Any operator almost anywhere can plug the number into her computer or use one of those reverse directories, and whammo. Heck, you don't even need an operator. Computer programs on CD-ROM and Web sites did the same thing.

"It's a pay phone," she said.

Not good news, but not unexpected either. "Do you know where?"

"The Grand Mercado Mall in Bala-Cynwyd."

"A mall?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"That's what it says."

"Where in the mall?"

"I have no idea. You think they list it 'between Sears and Victoria's Secret'?"

This made no sense. A mall? The kidnapper had dragged Chad Coldren to a mall and made him scream into a phone?

"Thanks, Lisa."

He hung up and turned back toward the porch. Win was standing directly behind him. His arms were folded, his body, as always, completely relaxed.

"The kidnapper called," Myron said.

"So I overheard." `

"I could use your help tracking this down."

"No," Win said.

"This isn't about your mother, Win."

Win's face did not change, but something happened to his eyes. "Careful," was all he said.

Myron shook his head. "I have to go. Please make my excuses." .

"You came here to recruit clients," Wm said. "You claimed earlier that you agreed to help the Coldrens in the hopes of representing them."

"So'?"

"So you are excruciatingly close to landing the world's top golf protTgT. Reason dictates that you stay."

"l can't."

Win unfolded his arms, shook his head.

"Will you do one thing for me? To let me know if l'm wasting time or not?"

Win remained still.

"You know how I told you about Chad using his ATM

card?"

"Yes."

"Get me the security videotape of the transaction,"

he said. "It may tell me if this whole thing is just a hoax on Chad's part."

Win turned back to the porch. "I'll see you at the house tonight."

Chapter 8

Myron parked at the mall and checked his watch.

Seven forty-five. It had been a very long day and it was still relatively early. He entered through a Macy's and immediately located one of those big table blueprints of the mall. Public telephones were marked with blue locators.

Eleven altogether. Two at the south entrance downstairs.

Two at the north entrance upstairs. Seven at the food court.

Malls were the great American geographical equalizer.

Between shiny anchor stores and beneath excessively flood lit ceilings, Kansas equaled California, New Jersey equaled Nevada, No place was truly more Americana.

Some of the stores inside might be different, but not by much. Athlete's Foot or Foot Locker, Rite Aid or CVS, Williams-Sonoma or Pottery Barn, the Gap or Banana Republic or Old Navy (all, coincidentally, owned by the same people), Waldenbooks or B. Dalton, several anonymous shoe stores, a Radio Shack, a Victoria's Secret, an art gallery with Gorman, McKnight, and Behrens, a museum store of some kind, two record stores all wrapped up in some Orwellian, sleek-chrome neo Roman Forum with chintzy fountains and overstated marble and dentistoffice sculptures and unmanned information booths and fake ferns.