Henry stood in Jack Reynolds’s front yard, his weight mostly on his good leg. The other leg bothered him more than he let on most days, but he thought he did a pretty good job of hiding it. He squinted as the police choppers overhead sent another blizzard of fall leaves swirling up in their searchlight beams. He’d already gotten leaf debris in his eye. The air settled and the noise and light passed. Two choppers were circling the little island; a third searched the perimeter of the lake. Judging by the residential lights on around the lake, no one was asleep. Once the news got out about Gretchen, cops from every surrounding county had started showing up. Flashing lights stretched along the island’s private road as far as Henry could see. State cops. City cops. FBI vehicles. Henry lifted a hand to shield his eyes from another passing chopper. The searchlight blazed around him for a moment, and a gust of wind flattened the grass at his feet. Then the chopper continued onward, passing over four crime scene investigators who were hauling equipment across the grounds in the direction of the boathouse. The churned-up air from the chopper blades made their white Tyvek suits flap like plastic bags in the wind. The grass rippled. Then it fell dark again. The earsplitting chug of the chopper engine faded. Henry glanced back at the Tudor manse, which was lit up like Christmas. Patrol cops ran in and out of the house, one hand on their hats every time a chopper passed overhead. Henry shook his head. It looked like the invasion of Grenada.

Jack Reynolds chuckled.

Henry looked over at him. Jack was still in the Thurston Howell getup, but had added a plaid wool scarf that made him look even more ridiculous. He had come out of the house a few minutes before, drinking something fancy out of a crystal lowball glass and smoking a cigar.

“What’s so funny?” Henry asked. Landscape lighting peppered the grounds, but the part of the yard they were in was dark except for a light planted in the grass at their feet that lit Jack from below, so that he was all cheekbones and jaw. Henry knew he was probably similarly lit, but he was pretty sure he looked less like Dracula.

“She’s not here,” Jack said. “I’m not sure what they think they’re going to find.”

“You sent Leo to Archie with the footage,” Henry said. He knew it was a reckless play, saying it outright. But Henry wanted to see how Jack would react. “You had to know this was coming,” Henry added.