Free Drop Shot (1996) by Harlan - Myron 02 Coben

fine," Myron said.
    "Fries with that?"
    "No."
    "To drink?"
    "A Diet Coke. Like my low-cal buddy."
    Millie eyed Myron, looked him up and down. "You're kinda cute."
    Myron gave her the modest smile. The one that said, Aw, shucks.
    "You also look familiar."
    "I have that kind of face," Myron said. "Cute yet familiar."
    "You date one of my daughters once? Gloria maybe. She works the night shift."
    "I don't think so."
    She looked him over again. "You married?"
    "I'm involved with someone."
    "Not what I asked you," she said. "You married?"
    "No."
    "All right men." She turned and left.
    "What was that all about?"
    Jake shrugged. "Hope she's not getting Gloria."
    "Why?"
    "She kinda looks like a white version of me," Jake said. "Only with a heavier beard."
    "Sounds enticing."
    "You still with Jessica Culver?"
    "Guess so."
    Jake shook his head. "Man, she's something else. I've never seen nothing that looked that good in real life."
    Myron tried not to grin. "Hard to argue."
    "She also got you wrapped around her finger."
    "Hard to argue."
    "Lots of worse places for a man to be wrapped around."
    "Hard to argue."
    Millie came back with the two Diet Cokes. This time she almost managed to smile at Myron. "Good-looking man like you shouldn't be single," she said.
    "I'm wanted in several states," Myron said.
    Millie did not seem discouraged. She shrugged, left. Myron turned back to Jake.
    "All right," Myron said. "Where's the file?"
    Jake flipped it open. He handed Myron a picture of a handsome, healthy man. Tan, fit, wearing tennis shorts. Myron had seen the picture in the paper after the murder.
    "Meet Alexander Cross," Jake began. "Age twenty-four at the time of the murder. Wharton graduate. Son of United States senator Bradley Cross of Pennsylvania. On the night of July twenty-four, six years ago, he was attending a party at a tennis club called Old Oaks in Wayne, Pennsylvania. The esteemed senator was there. It's a pretty ritzy place fancy food, indoor and outdoor courts, hard court, clay, lit, unlit, the works. Even grass courts."
    "Okay."
    "What happened next is a bit fuzzy, but here's what we have. Alexander Cross and three buddies were taking a walk around the grounds."
    "At night? During a party?"
    "Not unheard of."
    "Not common either."
    Jake shrugged. "Anyway, they heard a noise coming from the western end of the club. They went to check it out They ran into two suspicious-looking youths."
    "Suspicious-looking?"
    "The youths were what are they calling us today? African American."
    "Ah," Myron said. "Is it safe to assume that Old Oaks did not have a lot of African American members?"
    "Like none. It's exclusive."
    "So you and I could never be members."
    "Real shame," Jake said. "I bet we'd have loved that party."
    "So what happened next?"
    "According to the witnesses, the white youths approached the black youths. One of the black youths later identified as one Errol Swade reacted by whipping out a switchblade."
    Myron made a face. "A switchblade?"
    "Yeah, I know. Such a clich+!. No imagination. Anyway, an incident ensued. Alexander Cross was stabbed. The two youths ran. A few hours later the police caught up with them in north Philadelphia, not far from where the youths lived. During the apprehension, one of the punks pulled out a gun. A Curtis Yeller. Sixteen years old. A police officer shot him. Yeller's mother was at the scene, from what I understand. She was cradling the kid in her arms when he died."
    "She saw him being shot?"
    Jake shrugged. "Doesn't say."
    "So what happened to Errol Swade?"
    "He escaped. A nationwide manhunt began. His mug shot was in all the papers, sent to all the stations. Lot of cops on it, of course the victim being the son of a U. S. senator and all. But here's where things get interesting."
    Myron sipped the Diet Coke. Flat.
    "They never found Errol Swade," Jake said.
    Myron felt his heart sink. "Never?"
    Jake shook his head.
    "Are you telling me Swade escaped?"
    "Appears so."
    "How old was