He was surprised, then confused, then worried to find Madeleine’s car still parked where it was when he’d left that morning for Long Falls, expecting that she would be leaving moments after him for the Winkler farm.
Entering the house with an anxious frown, he found her at the kitchen sink, washing dishes.
“What are you still doing here?” There was an edge of accusation in his voice, which she ignored.
“Right after you left, as I was getting in my car, Mena arrived in her minivan.”
“Mena?”
“From Yoga Club? Remember? You just had dinner with her.”
“Ah. That Mena.”
“Yes, that Mena—not any of the multitude of other Menas we know.”
“Right. So she arrived in her minivan? For what?”
“Well, ostensibly to bring us the bounty of her garden. Take a look in the mudroom—yellow squash, garlic, tomatoes, peppers.”
“I’ll take your word for it. But that was hours ago. And you’re still—”
“It was hours ago when she arrived, but only forty-five minutes ago when she departed.”
“Jesus.”
“Mena likes to talk. You might have noticed that at dinner. But, to be fair, she has some serious difficulties in her life, family problems, things she had to get off her chest. She needed someone to talk to. I didn’t feel I could cut her off.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Oh, Lord, everything from parents with Alzheimer’s, to a brother in prison for drug dealing, to nieces and nephews with every known psychiatric disorder—I don’t know … do you really want to hear about this?”
“Maybe not.”
“Anyway, I made her some lunch, tea, more tea. I didn’t want to leave the dirty dishes for you, so that’s what I’m doing now. And you? You look like you’re in a hurry to do something.”
“I was planning on reviewing the Long Falls security videos.”
“Security videos? Oh, God, I almost forgot! Did you know Jack Hardwick was on RAM-TV last night?”
“He was where?”
“RAM-TV. On that dreadful Criminal Conflict thing with Brian Bork.”
“How did you—?”
“Kyle called an hour ago to find out if you’d seen it.”
“Last time Hardwick spoke to me was from Cooperstown … midday yesterday? He didn’t tell me he had any plan to—”
She cut him off. “You’d better take a look at it. It’s in the current archive section of their website.”
“You watched it?”
“I took a quick look at it after Mena left. Kyle said we needed to see it ASAP.”
“It’s … a problem?”
She pointed to the den. “The RAM website is open on the computer. You watch it, then you tell me if it’s a problem.” Her troubled expression told him she’d already reached her own conclusion.
A minute later he was at his desk, gazing at the practiced concern and gelled hair of Brian Bork. The Criminal Conflict host occupied one of two chairs positioned on opposite sides of a small table. He was leaning forward as though the importance of what he was about to say made it impossible to relax. The second chair was empty.
He addressed the camera directly. “Good evening, my friends. Welcome to the real-life drama of Criminal Conflict. Tonight, we had intended to bring you a follow-up visit with Lex Bincher, the controversial attorney who stunned us just a few days ago with his no-holds-barred attack on the Bureau of Criminal Investigation—an attack designed to dismantle what he characterized as the fatally flawed conviction of Kay Spalter for the murder of her husband. Since then there have been some shocking new developments in this already sensational case. The latest is the breaking story of mayhem and tragedy in the idyllic village of Cooperstown, New York. It involves arson, multiple homicides, and the ominous disappearance of Lex Bincher himself, who was scheduled to be with us this evening. Instead, we’ll be hearing from Jack Hardwick—a private investigator who’s been working with Bincher. Investigator Hardwick is joining us from our RAM-TV affiliate in Albany.”
A split-screen visual appeared, with Bork on the left and Hardwick, in a similar studio set, on the right. Hardwick, in one of his ubiquitous black polo shirts, appeared relaxed, which Gurney recognized as the oddly inverse public face the man sometimes put on his anger. The likely fury he felt at what had happened at Cooperstown and his personal contempt for Bork and RAM-TV were well concealed.
Gurney had one question in mind: Why had Hardwick agreed to appear on a media outlet he hated?
Bork continued, “First of all, thank you for accepting my invitation to join us on such short notice at such a stressful time. I understand you just came from that terrible scene by Otsego Lake.”
“That’s correct.”
“Can you describe it to us?”
“Three lakeside homes burned to the ground. Six people burned to death, including two small children. A seventh victim was found in the lake under a small dock.”
“Has that final victim been identified?”
“That may take some time,” said Hardwick evenly. “His head is missing.”
“Did you say his head is missing?”
“That’s what I said.”
“The killer cut off the victim’s head? And then what? Is there any indication what might have happened to it?”
“Maybe he hid it somewhere. Or dumped it somewhere. Or took it with him. Investigation is under way.”
Bork shook his head—the gesture of a man who just can’t understand what the world is coming to. “That’s really appalling. Investigator Hardwick, I have to ask the obvious question. Are you thinking the mutilated body could belong to Lex Bincher?”
“It could, yes.”
“The obvious next question: What on earth is going on? Do you have an explanation you can share with our viewers?”
“It’s pretty simple, Brian. Kay Spalter was framed for her husband’s murder by a thoroughly corrupt detective. She’s the victim of gross evidence tampering, gross witness tampering, and a grossly incompetent defense. Her conviction, of course, delighted the real murderer. It left him free to go about his deadly business.”
Bork started to ask another question, but Hardwick cut him off. “The people involved in this case—not only the dishonest detective who railroaded an innocent woman into prison, but the whole team who condoned that farcical trial and conviction—they’re the ones who are ultimately responsible for the massacre today in Cooperstown.”
Bork paused, as though taken aback by what he’d just heard. “That’s a very serious accusation. In fact, it’s the kind of accusation that’s likely to spark outrage in the law enforcement community. Are you concerned about that?”
“I’m not accusing the general law enforcement community of anything. I’m calling out the specific members of that community who falsified evidence and colluded in the wrongful arrest and prosecution of Kay Spalter.”
“Do you have the evidence you need to prove those charges?”
Hardwick’s answer was immediate, calm, and unblinking. “Yes.”
“Can you share that evidence with us?”
“We’ll share it when the time comes.”
Bork directed several more questions to Hardwick, trying without success to get him to be more specific. Then he suddenly switched gears and raised what he obviously considered the most provocative question of all. “What if you prevail? What if you thoroughly embarrass everyone who you claim was in the wrong? What if you win and succeed in setting Kay Spalter free—and later discover that she was guilty of murder after all? How would you feel about that?”