The Viper

Less than half a minute later, a dark blue sedan sped past. In the early dusk, all he could see of the driver, who was staring straight ahead, was a shaved head and a thick neck. On the door he noted the circular gold insignia of the New York State Department of Corrections. The car was out of sight before he could get a clear view of the plate number.

15

DUSK HAD DARKENED INTO MOONLESS NIGHT BY THE time Gurney reached the top of the hillside road that ended at his barn. From there, a grassy lane led up to the house through the lower of two unused pastures.

As he passed the barn, he saw a light shining through the window of the back room where he kept his tools. His initial inclination was to continue driving up to the house and come down the next morning to turn off the light. But he hadn’t used that room for several days, and Madeleine never used it—making the light a bit of a mystery.

He backed the car up, got out with a flashlight, and made his way to the door on the far side of the building, shivering in the frigid air. The door was unlocked, which surprised him. He stepped inside, sweeping the flashlight beam around the barn’s large open area, then proceeded to the door of the back room.

Pushing it open, he saw nothing unusual, beyond the light being on. His tools were in their normal places, the dust on the workbench was undisturbed, the paint cans and brushes were as he’d left them. He was about to leave when he noticed the window wasn’t completely closed. He couldn’t remember whether it was open or shut the last time he’d used the room. He shut the window, switched off the light, and secured the barn’s outer door, then got back in his car.

As he parked by the asparagus bed, it occurred to him that the barn light probably wouldn’t have bothered him if he hadn’t noticed it right after his experience with the Corrections Department car. He chalked it up as another example of the fact that the mind is basically a connection machine, with a special affinity for connecting oddities.

Before making his way to the house, he checked on the chickens, making sure they had enough food and water, and closed the little door between the coop and the run. When he finally entered the house, he sensed that peculiar atmosphere of emptiness when Madeleine was out. Her absence was confirmed by a note on the refrigerator door:

In case you forgot, I’m at Liz’s house for our poetry discussion group. Have you called Kyle yet about Thanksgiving?

He resolved to get in touch with Kyle later and made himself an omelet. While he ate, his mind kept returning to the increasingly strange Ziko Slade affair. As soon as he finished eating, he took his dishes to the sink, went into the den, and called Emma Martin.

“Hello, David.” Her tone revealed no hint of surprise at hearing from him.

“There are a few things I’d like to resolve, and I was wondering if I could get hold of the evidentiary material Cam Stryker provided to Marcus Thorne during the pretrial discovery process.”

“I’ll call Thorne and tell him to rush you whatever he has.”

“It’s not all that super-urgent.”

“I disagree. If there’s a chance of getting Ziko out of prison, timing could make all the difference. I’m sure his fellow inmates view him as a privileged brat who killed a poor man to protect his wealth. One of them may try to even the score.”

After finishing with Emma, Gurney made himself a cup of coffee and called Kyle.

It went to voicemail, and he left a message: “Hi, Kyle. It’s Dad. Long time since we’ve seen you, or even talked on the phone. Maddie and I were wondering if you might be free for Thanksgiving. Be great if you could join us. Let me know. Hope all is well. Love you.”

He took his coffee to the table by the French doors and tried to relax, letting his mind drift through the events of his day. Out of the jumble of conversations and perceptions, the item that rose to the surface was the conundrum of Lerman’s severed head and fingers. Not only the question of why they’d been removed, but what had been done with them. Had they been discreetly discarded? Or retained by the killer? He couldn’t help picturing them in the freezer in some madman’s basement. And two hours later, when he was too tired to think clearly and finally went to bed, that was the image that troubled his sleep.

16

HE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING FEELING GROGGY AND unrested. Ten minutes in the shower brought some improvement. By the time he shaved, dressed, and made his way out to the kitchen, he felt almost normal.

Madeleine was at the table by the French doors, eating cold cereal with blueberries and reading a book about seashells. He made a cereal and berry mixture for himself and joined her.

She looked up from her book. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You were thrashing around all night, mumbling. What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know someone by the name of Sonny?”

“What did I say?”