Stenner still did not look up from the bills and letters.
'That was some long story just to explain two words,' he said when St Claire finished this epic.
'Thought you'd appreciate the details,' St Claire said. 'Ain't like we're runnin' late for a ballgame or nothin'.' He walked to a window, threw it open, and sent a long squirt of tobacco juice out on the lawn.
'You were Darby,' Stenner said, 'wanted to get lost for a week or two, where would you go, Harvey?'
'I dunno. Hawaii. One of the Caribbean islands?'
'Can't afford it. Insurance company has him on hold, bank account's almost empty. He's surely maxed out his credit cards. And he was still here yesterday, mail's open.'
Stenner handed St Claire two phone bills. 'How about a little hunting trip?' he said. 'Red Marsh Lodge, on the Pecatonica River about eighty miles from here. Called them twice last month and just a couple of days ago, last entry on the bill that came today.'
He dialled the number.
'Red Marsh,' answered a soft-spoken man with a slightly Swedish accent.
'Yes,' Stenner said. 'We're friends of Jim Darby's, Mr James Darby? We were supposed to go on this trip with him, but we thought we had to work. We got off early. Is he still there?'
'He's down riggin' out his boat. Take me a bit to get 'im back up here.'
'No, we don't want to talk to him. We thought we'd drive on up and surprise him in the morning. Do you have a double open?'
'Sure do. Cabin eight, right next to him.'
'He's in seven?'
'Nine.'
'Good. Now don't tell him about the call, we want to surprise the hell out of him at breakfast.'
'You'll have to get here mighty early then. He's takin' the boat out to the blind at four-thirty. Wants't'be there at first light. Most of the boys do.'
'You have a boat rental open?'
'Sure do.'
'Hold that for us, too. The name's Stenner. A. Stenner.'
'Abe Stenner. Gotcha.'
'Right, Abe Stenner.' He hung up, looked at St Claire, and almost smiled.
'We got him,' he said.
Later that night, in bed, with Jane Venable nestled under his arm, one of her long legs thrown over one of his, and her breathing soft and steady in his ear, Vail thought how quickly and naturally their first furious lovemaking had turned into an untroubled, easy partnership. The passion was always sudden and furious and overwhelming, but there was also a sense of comfort when they were together. Perhaps it was because they were both in their forties and love - if that was what this was, neither of them had tampered with the word yet - was like finding some small treasure each of them had lost and both had given up hope of ever finding again. For the first time in years, Vail was thankful when the day was over, when he could flee the office and come to her and delight in her presence. He lay on his back, half smiling, and stared up through the darkness at the vaulted ceiling. But soon his thoughts began turning in on him and they drifted away from Jane Venable and back to Aaron Stampler - or Raymond Vulpes - or whoever the hell he was, and he thought:
The fog was so cotton-thick as they neared the marshes guarding the river that Stenner was reduced to driving at twenty miles an hour. He leaned forward, eyes squinted, trying to discern the white line down the middle of the country road. He had missed the turnoff to the lodge in the soupy mist and they had to double back, driving slowly along the blacktop road, flicking the lights between high and low so they could see through the earthbound clouds. Eventually they saw the sign, a small wooden square at the intersection of the main road and an unpaved lane that disappeared into the trees. They were running late, four-thirty having come and gone.
RED MARSH LODGE, it said in black letters on a mud-spattered white
