a long time ago."

"Yes."

He didn't elaborate.

"Did something happen back then?" Myron asked.

"Maybe," Jack Coldren said slowly. "I don't know anymore. The point is, someone else might be out to get me. It doesn't have to be my son."

"Maybe," Myron agreed. He didn't go into the fact that he'd pretty much dismissed this possibility because Chad had vanished before Coldren had his lead. No reason to go into it now.

Coldren turned back to Myron. "Bucky mentioned + something about an ATM card," he said.

"Your son's ATM card was accessed last night. At Porter Street."

Something crossed his face. Not for long. Not for more than a second. A flash and then it was gone. "On Porter Street?" he repeated.

"Yep. A First Philadelphia Bank on Porter Street in South Philadelphia."

Silence.

"Are you familiar with that part of town?"

"No," Coldren said. He looked over at his caddie.

+Diane Hoflinan remained the statue. Arms still folded.

Feet still shoulder-width apart. Ash finally gone.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am."

"I visited there today," Myron said.

His face remained steady. "Did you learn anything?"

"No."

Silence.

Jack Coldren gestured behind him. "You mind if I

take a few more swings while we talk?"

"Not at all."

He put on his glove. "Do you think I should play tomorrow?"

"That's up to you," Myron said. "The kidnapper said to act normal. Your not playing would certainly draw suspicion."

Coldren bent down to put a ball on the tee. "Can I ask you something, Myron?"

"Sure."

"When you played basketball, how important was winning to you?"

Odd question. "Very."

Jack nodded like he'd been expecting that. "You won the NCAA championship one year, right'?"

"Yes."

Coldren shook his head. "Must have been something, Myron did not reply.

Jack Coldren picked up a club and flexed his fingers around the grip. He lined up next to the ball. Again the smooth coil-and-release movement. Myron watched the ball sail away. For a moment no one spoke. They just looked off into the distance and watched the final streaks of sim color the sky purple.

When Coldren finally spoke, his voice was thick.

"You want to hear something wierd?

Myron moved closer to him. Coldren's eyes were wet.

"I still care about winning this thing," Coldren said.

He looked at Myron. The pain on his face was so naked, Myron almost reached out and hugged him. He imagined that he could see the reflection of the man's past in his eyes, the years of torment, of thinking of what might have been, of finally having the chance at redemption, of having that chance suddenly snatched away.

"What kind of man still thinks about winning at a time like this?" Coldren asked.

Myron didn't say anything. He didn't know the answer. Or maybe he feared that he did.

Chapter 5

Merion's clubhouse was an expanded white farmhouse with black shutters. The only splash of color came from the green awnings shading the famed back porch and even that was muted by the surrounding green of the golf course. You expected something more awe-inspiring or intimidating at one of the country's most exclusive clubs, and yet the simplicity seemed to say, "We're Merion. We don't need more."