Gurney was stunned into silence. Ten years ago his son had been playing detective. And how long before that? Or after that? And why the hell hadn’t he known about it? How had it escaped his attention?

Jesus Fucking Christ, was I that unapproachable? That lost in my career, my thoughts, my personal priorities?

He felt tears coming, didn’t know what to do.

He coughed, cleared his throat. “What do they make at Sindelfingen?”

“Their top-of-the-line stuff. Which would explain it as a common factor, I guess. I mean, if the Shepherd was targeting only the most expensive Mercedes models, then that’s the plant they all would have been made in.”

“Still, it’s an interesting point. And you took the time to discover it.”

“So you want to come up to the house?” said Kyle after a pause. “Feels like it might rain.”

“In a minute. You go ahead.”

“You want me to leave the flashlight with you?” Kyle switched it on, shining it up the slope toward the asparagus patch.

“No need. I know the obstructions between here and there pretty well.”

“Okay.” Kyle stood up slowly, testing the evenness of the ground in front of the bench. There was a small splash at the edge of the pond.

“The hell was that?”

“Frog.”

“You sure? Are there any snakes?”

“Hardly any. All small, all harmless.”

Kyle seemed to think about this for a while. “Okay,” he said. “See you up at the house.”

Gurney watched him, or rather the beam of his flashlight, moving gradually up the pasture path. Then he leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, inhaling the damp air, emotionally drained.

His eyes opened suddenly at the sound of a small branch breaking somewhere in the woods behind the barn. Perhaps ten seconds later, he heard the sound again. He got up from the bench and listened, straining his eyes into the depthless black masses and ill-defined spaces that represented the area around him.

Hearing nothing more for the next minute or two, stepping tentatively, he walked carefully from the bench to the barn, which was about a hundred yards away. Once he reached the near corner of the big wooden structure, he walked slowly around it on the grassy verge that bordered it, stopping every so often to listen. Each time he stopped, he considered withdrawing the Beretta from its holster. But each time the thought was followed by a sense of overreaction.

The silence of the night now seemed absolute. The condensation in the grass was beginning to penetrate the seams of his shoes and seep into his socks. He wondered what he’d expected to discover, why he’d even bothered to circle the barn. He glanced up the slope toward the house. The amber light in the windows looked inviting.