Morris grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “There could be explosives in there.”
Suddenly the second floor of the structure caved in. The front wall buckled and tumbled into the burning ruins. The porch, now engulfed by flames, collapsed. Cinders and soot drifted into the trees surrounding the property.
Morris’s men walked out of the woods and watched the house disintegrate. They stood silently as the blackened timbers burned through the first floor and collapsed into the basement. What was left, a red-hot inferno that resembled an active volcano, continued to glow in the dark.
It took less than thirty minutes for the cabin to burn to the ground. When it was over, the only thing left standing was a cast iron stove, the fireplace, and the chimney.
“My men will rope off the perimeter,” Morris said. “The Fire Department can deal with it when they arrive.”
“We can’t just leave him like this,” Carlyle said.
Bognor put a hand on Carlyle’s shoulder. “Ric, there’s nothing more we can do now.”
An hour later, after everyone else had left the inn, Bognor found Carlyle in the conference room of the lodge. “After all of Morris’s complaints about your shielding Sutcliffe, he admitted it probably saved lives.”
“Not everyone’s.”
“You think he would have surrendered?”
“I don’t think he was willing to face the rest of his life in prison.”
“Morris wants me to charge Pierce with attempted murder.”
“His attorney will try to plea bargain, but at least he won’t be your problem any longer.”
Bognor got up and walked to the door. “One more thing. Phillip Marshall wants to see you.”
“He can call me.”
“Tonight.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been up since before dawn.”
“Just see him before you leave town.”
“You know what this is about?”
“No, but it seemed urgent. He asked that you stop by the hospital.”
Carlyle stood up. “When will I see you again, John?”
“The State’s going to hold an investigation on Monday. Come over for dinner after.”
“I’d like that.”
The two men shook hands and walked outside.
“The damn helicopter’s finally gone,” Bognor said.
“It’ll probably be back in the morning.”
Bognor stopped walking. “That was a pretty neat move you made this morning, luring Sutcliffe out into the open like that.”
“I was pretty sure his next target was Harris Rift.”
“I meant taking the almost insane chance to trap your suspect by putting him in a raft.”
Carlyle turned his head to the left and squinted at Bognor. “Sheriff, do you really think I’d jeopardize the lives of all those people by pulling a stunt like that?”
Bognor returned Carlyle’s gaze for a few moments, then smiled and shook his head. “No, I guess you wouldn’t go that far, would you?”
Carlyle backed his truck away from the inn and drove slowly out of the lot. When he reached the road, he turned east, crossed the concrete span over the raging Hudson, and headed toward the hospital in Glens Falls.
Nineteen
Carlyle spent two hours in a corner room of the hospital with Ryan Marshall, Marshall’s father, and two attorneys from a white-shoe Albany law firm. After he explained the details of the contract he was offering Carlyle, Phillip Marshall said, “You won’t get a better deal anywhere.”
Carlyle looked at Ryan. “This work for you?”
Phillip said, “Ryan’s moving on. He knows it’s time.”
Carlyle kept his eyes on Ryan, who glared back at Carlyle and then at everyone else in the room. “Nobody’s giving me much choice, including your DEC pals.”
Carlyle put the twelve-page document in his briefcase. “Let me clear this with my wife. If she approves, I’ll sign it and fax a copy back to you.”
“You’ve got twenty-four hours. Then we open it up to the highest offer.”
At midnight, Carlyle called Beth to say he was too tired to deal with the traffic on the Northway and would take a motel room for the night. The next morning, his shoulders and back riddled with fatigue, he threw his gear in his truck and left for home.
Lake George, luminous in the morning sunlight, brought back his time as a guide. When he’d finally learned everything he needed to know about the job, he realized he would never have to fear the Hudson again. From then on, the work brought him astonishing happiness. Yesterday, the sight of the six huge standing waves in the Narrows, each capable of flipping his raft end over end, shattered his emotional defenses and made him realize what a gift his years on the river had been. Bitterly cold water made his body ache with possibility and the smallest changes in ambient light made him feel as though he was seeing the gorge for the first time. Once or twice a season, when he made a perfect move in the most difficult rapids, he felt as though he would never again have anything to fear.
Nearing the city an hour later, Carlyle looked to his right and spotted the four hulking granite towers that dominated the university campus. Once he signed the contract Phillip Marshall had offered him, he would find a publisher for his book, clear out his office, put his papers in storage, and begin searching for a new line of work.
Running a gauntlet of high-rise apartments, warehouses, abandoned factories, and railroad yards, Carlyle followed the highway east and south around the city. Anxious to get home, he hurried past shopping malls plastered across the suburban landscape. At eight-thirty, he turned into his tree-lined driveway.
The lights in the house were on, the front door unlocked. In the kitchen, he found yellow daffodils in a vase and a map of Italy on the table, the Amalfi Coast outlined in red. Upstairs, Beth’s studio door was open, and an image of delicate blue and white flowers sat on an easel. Every curtain in their bedroom was pulled aside, light everywhere. A note on his pillow: Eggs and toast in the oven. I’m in the garden. Come join me. Love, B.
Carlyle crossed the yard to the
