Madeleine appeared incredulous. “Is this turning into a spy drama?”
Hardwick shrugged. “With its hypnotism and behavior-control angles, it’s starting to look a lot like The Manchurian Candidate.”
“That was a movie,” said Gurney, “not something that actually happened.”
Hardwick came farther forward in his seat. “There’s no reason to believe it couldn’t happen. I’d bet anything there are devious little fuckers in the intelligence agencies right now trying to figure out how to exert that kind of mind control.”
Gurney felt the need to reel the conversation back into a fact-based framework. “Fenton’s tour in army intelligence might be connected to his new reporting line. But we just don’t know enough about it yet. Any other discoveries?”
“That’s it for now.”
“Nothing else on the gay angle?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But it’s come up in ways that are hard to ignore—Hammond’s gay emergence therapy, Bowman’s Cox’s demonization of it. I’d like to know if there’s any evidence of homosexuality or homophobia in the backgrounds of Wenzel and Balzac.”
“Bobby Becker down in Palm Beach may be able to give us something on Wenzel. I have no direct line to Teaneck PD, so getting an answer about Balzac is a different deal. I know some people who know some people. But that route can take time. Any more questions?”
“Same ones I’ve asked before. Are there any red flags in Norris Landon’s background? Or in Austen Steckle’s—apart from his being a reformed lowlife, drug dealer, and embezzler? And I have one new question. Since Pardosa got a peculiar phone call that apparently directed him to Wolf Lake Lodge, I’m wondering if Wenzel and Balzac got similar calls.”
Hardwick sighed. “Be easier to get those questions answered if we had badges to wave around. Full fucking weight of the law can be an advantage.”
Gurney flashed a smile to hide his impatience. “I believe we agreed that the next item on your agenda would be a visit to Pardosa’s parents?”
“Right. In the hope that they memorized the details of little Stevie’s letters from summer camp, including the names of everyone he met there.”
“If I didn’t know you better, Jack, I’d think you resented the need for a little footwork.”
“Fuck you, too, Sherlock.”
CHAPTER 29
After Hardwick revved up the GTO and headed south on his long-shot mission to Floral Park, Gurney and Madeleine sat quietly for a while in the parked Outback.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This whole thing is getting darker and more complicated.” A gust of wind blew particles of sleet under the hotel portico and they bounced off the windshield. “We better get back to Wolf Lake before the weather gets worse.”
He nodded, started the car, and headed onto Woodpecker road in the direction of the Northway. “Maddie, are you absolutely positive we shouldn’t just put this situation behind us?”
“I’m positive. And it’s not because I like Hammond. I don’t. He’s a spoiled genius with a sick dependency on his caretaker sister. Judging from that body-in-the-trunk story, he’s also a little crazy. But I don’t believe he’s a mind-controlling murderer. And I know now that walking away from a mess doesn’t solve it.”
He had the sense that one of the tectonic plates of his life was shifting. Ever since he’d left the NYPD, Madeleine had been predictable in one respect. She’d consistently pressed him to turn his attention away from the world of murder and mayhem and focus on their new life in the country. Never before would she have advised him to stick with a homicide investigation.
The shift was radical and unsettling.
AFTER STOPPING AT A THAI RESTAURANT IN LAKE PLACID FOR A quiet lunch, for which neither of them had much appetite, they arrived back at Wolf Lake a little after four. The dusk was deepening and the temperature was dropping.
As they entered the lodge reception area, Austen Steckle was coming out of the Hearth Room. Past him, Gurney could see the tentative flames of a new fire.
Steckle’s smile looked tense and his scalp looked sweaty.
“Hey, just the people I wanted to see.” After a nod to Madeleine, he addressed Gurney. “I got you set up like you asked. But the thing is, Peyton’s got plans for the evening. For tomorrow, too. And after that, it’s hard to tell, you know what I mean?” He pushed back his cuff and glanced down at his gleaming Rolex. “So the thing is, if you want to talk to the man—it’s pretty much got to be now.”
Gurney looked at Madeleine.
She shrugged.
He looked back at Steckle. “Now is fine. Actually, fifteen minutes from now would be better. I need to go up to our room first. Does he expect me?”
“Yeah, more or less. I’ll call and confirm it with him. You know the way, right?”
“I know the way.”
“Conversations with Peyton can be difficult. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m used to difficult conversations.”
Steckle went into his office.
The Gurneys went up to the suite.
The main room lay mostly in darkness. The wind was whining at the balcony door. He switched on the ceiling fixture in the entry area, then crossed the room and switched on the lamp at the near end of the couch. He thought about lighting the kerosene lamp at the far end, the one with the wolf etching on its base, but decided against it. Better to keep that one in reserve in the event of another power failure.
He took the broad-spectrum surveillance scanner Hardwick had given him out of his jacket pocket and turned it on. The start-up screen mimicked a high-end smartphone.
Madeleine, still bundled up in her jacket, scarf, and ski hat, was watching him. “Are you going to check our room?”
He shot her a warning glance—a reminder that he didn’t want anyone who might be bugging the space to discover that they were aware of it.
Following Hardwick’s earlier instructions, he navigated through a series of setup options. Less than a minute later the device was fully operational, displaying a schematic diagram of the room he was standing in.
As he walked around, one red dot appeared on the screen, and then a second. Given the graphic delineation of the suite’s walls on the screen, the location of each dot and the RF transmitter it represented was clear. The visual indication was supplemented by data on the distance of each transmitter from the nearest horizontal and vertical surfaces (in this case the room’s floor and walls), its type, frequency, and signal strength. A line at the bottom of the screen summarized: “DETECTED DEVICES WITHIN SCAN AREA: 2 AUDIO, 0 VIDEO.”
He made another circuit of the room to check the consistency of the data. He also wanted to see if any additional bugs might appear, but the scanner found only those two. He switched it off and slipped it back in his pocket. Turning to Madeleine, who’d been observing the process with concern, he pointed silently at the two locations.
The first was the life-size portrait of Warren Harding hanging over the suite’s bar. The second was her cell phone on the end table by the couch.
Her expression shifted from concern to anger.
Gurney was eager to inspect the two locations more closely to confirm what the scanner had shown. And, since the two transmission patterns were very different, he was curious to see if the bugs represented the same gap in sophistication as the two trackers on his car. In order to conduct this inspection without passing along the telltale sounds of the transmitters being handled, he’d need to conceal what he was doing with some kind of noise.