On Harrow Hill

“Okay. Tate, after leaving Peale’s mortuary, went to his parked Jeep and headed out along Waterview Drive, where he had a harmless encounter with Ruby-June Hooper and, a few minutes later, a deadly encounter with Mary Kane. He then proceeded up the Harrow Hill road to the Russell estate, broke in through the conservatory, and cut Angus’s throat—after which he got back in the Jeep and drove through the trail maze to this spot. He may have stayed here himself until two evenings later—recuperating, nursing the damage to his body—at which point he could have used part of the trail system to access the back road that leads to the Mason house—the road where he was seen by a couple of local stoners.”

Barstow pursed her lips. “Why didn’t he just take the trail all the way down to Mason’s back lawn?”

“Maybe the road was faster and safer—with all the switchbacks on the bottom half of the trail. Maybe timing was important. And there are no other houses or traffic on that final stretch, so he probably underestimated the risk of being noticed.”

“Okay, what then?”

“When he arrived at the Mason house, he scratched his hellfire symbol on the front door with one of the scalpels he took from the mortuary, then waited for Linda Mason to come home. He knocked her unconscious, dragged her out to the barn, and lifted her with the loading bucket of the tractor—to simplify draining her blood. He then went back to her house, left the Dark Angel message with her blood on the upstairs wall, and drove the Jeep back here. How does that sound?”

“It’s consistent with the Jeep coming, leaving, and coming back. But then what?”

“Ah, that’s the question. Or maybe it isn’t.”

“You just lost me.”

“The scenario I gave you is entirely reasonable, but it may have nothing to do with what actually happened.”

“Are you always this unsure in the middle of a case?”

“Frequently.”

“But you usually get to the truth, right? I mean, that award you got for clearing more homicide cases—”

Before she could finish, an irate voice interrupted.

“What the hell is all this?”

Chandler Aspern had ignored the police tape and was striding toward them, his compact frame a picture of compressed aggression.

Gurney stuck out his palm. “Hold it right there, sir. You’re in a restricted area.”

“Like hell I am! This is my property. No damn piece of yellow tape changes that.”

“I’m afraid it does, sir. Please return to the area outside the tape, and I’ll be happy to explain the situation.”

“I hadn’t figured you for this sort of bureaucratic nonsense.” He turned and strode back the way he came, Gurney following him. They soon came to the perimeter tape, where Aspern had parked a golf cart.

“So,” he demanded, “explain.”

Gurney spoke with an easy calmness. “Evidence found in the vehicle back there on your trail connects it to three murders.”

“Slovak left a message for me saying something like that, rather incoherently. Are you telling me that orange thing is Tate’s Jeep?”

“We believe that to be the case.”

“How long has it been on my property?”

“We’re trying to determine that.”

“When do you plan on removing it?”

“As soon as that’s feasible.”

“That’s a meaningless answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give you at this time.”

“Fine.” It was clear from Aspern’s tone that it wasn’t fine at all. He got into his golf cart, turned it around sharply on the narrow trail, and was soon out of sight.

On Gurney’s way back to the Jeep, he met Slovak coming toward him, looking a little less worried.

“I got in touch with the regional barracks. They’ll have a dog and handler here by ten tomorrow morning. There’s going to be some paperwork, but it doesn’t seem to be a big deal.”

“Good. Do you know if Kyra plans to impound the Jeep?”

“Don’t ask me. The woman runs her own show.” His tone conveyed that the show was unpleasantly unpredictable.

Gurney was getting tired of the static in the Slovak-Barstow relationship, but that wasn’t something he wanted to address—not right then, anyway. Instead, he thanked Slovak for arranging for the K9 team and continued along the trail to the Jeep.

Barstow explained she’d be completing her forensic examination of the Jeep within the hour and, yes, she intended to have it transported to the impound lot—but that wouldn’t be happening until the following day, because there was a snag in getting it there. There was no key, and without one the anti-theft system would make starting the engine close to impossible, and there was no way to negotiate the trails with a tow vehicle. The nearest dealer able to provide a substitute key would have it ready for pickup in the morning. So, perhaps by tomorrow noon the Jeep would be on its way to the garage.

With little else at the moment keeping him on Harrow Hill, or anywhere else in Larchfield, Gurney’s thoughts turned to Walnut Crossing and the planned dinner with the Winklers. That, in turn, reminded him of the tulips Madeleine had asked him to pick up.