Color of Blood(42)

Judy could feel the penetrating gaze of numerous sets of eyes.

“So, Miller,” Hoogerwerf asked, “what the blazes is going on in sleepy little Perth all of a sudden?”

***

Dennis marveled at how barren this part of the country was during winter. There were only two colors he could perceive: white and gray. Gray, leafless deciduous tree trunks dominated the countryside; the roadways were light gray with a thin coating of dried salt. Frozen and wilted foliage spread out along the road as far as the eye could see, and everywhere there was snow: gray, dirty snow next to the highway; sparkling, radiant white snow on the sides of hills and in the forest nearby.

Dennis felt buoyant, almost giddy, as he drove across the state of New Hampshire. The feeling of the hunt excited him, and he reveled in it as the bleak landscape whizzed by. He’d found his first crack—albeit a tiny one—in the Garder case, and against all prudence, he could not stop himself.

Was the raw thrill of the chase overwhelming his caution? Or was there a darker, self-destructive streak emerging? Regardless, he was now obsessed with the case. Rightly or wrongly, Dennis was impelled to dig out the truth. Its resolution was going to tell him something important about himself—not the Agency or even Garder for that matter—but about Dennis Cunningham.

Or that’s how he justified the subterfuge as he stalked across the Granite State. He had been careful to pay for the flight and car rental out of his own pocket. It was a Saturday, and he was on his own time, but no doubt he was absolutely and comprehensively breaking Marty’s dictum.

***

Dennis was shocked at how young Garder’s father was. When he answered the door, he thought for a moment it was the agent’s older brother.

“Good morning. I’m Dennis Cunningham. I called a few days ago from the Agency.”

“Yes, please come in,” the father said, shaking his hand and smiling. “Thank you for coming.”

Dennis was led into the small living room that had an earthy coziness about it. He noticed the old pine plank flooring was wide and covered with a large, worn, red oriental rug. Mrs. Garder came into the room, her hands clenched together in front of her in a nervous gesture. She let go long enough to shake his hand.

They sat together on the small, maroon-colored sofa; Dennis sat in an armchair, the kind that has a handle allowing the chair to recline. He found himself rocking gently in the chair as the room fell silent.

“So,” Mr. Garder said, “what can you tell us about our son?”

“He disappeared while on assignment, and we think we know what happened to him.”

“Finally,” Mr. Garder said.

Dennis watched Mrs. Garder, who sat perfectly still with the fingers of her right hand splayed on her chin. She watched Dennis wide-eyed, but absolutely motionless, as if she were made of porcelain.

“We think he went snorkeling in the waters off the coast of Western Australia and was killed by a shark.”

“Good grief,” Garder senior said. “A shark?”

“Yes, a shark.”

“Did anyone see it happen?” he asked.

“He was by himself, so no one witnessed the attack,” Dennis said.

“Well, then how do you know he died? Was there a body?”

“No, there was no body, but we found some personal belongings and his abandoned car. We spoke to some shark experts, and they believe that’s what happened.”

“A shark?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dennis repeated. “A shark.”

“How come no one has told us about this before?” Mr. Garder asked. “We’ve tried to get information from the headquarters in Washington, but no one would tell us anything besides the fact that he was missing.”

“Well, we wanted to make sure,” Dennis said. “We know it must be hard on you.”

“Yes,” he said. “He was our only child. Our congressman warned us that the news was probably going to be bad.”

Mrs. Garder stared long and hard at Dennis, but said nothing, and if he hadn’t seen her walk in ten minutes earlier, he would have bet she was a paraffin copy of a human.

“I have to tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Garder, that I’m giving you this information outside of normal channels,” he said. “I’m not really authorized to provide this data, but I was familiar with your son and knew how much trouble you went to in order to get the Agency to respond to you. I just felt really bad. So as a favor to me, would you mind not mentioning it to anyone who might contact you from the Agency with the same information?”

“You knew Geoff?” he asked.

“Yes, a little: a really solid young man. He had a lot on the ball. We’re going to miss him, that’s for sure.”

“That’s very kind of you to say that,” Mr. Garder said, “very kind indeed. We’ve been preparing ourselves for this moment, and it almost seems anticlimactic.”

Dennis quickly looked around the room and noticed a slew of framed photos, many showing young Garder at various stages of his young life. One large eight-by-ten color image was obviously a high school photo showing him smiling broadly in a soccer uniform, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was a handsome kid.

Dennis kept up the conversation for another fifteen minutes, studying Mrs. Garder whenever he could sneak a glance. Behind the couple a large bay window looked out onto a gray-white forest. An occasional evergreen gave the landscape its only splash of color.