are that angry?”
“What?”
“That they’re angry at themselves.”
Kim let a long silence pass before asking, “How about you, Ruth? Aren’t you angry about what happened?”
“Sometimes. Mostly I’m sad. Mostly…” Tears started coming down her cheeks.
The video interview segment faded to black, and then the scene cut back to the studio, to a shot of the host at the table with Kim. Gurney assumed that this was the interview segment she’d gone to the city that day to record.
“I don’t know what to say,” said the host. “I’m speechless, Kim. That was so powerful.”
She looked down at the table with an embarrassed smile. “So powerful,” he repeated. “I want to talk more about that in just a minute, Kim, but first I want to ask you something.”
He leaned in her direction, lowering his voice in an imitation of confidentiality. “Is it true that you’ve gotten a highly decorated homicide detective involved in this documentary project? Dave Gurney. The man
A gunshot couldn’t have grabbed Gurney’s attention more completely. He studied Kim’s face on the screen. She looked startled.
“Sort of,” she said after a pause. “I mean, he’s been advising me on some issues surrounding the case.”
“
Kim’s hesitation convinced Gurney that she’d truly been caught off guard. “Odd things have been happening, things I’d rather not reveal yet. But it looks as if someone might be trying to stop
The host affected intense concern. “Go on…”
“Well… things have happened to us, things that could be interpreted as warnings to back off, to stay away from the Good Shepherd case.”
“And does your detective adviser have any theories?”
“He seems to have a view of the case that’s different from everyone else’s.”
The host seemed riveted. “Are you saying that your police expert thinks the FBI has been on the wrong track all these years?”
“You’ll have to ask him that yourself. I’ve already said too much.”
“If it’s the truth, Kim, it’s never too much! Maybe I’ll follow up with Detective Gurney himself-in time for next week’s installment of
The Web address-RAM4NEWS.COM-appeared at the bottom of the screen in flashing red and blue letters.
The host leaned toward Kim. “We have one minute left. Can you sum up the essence of the Good Shepherd case in a few words?”
“In a few words?”
“Right. The essence of it.”
She closed her eyes. “Love. Loss. Pain.”
The camera zoomed in to a close-up of the host. “All right, folks. There you have it. Love, loss, and terrible pain. Next week we’ll take a close look at the shattered family of another Good Shepherd victim. And remember, as far as we know, the Good Shepherd is still out there, still walking among us.
The screen faded to black.
Gurney closed the browser, put the computer to sleep, and sat back in his chair.
Madeleine gave him a gently appraising look. “What’s worrying you?”
“Right this minute? I don’t know.” He shifted in his chair, closed his eyes, and waited for the first troubling object to surface. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the show they’d just watched-as disturbing as it was. “What do you think about this thing with Kim and Kyle?” he said.
“They seem to be attracted to each other. What’s there to think about?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“What Kim said about you at the end of that RAM thing-your doubts about the FBI approach-will that make trouble for you?”
“It could ratchet up the unpleasantness with Agent Trout. Possibly tweak his control-freak nerves to the point of wanting to create some legal inconvenience for me.”
“Is there anything you can do about that? Any way to head it off?”
“Sure. All I have to do is prove that his case is total nonsense. At which point he’ll have bigger problems to worry about than me.”
Chapter 31
When Gurney awoke the following morning at seven-thirty, it was raining. It was the kind of light but steady rain that can go on for hours.
As usual, both windows were open a few inches from the top. The air in the bedroom was chilly and damp. Although it was officially almost an hour past sunrise, the skewed rectangle of sky visible from the position of his head on the pillow was the unpromising gray of a wet flagstone.
Madeleine was up before him. He stretched and rubbed his eyes. He had no desire to go back to sleep. His last dream, an uneasy one, had involved a black umbrella. As the umbrella opened, seemingly of its own volition, its unfolding fabric became the wings of an enormous bat. The bat shape-shifted into a black vulture, the curved umbrella handle sharpening into a hooked beak. And then, through the exotic sensory logic of dreams, the vulture was transformed into the cool draft from the open windows-the unpleasant touch of which had been the cause of his awakening.
He pushed himself out of bed, as a way of putting distance between himself and the dream. Then he took a hot shower for its mind-clearing and reality-simplifying benefits, shaved, brushed his teeth, dressed, and went out to the kitchen for coffee.
“Call Jack Hardwick,” said Madeleine from the stove, without looking up, as she added a handful of raisins to something she was simmering in a small pot.
“Why?”
“Because he called here about fifteen minutes ago and wanted to talk to you.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“Said he had a question about your e-mail.”
“Hmm.” He went to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup. “I was dreaming about a black umbrella.”
“He seemed very eager to talk to you.”
“I’ll call him. But… tell me, how did that movie end?”
Madeleine emptied the little pot into her bowl and brought it to the breakfast table. “I don’t remember.”
“You described that scene in great detail-the guy the snipers were following, how he went into the church, and later, when he came out, they couldn’t tell who he was because everyone else coming out of the church with him was dressed in black and had a black umbrella. What happened after that?”
“I guess he got away. Because the snipers couldn’t shoot everybody.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Suppose they
“They didn’t.”
