‘As Dr McKenna mentioned,’ Jim Conley continued, ‘Austin owns a huge place on Elys Ferry Road that he inherited from his father. But he rarely goes near it. His habitat of preference is a remote, densely wooded section of Talmadge State Park, which was once part of the family’s original land grant from the British crown. The ruins from their earliest settlement – fieldstone foundations, chimneys, kilns, root cellars – can still be found up there if you’re willing to make a rugged seven-mile hike. So can a number of caves that Native American dwellers called home long before the Talmadges arrived. Austin has been known to camp out up there for weeks at a time searching for family artifacts. He hated it when Michael donated the Talmadges’ original settlement to the state. He considers it his. But Talmadge State Park is of great interest to historians and archeologists as well as botanists, who’ve found many rare species of native plants that have grown there practically undisturbed for centuries.’
‘I’ve heard about it,’ I said. ‘Everyone calls it Mount Creepy.’
‘And with good reason,’ Annabeth McKenna acknowledged, studying me across the table with those penetrating brown eyes of hers. ‘I’ve hiked it many times and, while it’s beautiful up there, it also has an eerie aura. It’s not something you can explain. You just feel it.’
Resident Trooper Conley nodded in agreement. ‘I’m not the sort of person who goes in for scary campfire stories but, I swear, it’s as if something evil happened up there long ago. Mind you, there’s an otherness about the Talmadges dating all of the way back to the original settlers. They were a secretive clan who refused to join up with the other founding families at the mouth of the Connecticut River. Instead, they chose to settle several miles upriver in the hills way, way off by themselves.’
‘Sounds to me as if Austin is the living, breathing product of multiple generations of incest.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ Annabeth McKenna said.
‘So you can’t bust him,’ I said to Deputy Superintendent Mitry, ‘because he and his big brother have way too much financial pull – judging by the presence at this table of Mr Fielding, the governor’s special envoy.’ Which drew no response whatsoever from Fielding. ‘What can you do?’
Mitry folded his giant hands on the table before him. ‘There is a protocol in place for dealing with Austin when he strays too far outside of the lines. It involves the services of Dr McKenna and the team of former Green Berets employed by his brother, who are tasked with escorting Austin – with or without his consent – to his estate on Elys Ferry Road, which also functions as a private sanitarium. He’s detained there while Dr McKenna works with him one-on-one until she’s able to determine whether or not he’s stable enough to be released as an outpatient.’
‘This would be the aforementioned “ripcord?”’
‘It would.’
‘And this has been going on for how many years?’
‘Seven,’ she answered, her voice barely a whisper.
I shook my head at them. ‘Can I be candid with you? I belong back in New York City, where life makes sense.’
The deputy superintendent treated me to a frosty look. ‘I take my orders from the superintendent. He takes his from the governor, whose largest campaign contributor happens to be Michael Talmadge, who should be arriving here momentarily with his security detail. Let’s be clear about something, Mr Hoag. I don’t like it one bit that Austin Talmadge gets privileged treatment. I believe that the law should be enforced equally no matter what your tax bracket is. Unfortunately, that’s not how our world works. I’ll also have you know that we’re not the ones who set up this protocol. Austin has been the recipient of special treatment since he was ten. That’s how old he was when he poisoned his cousins’ dog.’
‘Would this be the Hardy Boys again?’
‘It would, yes,’ he responded. ‘Not long after that he shot his own brother in the head and drove Jim’s sister to throw herself in front of a moving train. And those are merely the things we know about. God knows what else he did. None of it was ever recorded as a criminal offense.’
‘Michael told me that their father sent Austin away to any number of residential treatment schools after the horrid event with Jim’s sister,’ Annabeth McKenna said. ‘None were able to help him. And Austin has been in and out of psychiatric hospitals for virtually his entire adult life. I’ve been forced to check him into McLean Psychiatric Hospital up in Massachusetts numerous times, including most of this past summer, because he’s needed more around-the-clock supervision than I could give him.’
I heard cars speeding up the gravel driveway.
‘That’ll be Michael,’ she said.
I went to the mudroom door with Lulu tagging alongside of me in time to see one, two, three humongous black Chevy Suburbans pull up in a row.
One of Michael Talmadge’s extremely muscular ex-Green Berets climbed out of the first car wearing camouflage pants, a snug-fitting black crewneck sweater and a semi-automatic handgun in a shoulder holster. With him, on a tight leash, was a huge German Shepherd that immediately barked ferociously, baring a set of two or three hundred teeth.
Lulu let out a yelp and skedaddled in wide-eyed terror across the linoleum kitchen floor toward the master bedroom, where I expect she hid in the closet.
Michael’s lead bodyguard stood there with the dog, his eyes taking in the barnyard, guest cottage, chicken coop, duck pond and, lastly, me as I opened the mudroom door and stepped
