Billy Tate’s body parts—which had been removed from the places where Peale had buried them near Chandler Aspern’s house and sent to the ME’s office for forensic identification—were unclaimed. Despite Darlene Tate’s request that they be fed to sewer rats, they were disposed of in the manner prescribed by New York State Department of Health regulations.
Minute flecks of Chandler Aspern’s blood were found on the ropes of the conservatory plant hoist, confirming Gurney’s suspicion that the device had been used to facilitate shooting him in an upright position.
William Danforth Peale III was interred, according to the instructions in his will, in the Peale family’s mausoleum in the most exclusive of the three Peale cemeteries. There was a minimal media presence at the event. No family members or friends could be located.
Aided by Madeleine’s dependable instinct for the truth, Gurney made an assessment of the mistakes he’d made in the course of the investigation: the faith he’d originally placed in the integrity of the mortuary video, the excessive fondness for a coherent narrative that led to his unquestioning acceptance of Barstow’s and Vickerz’s description of Tate’s putative “escape” from the casket, the credulity with which he’d swallowed Peale’s pretense of rage against Fallow. That particular failure of judgment revealed something in himself he hadn’t previously been aware of—his tendency to ascribe greater authenticity to expressions of hatred than expressions of love. Rage seemed real, affection questionable. Perhaps someday he’d get to the root of that. In the meantime, he decided to incorporate an unsparing description of his errors into his next academy lecture. He knew that nothing captured a student’s attention more effectively than a teacher’s admitted screwups.
From time to time—usually in the wee hours of the morning—he would relive the night of carnage at the Russell mansion and question once again the wisdom of his original plan, his fateful decision to reveal it to Morgan, and the way he chose to handle the fallout. On these occasions he would try to embrace Madeleine’s perspective. His recollection of her comments brought him a degree of peace.
In her capacity as acting mayor, Hilda Russell called Gurney one bright morning in July and offered him the position of Larchfield Chief of Police. He politely declined. He thanked her again for all that she’d told him about Larchfield’s prominent citizens the day they met at the parsonage, and especially for her mention of the long, dark relationship that existed between the Russells and the Peales—without which he might never have gotten to the heart of the case.
Both Lorinda Russell and Chandler Aspern had died intestate. Their substantial assets, including their Harrow Hill properties, were destined to be tied up in legal knots for years to come.
On the gray day of Gurney’s last drive through Larchfield, the vast, uninhabited expanse of Harrow Hill was looming over the dead-still water of the lake in a way that gave him an eerie chill.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Dave Gurney series continues to benefit from the care, energy, and insight of extraordinary people.
First, my thanks to the publishing professionals at Counterpoint, all so good at what they do—especially my superb editor, Dan Smetanka, whose unerring sense of tone and pace I rely on without reservation.
My thanks also to my wonderfully supportive agents, Molly Friedrich, Lucy Carson, and Hannah Brattesani. I can’t imagine having smarter, nicer, more effective champions in my corner.
My special thanks to the loyal readers of the Dave Gurney series, whose enthusiasm for its central characters and twisty plots are such a big part of my motivation in creating these stories.
And my thanks to my wife for all the encouragement she gives me, for her remarkable patience with my long periods of silent immersion in devising the bizarre crimes for Gurney to unravel, and, most of all, for giving me a wonderful life.
©Naomi Fisch
JOHN VERDON is the author of the Dave Gurney series of thrillers, international bestsellers published in more than two dozen languages: Think of a Number, Shut Your Eyes Tight, Let the Devil Sleep, Peter Pan Must Die, Wolf Lake, and White River Burning. Before becoming a crime fiction writer, Verdon had two previous careers: as an advertising creative director and a custom furniture maker. He currently lives with his wife, Naomi, in upstate New York. Find out more at johnverdon.net.