Gone(68)

The agents looked at each another. Then Willette silently packed away the electronic gear. Rondeau felt a tiny thrill of victory in their silence, just enough to cut through the panic that had been building. They’d actually had him going there for a minute. Almost believing he had some sort of split personality, or an imaginary friend, for God’s sake.

“I understand it’s hard for you,” Willette said, facing forward. “Schizoaffective disorder — I think that’s the official title. Sounds like your therapist, Leifson, was not really able to get a handle on it. Didn’t it, Agent McDonough?”

“Too much for her,” McDonough agreed.

“Sounded like she was considering turning you over to a real shrink, get you medded-up. And then, she did. Maybe not the way she would have hoped, not the best circumstances for her — terrible what happened — but at least you’re going to get the care you need, right? And perhaps a more experienced professional will get the diagnosis right. Frankly, I think you’re full-blown schizophrenic. Either way, you’re a danger to yourself, Rondeau, and you’re a danger to others.”





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE / Intervention

“Where are they going?” Peter gabbed the back of the passenger seat, peering out.

He caught a glimpse of the fed car as it crested a hill in the gathering twilight. Were they speeding up? He checked the speedometer: sixty-five miles per hour. Not exactly breakneck speed, but along these country backroads, he felt like Stokes was having trouble keeping the pace.

“I don’t know.” Stokes had a GPS monitor on the dashboard. He used the touch screen to spread out the map, show more of the surrounding area, with a hundred mile radius. The feds were headed west. The interstate was a ways behind, and there were no other major routes out here. Indian Lake, Peter thought, then pushed the idea aside.

Stokes phone chimed with an incoming call. He snatched up the phone and answered. “Stokes here.” He listened, then said, “Let me put you on speaker.”

He tapped the screen a couple times. Althea and Peter listened in.

“Okay,” Stokes said, speaking loudly for the microphone. “Detective Gates, you there?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got Deputies King and Bruin with me, Stock County Sheriff’s. Can you repeat to them what you told me earlier today? I relayed it to Deputy King already, but let’s refresh.”

“Sure. Hi guys.”

“Hello,” Peter and Althea chorused. Peter sensed Althea tensing beside him.

“I got put on the TC in Essex,” Gates said, referring to the vehicle collision. “Vic is Connie Leifson. The kid who was driving, was released, then taken into federal custody.”

“Federal? Why?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. We did total crash reconstruction. We downloaded the vehicle data. It looks like an accident. But your Detective Rondeau had asked me to keep him in the loop on the case. He seemed to think that there could be some connection between the TC and the missing family.”

“And?” Stokes asked. “What did you find?”

“The feds are all over it. I’ve been bumped.”

Peter eyed the black SUV in the distance. It slipped around a bend in the road and went momentarily out of sight. He spoke up. “They took you completely off the case?”

“Yep. Sent me off with my hat in my hand.”

“What did you have up until that point?”

“Well I was looking into the victim, see who her clients were. Thinking maybe if this wasn’t an accident, it could be some sort of payback; someone who hates their therapist, that sort of thing. But that’s all protected under confidentiality, even post-mortem.”

“And that’s why the feds broke into it?” Peter questioned. “Supersede that confidentiality?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “What else, Detective?”

“What else? They’re all over that hospital. There’s something going on there, I don’t know what. But it’s beyond the accident. Something else that’s got everyone in a twist.”

The sickly Agent Jackson came to Peter’s mind. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Gates’ voice came through again. “So where’s Rondeau now? I’ve been trying him all morning. That’s why I called you, Stokes.”

“When was the last time you spoke with Detective Rondeau?” Stokes asked.

“Yesterday at the hospital. We talked about the TC, and I told him about the Indian Lake call.”

“You spoke to the caller originally. What was the nature of her tip?”

“Her, ah, tip, was that the whole thing — the family disappearance — was related to top secret drug testing.”

Stokes and the deputies exchanged looks. Peter had more questions, but Stokes quickly wrapped it up. “Thank you, Detective.”

“Okay . . . Not a problem.”

Stokes ended the call. The FBI vehicle was getting too far ahead. Stokes pushed the Subaru to seventy.

“I don’t know how much more I wanted to discuss over the phone,” Stokes said.

Althea frowned, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Look,” Stokes said. “I’ve been working with Rondeau for two years. If he followed this call to Indian Lake, he had good reason. For one, Addison Kemp has a house there. But, then there’s this other thing . . .”