"Maybe they did," Myron said. "Maybe he just forgot."

Greg didn't like it. Neither did Myron. "So what's next?" Greg asked.

"We run a background check on Davis Taylor. Find out everything we can about him."

"How?

"It's easy nowadays. Just a few keystrokes and my partner will know it all."

"Your partner? You mean that violent wacko you used to room with in college?"

"A, it is unhealthy to refer to Win as a violent wacko, even when he appears not to be in the vicinity. B, no, I mean my partner at MB SportsReps, Esperanza Diaz."

Greg looked back at the house. "What do I do?"

"Go home," Myron said.

"And?"

"And be with your son."

Greg shook his head. "I don't get to see him until the weekend."

"I'm sure Emily wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, right." Greg smirked, shook his head. "You don't know her too well anymore, do you, Myron?"

"I guess not, no."

"If she had her way, I'd never get to see Jeremy again."

"That's a bit harsh, Greg."

"No, Myron. If anything, it's being generous."

"Emily told me that you're a good father."

"Did she also tell you what she charged in our custody battle?"

Myron nodded. "That you abused the kids."

"Not just abused them, Myron. Sexually abused them."

"She wanted to win."

"And that's an excuse?"

"No," Myron said. "It's deplorable."

"More than that," Greg said. "It's sick. You have no idea what Emily's capable of doing to get her way."

"For example?"

But Greg just shook his head and started up the car. "I'll ask you again: What can I do to help?"

"Nothing, Greg."

"No good. I'm not sitting around while my kid is dying, you understand?"

"I do."

"You have anything besides this name and address?"

"Nope."

"Fine," Greg said. "I'll drop you off at the train station. I'm staying up here and watching the house."

"You think the old man is lying?"

Greg shrugged. "Maybe he's just confused and forgot. Or maybe I'm wasting my time. But I got to do something."

Myron said nothing. Greg continued to drive.

"You'll call me if you hear something?" Greg asked.

"Sure."

During the train ride back to Manhattan, Myron thought about what Greg had said. About Emily. And about what she'd done--and what she'd do--to save her son.

Chapter 11.

Myron and Terese started out the next morning showering together. Myron controlled the temperature and kept the water hot. Prevents, er, shrinkage.

When they stepped out of the steamy stall, he helped Terese towel off.

"Thorough," she said.

"We're a full-service operation, ma'am." He toweled her off some more.

"One thing I notice when I shower with a man," Terese said.

"What's that?"

"My breasts always end up squeaky clean."

Win had left several hours ago. Lately he liked to get to the office by six. Overseas markets or something. Terese toasted a bagel while Myron fixed himself a bowl of cereal. Quisp cereal. They didn't have it in New York anymore, but Win had it shipped in from a place called Woodsman's in Wisconsin. Myron downed an industrial-size spoonful; the sugar rush came at him so fast he nearly ducked.