From now until the final confrontation, he wanted to keep his location to himself.

Chapter 45

The Devil’s Disciple

The Lord giveth. The Lord taketh away.

That night Gurney got seven uninterrupted hours of desperately needed sleep. The next morning, however, he awoke with a feeling of dread—a nameless fear that was only partly relieved by showering, dressing, and strapping on his Beretta.

At 8:00 A.M. he was gazing out the kitchen window, the sun a cool white disk in the morning haze. He was halfway through his first cup of coffee, waiting for it to have a positive effect. Madeleine was sitting at the breakfast table with her oatmeal, toast, and War and Peace.

“Were you up reading that all night?” he asked.

She blinked at the interruption, visibly confused and annoyed. “What?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Sorry.” It had been an ill-advised attempt at humor, hardly humor at all, based on his recollection that she’d been at the same table with the same book the previous evening when he’d come home from Syracuse and gone almost immediately to bed, giving her only the blandest summary of the drama he and Kim had acted out.

He finished his coffee and went to the pot for a second cup. As he was pouring it, Madeleine closed her book and slid it a few inches toward the center of the table.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking so much of that,” she said.

“You’re probably right.” He filled his cup anyway but, in a peculiar concession to her concern, added only one sweetener packet to it instead of his usual two.

She continued to watch him. He had the impression that the worry in her expression took in larger issues than his caffeine consumption.

After he switched off the coffeemaker and went back to the window, she asked quietly, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The question had a strange effect on him. It seemed so all-encompassing. Yet so simple.

“I don’t think so.” To his own ears, his answer sounded trite, inadequate.

“Well,” she said, “let me know if you think of anything.”

Her gentle tone made him feel even more inadequate. He tried to brighten his mood by changing the subject. “So what’s on your agenda today?”

“The clinic, naturally. And I may not be home for dinner. I may go over to Betty’s after work.” She paused. “Is that all right?”

It was a question she often asked in a variety of contexts. It could be about going somewhere, or planting something in one of the flower beds, or a recipe decision. He always found it inexplicably irritating, and he invariably answered it the same way. “Of course it’s all right.” The exchange was always, as it was now, followed by a silence.

Madeleine reached for War and Peace and reopened it.