“I think putting Sturgis’ ashes in the White River made him think of what had happened in Bartlett.” A bright sun shone through the window into her eyes, but she scarcely noticed. “Wally’s cabin is right on the Saco; it takes drinking water from it.”
“And the town of Stewart is on the Connecticut River.” A spark of interest.
“Maybe the others who died in Bartlett lived on the river. That’s something we could check.”
“Yes. I don’t know whether to hope we find a relationship or not. We can’t guard every mile of river frontage in New England.” He thought a moment. “This man Cabral, foreign first name something like Gregory. Maybe Harv knows him.”
Harv didn’t, nor did Dora.
But the FBI man wasn’t through. “Can we do better than sounds like Gregory?”
Cilla went back at Loni. “Do you think the foreign sounding name was from the way your father pronounced it or from the way it was spelled?”
Loni worked hard on this. “Daddy didn’t speak any foreign languages. He didn’t even say the name of French wines the way they do in France. It all came out American.”
“So it was probably the spelling. Was it longer than Gregory? More syllables?”
“No, it was shorter.”
“Did it have an ‘ov’ sound on the end like a Russian name?”
“No, that’s not it at all.”
“Let’s try to narrow down the end. Did it end in a vowel or a consonant?”
“It was a vowel! Aren’t you smart!”
“Which vowel? Can you remember?”
Loni did hard thinking. “Oh, Cilla, I’m no good at this. I just don’t know.”
“You’re doing fine. Choose the one of these that’s closest. Gregori, Gregora, Gregoru, Gregoro, Gregore.” She pronounced each carefully, accenting the last syllable in each case.
“Gregoro! That’s real close. Maybe a little too long.”
“Grego?”
“Yes! That’s it! At least I think so.”
With this somewhat less than positive identification, Cilla went back to Krestinski, who called Washington. Ten minutes later the FBI man produced the first smile of the day.
“Got him! Grecco Cabral. Forty-two, five foot ten, one-eighty. Was in the U.S. Army. Retired four years ago as a sergeant. Home address when he enlisted was Fall River, Massachusetts.”
“Do they know where Cabral is now?”
“No, but we have photos, fingerprints, the works. I’m flying back to Boston.”
“I’m going with you.”
The agent looked at her curiously. “Why do you want to come back east? Hudson is...”
“Here someplace,” she finished. “But the only one who knows where he is, is Frank, and Frank is headed back there. You find Cabral, you find Frank.” Then in a soft voice, “And I find Hudson.”
“I can’t let you fly with me, Cilla. It’s a military plane.”
“So I’ll enlist. John, you owe me. Us. Hudson and myself.”
“Cilla, I...”
“If you had gotten this information from Loni earlier, Hudson wouldn’t...be missing. He did, and now you’ve a chance to help him and avert a crisis Don’t you think that’s worth a plane ride?”
“If it were up to me, Cilla. But it isn’t. I...”
“Where’s the phone?”
“In the lieutenant’s office. Who...?”
“A man I met at Great Haystack. He told me to call him if I ever needed anything. He’s only the governor of a small state, but I’m told he’s on friendly terms with the White House.”
“Governor Ducharme? You’re going to call him for a plane ride...?”
“I think he may also have an interest in having his problem removed.”
She left, heading for the lieutenant’s office. Krestinski shook his head, counting the sentences he hadn’t been able to complete. If you could call a man who was missing and perhaps dead `lucky’, it would be Hudson. This girl will move heaven and earth until he’s found. And God help the one who stands in her way; anyone lower on the ladder won’t stand a chance.
She’d disappeared by the time he’d finished stuffing paperwork into his briefcase, but he wasn’t surprised to find her at the airport when he arrived. Or to have the pilot tell him she had been authorized to fly with them. Wally was with her. He would stay in Sedona to continue the search for Hudson and to act on whatever information Cilla turned up. She had a question of Krestinski, one foot in the plane. “How long can a man last in the desert this time of year?”
“A lot longer than mid summer.”
Her eyes held his.
“I know that’s no answer. Days if he found water.”
“And wasn’t too badly hurt.”
“Yes.”
“Three days?”
“It’s certainly possible.”
“That’s the same amount of time you have, John.”
He nodded wearily, and followed her on.
Krestinski spent the flight on the telephone. Cilla, her mind obviously satisfied she was doing all she could, was asleep before the plane left the ground.
Chapter 31
It was dark when they landed in Boston. They dropped the FBI man there and continued on to Manchester, New Hampshire where they were met by the Governor’s car, which drove Cilla to a Concord hotel, arriving a little after midnight. At 8 AM Cilla was sitting in a state house office in conversation with New Hampshire’s chief executive. It was March 15.
“There aren’t that many towns in New Hampshire that take drinking water from rivers and streams.” Norman Ducharme was reading from a report furnished him by the State Department of Water Supply Engineering. “Some are backup systems, but they all have a chlorination or filtration system.”
“How about the bigger cities like Concord and Manchester?”
“Neither of them are on the list, though Manchester has approval to take water from the Merrimac if population growth continues...Nashua’s here though, our second largest...This isn’t a field I know much about. I’m going to get some more expert advice.” He left the room. Cilla walked to the window. It was almost spring, but here in New Hampshire there wouldn’t be buds on the trees for another month. Concord looked like an old dog that’s had a good roll in the dirt. Most of the snow had melted, but patches left by the plows browned on sidewalks. The dregs of a season ending, she thought. Like the crumpled brown leaves of late fall before they’re covered by winter snows. But fall had something this time of year had not. A sweet sadness, yes, for the departure of the long grass of August with the wind high in leafy trees. But for her: a joy, a celebration.
How could Hudson believe she’d leave him for the ashram way of life? Yet those were the last words they’d spoken together. Not together, apart. In separate roles. With a clear mind, unfettered by fear of once again losing the person he loved most, he’d never have been taken in by her playacting. Cilla loved him more for not abandoning Sylvia’s memory. She didn’t want to replace her and knew she never would. For a chilling moment the unthinkable crept in. Of replacing Hudson in her life. No! Don’t think of elephants, elephants, elephants!
“What?” asked Ducharme, coming through the door.
She realized with embarrassment she’d said it aloud. Shouted it in fact.
“Sorry.” Discipline reasserted itself. “What did you learn?”
“We’re losing company fast. Connecticut and Rhode Island are out. In fact they’re the only two states in the country that won’t permit drinking water to be taken from streams used for waste disposal. That includes all the big rivers.” He leaned back on the desk. Half to himself, “I can’t believe we’re not in that group, too.”
“So rivers are out?”