by John Verdon
“But you volunteered to come here. You said yes before I did.”
“Because at that moment I realized I hadn’t dealt with anything. As awful as that moment was, I felt I was being offered an opportunity.”
They stood side by side in silence, looking out over the snow-covered lake.
She sighed. “It happened thirty-two years ago. But it never really ended. Maybe because I could never be sure why he did what he did. Maybe because I never came to terms with my guilt. Maybe because they never found his body. Maybe—”
Gurney interrupted, “They never found his body?”
“No. Which revived all the old talk about the evil in the lake. Which is why the people who used to come every summer stopped coming. Which is why the little town eventually died—why it’s like the way it is now.” She let go of his hand for the first time since they’d gotten out of the car and began rubbing her own hands together.
“What old talk about the evil in the lake?”
“Remember the story Norris Landon told us about the girls in the canoe that capsized long ago—how one of them drowned, and they couldn’t find the body?”
“Right—until the skeleton turned up in Wolf Lake five years later.”
“Well, that girl drowned right here in Grayson Lake. And when Colin drowned here, too, and they couldn’t find his body, it brought the old drowning story back; and people started calling it Graveyard Lake.”
“Because of that, people abandoned their houses?”
“Not right away. Graysonville was a marginal sort of place. Never far from poverty. Most people depended on renting rooms or cabins to summer vacationers. I suppose the idea of children drowning and their bodies disappearing took hold of people’s imaginations, and they stopped coming. The town, never much to begin with, gradually collapsed.”
“The Devil’s Twins. Isn’t that what Landon called the pair of lakes he claimed were linked through some chain of underground caverns?”
“Yes.” A flock of small birds came flying wildly out of the woods and veered out over the lake, swooping and tumbling like autumn leaves in a gale.
She took his hand again in hers. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. A jumble of things.”
“Do you wish I hadn’t told you?”
“Maddie, I want to know whatever you want to tell me. Anything. Everything. I love you.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
She nodded, still looking into his eyes, still holding his hand. “We should start back. The snow is coming. I can feel it in the air.”
He looked up at the sky. The clouds were thickening and darkening now, and above the frozen lake a hawk was circling unevenly in the rising wind.
CHAPTER 26
When they crested the last ridge before Wolf Lake, the stored-message tone rang on Gurney’s phone. Checking the screen, he discovered two messages—one from Jack Hardwick and one from a caller with a blocked ID.
“Look out!” cried Madeleine as a deer bounded out onto the road ahead.
Gurney jammed on the brakes, missing the deer by inches.
“Pay attention to the road and give that to me.” She extended her hand for the phone. “Do you want me to play the messages?”
He nodded, and she tapped an icon.
As usual, Hardwick didn’t bother to identify himself, but his raspy voice was unmistakable. “Hey, ace, where the fuck are you? We have significant shit to discuss. One—I delivered that letter to the house in Staten Island, slipped it under the front door, with all those contact options. Two—I didn’t have a clue about that twenty-nine mil for Hammond. But there’s some kind of explanation, right? Three—I got a present for you, nice practical gift. I plan to be passing through the Adirondacks tomorrow, so let’s pick a spot to get together. ASAP. Related to that, you know what’s on my mind right now? The Baryshansky case. Think about it.”
The Baryshansky case? For a moment Gurney was baffled by the reference to the big Russian mob investigation a decade earlier. Then the relevant piece of it lit up like an alarm. That was the case in which the mob had managed to hack the cell phones of two senior investigators in the Organized Crime Task Force. The obvious implication was that Hardwick suspected that the security of their phone conversations had been compromised.
“What is it?” asked Madeleine.
“It sounds to me like Jack has surveillance concerns.”
“What does that mean?”
He wanted time to think through the possibilities. “I’ll explain later; let me pay attention to the road. Don’t want any more deer surprises.”
Madeleine asked if he wanted her to play the next message.
“Not right now.”
After they’d arrived at the lodge and were standing under the portico, she handed him back his phone. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I got the impression that Jack thinks he’s being bugged.”
“That he’s being bugged? Or that both of you are?”
“He wasn’t clear about that. But I’m pretty certain my own phone is safe.”
She gave him an anxious look. “What about our room here at the lodge?”
“It’s possible, but I doubt it.”
“Is there a way of finding out for sure?”
“There are detection devices. I’ll discuss it with Jack.”
“Who would be spying on us?”
“Conceivably Fenton, but I doubt it.”
“Who then?”
“Good question. Hardwick knows more than he told me on the phone. I’ll set up a face-to-face with him to clarify the situation.”
She looked worried. “So what do we do now? Go upstairs to our possibly bugged room? Pretend we’re happy little campers?”
“Actually, yes, that’s exactly what we need to do.”
“What are we supposed to talk about? Or not talk about?”
“The main thing not to talk about is any suspicion that we’re being monitored. If our room or phone is bugged—” He stopped in mid-sentence, remembering that he had a message on his phone he hadn’t listened to yet. He located it and tapped the icon.
