Devoted(82)
Progress was real progress only when it evolved naturally and thoughtfully from the history of human experience and accumulated wisdom. When it was imposed in contempt for that experience and wisdom, then progress was in fact radical destruction.
Cruising the picturesque streets of his beloved Pinehaven, Carson began to understand that what he sought was an escape from the hubris of humanity, from the endless discontent of those who believed in one utopia or another in spite of the fact that history showed utopian thinking to lead inevitably to disaster and often to mass murder on an industrial scale. But of course there could be no escape from the overweening pride and arrogance of the species. You could withdraw, remake your life with a small circle of friends who didn’t wish to silence and punish their fellow countrymen with whom they disagreed, who knew the grievous threat to peace that arose from contempt for others, from an inflated self-esteem that became vainglory. But there was no town remote enough, no fortress walls high enough to protect you from mad ideas with mass appeal.
Immortality had mass appeal. Even if it became public knowledge that Purcell had financed research that had led already to ninety-four deaths and counting, perhaps in the current climate he would still be celebrated for his good intentions.
As Carson drove again through the heart of Pinehaven, the wind-shaken night was assailed by sirens. A patrol car that was parked in front of the Four Square Diner swung away from the curb, lightbar blazing. Another cruiser erupted from the alley beside the sheriff’s station and followed the first vehicle.
Carson pulled to the curb and phoned Carl Fredette, the watch commander on duty. He expected bad news. He didn’t expect that it would be as bad as it was. Lee Shacket had escaped his room at the county hospital. Deputy Fenton was missing, presumed captive, and judging by the blood at the scene, either gravely wounded or dead.
In this case, with the perpetrator being unique in the world and fast “becoming” a threat of unknown dimensions, the law offered no real and lasting protection, only an illusion of it.
The sheriff would never admit as much. Nor would anyone working for him. Nor would any higher authority above those in Pinehaven County. Megan Bookman needed to know that truth, and perhaps there was no one but Carson to convey it to her.
88
The doorbell rang, and the dog raced into the upstairs hall, out of sight, and Megan picked up her pistol from the nightstand.
As Ben followed the retriever, he said, “You won’t need that. Kipp’s excited, but it’s positive excitement. He knows who’s at the door, and it doesn’t scare him.”
“How can he know who’s at the door?”
“Smell, I suspect. Once a dog knows your smell, he can pick up your scent a mile away, a lot farther than just a mile. That’s why they’re always waiting for you at the door when you come home after leaving them alone.”
Nevertheless, she told Woody to stay put and she followed Ben into the hallway. “Just the same, I’ll be on the landing with the gun.”
Already, Ben knew her well enough to be sure that she wouldn’t be careless with a firearm. Descending the stairs two at a time, he said, “I’m always happier with backup.”
Kipp was at the undamaged sidelight to the left of the front door, not just wagging his tail but also wiggling his entire body and prancing in place with excitement.
A thirtysomething woman crouched on the farther side, looking in at the dog, smiling broadly and saying something. Ben couldn’t make out what she said, except that she knew the retriever’s name.
He opened the door, and she looked up. “Oh! Hello, my goodness, you found Kipp. My name’s Rosa. Rosa Leon, I’m Kipp’s . . . I’m his guardian.”
Although Ben was happy that the dog took such obvious delight in this reunion, a sense of loss overcame him. In less than a day, a bond had developed between him and this amazing retriever. He didn’t want to be cut out of Kipp’s life, his story.
In the foyer, Rosa Leon went to her knees, and Kipp nuzzled her, and Ben said, “How on earth did you find him?”
“His special collar. It has a GPS.”
As Ben started to close the door against the insistent wind, a white Ford Explorer pulled to a stop behind the Lincoln MKX in which Rosa Leon evidently had arrived. The driver doused the headlights.
“He’s no ordinary dog, this one,” Ben said, closing the door and watching the Ford Explorer through the sidelight.
Rosa continued rubbing behind Kipp’s ears. “Oh, yes, he’s very well trained. Kipp is quite remarkable. He knows ever so many clever tricks.”
“He knows a lot more than tricks,” Ben said, watching a man get out of the Explorer. “This fella’s no circus dog. He’s something else altogether.”
Rising to her feet, frowning, the woman said, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I’m pretty sure you do,” Ben said, using his best smile to take the edge off the words. “You’re protecting him . . . his secret.”
The newcomer was approaching the house.
Ben was licensed to carry, but his pistol remained in the Range Rover. “Megan, we have another visitor. Can you come on down here?”
When he turned his head to confirm that she was descending from the landing, he noticed Woody at the top of the stairs.