On Harrow Hill

“In this case, the high-voltage effect of the lightning and the severe impact of the fall may have resulted in a profound state of shock that caused temporary suppression of respiratory and cardiac function. And there are possible issues affecting the physician—overwork, exhaustion, environmental distraction, chemical impairment. Plus the subtle factor of expectation.”

“Say that again?”

“Expectation. The trauma may appear so severe—so necessarily fatal—that the physician’s assumption of death plays an oversized role in his judgment. Research shows that expectations affect the mind’s interpretation of physical data.”

“That’s helpful. At least it puts things in a rational context.”

She laughed. “I like that. Could be a new slogan for my therapy practice.”

“I have soft spot in my heart for rationality. How are you, by the way?”

“Thriving, racing, juggling. Dodging the bullets that come with success. What are you up to? I thought you were back teaching at the academy, not out on the trail of the walking dead.”

“I’m doing both.”

“Glad to hear it. Busy is good. Speaking of which, I need to get to my next appointment. Nice hearing from you, David. Take care.”

He reopened his container of mini-mart orange juice, finished what was left, and resumed his journey home. He was heading south now, through an area of wild meadows alternating with freshly plowed farm fields, all bathed in a strange light. There was a gap between the dense cloud cover and the western horizon, allowing the radiance of the setting sun to flood out across the landscape, creating an upside-­down world in which the warm glow of the earth contrasted weirdly with the sky above it. Its strange effect on his mood was broken by his phone ringing. He glanced at the screen and saw Slovak’s name.

“What’s up, Brad?”

“The good news is that the forensics lab broke into Mary Kane’s phone. The bad news is it doesn’t lead anywhere. She never called anyone, and hardly anyone ever called her. There were only two incoming voice calls in the week before her death. We called the originating numbers. One belongs to a retired librarian in an assisted living place in Virginia. The other was from the service department of the Kia dealer in Bastenburg, letting her know she could pick up her car.”

“Any texts?”

“Two, from some kind of nocturnal birding club.”

“She saved the texts?”

“Yep. One was a membership renewal reminder. The other was about a website where you can listen to different owl hoots. These people are big on identifying owls by their hoots. You figure that’s why she was out on her porch in the middle of the night?”

“Makes as much sense as anything else.”

“So, I guess just a harmless old lady in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Gurney said nothing.

“Bottom line, her phone was a dead end. Sorry about that.”

“Investigations are full of dead ends, Brad. It’s the nature of the beast. How’s the press conference going?”

“The conference room is packed. Department personnel had to make room for the media people and their equipment. I don’t think the chief was expecting anything this big. But maybe he should have been. When a guy who’s supposed to be dead pops out of a coffin and starts slicing throats, you gotta figure the press is gonna eat it up.”

Slovak’s view of the situation was still on Gurney’s mind when, moments before arriving home, he got a call from Morgan.

“Hey, Dave. I know you don’t have a TV, but could you take a look at the media websites tonight, especially RAM News?”

“What will I be looking for?”

“After I read my statement, there were questions. The RAM reporter, Kelly Tremain—her attitude gave me a bad feeling about how they’ll handle the story. I’ll be checking myself, but I’d appreciate your perspective.”

“Sure.”

“You have my cell number. Also, there’s a meeting tomorrow morning at ten sharp with the village board. Lots of concerns, and they want as much of an update as we can give them.”

“Should be interesting.”

“More likely a total horror.”

“Slow down, Mike. Linda Mason’s body hanging from that front-loader was a total horror. Tomorrow’s meeting won’t be a total horror.”

He heard Morgan sighing.

23

By the time Gurney had rounded the barn and was heading up through the low pasture to the house, it was nearly eight thirty. Dusk was beginning to decline into night. As he was parking the Outback by the side door, there was just enough light remaining for him to notice garden stakes and bright yellow string demarcating a rectangular area adjacent to the side of the chicken coop.

He got out of the car for a closer look. The marked-off area looked to be about twelve by twenty feet. Possibly, he thought with a touch of dismay, the right size for an alpaca shed.

When he went into the house, he sensed the unique silence that seemed to fill it when Madeleine was out. There was a note on the refrigerator door.