voice. “Good.”
“Still no word?”
“No. I’d’ve called you.”
“You holding up okay?”
“So far. Didn’t sleep much last night.”
Runyon hadn’t needed to be told. Bill was a robust man, vigorous for his age, but the strain had had a corrosive effect on him already. Runyon had never thought of him as old, but he looked old now in the bright cafe lights. Faint grayish tinge to his skin, eyes muddy from lack of sleep, the lines in his cheeks and around his mouth deep-cut, as if by the same razor that had made a couple of scabbed-over nicks on his chin. The kind of face that had stared back from the mirror at Runyon in the weeks and months after he buried Colleen.
“How long’s it been since you ate anything?”
“What? Oh. Part of a sandwich last night.”
“Good idea if we have some breakfast while we talk.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Long day ahead. Make yourself sick if you don’t eat.”
“… Okay. You’re right.”
Runyon summoned the waitress, ordered scrambled eggs and toast for both of them, and a cup of tea for himself. When they were alone again, Bill said, “Kerry and I ate here on Sunday. Sunday. Seems like weeks ago.”
Nothing to say to that.
“Nice little town. Nice peaceful valley. We liked it so much we were thinking of making an offer on the place we’re staying. Jesus.”
Or to that. Runyon said, “Let’s talk about what happened. Fill me in on the details.”
Bill sipped a little coffee, began to talk in that low, scratchy voice. It took a while, with Runyon interrupting now and then to ask questions and the arrival of their breakfast.
“So now you see why I’m so damn scared.”
“Yeah, I see.”
“Broxmeyer thinks I’m overreacting, jumping to conclusions. I wish to God he was right, Jake, but he’s not. Somebody took Kerry, somebody’s holding her somewhere.”
Runyon said nothing, just nodded.
“Wherever she is, she’s alive,” Bill said. “I’m sure of that. I’d know it if she wasn’t.”
Hope and bravado talking, but that was all right. If the man let himself believe otherwise, he’d be a basket case by now. Runyon nodded again.
Bill grimaced at what was left on his plate, pushed it away, then ran hooked fingers over his face in a kind of self-punishing massage. “I keep thinking whatever happened, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone all day, I’d’ve been with her up on that logging trail.”
“Would you? You like hiking in the woods?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like it yesterday. Maybe she’d have gone by herself anyway.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Why beat yourself up? You’re not to blame for circumstances beyond your control.”
Wry mouth. “Standard message to a worried or grieving client. But all right. I know it’s true, I just have to wrap my head around it.”
Runyon said, “This logging road where the vehicle was parked and you found Kerry’s hat. How far from the place where you’re staying?”
“Half a mile or so.”
“And how far from here?”
“About three miles up-valley.”
“Let’s go take a look at it.”
14
There wasn’t much left to see on the logging road. The searchers yesterday hadn’t exercised any care in preserving the area as it had been; they’d obliterated the tire marks and trampled the underbrush along both sides. Maybe it didn’t matter-there hadn’t been much evidence to begin with-but it angered me just the same.
I pointed out the spot to Runyon where the mystery vehicle had been parked, the place where I’d found Kerry’s hat. I didn’t expect him to feel the same negative vibes I had; if he did, he didn’t say anything about it and I didn’t mention it. But I had the crawly, gut-wrenching sensations again, just as strong, if not stronger. They built a loathing in me for this damn road. Too much time spent here the past two days.
Jake prowled around for a time, not looking for anything specific, just getting a feel for the area. Then he went back to stand on the grassy verge. When I joined him, he said, “Where does this road lead?”
“Up over the ridge someplace.”
“Outlet on the other end?”
“According to the deputy, no.”
“Any homes along it?”
“No. Couple of homes nearby.”
“Funny. If Kerry was taken by somebody parked here, what he was doing here on a Monday afternoon?”
“Same thing she was doing, maybe. Hiking in the woods.”
“Doesn’t seem too likely if he’s local. Unless he had a reason.”
“Like what? There’s a Hunting Prohibited sign down at the intersection, and no poacher’s stupid enough to fire a rifle in the middle of the day.”
Runyon said, “The explosion you told me about. You were on this road when it happened?”
“Just turning onto it.”
“What time?”
“Not sure. Five-thirty or so.”
“And the house that blew up is close by?”
“Less than half a mile.”
He gestured at the woods below. “The partial trail you followed yesterday morning leads straight down there to the edge of the property, right?”
“Yes, but I told you, Kerry couldn’t have been anywhere near the Verriker place when it blew. She didn’t make that trail.”
“But somebody else could have that day. Was it fresh?”
“I couldn’t tell. What’re you thinking?”
“Pretty big coincidence that Kerry went missing not long before a nearby house suddenly blew up. What caused the explosion?”
“I don’t know. Broxmeyer didn’t say.”
“How sure are they it was an accident?”
“Jesus, Jake. Rigged? By somebody with a grudge against the Verrikers?”
“There’re ways to do it. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“And what? Kerry happened by and saw the guy coming back out of the woods and he’s the one who took her? Why? She wouldn’t have any way of knowing what he’d done.”
“I know it’s a reach, but still possible, isn’t it?”
Yeah, it was, and it should have occurred to me, too. Would have if my thought processes weren’t so sluggish from anxiety and lack of sleep. And I was not about to discount it out of hand any more than Jake was. First rule of detective work: Take nothing for granted, pro or con, probable or improbable.
I said, “Broxmeyer won’t like it any better than the other one, but we’ll put it to him. He needs to meet you anyway, know we’re working together.”
