Gone(29)

Rondeau frowned. “Screw the press. And those calls are supposed to rout to the volunteers at Incident Command.”

“I know. But a lot of the older people still have the department on speed dial. They didn’t even see the ad, they’re just trying to be good citizens. So far the troopers have responded to a couple of deer sightings and two kids playing Minecraft in the woods, or something. And a lot of people just talking about ‘suspicious activity,’ lending their expertise to—”

“I got it, I got it.”

Another pause. Rondeau wanted to hang up. Things were spilling over the edge.

“You alright, boss?”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t called me ‘new guy’ once.”

“Well, you’re initiated now.” Rondeau looked into the woods. No Kemps out there, not drowned in their backyard pond, not lost on an ill-equipped family hike. Probably not slain at the hands of the father, either. Those things happened, but not to this family, Rondeau didn’t think. Not anymore.

“Stay reachable,” he repeated and hung up. He dropped the car into gear and pulled back onto the road. He wasn’t checking his mirrors and a truck blared its horn as it veered around him. Once he’d gained the speed limit, the Kemp home came into view.

“You’ve got a lot of balls in the air,” Millard said.

“Quiet.”

Rondeau watched the Kemp home as they blew past, then slowed and turned into the Leifsons’ driveway shortly after. The little Prius was there. Good, they were home. He was struck again by the wrongness of his behavior — Jessy would not approve. He should have called first. But he’d been afraid it would be easier for the Leifsons to kindly refuse over the phone. Maybe make up an excuse. Anyone would. Who wanted a lunatic hanging out in their home?

“What’re we doing here?”

Rondeau looked at his brother-in-law. ‘Lunatic’ was harsh. He wasn’t a lunatic, he just had nobody. The ideas rolled around in his head, no place to go. And unless he had his Winnie and was on his own property and you flew overhead with drones, Millard was harmless as a boy. He could get loud and worked up, but he was not violent.

You can’t do this.

No. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to anyone. He would have to just keep Millard with him. Let him sit in the car. As long as he was here, though, he decided to check on the Leifsons and make sure they were okay, see if they’d heard from Connie.

“Sit tight.” He got out and walked up to the door. He checked his clothes, brushed some lint off his jacket, and knocked.

A moment later, the door opened and Rondeau’s smile faded.

Mrs. Leifson stood in the doorway. Her eyes were red, glimmering with tears.

Rondeau didn’t know how to respond at first. “Mrs. Leifson, I . . . is everything alright? What happened? Is Henry okay?”

“I’m right here,” came Henry’s baritone voice. The man shuffled into view behind his frail wife.

Rondeau struggled for words. “Henry . . .”

“Connie’s been in an accident,” Henry Leifson said.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN / Shadow Men

A light rain was falling as he drove back to the Kemps, and there was even a double rainbow in the sky. The effect was surreal. Rondeau felt dazed. Millard sat beside him, but for once his brother-in-law was quiet.

Car accident, Henry Leifson had said. Just after the ferry.

Connie had been in Vermont. Rondeau had gotten more details from Stokes: she’d been pulling out of the Lake Champlain ferry lot when an eastbound vehicle had slammed into Connie’s small car, impacting on the driver’s side, doing significant damage to the vehicle, and to her.

The driver of the vehicle was still an unknown subject, or “unsub.” He’d been behind the wheel of a large pick-up truck. He was whisked away to Fletcher Allen Hospital in Burlington, along with Connie. The state police were handling it.

Rondeau pulled into the Kemps’ driveway. There was a County Sheriff’s vehicle parked by the road. Rondeau aligned the drivers’ sides as Deputy Borden rolled down the window.

“Detective,” Borden said. “How we doing?”

“Good. Okay.” He took the clipboard Borden handed him and scribbled his name, the date and time. He handed the entry log back to Borden. The deputy took it, and then sneezed loudly. The deputy nodded at the house. “You got one tech in there right now, I think. Lemieux.”

“Thanks,” said Rondeau. He pulled behind the Kemps’ Subaru. There was nothing he could do for Connie right now. She was in critical condition. The accident had happened just a half hour before Rondeau had arrived at the Leifsons. It had occurred precisely while he was standing in the parking lot at the sheriff’s offices, listening to a computerized voice warning him to drop the case.

You have twenty-four hours.

Rondeau got out of his car, still hazy. He had to focus. Nothing he could do for Connie, he kept reassuring himself. The hospital needed to care for her. No one other than immediate family would be allowed to see her, not even a cop, unless he claimed it was part of his investigation. And was it? Had the phone call hinted at something in the offing? Was this part of the warning?

Rondeau dropped his head between his shoulders, leaning on the Chevy.

Even the Leifsons were waiting to see Connie, he reasoned. Even her parents were being patient. Imagine that — your only child (and Connie, far as Rondeau knew, was an only) was all mangled up by a brutal car accident and you had to sit tight until you got the call to come see her.