Let the Devil Sleep

She shook her head. “I don’t think it was appropriate for me to be out there acting like nothing happened, especially if there’s a chance that your barn was destroyed because of me.”

“Do you think Robby Meese is capable of that?”

“There was a time when I would have said, ‘Not in a million years.’ Now I’m not sure.” She looked confused and helpless. “Do you think it was him?”

Kyle appeared in the doorway behind her, listening but saying nothing.

“Yes and no,” said Gurney.

Kim nodded, as though his answer meant more than it did. “There’s one more thing I need to say. I hope you realize that I had no idea a week ago what I was dragging you into. At this point I would totally understand and accept your decision if you wanted out.”

“Because of the fire?”

“The fire, plus the booby trap in the basement.”

Gurney smiled.

She frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Those are the reasons I don’t want out.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kyle spoke up. “The harder it gets, the more determined he gets.”

She turned, startled.

He went on. “For my dad, difficulty is a magnet. Impossibility is irresistible.”

She looked from Kyle back to Gurney. “Does that mean you’re willing to stay involved in my project?”

“At least until we get things sorted out. What’s next on your agenda?”

“More meetings. With Sharon Stone’s son, Eric. And with Bruno Mellani’s son, Paul.”

“When are they supposed to happen?”

“Saturday.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, Sat-Oh, my God, tomorrow is Saturday. I lost a day. Do you think you’ll be available?”

“As long as there are no new surprises.”

“Okay. Great. I’d better get going. Time is disappearing. As soon as I get home, I’ll confirm the appointments and call you with the addresses. Tomorrow we’ll meet at the first interview location. That okay with you?”

“You’re going back to your apartment in Syracuse?”

“I need clothes, other things.” She appeared uncomfortable. “I probably won’t stay there overnight.”

“How are you getting there?”

She looked at Kyle. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I guess I forgot.” He grinned, blushed. “I’m giving Kim a ride home.”

“On the back of the bike?”

“The sun’s coming out. It’ll be fine.”

Gurney glanced out the window. The trees at the edge of the field were casting weak shadows over the dead grass.

Kyle added, “Madeleine’s going to lend her a jacket and gloves.”

“What about a helmet?”

“We can pick one up for her right down in the village at the Harley dealer. Maybe a big black Darth Vader thing with a skull and crossbones.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Kim with a cute imitation of sarcasm, poking his arm with her finger.

There were a number of things Gurney wanted to say. On second thought, none seemed as advisable as silence.

“Come on,” said Kyle.

Kim smiled nervously at Gurney. “I’ll call you with the interview schedule.”

After they left, Gurney leaned back in his chair and stared out at the hillside, which was as motionless and muted as a sepia photograph. The landline phone on the far side of the desk rang, but he made no move to answer it. It rang a second time. And a third. The fourth ring was interrupted halfway through, evidently by Madeleine’s picking up the handset in the kitchen. He heard her voice, but the words were indistinct.

A few moments later, she entered the den. “Man by the name of Trout,” she whispered, handing Gurney the phone. “Like the fish.”

He’d half expected the call but was surprised at how quickly it had come.

“Gurney here.” It was the way he’d answered his phone on the job. In retirement he’d found it a hard habit to break.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gurney. I’m Matthew Trout, special supervisory agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The words rolled out of the man like artillery fire.

“Yes?”

“I’m agent in charge on the Good Shepherd multiple-murder investigation. I believe you’re already aware of that?” When Gurney didn’t answer, he went on. “I’ve been informed by Dr. Holdenfield that you and a client of yours are involving yourselves in that investigation.”

Gurney said nothing.

“Would you agree that’s an accurate statement?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You asked if your statement was accurate. I said it wasn’t.”

“In what way wasn’t it?”

“You implied that a journalist I’m advising on matters of police procedure is trying to step into your investigation and that I myself am trying to do the same thing. Both those assertions are false.”

“Perhaps I was misinformed. I was told you’d expressed a strong interest in the case.”

“That’s true. The case fascinates me. I’d like to understand it better. I’d also like to understand why you’re calling me.”

There was a pause, as though the man had been jarred by Gurney’s brusque tone. “Dr. Holdenfield told me that you wanted to see me.”

“That’s also true. Is there a time that would be convenient for you?”

“Not really. But convenience is an irrelevant issue. I happen to be on a working vacation at our family lodge in the Adirondacks. Do you know where Lake Sorrow is?”

“Yes.”

“That’s surprising.” There was something snobbish and disbelieving in his tone. “Very few people have ever heard of it.”

“My brain is full of useless facts.”

Trout did not respond to the not-so-subtle insult. “Can you be here at nine tomorrow morning?”

“No. How about Sunday?”

There was another pause. When Trout finally spoke, it was in a tightly controlled way, as though he were forcing his mouth into a smile to keep the sound of anger out of his voice. “What time Sunday can you be here?”

“Anytime you want. Earlier the better.”

“Fine. Be here at nine.”

“Be where at nine?”

“There’s no posted address. Hold on and my assistant will provide directions. I advise you to write them down carefully, word for word. The roads up here are tricky, and the lakes are deep. And very cold. You wouldn’t want to get lost.”

The warning was almost comical.

Almost.

By the time he’d copied down the Lake Sorrow directions and returned to the kitchen, Kim and Kyle were on