On Harrow Hill

Russell cut him off. “That’s fine, as far as it goes. But don’t you think it might be time to bring in the state police, the sheriff’s department, the DA’s office? There’s expertise and manpower out there that we’re not taking advantage of.”

Once again Morgan was looking squirmy. “There are control issues, Hilda. Once the state police come in, they run the show. They have their own priorities and couldn’t care less about Larchfield’s reputation.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “From what I see in the news, we don’t have a reputation left to worry about. What matters is having the proper resources to bring this tragedy to a proper conclusion. I say bring them in.”

Morgan blinked, then sighed.

Aspern took advantage of the silence to pursue his own question to Morgan. “What do you mean by ‘a major sweep’—and why the focus on Harrow Hill?”

“Some security camera videos we retrieved suggest that Tate may be using that area as a base for his movements. We believe that sealing it off and combing through it, foot by foot, is our best option at the moment.”

Aspern looked troubled but said nothing.

“How long do you see this taking?” asked Russell.

Morgan turned up his palms. “Hard to say. It’s a lot of ground to cover, hundreds of acres. I’m thinking at least forty-eight hours, with teams working around the clock.”

“So, two more days? With no guarantee of success?” She shook her head. “I don’t think it makes sense to wait that long, not with state police resources just a phone call away. Suppose Tate strikes again? Then what?”

Morgan sighed. “I hear what you’re saying, Hilda, I really do. Maybe I can prevail on Bastenburg for more feet on the ground, push harder, complete the search in twenty-four to thirty-six hours. If we can wrap this up without surrendering control to an agency with no stake in—”

She cut him off. “Chandler, where do you stand on this?”

Aspern took so long to answer, he seemed not to have heard the question.

“I’m not happy about it, but giving the local department another thirty-six hours seems preferable to punting the ball to the state.” He glanced around the table. “Any serious objections?”

The question was answered with shrugs. Then Martin Carmody suggested that Morgan should issue a statement to the effect that the investigation was entering a new phase, with a breakthrough expected at any time. Speaking up for the first time, Peale endorsed the idea of giving Morgan another thirty-six hours. After a short silence the meeting was adjourned.

Gurney approached Hilda Russell. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

She led the way out of the building to a wrought iron bench in the village square park, next to a flowering crab apple tree. The afternoon sun was warm on the bench.

“So, what’s on your mind?” she asked.

“I noted your eagerness to bring in the cavalry.”

“Indeed.”

“Does that reflect a desire to expand the investigation? Or bring it to a close?”

She shrugged. “Maybe both.”

“Are you concerned that something is being overlooked?”

“Human beings tend to overlook things. A common failing, don’t you think?”

“Especially when overlooking them is advantageous.”

Russell smiled.

A soft breeze carried the spring scent of grass and moist earth, adding an incongruous tranquility to a conversation about murder.

Gurney mirrored her smile. “We could save some time if you’d tell me what you think is being overlooked.”

“I’m not clairvoyant. I just feel that the focus of the local police may be excessively narrow.”

“Are you saying your brother’s murder might be more complicated than it seems?”

“I’m saying that Larchfield’s flowery meadows are full of snakes. And my late brother was very much at home here.”

35

Gurney’s way home that afternoon passed through the east end of Walnut Crossing, coming within a quarter mile of Geraldine Mirkle’s house. He decided to stop and see if Madeleine needed anything and perhaps allay some of the fear the situation would naturally be causing.

When he pulled into the driveway behind Gerry’s yellow VW Beetle, he spotted them behind the house in a gazebo bedecked with baskets of petunias. The sight set off a momentary flashback to the petunias that were part of the savage conclusion of the White River murder case. He pushed that gruesome scene out of his mind and headed over to the gazebo.

They were sitting on opposite sides of a small table that supported a Scrabble board and a pitcher of iced tea. Gerry Mirkle was the first to speak.

“Good news or bad news?”

“Not much of either one.” He tried for a casual smile. “I was passing by and thought I’d drop in for a minute. Who’s winning?”

“Gerry, as usual,” said Madeleine. “Where are you coming from?”

“Lovely Larchfield.”

Her lips tightened. “Do you feel like you’re getting any closer to . . . ending this?”

“There’s a major manhunt underway right now, with a good chance of success.”

Neither woman appeared convinced.

“Is there anything you ladies want from the village?”

Gerry shook her head.

“No,” said Madeleine.

“Or from the house?”