The voice was young, female, and frightened. “Hello. I was hoping you’d answer. The letter said you’d be there. Are you there? Can I give you my number? Maybe it would be safer if I called you back. Okay, so that’s what I’ll do. I’ll call you at . . . exactly . . . umm . . . four o’clock. Okay?”
Gurney checked his watch. It was 3:53. The sun, hidden behind the heavy overcast, would be sinking now behind Cemetery Ridge.
“Is that the girl you wanted to get to?” asked Madeleine.
“I think so.”
“Now what?”
“I’m going to stay out here to take her call. You might be more comfortable up in the room.”
She made a face. “You really think our room might be bugged?”
“It’s conceivable. But I really believe that any major surveillance would be aimed at the Hammonds, not us.”
“Why?”
“Because the focus of the BCI investigation is on Richard. And Jane is the person trying to protect him. She’s also the one who got Hardwick involved, and now he suspects he’s being listened in on. I’m thinking it’s her phone that’s been hacked, and that’s how the listener might know about his involvement.”
“And your involvement?”
“Only if she discussed the situation on the phone and used my name in the course of the conversation. But all this is guesswork. I need facts.”
After a long silence she took his hand in hers the same way she’d taken it on the forlorn lane in Graysonville. “Are you sure it’s all right? What I told you earlier?”
“Of course it’s all right . . .” Before he could say anything more, his phone rang. As before, the caller ID had been blocked. He assumed it would be Angela. He looked helplessly at Madeleine and started to apologize.
She cut him off. “Answer it
.”
He took the call. “This is Dave Gurney.”
“I left you a message.” It was the same small voice.
“Yes, I got it,” he said as gently as he could. The main thing was to not lose her. “I appreciate your willingness to talk to me.”
“What do you want from me?”
“It would help me a lot to know whatever you can tell me about Steven.”
“Stevie.”
“Stevie. Okay. See how little I know? So just about anything you can tell me will be a big help. Did everyone call him Stevie, or just you?”
“His parents called him Steven, which he hated.” There was a childish vibe in her voice that made her sound about half the age he assumed she must be.
He decided to play to the vibe. “Parents can be a problem.”
“No shit. Especially his parents.”
“How about your own parents?”
“I don’t talk to them.”
“I didn’t talk much to mine, either. Tell me, do people call you Angie or Angela?”
“Everybody calls me Angela. Nobody calls me Angie.”
“Okay, Angela, let me ask you something. Is there someplace where we could meet and talk about Stevie, someplace you’d feel safe?”
“Why do we have to meet?” There was a skittery edge in her voice.
“We don’t have to. I just think it might be safer. But it’s up to you.”
“What do you mean, safer?”
“I don’t mean to frighten you, Angela, but you do understand that your situation is dangerous, right?”
She hesitated so long in answering he was afraid he’d lost her. When she did speak, the skittishness had grown to flat-out fear. “I guess so. But why would it be safer to meet?”
“Because our phones might not be secure. If the bad guys have the right equipment, they can hack into just about anything—calls, text messages, emails. You see stuff like that in the news all the time, right?”
“I guess.”
“You know the most private way for two people to have a conversation?”
“In the bathroom?”
“Actually, bathrooms are pretty easy to bug.”
“Then how?”
“A public area with maybe some background noise or other people talking. That makes it hard for snoopers. That’s the kind of situation I think would be the safest for both of us.”
“Like a big store?”
“A big store would be perfect. That’s good thinking.”
“I know a lot of stores. Where are you?”
“I’m up in the Adirondack Mountains.”
“At the place where Stevie met with the hypnotism guy?”
“That’s exactly where I am. I’m trying to find out what happened to Stevie up here so I can figure out what happened to him later, down at your place in Floral Park.”
There was a silence. He waited, leaving the next move in the conversation up to her.
“You don’t think he committed suicide, do you?” she asked.
“No. Do you?”
“He couldn’t have.”
“How do know that?”
“He just wouldn’t have done that—not after the promises he made to me. We were going to get married, get our own house. He wouldn’t kill himself. That’s impossible!”
Gurney had a dozen questions, but he reminded himself that one wrong one could spook her. The goal was to get her committed to a face-to-face meeting—where he’d have more control, plus the opportunity to read the subtleties of facial expressions and body language.
“I understand what you’re saying, Angela. I really do. That’s why we have to find out what really happened. Or you’ll never be safe.”
“Don’t say that. You’re scaring me.”
“Sometimes fear is good. Fear of the right things can help us get past fear of the wrong things.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re afraid of whoever’s behind what happened to Stevie. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re also afraid of me. Because I’m a detective, and you don’t really want to talk to detectives, do you?”
Her silence at that point was answer enough.
“It’s okay, Angela. I can understand that. But ask yourself this question: Which of those people should you be more afraid of? The person responsible for Stevie’s death? Or the person who’s trying to get to the bottom of it to make sure no one else gets hurt?”
