He opened and closed his right hand, convincing himself again that he could manage the shift knob. “Yes.”

“See you then.” She broke the connection.

Gurney smiled. He felt an affinity with anyone who was willing to skip the schmoozing. Maybe that’s what he liked best about Holdenfield—the minimalism of her sociability. For a moment his mind wandered into musing about what form that characteristic might take in her sex life. Then he shook his head, banishing the thought.

He returned to the middle of the fifth incident report—the section consisting of captioned crime-scene and vehicle photographs—with renewed concentration. Dr. James Brewster’s Mercedes was shown from multiple angles, compacted to half its length against a roadside tree trunk. Like most of the other target vehicles, the doctor’s hundred-thousand-dollar prestige capsule had been shattered into something unrecognizable, nameless, worthless.

Gurney wondered if that was part of the Shepherd’s goal, part of his thrill—not only to kill the presumably wealthy owners but to reduce the symbols of their wealth to meaningless piles of junk. The final humiliation of the high-and-mighty. Dust to dust.

“Are we interrupting something?” It was Madeleine’s voice.

Gurney looked up, startled. She was standing in the den doorway with Kim behind her. He hadn’t heard them come into the house. They were still wearing their explosively colorful jackets. “Interrupting?”

“You had a look of great concentration.”

“Just trying to absorb some information. What are you two up to?”

“Sun’s out. It’s turning into a beautiful day. I’m taking Kim on the ridge hike.”

“Won’t it be muddy?” He could hear the crankiness in his own voice.

“She can borrow a pair of my boots.”

“You’re going now?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No, of course not. Matter of fact, I need to go out for a couple of hours myself.”

She looked at him with alarm. “In the car? With your arm the way it is?”

“Ibuprofen is a great thing.”

“Ibuprofen? Twelve hours ago you fell down a flight of stairs, ended up in an emergency room, had to be driven home. Now a couple of pills and you’re good as new?”

“Not good as new. But not so crippled I can’t function.”

Her eyes widened in exasperation. “Where do you have to go that’s so important?”

“You remember a Dr. Holdenfield?”

“I remember the name. Rebecca, wasn’t it?”

“Right. Rebecca. A forensic psychologist.”

“Where is she?”

“Her office is in Albany.”

Madeleine raised an eyebrow. “Albany? That’s where you’re going?”

“No. She’s going to be in Cooperstown today for some kind of professional symposium.”

“At the Otesaga?”

“How did you know that?”

“Where else in Cooperstown could they hold a symposium?” She looked at him curiously. “Did something urgent come up?”