The Viper

Gurney recalled Barstow’s testimony that there was only slight bleeding at the finger stumps, indicating the absence of cardiac function.

“No, Adrienne. He was not alive at that point.”

She sat back with a long exhalation as though a great tension had been relieved.

“Thank you. I couldn’t bear thinking he was conscious for that.”

AT THE MIDPOINT between Winston and Walnut Crossing, the precipitation began—first as an intermittent drizzle, then a lashing rain that obscured Gurney’s vision. He pulled over onto a weedy shoulder by a cow pasture.

As he waited for the downpour to subside, he became increasingly conscious of an uncomfortable feeling that had begun during his confrontation with Sonny and grown over the course of his conversation with Adrienne. There was something out of joint in the emotional dynamics of the Lerman family—something connected to the “out of character” nature of Lenny’s scheme. Before he could recall everything that had been said, he was interrupted by a call from Madeleine.

“Just wondering if you’ve spoken to Kyle yet.”

The reminder felt like a jab in the gut. “Not yet.”

“Thanksgiving is next week. It would be nice to invite him, don’t you think?”

PART II ZIKO SLADE

13

THEY SAT AT THE PINE TABLE NEXT TO THE FRENCH DOORS. It was just past noon. The frost on the patio had finally melted, darkening the bluestone slabs. The gray November sky rendered the low pasture colorless. They’d just finished a quiet lunch. Madeleine gazed at Gurney over the rim of a cup of spearmint tea.

“So,” she said, “when are you going to tell me about it?”

“About what?”

She lowered her cup. “You spent yesterday talking to Marcus Thorne, then Adrienne Lerman. You came home frowning and hardly said a word all evening. Same thing this morning. It’s obvious you’re wrestling with something.”

“I just have an unsettled feeling. Probably a product of the weather.”

She nodded, her expression attentive but otherwise unreadable.

After a while, he cleared his throat. “Those inconsistencies you said I’m good at noticing? Some small ones have popped up.”

“You can point them out to Emma.”

“And then walk away?”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly, trying to find the right words for his next question. “Maddie, I keep getting this start-stop message—that I’m supposed to respond to Emma’s request, but only give her about a tenth of what she wants from me. I understand she’s your friend, or was your friend, but considering how dead set you are on my not actually doing anything, wouldn’t it have been a lot smarter not to have opened the door in the first place?”

“David, for Christ sake, why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“You think I’m good at spotting discrepancies? Well, I’m spotting one right now. Emma told you she wanted to talk to me about a murder case. A murder case. But instead of saying no, we had a recent experience here that makes that a bad idea, you said sure, come on over. And the fact that you were friendly at some point in the past doesn’t come close to explaining that response. What is it you’re not telling me?”

Madeleine stared in silence at her nearly empty plate for so long that he gave up hope of getting an answer. Then she began to speak in a halting voice.

“The reason I wanted you to . . . look into the case to begin with . . . was that I felt it was the right thing to do . . . because of what Emma had done . . . for us.”

“For us?”

“It was when you were buried in that horrid incest murder case . . . years ago . . . the one that got you involved with Jack Hardwick. You were never home. Sometimes your body was, but your mind never was. The case went on and on and on. I was never so alone before in all my life. I felt completely abandoned with no reason to believe you’d ever be present again. I thought this couldn’t be what a marriage was supposed to be. Even my work at the clinic felt empty. How could I help clients whose depression told them their lives were pointless, when that’s exactly the way I felt about myself? I didn’t feel connected to you or anyone else. I kept asking myself, what am I doing with my life? I thought maybe . . .” Her voice trailed off. She closed her eyes, her jaw muscles tightening. Seconds passed. When she opened them, her gaze was fixed on the middle of the table.

“I thought maybe if I started over, maybe that would be the way out of the pit. I couldn’t see any other way. I had to start over. Leave. Go away. Start a completely new life. But I felt paralyzed.”

Shocked by her revelation, Gurney tried to remember his own experience of the period, but the only details that came to mind were of the case.

She continued. “I wasn’t all that close to Emma, but she sensed that I was in trouble and offered to listen if I wanted to talk. I have no idea how long I talked or even what I said. When I finished, she smiled. It was the warmest, most comforting smile I’d ever seen. And I remember what she said—not just the words, the way she said it. The power it had.