“I hate this. Why do I have to make these horrible decisions?”
Gurney said nothing, just waited.
“Okay. I can meet you tomorrow. I know a place.”
“Tell me where it is and what time you want me to be there.”
“You know Lake George Village?”
“Yes.”
“Can you be there at ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. Where in Lake George Village?”
“Tabitha’s Dollhouse. I’ll be up on the second floor by the Barbie Dolls.”
STILL STANDING WITH MADELEINE OUT IN FRONT OF THE LODGE, HE accessed the Internet on his phone and typed in “Tabitha’s Dollhouse.”
It came up immediately—on Woodpecker Road in Lake George Village. The website showed a building designed as an elaborate fantasy cottage. Above the cottage on the web page, arcing like a rainbow across a pure blue sky, were the words, “Home of Fabulous, Lovable, Collectible Dolls.”
Madeleine frowned at the screen. “A doll store? That’s where she wants to discuss her boyfriend’s death?”
“It does seem an odd choice.”
“You didn’t ask her why?”
“I didn’t want to ask anything that might get her off track. She agreed to meet with me, and that’s the main thing.”
“Do you mind if I come with you?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“I’d rather not stay here alone.”
“You know it’s at least a two-hour drive each way?”
“It’s better than the alternative.”
He shrugged. “I’m going to call Jack from out here, and it may take a while.” He pointed at the lodge. “There’s smoke coming out of the main chimney, meaning there’s a fire in the Hearth Room. Why don’t you go in and warm up?”
“I’ll go in when you go in.”
“Up to you.” He returned to the Dollhouse website and pasted its address into Google Maps. He noted the location of a nearby gas station and copied its address to the message area of a blank email. Then he called Hardwick.
The man picked up on the first ring. “Before you say anything, tell me if you understood my reference to the Baryshansky situation.”
“I think so.”
“Good. Important to keep that in mind. So. How soon can I give you your special gift?”
“Depends on when and how far you’re willing to travel.”
“Anywhere, anytime. Sooner the better.”
“I plan to get together tomorrow with that young lady I’ve been wanting to meet. Maybe we can cross paths in the same neighborhood.”
“Absolutely.”
“I have some address information. I’ll email it to you.”
“I’ll watch for it.”
Gurney went back into his email program and brought up the one he’d begun with the Lake George gas station location in it. Under the station address he typed in the notation, “Here at 9:00 AM.” He addressed the email to Hardwick and sent it.
Madeleine was standing with her arms clutching her body in the frigid air.
He nodded toward the lodge. “Let’s go inside and defrost ourselves by the fire.”
She followed him to the Hearth Room. Once in front of the crackling blaze she slowly unfolded her arms.
Standing beside her, the radiant heat of the fire seeping into his body, Gurney closed his eyes and let his world contract to the warm orange glow on his eyelids and the tingling of his skin as the deep chill dissipated.
The feeling of peace w
as broken by the rough edge of Austen Steckle’s voice.
“Glad to see you folks finally decided to come in out of the cold. Nasty day, nastier night on the way.” Dressed in a dark plaid shirt and khaki pants, he was standing in the center of the broad archway. “Did you hear the wolves?”
“No,” said Gurney. “When?”
“Little while ago. Up in the woods in back of the lodge. Horrible sound.”
“How often do you see them?”
“Never. Makes it worse. Just hearing them. Monsters creeping around in the forest!”
Steckle’s comment created an uncomfortable silence, broken by Madeleine. “You said something about nastier weather tonight?”
“The edge of a storm coming through. Windy as hell, temperature dropping. But that’s just a taste of what’s around the corner. Weather here jerks you around like a dog killing a rat. Tonight’ll be rotten, tomorrow morning’ll be sunny, can you believe it? Then, later tomorrow, all hell breaks loose—the big one, coming down from the north.”
Madeleine’s eyes widened. “The big one?”
“Arctic air mass. Zero-visibility blizzard. A definite road-closer.”
Gurney suspected these weather warnings were being employed to encourage their departure. But if Steckle was acting under pressure from Fenton to get them away from Wolf Lake, then perhaps a promised departure could be used as a lever to open another door.
Gurney nodded thoughtfully. “Probably be a good idea for us to get out of here before that storm hits. Otherwise we may never get to Vermont.”
Steckle nodded in immediate agreement.
“Problem is,” said Gurney, “there’s one more person I need to talk to before we can leave.”
“Who’s that?”
“Peyton Gall.”
“Why the hell would you want to talk to him?”
“Ethan’s will, and therefore Ethan’s death, directly benefits two individuals—Peyton Gall and Richard Hammond, whose bequest Fenton was happy to tell me about. But since Peyton’s share is as big as Richard’s, he’d have as big a motive. Maybe bigger, since—”
Steckle interrupted. “Yeah, I see how that might look from a distance. But that’s miles from reality. You obviously don’t know Peyton.”
“That’s a hole I’m trying to fill.”
