The Viper

“Definitely,” he said with what he hoped sounded like determination.

He didn’t trust Stryker’s sudden pose of open-mindedness. He suspected that the proposed meeting might be a convenient way for her to take him into custody after discovering exactly how much he’d found out and how damaging it might be to her.

Ever since the Blackmore shooting, she’d made it clear that detaining him was an option. His fingerprints on the gun and the powder residue on his hands would give her enough probable cause, as well as a shield against a civil case for false arrest. He figured that her calculus was based on a simple risk analysis. As soon as his investigation posed a greater risk than arresting him, she’d have him arrested and later absorb whatever embarrassment might result from having to release him.

He suspected that his own comments moments earlier might have pushed her to that point. If so, he had no regrets. Their colliding objectives made it inevitable. Only the timing had been undecided.

If she was already seeking a warrant for his arrest, it would be prudent to take certain precautions immediately. He had no intention of being taken into custody, but leaving the upstate area wasn’t an option either. He had to be present to pursue his investigation—present, but not findable.

Stryker might be arranging for real-time surveillance of his position via the GPS locator on his phone. That function was easy enough to disable in the phone’s location settings, so he did so. It was also possible, if she suspected that he might skip the meeting and go straight home from the Adirondacks, that she’d have the approach road to his house watched. He brought up an area map on his phone screen and chose a route into Walnut Crossing that would bring him to an old farm lane a mile or so from the back end of his property, with only a forested stretch of state land intervening. He’d find an inconspicuous place to park and make his way to his home on foot. He entered the new route in the car’s GPS and set out with a reasonable sense of security.

About an hour into the trip, he passed an outdoor mall. A logo on the front of one of the stores caught his eye. The store’s name, Camper’s Paradise, set off a train of thought that prompted him, a few miles down the road, to turn around and go back.

He emerged from the store half an hour later—carrying a small tent, a propane tent heater, and a sleeping bag—and continued on his journey to Walnut Crossing.

THE BACK ROAD bordering the forest behind Gurney’s property provided access to several old logging trails. He chose the least overgrown one and drove in far enough that the car would no longer be visible from the road.

From there, he followed the trail on foot up a steep rise, lugging his purchases. Fallen trees repeatedly obstructed the way, forcing him to make detours over moss-covered rocks, slippery as if they’d been greased. It occurred to him that if Madeleine were with him, she’d be enthusing over the variety of the mosses and their palette of greens. His focus was on not getting another concussion.

Long after the trail had petered out, he reached the summit of a broad ridge-like hill. Through openings in the drooping branches of the hemlocks, he could see his house, most of the low pasture, and part of the barn. He checked his phone for the time. It was exactly 2:00 p.m. As he searched for a flat spot to erect his tent, he wondered how much longer Stryker would wait before calling him again.

The answer turned out to be nine minutes. He let her call go to voicemail.

“David, I need to speak to you. Urgently. You agreed to be in my office by two o’clock. Please call me the moment you get this message.”

He was in no rush to talk to her. He wanted to give his new status as someone outside the law, in spirit if not technically, some more thought.

He soon located a relatively level patch of ground, sheltered by dense evergreens on all sides, to set up his secret campsite. He didn’t know if he’d actually be spending time here, but given the volatility of the situation, having an emergency retreat seemed wise.

As he finished pitching the tent, he heard a vehicle approach from the direction of the town road. He moved to a spot that provided a better view. Soon a dark sedan appeared, driving quickly past the barn. Simultaneously, his phone produced its distinctive beeping notification that the security camera on the front of the barn had been activated.