“Shall I give you a hand?”
“I’m fine.” As if to prove his point, he got out of the car a bit too energetically and nearly fell before regaining his balance and making his way into the house.
She was close behind him. When they reached the kitchen, she asked if she could get him anything.
He shook his head. “I need to make some phone calls. I’m fine, really. My problem is maybe a three out of ten.”
Her lips tightened. “I don’t think that’s true. Not physically, not emotionally, certainly not legally. The idea that Stryker might prosecute you for murder is terrifying. On a scale of one to ten, that’s an eleven!”
He put his hand on the sink island to steady himself. “I don’t know how serious she is about that. All I’m sure of is that she wants me off the Slade case.”
Madeleine’s distress seemed to deepen. “Just like Sonny Lerman running you off that mountain road.”
“Probably. But that wouldn’t explain his getting shot. That’s where I get lost. It’s obvious that somebody other than Sonny is pulling the strings. Someone who talked him into doing what he did. Someone who either followed him to the spot where he rammed me or was waiting there. That’s the only way what happened makes any sense to me.”
Madeleine looked like she had questions she was afraid to ask.
After a fraught silence, she changed the subject.
“Do you want some lunch?”
He was about to say no, not until he made a phone call—to discuss the latest developments with Jack Hardwick—but then he thought better of it. This was not the moment to abandon Madeleine to her fears.
“Sure,” he said. “Good idea.”
MADELEINE ASSEMBLED A SALAD WITH THE CONCENTRATION of a person struggling to keep other thoughts at bay. After bringing it to the table, she focused on arranging the plates, silverware, and napkins just so before taking her seat.
“You first,” she said with a tight smile, nudging the bowl toward Gurney.
He served himself some lettuce and a chunk of avocado, but he wasn’t hungry. His hospital breakfast of watery scrambled eggs, a dry muffin, and a slice of unripe melon had killed his appetite.
“We need to think about getting the shed ready,” she said, gazing out through the glass doors. “For the alpacas.”
That took him by surprise, not just because it seemed such a far leap from the current crisis but because the possible acquisition of a pair of alpacas hadn’t been mentioned for the past six months, not since the conclusion of the Harrow Hill case.
Nothing more was said as they nibbled at the edges of their salads for another ten minutes or so. After they’d put down their forks, Madeleine cleared the table and Gurney retreated to the den, closing the door behind him. He needed to be able to speak frankly with Hardwick without Madeleine overhearing.
He settled down at his desk in a position that minimized the dull ache in his back and placed the call.
“The fuck is it now?”
“The driver of the other vehicle was Sonny Lerman.”
“Son of Lenny?”
“Yep.”
“Holy shit. What’s his explanation for ramming you?”
“No explanation. He’s dead. With a bullet in his head. After he ran me off the road, somebody shot him.”
“Who told you this?”
“Stryker, last night in the hospital. She claims the gun that killed him was found in my hand, along with traces of gunshot residue.”
“How’d the GSR get on you?”
“After I hit the tree stump, a blow to the side of my head put me out cold. I figure that’s when the shooter hit Sonny, then held the gun in my hand and fired it a second time to deposit the residue.”
Hardwick uttered a thoughtful grunt. “So, the proposed meeting in Harbane was just a way of getting you on that deserted road at that particular time.”
“So it seems.”
“But you’re still a free man. How come?”
“Stryker told me she’s proceeding slowly out of respect for my NYPD background.”
“Bullshit!”
“I realize that. So, I’m thinking there might be some evidence at the scene that doesn’t add up. I’d like to know whatever she knows about the vehicle that hit me. Also, did Magnussen’s crew find any evidence consistent with the presence of a third party?”
“You suggesting I should just use my instant X-ray vision to look inside Stryker’s head and the BCI case file?”
“Sounds good to me. Also, Magnussen had my phone for a while—which means he made a record of my calls, including the one from the guy offering to meet me in Harbane. I assume he was using an anonymous phone, but the phone company would have the originating cell tower location. If Magnussen tracked that down, I’d like to know what he found out.”
“Okay,” said Hardwick finally, making the word sound more threatening than compliant. “I’ll risk destroying my last positive BCI relationship to apply the kind of pressure this’ll take. But holy fucking shit, Gurney, you are gonna owe me!”
