Read Online Tell No One by Harlan Coben - Free Book Online

of the room. Hoyt and I exchanged pleasantries, and silence settled in. Hoyt Parker had never been comfortable with me. There might havebeen some Electra complex here, but I’d always felt that he saw me as a threat. I understood. His little girl had spent all her time with me. Over the years, we’d managed to fight through his resentment and forged something of a friendship. Until Elizabeth’s death.
    He blames me for what happened.
    He has never said that, of course, but I see it in his eyes. Hoyt Parker is a burly, strong man. Rock-solid, honest Americana. He’d always made Elizabeth feel unconditionally safe. Hoyt had that kind of protective aura. No harm would come to his little girl as long as Big Hoyt was by her side.
    I don’t think I ever made Elizabeth feel safe like that.
    “Work good?” Hoyt asked me.
    “Fine,” I said. “You?”
    “A year away from retirement.”
    I nodded and we again fell into silence. On the ride over here, I decided not to say anything about what I’d seen on the computer. Forget the fact that it sounded loony. Forget the fact that it would open old wounds and hurt them both like all hell. The truth was, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. The more time passed, the more the whole episode felt unreal. I also decided to take that last email to heart.
Tell no one.
I couldn’t imagine why or what was going on, but whatever connection I’d made felt frighteningly tenuous.
    Nonetheless I still found myself making sure Kim was out of earshot. Then I leaned closer to Hoyt and said softly, “Can I ask you something?”
    He didn’t reply, offering up instead one of his patented skeptical gazes.
    “I want to know—” I stopped. “I want to know how you found her.”
    “Found her?”
    “I mean when you first walked into the morgue. I want to know what you saw.”
    Something happened to his face, like tiny explosions collapsing the foundation. “For the love of Christ, why would you ask me that?”
    “I’ve just been thinking about it,” I said lamely. “With the anniversary and all.”
    He stood suddenly and wiped his palms on the legs of his pants. “You want a drink?”
    “Sure.”
    “Bourbon okay?”
    “That would be great.”
    He walked over to an old bar cart near the mantel and thus the photographs. I kept my gaze on the floor.
    “Hoyt?” I tried.
    He twisted open a bottle. “You’re a doctor,” he said, pointing a glass at me. “You’ve seen dead bodies.”
    “Yes.”
    “Then you know.”
    I did know.
    He brought over my drink. I grabbed it a little too quickly and downed a sip. He watched me and then brought his glass to his lips.
    “I know I never asked you about the details,” I began. More than that, I had studiously avoided them. Other “families of the victims,” as the media referred to us, bathed in them. They showed up every day at KillRoy’s trial and listened and cried. I didn’t. I think it helped them channel their grief. I chose to channel mine back at myself.
    “You don’t want to know the details, Beck.”
    “She was beaten?”
    Hoyt studied his drink. “Why are you doing this?”
    “I need to know.”
    He peered at me over the glass. His eyes moved along my face. It felt as though they were prodding my skin. I kept my gaze steady.
    “There were bruises, yes.”
    “Where?”
    “David—”
    “On her face?”
    His eyes narrowed, as though he’d spotted something unexpected. “Yes.”
    “On her body too?”
    “I didn’t look at her body,” he said. “But I know the answer is yes.”
    “Why didn’t you look at her body?”
    “I was there as her father, not an investigator—for the purposes of identification only.”
    “Was that easy?” I asked.
    “Was what easy?”
    “Making the identification. I mean, you said her face was bruised.”
    His body stiffened. He put down his drink, and with mounting dread, I realized I’d gone too far. I should have stuck to my plan. I should have just kept my mouth shut.
    “You