmother’s
on Facebook.”

“There are a few
Liam Murdocks,” Celia said. She scrolled down the list. “Three of them are in
Australia, and one guy’s in New York.”

“How old is the
guy in New York?”

“Forty-two,” Celia
said. “His profile’s public.”

“Age sound about
right?” Eddie asked.

“Seems so,” Kyle
said. “Can I see it?”

“Sure,” Celia
said, handing him the iPad.

Eddie peered over
to take a look as well. The profile didn’t have a photo. Instead, it had a
Batman insignia. It also showed that Liam owned a comic book store downtown.
Kyle clicked on the photo icon to see if there were any actual pictures of
Liam, but there weren’t
—
just
pictures of superheroes, wolves, the Yankees, and cartoons. No people. Kyle
scrolled through a couple of wall posts. There were quite a few, many using
words like “effing,” “frig,” and “dang” while avoiding the actual curse words
themselves. The most recent posts were about Allie, telling his “friends” what
had happened, that she was in a coma.

Kyle looked up.
“So? What do you think?”

Eddie didn’t
answer right away. Instead, he took the iPad from Kyle and continued to scroll
down the screen, looking at Liam’s posts from before Allie’s incident. “I can’t
stand these types of guys,” he said. “They feel the need to post about every
single second of their boring-ass lives. I mean, shit, do you think this guy’s
478
friends
really give a damn that
he was on the bowl for an hour after eating Mexican takeout? And look at this.”
Eddie turned the tablet toward Kyle. “He’s one of those doomsayer Yankee fans.
One of those guys who gets upset if they don’t win every game by a blowout.”

“Still think this
guy wants to kick my ass?”

“Why would someone
want to kick your ass?” Celia asked.

Kyle looked over
his shoulder. “They wouldn’t,” he said, having made the same mistake Eddie had
earlier. “I was just making a very bad joke to your dad.”

“I’ll tell you
what I think,” Eddie said. “I think spending all that time with nutcases has
caused you to become a magnet for ’em. This dude’s a bona fide freak.” He
looked back down at the iPad and started scrolling around. “What’s the name of
his niece? Allie what?”